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Providence And The Guitar
by
“Yes,” returned the undergraduate, sitting down, “it’s rather nice than otherwise when once you’re used to it; only it’s devilish difficult to get washed. I like the fresh air and these stars and things.”
“Aha!” said Leon, “Monsieur is an artist.”
“An artist?” returned the other, with a blank stare. “Not if I know it!”
“Pardon me,” said the actor. “What you said this moment about the orbs of heaven – “
“Oh, nonsense!” cried the Englishman. “A fellow may admire the stars and be anything he likes.”
“You have an artist’s nature, however, Mr.- I beg your pardon; may I, without indiscretion, inquire your name?” asked Leon.
“My name is Stubbs,” replied the Englishman.
“I thank you,” returned Leon. “Mine is Berthelini – Leon Berthelini, ex-artist of the theatres of Montrouge, Belleville, and Montmartre. Humble as you see me, I have created with applause more than one important ROLE. The Press were unanimous in praise of my Howling Devil of the Mountains, in the piece of the same name. Madame, whom I now present to you, is herself an artist, and I must not omit to state, a better artist than her husband. She also is a creator; she created nearly twenty successful songs at one of the principal Parisian music-halls. But, to continue, I was saying you had an artist’s nature, Monsieur Stubbs, and you must permit me to be a judge in such a question. I trust you will not falsify your instincts; let me beseech you to follow the career of an artist.”
“Thank you,” returned Stubbs, with a chuckle. “I’m going to be a banker.”
“No,” said Leon, “do not say so. Not that. A man with such a nature as yours should not derogate so far. What are a few privations here and there, so long as you are working for a high and noble goal?”
“This fellow’s mad,” thought Stubbs; “but the woman’s rather pretty, and he’s not bad fun himself, if you come to that.” What he said was different. “I thought you said you were an actor?”
“I certainly did so,” replied Leon. “I am one, or, alas! I was.”
“And so you want me to be an actor, do you?” continued the undergraduate. “Why, man, I could never so much as learn the stuff; my memory’s like a sieve; and as for acting, I’ve no more idea than a cat.”
“The stage is not the only course,” said Leon. “Be a sculptor, be a dancer, be a poet or a novelist; follow your heart, in short, and do some thorough work before you die.”
“And do you call all these things ART?” inquired Stubbs.
“Why, certainly!” returned Leon. “Are they not all branches?”
“Oh! I didn’t know,” replied the Englishman. “I thought an artist meant a fellow who painted.”
The singer stared at him in some surprise.
“It is the difference of language,” he said at last. “This Tower of Babel, when shall we have paid for it? If I could speak English you would follow me more readily.”
“Between you and me, I don’t believe I should,” replied the other. “You seem to have thought a devil of a lot about this business. For my part, I admire the stars, and like to have them shining – it’s so cheery – but hang me if I had an idea it had anything to do with art! It’s not in my line, you see. I’m not intellectual; I have no end of trouble to scrape through my exams., I can tell you! But I’m not a bad sort at bottom,” he added, seeing his interlocutor looked distressed even in the dim starshine, “and I rather like the play, and music, and guitars, and things.”
Leon had a perception that the understanding was incomplete. He changed the subject.
“And so you travel on foot?” he continued. “How romantic! How courageous! And how are you pleased with my land? How does the scenery affect you among these wild hills of ours?”
“Well, the fact is,” began Stubbs – he was about to say that he didn’t care for scenery, which was not at all true, being, on the contrary, only an athletic undergraduate pretension; but he had begun to suspect that Berthelini liked a different sort of meat, and substituted something else – “The fact is, I think it jolly. They told me it was no good up here; even the guide-book said so; but I don’t know what they meant. I think it is deuced pretty – upon my word, I do.”