The Red Lily, Complete

She created them, to know what they would say afterward, sure that they would speak and express rare ideas

piano the Sicilian 'O Lola'! His s

carried for thirty years in his pocket, and which was dear to him for the sweetness of the reminiscences and the strength of the good advice that he had received fr

Bell with an e

men, like the old songs of the farmers and artisans, which are even more beautiful than mine, but not more natural. I have pride enough not to want any other servant than myself. T

ecognized M. Gamin, M. Lagrange, M. Schmoll, the Princess Seniavine as a page, and M. Renan on horseback. She was terrified at finding M. Renan everywhere. She led all her ideas back to her little circle of academicians and fashionable people, by an easy turn, which irritated her friend. She recalled in her soft voice the public meetings at the Institute, the lectures at the S

lant' Mada

formerly adored by women, and now celebrated in Tuscany for his studies of agriculture. He pleased the Countess Martin at once. She questioned him on his methods, and on the results he obtained from them. He said that he worked with prudent energy. "The earth," he said, "is like women. The earth does n

te, "we have the air of people

ing for M. Dechartre. He was a little l

like this one, or like any other-without being terror-stricken at the thought of the visitor who might, at any moment, come in? The door of one's room, Madame Marmet, opens on the in

ut feeling his hair stand on end. But Madame Marmet saw the doors of her rooms ope

me Marmet, those whom you call by their terrestrial names have o

ught that misfortune needed to cross th

through walls. It does not always show itself, but it is always there

everely that she should not call

uffer, you know what you must know; you believe what you must believe; you do what you must do; you are what you must

on reached by suffering was a barbarous cruelty, held in horror under the beautiful sky of Italy. When the conversation languished, he prudently sought

sters she had created, and com

speak only figures on tapestries which should say

melody, sang. His voice displayed itself like a peac

met, her eyes fixed

Monsieur Decha

d, with joy on his

omed him with

s, of doors of houses; and he was saying also that misfortune is a very obliging old gentleman. Yo

even gone to bow to his old friend the bronze San Marco, so imposing in his niche on the San M

gone to wait for spring at Fiesole, with Miss Bell. I then had the h

r he had seen again at Ravenna the empresses wearing au

not stopp

ained fixed on the corner of t

id to

oking at th

aside her paper

iting for it. You shall see. It bears a Christ on a cross, between the Virgin and Saint John, the date of 1400, and the arms of Malatesta-Monsieur Dechartre, you are not listening enough. Listen to me attentivel

ounced that din

ing to them Italian dishes. H

oved. Prince Albertinelli praised the artists of that epoch for their universality, for the fervent love th

hem. But he admired

re they worked as artisans. It is there that one may admire their simplicity and their genius. They were ignorant and rude. They had read little and seen little. The hills tha

on preparing varnish and mixing colors. The one who first thought of pasting a canvas on a panel, in order that the pai

seeking to-day. The apprentice tried to work like the master. He had no other ambition than to resemble him, a

ulette. "Nothing is better

id not conceive the future; and their dream did not go beyond their lives. They exercised a powerful will in w

had given him a letter of introduction. He liked to impress upon people the fact that he, the Bohemian and vagabond, had been received by that royal Princess, at

said the Prince, "to

s, she causes the most rigorous etiquette to be observed, so that her grandeur is almost a penance, and every morning she scrubs

tated, with his napkin, a servant scrubbin

ve anterooms, I was at last

e sto

in asked, i

Princess so admirable for her

ood chemist here. The Austrian chemists are not better. He placed on my leg, six months ago, a porous plaster which has not yet come off.' Such are the words that M

he charge, indignantly, and Miss Bell said that Madame Martin was wrong. It w

ject of art, which in that co

stian. I have seen piety and purity only in the images of Fra Angelico, although they are very pretty. The rest, those figures of Virgins and angels, are voluptuous, caressing, and at times pe

be right, she and he; since Savonarola was of the same opinion, a

alcanti disdained the ignorant folk who believed in the immortality of the soul. The following phrase by him was quoted: 'The death of man is exactly similar to that of brutes.' Later, when antique beaut

tial truths, could not penetrate his thick cranium. He was harsh and avariciou

defended Pietro

fulness of the master than from the beauty of that ultramarine in the skies. During all the time that the painter worked in the cloisters at the history of Jesus Christ, the prior kept by his side and presented to him the precious powder in a bag which he never quitted. Pietro took from it, under the saintly man's eyes, the quantity he needed, and dipped his brush, loaded with color, in a cupful of water, before rubbing the wall with it. He used in that manne

at Perugino was avaricious yet honest. Interested people are not a

money they have, and they think less of the money they owe. I did not say that Pietro Vanucci of Perugia was a man without property. I said th

was his duty to return the ultramarine. The rich

, extended his hands for the perfumed water. It came from a vase which Mis

e evil that Madame Martin does or

ter Miss Bell, who took th

m she said, while

sad barbarian, Monsieur Choulette. You are full of pity for those who are in need, and you have no pity for divine beauty, which you exile from this world. You expel beauty, Monsieur Choulette; you repudiate her, nude and in tears. Be certain of this: she will not remain on earth

rring his coffee. "That is the phrase the harsh Roman app

eauty, sustained, led, animated her admirations, at times prompted her with caress

terraces; he saw already the light playing on her neck and in her hair; the shadow of laurel-trees falling on her ey

, the charming frankness of the lines which every one of her movements created. He liked, he said,

that men were capable of feeling only the effect of a gown, without understanding the ingenious details of it. Some men who knew gowns disgusted her by their effeminate air. She was resigned to the appreciation of women only, and these had in

t gowns, Monsi

dress as well as, and even better, than ever. He found no pleasure in seeing packages o

n a tone a litt

she gives to artists. She dresses for a few hours, and the care she has taken is not lost. We must, like her, ornam

lli, "how do you think a mauve waist studded

I have written my finest poems on cigarette paper. They vanished e

ever lost a line of his writing. Dechartre was more sincere. He w

art must be accomplished in honor of the dead and with the thought of those who are to come after us. Thus we shall participate in

tre re

gh for me to live

o return the next day to escort Mad

, was thinking, seeing float confusedly before her the images of her new life: Vivian Bell and her bells, her pre-Raphaelite figures, light as shadows, ladies, isolated knights, indifferent among pious scene

had felt a deep blow struck within her in the depth of her being. She had a sudden vision of Robert, his gun under his arm, in the woods. He walked with firm and regular step in the shadowy thicket. She could not see his face, and that troubled her. She bore him no ill-will. She was not discontented with him, but with herself. Robert went straight on, w

ubtless; but he was not susceptible, not ingenious,

ly, at the Offices, a picture that Dechartre liked. It was a decapitated head of the Medusa, a work wherein Leonardo, the sculptor said, had expressed the minute profu

separated them. She did not know what had become of him. She had not seen his face, and that frightened her. She awoke and heard at the open window a sad, monotonous