Democratic Sentinel, Volume 3, Number 8, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 April 1879 — HOW VAN DYCK WON HIS WIFE. [ARTICLE]

HOW VAN DYCK WON HIS WIFE.

In one of the splendidly decorated saloons at St. James’ was assembled a group of young and lovely girls, whose delicate fingers were busily engaged in different kinds of ornamental needlework, which, under their skillful ar rangement, formed bouquets which rivaled nature in the brilliancy of their colors and accuracy of shades. They were the Queen’s maids of honor, and between their gay chattering and busy fingers employed the time while waiting for her rising. The only grave person in the assembly was the Dowager Duchess d’Alby, the chief of the ladies of onor. Among the blooming group the youngest was remarkable for simplicity of dress and the quiet modesty of her whole appearance. Her attire was a dress of black velvet closed to the throat, but of which the skirt, open in front, disclosed an undress of white satin; the sleeves camo just below the elbow and coquettishly disclosed the arm and hand of the most dzzling whiteness. A plaited tucker encircled her graceful neck, on which hung a chain, to which was attached a large cross, and the luxuriant hair, simply parted on the forehead and confined by a large scarf, completed her costume. This was the daughter of one of the most illustrious families of Scotland. Her father, Lord Ruthven, united to princely fortune a pedigree of which he was more proud than of his wealth. Lucy, his danghter.had secretly arrived at the English Court on her appointment to a post in the Queen's household, there to complete the education which had been carefully guided by her father. Retired and simple in her tastes, her mind instinctively sought the sublime in the works of natnro ami art. She excelled in painting, and her genius had created a world of her own in the daily contemplation of the productions of the best, masters, which adorned the galleries of her fatlibr. Paul Veronese, Guido, Rubens were of the number of her friends, and she vowed them eternal gratitude for the light their talents shed on her solitude. The habits and manners of Lucy contrasted strongly with those of her companions, who had been habituated to more independence and liberty. Gentle and timid to excess, she scarcely attempted to answer the sportive and often mischievous sallies of her companions. The large clock in the saloon chimed the hour of 10. All eyes were directed to it, and several voices exclaimed: “He’s very late!” just as a domestic announced, “the painter, Van Dyck.” The announcement caused a general agitation among the smiling group. Each one changed her position on her velvet seat, rearranged her dress, and, composing her countenance, sought to K* vo additional grace to her aspect. The young pupil of Rubens, albeit accustomed to the spirit of beauty, could not suppress a murmur of admiration at finding himself in the midst of this brilliant circle. The old Duchess, supposing the young painter’s embarrassment to be caused by her own imposing appearance, to encourage him addressed him in these words: “lam told that you have talent, young man.” “ Those who have so informed you do me too much honor, madam. Doubtless, they judge me by my intentions; but I have as yet produced nothing worthy of attention.” There was as much confidence and noble pride in the reply of the painter as there had been arrogance and impertinence in the address of the noble dame. Lucy, who possessed the high spirit of her country, was also shocked at the insolent tone of the Duchess, and now blushed with pleasure at the reply of Van Dyck. As her soft eyes rested approvingly on his face ho understood her feelings, and thanked her by a look for her generous sympathy. “ Well, well, we shall see. Her Majesty wishes to renew the ornaments of her chapel; so you will be fully employed. A residence will be assigned you in yonder monastery, where you will copy undisturbed. In summer, also, you shall have a fit residence, besides a pension from the Government. This, I think, is paying an artist pretty well.” “ Art cannot be paid for my Lady Duchess, and, if I purchased the talents 1 < which I aspire, the favors which you boast could not purchase them.” This is all very well—you are proud and we are noble, but, nevertheless, these honors are conditional. You will be chosen painter to the Queen if you succeed in gaining the prize which is offered for the most perfect head of the Madonna.” “ Ah! madam, if the patronage of her Majesty is offered me only on those conditions I shall not obtain it.” “And why not?” “ Because I shall not gain the prize,” replied he, with an expression of sadness which was instantly reflected on the face of Lucy. “ Why do you refuse this honor? Do you fear to fail ? ” “ No, madam ; but how shall I represent as she should be represented the mother of the Savior? Where shall I find a model?” As he pronounced these words his eyes rested on the angelic faoe of Lucy. " I have hitherto

sought in vain the combination of mildness, sweetness and candor which should characterize the Queen of Heaven.” The fire of genius which illuminated the handsome countenance of Van Dyck elicited the admiration of all observers. “But I should imagine that there would be no difficulty in obtaining models of painters.” “ The models which can be obtained for hire are beautiful, without doubt. I have sought in vain for the dignity and purity which I have never seen united but in a noble lady who would disdain to sit to a poor artist.” The animated and ardent glance of Van Dyck embarrassed Lucy; it told her that he had at last found the object his fancy had depicted. The Duchess, however, had not observed it, and “ Who is this noble lady ? ” “ The Virgin herself, madam!” Bowing profoundly and giving a parting glance at Lucy, he added: “If I gain the prize you shall see me again, madam, if not I leave England.” He took immediate possession of his apartments, where he could at the same time paint his Madonna and copy the frescoes for the chapel. With his mind full of the celestial fate he had just seen, he seized his pencil and endeavored to trace her lineaments. But the extreme sensibility so useful to art when time has calmed it was now his chief obstacle. He felt too deeply to succeed in expressing the idea which filled his soul. The day passed in fruitless attempt and the night surprised him, dissatisfied and despondent. In the meantime Lucy had suffered severely for the preference shown her by Van Dyck. The envy and jealousy of her companions found vent in impertinent sarcasm; so that, on separating for the night, her mind was filled with his idea, and, after her nightly prayer, his name was the last on her lips. It was midnight. The heavens shone with a thousand sparkling stars, and a i dark light spread itself on the old abbey, which stood solitary and alone among its ruins. A window of the palace opened, and a shadow passed slowly along the balcony and staircase, crossed along the court and reached the monastery. It would be difficult to say how this figure had left the palace and penetrated so far; but she must have been well acquainted with all the turnings, for in a short time she crossed the long avenue, and, arriving at one end of the galleries of the chapel, she found herself in the painter’s work-room, and, passing lightly on, seated herself, without looking around her, immediately in front of his easel. Oh, surprise! Oh, joy! this being so calm, so beautiful, is Lucy 1 The desponding artist who had been unable to retrace her features on his canvas now beheld a living model before his eyes. What could have induced her to come? What idea could have given her the courage and resolution ? He threw himself on his knees before her, but Lucy, motioning him to rise, pointed to his pencil. Her look penetrated him with a flame so pure that he forgot the real-’ ity of his vision his astonishment seemed to him a want of faith. Transported by his imagination to an ethereal sphere, he seemed above the earth and in the midst of the sublime concerts of angels; he beheld Mary environed by divine rays. He was no longer the powerless artist who had just thrown at his feet his unsuccessful pencil the artist replaced the man. Mute and breathless, inspired by mysterious strength, he seized his palette. His colors gave the form and his soul the life—in a few hours he created the most beautiful and most pure of virgins. When the young girl saw that after tracing her features he was occupied in imparting to his picture the soul which animated him, she rose silently, and. with a calm and assured step, left the monastery by the same road she had come. Van Dyck, with wondering eyes and oppressed breathing, made not the slightest effort to detain her. In his eyes she was no longer mortal, and in her departure he thought he saw the Madonna returning to her native skies. Enchanted by his execution and excitement, he fell asleep in his arm-chair. On awakening, his first thought was to examine the canvas. Transported with joy at his success, he thanked on his knees the angel or woman who had so favored him. In vain he endeavored again to impart the ideality which existed in his imagination. He had so combined the thoughts of the Madonna and of Lucy that he determined to discover the truth, and wrote the following billet to the young girl: “Tbll me if you are indeed an angel; if you do not wish to deprive of his senses the poor artist to whom you have condescended to appear this night, tell me if you are the Virgin or a mortal.” It was a part of the duty of the dowager Duchess to open the billets addressed to the young ladies confided to her charge. What was her astonishment at reading this epistle! “Horror!’’ cried she. “A child of high family to violate her duty in seeking a painter at midnight!” She rang and sent for the guilty one, but her rage redoubled when Lncy, with her customary gentleness, denied all knowledge of the cause of her reproaches. The Duchess, who expected to witness in her great confusion or a candid avowal, would listen to nothing. The alarm was given in the palace and it was decided that Lucy, disgraced, should be sent home to her father. Her prayers were of no avail; a single night of respite was alone accorded her, aud she was compelled to sleep in the apartment of the Duchess to avoid further scandal. At midnight, Lucy rose as before; the Duchess was aroused from her unquiet sleep, and called all the ladies to witness the confirmation of her suspicions. With lighted flambeaux, the Duchess, attended by a numerous suite, followed Lucy, who traversed again the long hall and numerous passages and arrived at the door of the monastery. Her culpability could no longer be doubted, but they followed her even to the paintingroom, where she was already seated before the easel. The noise around her and the brilliancy of the lights awoke her in a fright. She was a somnambulist. Thus unconsciously had she served as a model to the artist, who fully repaid in love what she had given him in renown. He obtained the prize and was loaded down at the court with hon-. ors and riches. A few days afterward there was celebrated at St. Paul’s the union of Van Dyck and Lucy, the daughter of the noble Count Ruthven de Gorry. His Fourth Eagle in a Single Year. Mr. E. Everett Parsons saw an eagle fly down into a flock of ducks and mount with a duck in his claws, on Wednesday last. Getting his gun, he watched the eagle until he perched upon a limb of one of the trees near the house, and, in approaching the tree, he frightened the eagle, which flew away. Seeing this was his only chance, he blazed away and brought down his majesty, killing him at a distance of sixty yards. The eagle measured seven feet and a half from tip to tip of wings. This makes the • fourth eagle has killed in the last year. (M&) .Adfywtiser.