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 OoroMB 22,  1889.]  THE  SWINEHERD  PAINTER. 337

high degree  of  talent. Even genius — who  knew? — might be  lurking  there! What should  he  do? Should he  leave  this  embryo  artist  to  sink  down into the  sordid  life  of  the  boors  around  him,  or should  he  take  him  with  him  and  give  him  the training his  powers  seemed  to  demand? He pondered long  and  profoundly,  at  length  he said: —

“I think your  son  has  a decided  talent,  my  good woman. Should you  like  him  to  be  brought  up  as an  artist?”

“Ah, sir,  that  is  what  a painting  gentleman  who came out  from  Antwerp  in  the  spring  said; but we are  too  poor  to  think  of  that. Heinrich must get his  living  as  he  can. Here are  some  of  the drawings the  gentleman  showed  him  how  to  do,  all in colours,  much  prettier  than  those  black scratches, but  he  has  no  paints  now.”

The Prince  turned  over  the  water-colour  draw- ings the good  mother  reached  down  from  the  shelf where they  lay  between  a jar  of  onions  and  a round cheese, and  decided  at  once  what  he  would  do. Heinrich should  accompany  him  immediately  to Paris,  and  he  would  take  the  care  of  his  future destiny upon  himself. In a few  words  he  explained his plan  to  la  Mfere  Kaysar,  who  wept,  half  with joy that  her  son  should  have  such  advantages offered to  him,  half  with  grief  at  the  idea  of parting  with  him. But she  refused  to  decide  either way, till  Heinrich  himself  had  been  spoken  to  on the  subject  — for  he  had  good  sense  enough,  when he could  be  got  to  think  about  anything  besides his scribbling.

A neighbour’s son  was  induced  by  the  bribe  of  a few  sous  to  take  Heinrich’s  place  as  swineherd  for an hour,  while  he  came  to  hear  the  result  of  the consultation upon  his  destiny. His bright  blue eyes sparkled,  and  he  showed  all  his  white  teeth  in a grin  of  enthusiastic  delight  when  the  Prince offered to  take  him  to  Paris — clothe,  feed,  watch over him,  and,  above  all,  have  him  educated  as  a painter.

“O, sir,”  he  said,  “will  you  be  really  so  good? Shall I indeed  learn  to  draw? O, I am  so  happy, so happy! Get me  my  Sunday  clothes,  mother, — let me  get  ready  at  once!”

“You are  very  glad  to  go  then,  Heinrich,  and leave your  poor  old  mother?”  said  la  Mfere  Kaysar, putting her  apron  to  her  eyes.

“I forgot I must  leave  you,”  said  the  boy,  his honest heart  swelling  at  the  prospect  of  abandon- ing his home,  which  had  not  before  entered  into his calculations. “I couldn’t stand  never  seeing you or  Susette,”  he  went  on,  bursting  into  tears as he  spoke. * ‘Thank you  kindly,  sir,  for  your offer, but  I must  not  leave  my  mother. ”

The Prince  explained  that  he  had  no  wish  to separate  them  wholly,  gave  the  mother  his  card, and recommended  her  to  confer  with  her  friends, while he  himself  put  up  at  an  inn  in  the  neighbour- hood.

The result  of  the  deliberation  between  la  Mfcre Kaysar and  the  good  curd,  whom  she  consulted  in the  matter,  was  that  Heinrich’s  not  very  extensive wardrobe was  packed  up  in  a cotton  handkerchief, and he  and  his  mother  came  at  the  time  appointed to the  Three  Crowns,  where  the  Prince  was reposing after  such  a dinner  as  a way-side  inn could furnish. They gratefully  accepted  his noble offer,  and  he  renewed  his  promises  of  a pension  to  the  mother,  and  of  watchful  care  for the son; and  they  set  off  that  evening  on  their journey to  Paris.

Arrived there,  the  little  rustic  was  suitably dressed, and  then,  through  the  Prince’s  influence, permission was  gained  for  him  to  study  at  the Academy. As he  was  so  young  he  only  spent  a part  of  the  day  there; the  rest  was  passed  at  a school,  that  his  general  education  might  be advanced. He slept  at  the  Prince’s  house,  whose heart he  completely  won  by  his  amiable  disposition, good sense,  and  the  quickness  with  which  he gained  the  address  and  manners  of  those  about him. In the  summer  he  returned  to  his  village for a few  weeks; his  mother  was  delighted  to  see him so  strong  and  tall,  and  exactly  like  a great gentleman, as  she  said; but  she  could  not  see  any improvement in  his  drawing; his  studies  from  the antique, heads  with  every  kind  of  expression,  and legs and  arms  in  all  imaginable  attitudes,  only reminded her  of  an  hospital, — they  were  not  half so pretty  as  the  drawings  he  used  to  make  of Susette  and  the  baby,  or  the  groups  round  the village well.

He visited  her  every  year,  till  he  went  to  Italy and other  countries  for  the  purpose  of  studying his art. Long ere  he  returned,  he  could  earn money enough  to  make  her  an  allowance,  which caused her  to  pass  for  a rich  woman  in  her  village.

When he  revisited  Paris,  and  his  generous  pro- tector, a very high  place  was  offered  him  in  the Academy; but  he  would  not  accept  it  without first consulting  the  Prince,  and  to  him  he  expressed a wish to  return  to  Belgium.

“Do not  think  me  ungrateful,”  he  said;  “I will agree  to  any  plan  you  propose;  you  have been as  a father  to  me,  and  I will  render  you always the  willing  obedience  of  a child  But  I must  tell  you  frankly,  I should  like  to  dedicate what talent  God  has  given  me  to  my  country,  to be  ranked  among  the  Flemish  painters. But I put  myself  in  your  hands.”

The Prince  admired  the  patriotic  feelings  of  the young man,  and  gave  a willing  assent  to  his return. He settled  in  Antwerp,  and  became  the head of  the  Academy  there. His distinguished manners, handsome  figure,  and  courteous  address, soon gained  him  the  entree  into  the  best  circles. No one  could  ever  have  imagined  that  the  graceful, polished gentleman,  who  took  his  place  so  easily and naturally  among  the  highest  in  the  land,  had ever been  a poor  peasant  boy. Not that  he  sought to conceal  his  origin; far  from  it,  he  was  very fond of  relating  the  story  of  his  early  poverty  and his patron’s  munificence; but  his  was  one  of  those natures to  whom  refinement  is  natural; his  artist mind assimilated  to  itself  as  its  proper  aliment  all that was  graceful  and  beautiful  He  married  a lady  of#  good  family,  who  brought  her  husband, not only  a considerable  fortune,  but  the  more valuable gifts  of  a noble  mind  and  amiable temper.

Heinrich Kaysar  lives  happy  and  respected; and with our  hearty  wishes  that  so  he  may  long remain, we  will  close  this  true  story  of  the Swineherd Painter  of  Antwerp. E. Acton.