NEWS FROM NEAR AND FAR.

Bush Advocate, Volume XVII, Issue 5, 7 January 1905, Page 7

NEWS FROM NEAR AND FAR.

POINTS OF VIEW. IN OF AN ART TREASUBB. A STORY OF DOUBLE DEALING. "You may take it or leave it, as you choose," said old Jacques Corday, with a shrug of the shoulders, "that's my price, but don't let me persuade you — please yourseif." "One hundred francs^-infamous \" replied the other, hotly. "It would be ridiculous if it were not so cruel." . "Take care, Monsieur Lugard," observed the dealer, with a laugh. "But, Jacques," interrupted the other, feverishly, "it is good, it is worth twenty times what you offer — the paints, the canvaB — ah, and the weeks of weary work — you do but jest with me! Come "Pardon, STbnsieur Lugard, 100 francsstay, I am a weak fool, but I'll split J;he difference, 120 francs, or nothings D«n't keep me waiting here, because I have an appointment at 3. . See, here is . the money." ..'..■■ , With a sigh that was almost a groan, the young man waved an assent. Jacques counted out the money piece by piece. The artist signed the document placed before him and rushed out of the place in utter despair. , He wanted air; he felt a suffocating feeling rise in his throat, and his eyes were hot with unshed tears. Oh! it was cruel-r-cruel ! It had taken him so much time to. paint that picture, he had put his best work into it he had meant it to make his name famous, to send it to the Salon, only that pitiless fever had prostrated him for weeks, exhausted his last coin. And now he had sold it for a handful bf francs. Yet, what j could he do? What choice had he but to sell it, or starve? He was in tejmible arrears with his. rent: it wa sweeks since he had had a good meal,, days since he had tasted meat; he was literally starving, and Jacques had taken advantage of his position to cheat him. He climbed slowly to his dreary attic, I threw himself into a chair, buried his face in his hands, and gave himself up to i blank despair. He had not shed tears since he v was a boy, but now they forced themselves .through his tightly clenched hands; His masterpiece was gone for ever; the money it had brought him was mortgaged many times over for absolute necessities. His dream of love^ too, was gone. How j could he tell Marie of his hopes of a future with her? Was it worth while to struggle ! any longer against fate, when outside his very window the waters of~the Seine rolled strong, and dark and peaceful? "Courage, Charles I" cried a joyous voice at. his side. "Good news, mon ami, your I picture is sold. I was in the shops when the bargain was made. It was purchased by a well-known patron of art; and didn't old Jacques make him pay for it, that's all. I slipped away to give you warning. Don't let that old rogue get it too cheap. Stand out for a fair price." Lugard raised his head, languidly from its resting place. /You are too late, my friend," he replied. "I sold it an hour ago." "Heavens! And the price?" j "One hundred and twenty francs." "Then you ought to have hanged your- j self first," retorted the other. "Jacques, the old scoundrel, has scored again, but I'll be even, with him yet. My dear fel-

low, this is an awful business. "Why did you sell it without consulting me?" "Hunger is hard to bear, and debt is worse," replied Lugard, bitterly. "My illness exhausted both money and friends; my watch, my clothes, my pictures — all j have gone. Wliat could I do but accept the sum?" "You might have borrowed from me," replied the other indignantly. "Ah, but you forget how often. I have done that. You, my friend, are poor." "Stuff and nonsense. We actors are up one day and down the next. Our lives are full of that sort of variety, which, I'll admit, is not always charming. As it happens, I am just "signed a three years* engagement with Vilare. Surely you had something else wherewith to raise the wind?" "Judge for yourself," replied Lugard, pointing to the empty walls and floor of the room. Truly it told a tale of poverty of the worst kind. Duvain grunted, and stalking across the room flung open the door o fa cupboard, disclosed a panel picture of the Madonna. *'By Jove, Lugard," he cried with enthusiasm, "this is a gem ! Where on earth did you pick it up?" "It merely represents another disappointment," replied Lugard, with a faint smile. "Upon that once hung all my hopes of fame." "Oh, impossible !" replied Duvain, -with, a friend's candour. "This is not your work. You are clever, but this is ( a bit beyond, you. Besides, it is .old, the colours faded. Now, tell me, where did you pick it up?" "I assure you that I painted the picture myself," replied Lugard, seriously. 'As for age — well, I did it in Milan ten years ago. Good luck enabled me to be of some service to Cardinal L , and he gave me an order to paint a 'Madonna' after Coreggio for his own room. I threw my whole energy into it, and he himself could not have conceived a finer face or mixed more exquisite colours than I had done in that. The wood, part of an old panel taken from a disused door in the Vatican, was given to me by the Cardinal himself. Well, at this juncture my evil star pursued me with, a vengeance. My patron, the Cardinal, was seized with a sudden, illness and died in an hour. Within a week from that date, before I had quite decided what to do with the picture, my studio caught fire. Everything was destroyed except the Madonna, which someone threw out of one window, injuring it, as you see. The effects of the fire and the old wood on which it is painted give it that antique appearance which you admire so much." "Laugh away, my friend," replied Duvain, calmly. "I like it, and, what's more, I think I can find a market for it. Will you give me permission, to sell if?" "You may sell it for anything it will fetch," replied the other, with a short, mirthless laugh. "Give it away if you like. I am tired of battling with fate. I am going to drift with the tide." "Bah ! Your collection differs in nothing from that of a hundred other dealers. It is all commonplace, all modern, nothing old or rare. I was given to understand that Monsieur Corday was himself a connoisseur." Old Jacques shrugged his shoxilders. "What will you, monsieur? The days of great bargains are over. The museums, the national galleries have bought up all the famous works. Is monsieur in search of any special " "No, no," interrupted the other, hastily. I am merely on. the look-out for any article of vertu — china, bronze, or canvas — which I may come across. Good day, Monsieur Corday. I will pay you another visit before loug, and in the meantime, if you come across anything rare, send a messenger to Signor Taglio, at tKe Hotel Metropole." The sign.or was tall and gaunt and old; his face waa a network of lines and wrinkles, his eyes were black and deep set, his hair long and straggling. He looked shrewd and cunning, and his words were few.

Our desire for peace has again paralysed our diplomacy. — Broad Arrow. It is a pity Lord Kosebery should ever try to be serious. — Saturday Review. So little and frail a lantern could not long harbour 6o big a flamo. Dan Leno was more a spirit than a man. — Max Beorbolim, in the Saturday Review. Only mediocrity can be trusted to be always at its best. Genius must always have lapses proportionate to its triumphs. — Mas Beerbohm, in the Saturday Review. Appendicitis has gone out of fashion. It is rather a slur upon one's character for up-to-dateness to suffer from it now. The newest thing to go wrong is the gallduct. — Onlooker.