Puslapio vaizdai

scribed as "taken down in characters from the pulpit by a young maiden." In his autobiography Benjamin Franklin says:

My uncle Benjamin had formed a shorthand of his own, which he taught me. He was very pious and a very great attender of the best preachers which he took down in shorthand, and he had many volumes of them. My father intended to devote me to the service of the Church. My uncle offered to give me his collection of sermons as a sort of stock in trade with which to start.

§ 10

In 1837 Isaac Pitman published a system called "Stenographic SoundHand," which was revived in 1840 and published as "Phonography." So great was the interest displayed in the study of the art that enormous

classes were organized, and in order to avail themselves of the teaching of Pitman, many of these met at six o'clock in the morning, and others continued their work until ten in the evening.

Despite this, however, the use of shorthand did not become general. The difficulty in learning the older type of shorthand was probably the reason.

It was not until the invention of a simpler shorthand that there came the present growing interest in it as an art that should be mastered by everybody, whether they wish to make use of it professionally or otherwise. It is now a recognized subject in the curriculum of nearly every high school in the country. This growth is bound to influence its use as a utility for every one, though it is only with the interesting ancient story of shorthand that we have been here concerned.

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The Hairs of the of the Occasion


Illustrations by George Wright

ENTRILLON stepped aside from before the model-stand, and made a sweeping gesture, quite as if he had been a conjuror who had just produced the model upon it out of thin air. Tall and slim, with the grace of a Grecian athlete, he moved with a swift energy that belied the girlish beauty of his beardless face. It was the face of a beautiful nun, but its eyes were the eyes of a man who knew all things without having done any of them.

"Choose, messieurs," he announced. "Let me see your hands. Who wants the pose?" The great volume of his baritone voice came in arresting contrast to the womanish delicacy of his features and the youthful slimness of his active body. It was even more astounding when he swore, as he could and frequently did, like a veritable Apache.

From the hundred or so students, pushing and crowding about the magic circle left free for the operations of Ventrillon, not a hand went up. Ventrillon had been posing Carmen for over an hour and he was growing impatient. He shrugged his shoulders. "Then pose her yourselves!" he cried, and thrust his hands in his pockets as if about to stride away like a sulky angel.

All that was done for sheer effect. He knew how to manage them. He knew that now they would force him

§ 1

to choose a pose, and that every one of them, in order to relieve themselves of all responsibility by thrusting it upon him, would emphatically vote for it.

"Well, then, Ventri," said one of the "ancients," who had the right to take the initiative, "if she 's not going to stand up, don't let her lean forward like a sack of potatoes. It would be better if she would stand. She collapses the planes."

"I cannot stand, messieurs," broke in Carmen in a strange, mixed accent in which the Italian predominated over a trace of Spanish; "I could not holda the posa."

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"Why not take the other?" suggested an American. The Americans always wanted pretty models. "She is younger."

"What!" screamed Carmen, "you lika better one of those young hussies than me, Carmen! It is true that I am not so young as I was; but regarda the torso, messieurs! The g-r-r-reatest ar-r-rtists of the world have admired that torso!" She flung her shoulders back, and thus threw into prominence a torso as fine as that of the Venus of Melos. She smiled with ineffable pride.

"Like that, Ventrillon!" "C'est ça!" came a roaring chorus of appreciation. But poor Carmen sagged forward again, and all that splendid, firm structure of magnificent planes and surfaces

collapsed into bulges and creases no finer than those of a hot-water bottle or the "ancient's" sack of potatoes. "Carmen," said Ventrillon, "you must hold yourself upright."

"It is my backbone," said Carmen; "it grows tired."

"Then take the other one," they yelled impatiently, and drew aside to make way for a girl who sat waiting on the bench by the door, a slender young girl with the face of a Greuze.

cerise taffeta about her waist, thrust her feet into high-heeled slippers, and descended. She was like a dingy flame. She walked with a mincing step straight up to the younger model, regarded her a moment with unspeakable scorn, shrugged her shoulders, and turned away.

Ventrillon witnessed this exhibition of the terrific jealousy, the overpowering hatred of the superseded for the one who some day would supplant her.

"This Carmen is old, but she is a child," he thought; "I must do something for her. What, I do not know. I am not God. In fact, I am human; and at this moment my humanity demands satisfaction." He leaped upon a stool and shouted with all the fullness

Ventrillon, who stood nearer the model than anybody else, heard a fierce whisper. Carmen had said, "If they choose that cow, I'll kill her!" He looked up. He saw her now, with shoulders back, torso solid, and she carried her head like a queen. "Messieurs," she cried, "I holda the of that astounding baritone: "Mesposa!"

"Who wishes the pose?" called Ventrillon again, and every hand went up.


A model is an article of furniture. While she poses, she is no more than an easel, a stool, the stove, or a plastercast. Without a vestige of clothing, she is no more nude than a chair from which the summer covering has been removed. She has no shame and needs none. A woman of the world in evening clothes is far more indecoA model is only an object. But Ventrillon had suddenly perceived the humanity of Carmen. Her whisper had revealed it to him. saw her as she was, a model grown too old to pose; and he knew that she, too, knew it. As he saw the pride of her past, and the terrible need of her few sous a day to support life, stiffen her weakened back against the pain of the muscle-racking pose, his knowledge hurt him.


Carmen wrapped herself in a dirty, red dressing-gown, knotted a bit of

sieurs, we are all great artists, it is true. Nevertheless, we are human. Let us, then, satisfy our humanity. And what, my friends, is the chief requirement of humanity? The chief requirement of humanity, O ignorant ones, is beer. Allez! Hop! A bock, pardieu!" dieu!" He was followed by at least half of his fellow-students into the bistrot on the other side of the rue du Dragon.

It required great eloquence, delivered without restraint upon that unlimited baritone, to persuade them that he had invited them not to treat them, but to be treated by them, and to prove to them conclusively that it was essential to the success of their careers that each of them contribute a sou toward his refreshment.

This was imperative for the satisfaction of Ventrillon's humanity, for the hand in his trousers-pocket fingered a five-franc piece, two fifty-centime pieces, and not a little sou more. When the final fifty-centime piece

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It was the contest for the hundredfranc prize, and though Ventrillon needed that hundred francs as a hungry lioness needs raw meat, he could not work. His mind was no longer upon Carmen, the object, a beautifully modeled form which he must understand and reproduce, but upon Carmen, the woman who was done for.

Little by little, as the day dragged on in the glass-roofed atelier, hot as a greenhouse, Carmen sagged farther and farther forward, only to draw herself up again and smile a crooked smile of pride against the pain.

He wondered what lay behind it all. What was this woman's life outside the

atelier? He had never occupied himself with such a thought before.

"This Carmen budges always," said


"She does not hold the pose," said another.

"How can you expect me to draw," cried a "nouveau," "when, the moment I have drawn one thing, she is another!"

"That is because you cannot draw at all," said an "ancient," impartially. "Do not blame the model for your mediocrity, young man. But she makes me nervous."

Impatience increased, and the heat, growing intense, irritated them the

Great drops of sweat formed upon Carmen and rolled to the floor. Her painted lips became thin with the pain of the pose, and even her pride could no longer strengthen her spine.

"Carmen," one voiced at last the general discontent, "hold the pose!" Cries went up from all parts of the atelier:

"I am not painting a cinema." "Carmen, you budge!" "She moves always!" "Go get a job with the movies!"

"Messieurs," cried Carmen, "listen. I have posed for Zuloaga, I have posed for Sorolla, I have posed for rich Americans, I have posed for the the g-r-reat R-R-Rodin. If you do not be lieve it, I will show you some sketches he gave me. Did the great masters complain because I moved? No; never-r-r. Never-r of the lifa! They knew how to draw. R-r-rodin often said to me, 'Budge, Carmen; budge a little,' and he was har-r-rd on his models. The trouble is that you are pigs who do not know how to draw. Do you know that I have never-r before debased myself to posa in the schools? No, I am a model for gr-reat ar-rtists; but I have taken pity on you. I give you the privilege of drawing from me, Carmen! Oh, how you are ingrates!" Her speech came fast and furious, and she spat her flying words at them across her knees.

"Oh, your jaw, Carmen!" cried one in disgust. "Shut up! Close your trap!"

"Your jaw, Carmen!" shouted an angry chorus.

"Noma da dieu!" swore Carmen with a mighty oath, "I'll not posa a bit!" She rose and, snatching her dressinggown about herself, started to descend from the stand.

"Carmen, be reasonable!"
"It is for the prize!"

"We have already begun to paint!" A terrible rage took Carmen in its grasp. She swept from one side of the

stand to the other, the red gown swirling at her feet. She stooped to them. She shook her hands at them, fingers wide-spread.

"Bordella da dieu!" she swore, "you say 'your jaw' to me, Carmen? Close your own traps! Pigs! salauds! And you think I will posa? Your jaw, Carmen! And you think I will continue to posa? Your jaw, Carmen! It is necessary to respect me, messieurs; I am the model of gr-reat ar-rtists, and must be respected. Your jaw, Carmen! Go to the devil!" And Carmen sank to the platform and burst into terrible, rasping, heartbreaking weeping.

They were petrified. They stood gaping at her, not knowing what to do.

Ventrillon alone had glimpsed the truth about this woman. "One must seize the occasion by the hairs," said Ventrillon, and thereupon saved the day.

The boy went to the prostrate Carmen and put an arm about her redrobed shoulder.

"My poor Carmen," he said, "I am sorry. It's the nerves, is n't it? No nerves can withstand this heat. Come and talk to me. I, too, am tired."

Carmen gave him a grateful look and saw that he was sincere. She got up willingly and descended. With his arm around her he led her to the bench at the door, saying soft and foolish little words to her as one does to a child.

"Ah, Ventri," said Carmen, "you alone are good. The rest are canaille. It is terrible, Ventri, to losa one's figure. You have seen how mine is going. But that is not my fault. Six weeks in the country, and I should fill outa like a young woman. They hava no right to treata me in such a manner.

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