Page:The Clergyman's Wife.djvu/48

His studio was somewhat bare. A crimson curtain divided the apartment. As the golden rays of morning began to illumine the chamber, Andrea was roused from his reverie. He rose and bolted the door, a precaution always taken before that curtain was thrown aside. Now, with eager movements, he flung back the crimson folds and again sank into his seat. As he contemplated the treasure disclosed, what rapidly varying expressions chased each other over his countenance, like a changing panorama fitfully reflected in some pellucid mirror.

Before him stood a marble wonder, indeed! The plaster model was partially visible in the background. In general, sculptors do not themselves handle the chisel, except to give a few finishing and embellishing touches. The laborious mechanical duty of copying in marble, by close measurement from the plaster cast, is usually entrusted to skilful workmen; but Andrea felt as though his exquisite creation would have been profaned if other eyes rested upon it, other hands touched it during its incompletion. He had called his Mary into existence out of the snowy block himself. Truth to say, he had manipulated as lightly and tenderly as though he feared the frigid stone were gifted with sensation; as though he thought, each moment, that it would pulsate with life. Pygmalion looked not more enamored of the loveliness that had started into shape beneath his touch than