Romance of a Portrait.

Auckland Star, Volume VI, Issue 1625, 1 May 1875, Page 6 (Supplement)

Romance of a Portrait.

Paris, December 25th.—* * * I have heard lately the following melancholy and romantic little story relative to a roval lady, wbos-e personal charms and sweet and graceful manners have rendered her as unconsciously dangerous to her masculine adherents as ever Mary Stuart was of yore. It appears that during the latter years of the empire the attention of the Kmpress, who ever has been distinguished as an intelligent and munificent patroness of art, was called to the works of a rising young painter —a Spaniard or an Italian by birth —who had just completed his studies and had achieved admission to the Salon. She was pleased with his pictures; purchased several of them, and gave him a commission for two or three others. Finally, at his earnest solicitation, she consented to sit to him for her portrait, which proved to be a striking | likeness and a most admirable work of art. .From that time forward the young painter haunted assiduously every public place where he could obtain a glimpse of his fair and royal | patroness. When she went to the theatre or the opera he invariably occupied an orchestra stall in front of the Imperial box, and when she drove out he sought to cross her path in order to obtain from her one of those graceful bows and one of those sweet, melancholy smiles which she always bestowed with such courtesy upon those who saluted her. At last came the war, and and the Kepublic, and park and theatre and opera-box knew that fair face no more. Deprived of even those passing glimpses of the Imperial lady, the young artist became morose, gloomy and misanthropical; he shut himself up in the solitude of his studio and employed himself chiefly in reproducing the portrait of the Empress, a work which met with a ready sale among the friends of imperialism in Paris, from its intrinsic merits no less than from the fidelity of its likeness. The other day he was found lying dead in his studio with a pistol shot through the head, and wibh the discharged pistol still clutched in his lifeless hand.— Lucy Hooper, in Philadelphia JPress.