The Equinox (Volume I, Number VI)

III THE BLACK HOUR " DISGUSTING ! " said Ida Pendragon. She was at the Luxem- bourg Gallery, regarding a too faithful portrait of an orator addressing his constituents. She spoke over her shoulder to the long negro, Joe Marie. His eyes rolled, and his hands twitched, and his thick mouth grinned. He seemed to sniff her hair. A pitiable creature—a tamed leopard. All smiles and yes ! yes! to a discourse of whose purport he had noidea. “ Realism l” she went on. " We want truth, but we want beauty too. We don't want what our silly eyes call truth. We want the beauty that is seen by artists’ souls. A photo- graph is a lie because a camera is not a God. And we would rather the truth coloured by the artist’s personality than the lie that his mere eyes tell him. The women of Bougereau and Geréme are more like what the eyes tell one of life than the women of Degas and Manet. I want the truth of Being, not the truth of Form. Do you hear? ” she cried, “ I want truth, I want Truth.” “ I want you,” said Joe Marie. “ We are both in trouble, then,” she smiled back. “And perhaps if we had our wish, we should both be disappointed. Now I am going home to write letters, and if you are good you shall lunch with me to-morrow.” I35