AN ARTIST'S STORY.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXI, Issue 24, 13 October 1893, Page 23

AN ARTIST'S STORY.

(From Tit-Bits )

It's 20 years since that time. I was a light-hearted boy then — a boy of 20. I lived in Paris, and I studied Art. B.ingan artißt I always Bpelt Art with a capital A. I have other things to think cf b.-sides Art now. I have to think of painting what the public will buy. I have to make it pay— l have made it pay.

But it is not about myself I want to talk ; it is of Orson — of Orson tbe Hirsute, Orson the Unrelenting, Orbon the Hater of Art, Of course his name wasn't Orson. His real name was Jobinard, and he lived at the corner of the Rue de l'Atjcienoe Comedie, did this uncompromising grocrr, this well-to-do Esau of the Quartier Latin, this man who hated Art, artiste, and, above all, Art students with a peculiar ferocity.

Alcibiade Jobinard bad reaeon to dislike Art students. They had a nasty way of getting into his debt, but Jobinard took the bull by the horoB — he gave no more credit.

" Ma foi t " be would say with a supercillious sneer, " Credit is dead, my good young Bir. He doesn't live here any looger. He is dead and buried."

And then one had to go away empty. It had been so handy in the good old days just to run into JobinarJ's for whatever one wanted, and — well, " btick it up." You ate yoa coald get an entire meal at Jobinard's, one of those little bham boneless bams ; tbey've quite enough on them for four. Tinned provisions in inexhaustible variety, wines from 75 centimes upward, liqueurc, desert even in tre shape of cheeses of all Borts, almonds and raising, grapes and peaches It was excessively convenient. When one was hard up, one dealt with Jobinard, and had it put down to the account. When one was in fund?, one dined and breakfasted at a restaurant and left Jobinard's severely alone.

But now all was changed. Mdlle. Amenaide was an uncommonly pretty girl, and we were all desperately head over hee'e in lo»e with her. By "we" I mean the Art studentp, but of all the Art studeniß that were desperately ia love with Mdlle. AmenaideJDaburoD, the sculptor, was the most demonstrative. Jobinard hated Diburon with a deadly hatred because Daburoa never expended more than ten centimes at a time. It was tne society of Mi lie. Amenaide that Daburon hungered for, and he got it because he was enti led to it. being a purchaser.

Mdlle. Amenaide was Jobinard's cashier. It wa9 a large shop, and there were Beveral assistants, but all moneys were pail to Mdlle Amenaide, the cashier, who sat in a glass box undernea h the great chiming clock.

Ddburon, the sculptor, would enter tbe shop, nod in a cavalier manner to Jobinard, as though he were the very dust beneath his feet ; then he would look at Mdlle. Amenaide, iaise|his hat with his right hand, place his left upon his heart and make her a low bow ; then he would pretend to blow her a kiss from the tips of his fi igers, as though he were a circus rider ; then he would take up a box of matches or some other peculiarly inexpensive article.

" Have tne kindness to wrap tnat up carefully for me in paper," he would remark in a patronising manner. Tnen he would march up to Mdlle. Amenaide wuh the air of aj Alexander — you cuu d almost hear the tune of " S;e the Conquering Hero Comes " playing as you Baw him do it. He would pay bis ten centimes and woisper some compliment into the ear of Mdlle. Amenaide. Then he would receive his purchase from the hand of M. Jobinard in a magnificent and condescending manner. Then he would strike a ridiculous attitude of exaggerated admiration and stare at the unhappy grocer as though herirere one of the seven wonders of tbe world.

" What a bust 1 " or " What arms I " or "What muscularity I " he would say, and then he would heave a nigh aod swagger out of the shop.

Jobinard, who was a particularly ugly, thickset, hairy little man, used at first rather to resent these references to his personal advantages. His four assistants and his cashier would titter, and Jobinard used to blnsb. but at length the poor feilow fell into the snare laid for him by the xillain Djbnron.

He got to believt himself the perfect type of manly beauty. When a Frenchman has once come to this conclusion, there is no folly of which he is not ready to be guilty.

Tbe fact is, Daburon had passed the word round. The Art students male and female, invariably stared appreciatively at the little, hairy, thickset Jobinard as though he were tbe glass of fashion and tbe mould of form Jobmard now began to give himself airs. He swaggered about tbe shop, be exhibited himself in the doorway, he posed and attitudinised all day long, and then we began to make it r«uher warm for Jobinard.

" Ah, M. Jobinard, if you were only a poor m»r, what a thing it wouU be for Art 1 Ah, if we only had you to sit to us I We are going to do Ajax defying the lightning next week. What an Ajax you would make, Jobinard I "

" You really ouebt to sacrifice yourself in the interests of Art," another would remark. " You'd ruin the professional model. You would indeed."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Jobinard would reply, with his hairy, baboon-like face grinning with delight, " a too-benevolent beavin haa mideme tbe man I am," and then he struck an attitude. '• What legs I " we all cried in a sort of chorus. " Ab, M. Jobinard," I said pleadingly, " If you would only permit us to photograph your lower extremities."

" Never, gentleman, never 1 " replied the infatuated Jobinard ; ' I care nothing for Art. Besides, it would be almost indecent ; I could never look into a print shop without coming face to face with the evidences of my too fatal beauty." From that day Jobinard ceased to wear his professional apron, It was about a week after this that Daburon, I and another man presented ourselves at Jobinard's establishment. We raised our hats to Jobinard as one man, we smiled, and then we bowed. The hairy little grocer aeemed considerably astonished at oar performance. " M. Jobinard," eaid Dabnron, who was our spokesman, '• you see before yon a deputation of three, representing the Art students of Paris, some 500 in number. We have come to beg a favour. We know, alas I too well, that it would be absolutely impossible to j induce a man of ycur position in society to sit to us but, M. Jobi- [ nard, a man possessing tbe lower extremities of a Hercules, a Farnese Hercules'. M. Jobinard— and I need hardly remtnd you that Hercules was a demi-god — has bis duties as well as his privilege?. Tnose magnificent lower extremities of his (.re not bis own — they belong to the public.

' Such lower extremities as yours, monsieur, are not for an age, but for ail time. They must be banded down in marble to posterity. The legs of Jobinard mast become a household word in Art. To refuse our request, monsieur, would be a cr.me. You would retain the copyright of your own legs of course. They would be multiplied in plaster of Paris and become a marketable commodity over the whole civilised world. Such muscles as these," said Daburon, respectfully prodding and patting the unfortunate Jobioard, '• must not be loßt to the ariistic worW. What a biceps, what a deltoid, my friends 1 " he continued. " What a magnificent development of tbe sternoclidomastoideus 1 "

The wretched Jjbinard, blown out with pride, seemed like the frog in the fable, ready to burbt. And then he proudly drew up tbe leg of bi9 nether garment to the knee and exhibited a muscular brown limb as hairy as that of an ape. "You will not refuse us 1 'we cried in chorus. " You will not dare to refuse ls," added Daburon. •' Gentlemen, I yield 1 I see that Art cannot get on without me. When would you like to begin ? " said poor Jobinard.

" To-morrow at noon," answered Daburon as he shook handi with the little grocer reverentially, and then we took our leave. N^tdey a long procession filed into the shop. " This way, gentlemen, thi9 way, if you pleas^," said M. Jobinard, as he indicated the was to bis back yard.

We must have been at least thirty. Everybody brought something ; there were four sacks of plaster, some paving stones, bits of broken iroc, bricke, and enougo material to have walled up Jobinard ahve. A great ma.s of moist plaster was prepared, then the limbs that bad become necessary to the world of Art were denuded of their covering and placed in the moist miss, then large quantities of the liquid plaster was poured on them, then the scraps of old iron, the bars, tne paving stonts and the bricks were carefully inserted and built up into the still soft mass which wa9 at least a yard high and a yard thick.

" Dou't move, dear M. Jobinard," cried Daburon, " the plaster is about to set. We shall return in half an hour, by which time the moulds will be complete."

M. JobinaH, seated in the centre of his back yard, bolt upright bowed to each of us as we passed oat,

In about a quarter of an hour Jobinard be^an to feel distinctly uncomfortable. " Tht moulds seem getting terribly heavy," he Baid to one of his assistants who kept him company, " They seem on fire, and I can't more."

At that moment tbe processioD, beaded by Daburon, filed once more into the courtyard.

" It's getting painful, gentlemen," said Jobinard. " I feel as though I were being turned to stone."

•' Try and bear it bravely. Nothing is attained in this world, dear monsieur, without a ceitain amount of physical suffering. It will be set aa bard as marble in a few minutes. We will obtain tbe necessary appliances for yonr release at once Jobinard. Remain perfectly quiet till our return,.' said Daburon, rather Buavely.

And then we each of us kissed onr finger tips solemnly to poor Jobinard, and we filed oat once more. It was tbe last day of tbe term at the Art school, and we were all off for our holidays.

For two hours Jobinard waited for us in an agony of fear ; then he sent for a stonemason, who dug h;m out. They bad to get the platter off with a hammer. We had, by the direction of the demon Daburon, omited to oil the shapely limbs of our victim. Poor Jobinard,