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Ellustrated Article.

LAUTREC THE PAINTER;
A PROVENÇAL LEGEND.
For the Olio,

"When haughty guilt esults with impious joy,
Mistake shall blast or accident destroy :
Weak man, with erring rage, may throw the dart,
But Heaven shall guide it to the guilty heart!"

Ir nature had given to Count Laurent Chevillion a rough and unprepossessing exterior, she had, at the same time, moulded his disposition to fit it for a form which it was impossible to believe could belong to an amiable or virtuous being. His stature was large and commanding; his legs muscular, but ill-shaped; his chest ample; and the lineaments of his countenance, at least such as were visible through a thick beard and moustachios of raven blackness, at once forbidding and repulsive. His disposition was sullen, morose and sanguinary, and but few of his neighbours ventured to be upon VOL. IX.

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terms of intimacy with him.

His conduct towards his dependants was arbitrary and cruel; to offend him was to provoke inevitable destruction, and only the most reckless and desperate were to be found among his household.

Chevillion was, in fact, the most unamiable noble in all Provence, and happy it was for those who lived near his estate that his time was chiefly occupied in the chase-a recreation he seemed to prefer to all others. If, how ever, there was one being who could mollify the heart of the fierce Count, it was his daughter, his only child,-as fair a maid as ever formed the subject of the countless lays for which her country has been so famed. But the beauty of the Lady Isaura was not her only attraction; as if to perfect the contrast, her disposition was as gentle and amiable as her father's was harsh and cruel, and it was a matter of astonishment to all that a being so mild and good could be the daughter of one of such opposite qualities. Carefully

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watched by the jealous eye of her father, who had been left a widower upwards of five years, and who doated on his child, though he appeared to sympathise with no other earthly being, the Lady Isaura rarely left the chateau, and when she did quit it for a time, it was always in company with her stern parent. A circumstance, however, occurred that tended to relieve the monotonous life she was leading. It chanced that as the Count was one day abroad on a hunting excursion, he met, in one of the romantic dells on his estate, with a young artist, who was so busily engaged in making a sketch of the surrounding scenery, that he did not observe the approach of the Count, until Chevillion rode up to the spot where he sat. Startled at his unlooked-for appearance, and taking his visitor for a person of title, the young man sprung to his feet, and saluted the Count with a profound obeisance. The haughty noble returned the salute, and enquired the name of the young artist.

"My name, said the youth, "is Lautrec du Biez; Geneva is my native city, but I longed to see the land of which so much has been said and sung in times gone by."

"You are a cunning limner," observed the Count, looking at the sketch in progress. "Have you much skill in portraiture? I would shew thee a fair subject for thy pencil at my chateau which thou see'st yonder."

"You may command me, my lord," replied the artist, " and I will do my poor endeavour to please you; but I must to Avignon to-night-to-morrow I shall be proud to wait on you."

"Be it so, then," said the Count, turning his horse's head, "I shall expect you by mid-day."

The youth bowed, and Chevillion, with a grim smile, which he intended should be conciliating, rode off to join his attendants, who were waiting at some distance, leaving the young artist overjoyed at the prospect of a lucrative engagement with, and the patronage of, a man of such consequence.

At noon on the following day, Lautrec arrived at the chateau, a gloomy structure, erected in the twelfth century, but repaired and modernized in after ages. Its base was washed by the rapid waters of the Rhone, and a deep fosse surrounded the whole building, which was partly covered by ivy, the growth of many years. The young painter paused for a moment on the drawbridge, to indulge his love of the picturesque,

and then entered by the large gothic gate, in which the huge portcullis grinned like a row of gigantic teeth.

"Ah me!" sighed the youth, as he reached the court-yard, in which little was seen to attract the attention of the visitor," the days of song and romance are gone, and in this dull chateau, which perhaps once echoed to the strains of Brulez or Jacques de Chison, naught now is heard but the blast of its lord's hunting-horn !"

"And what then!" said a voice near him, "wouldst thou quarrel with that, Monsieur ?"

Lautrec turned quickly round, and beheld a square-built man, whose physiognomy was the very reverse of prepossessing. His swarthy complexion, hooked nose, and coarse features, added to a disagreeable squint, gave to his countenance a most sinister expression. The painter at first recoiled from this ominous looking personage, who was no other than the Count's huntsman, Gaubert; but, judging it prudent to dissemble a little, though he could ill conceal the disgust he felt, he enquired for the Count.

"You will find him in the second chamber of that tower," said Ganbert; "he bade me send you thither."

Lautrec was about to proceed there, when the huntsman, seizing his arm in a familiar manner, continued—

"Harkee, Monsieur, no talking of Trouvères and love ditties-my master likes them not; our music, as thou saidest but now, is of a rougher fashion."

He was proceeding in the same strain when Lautrec, disengaging his arm, bounded across the court-yard, and ascended the stairs of the turret to which the huntsman had pointed.Here he found the Count sitting in a large high-backed arm-chair, and playing with a hawk which was perched on his hand.

"You are punctual," said Chevillion, "I love the man who respects the time of others. Beshrew me, you are firmly set, and would make a proper man-atarms."

The Count spoke truly, Lautrec was indeed a comely figure; his height exceeded that of most men, and his broad, though well made, shoulders attested his great bodily strength; yet such was the symmetry of his frame, that the most scrupulous could not characterize it as rough or clownish; whilst his countenance, expressive of frankness and good temper, had in it a slight dash

of hauteur, which added to the dignity of his appearance. The young painter blushed deeply on hearing himselfthus flattered by the Count, who enquired why he had adopted such a profession? "I had ever a love for the arts, my Lord," said Lautrec," and in happier days it proved my greatest pleasure. My father fell in the service of the Prince of Condé, in whose cause he had expended the whole of his patrimony.'

"I should have chosen a more stirring employment, "said Chevillion," an I had thy frame; but, fah! you are right; your man of valour now fighteth for scars and gashes only, since your roystering Rutter or Lanznecht might be had to cut throats at per guilder.Follow me, young man; I will shew thee this rare piece of workmanship, of which I would fain see thy representation."

He rose from his seat, and opening a door passed through a long passage, and arriving at another, struck on it with his knuckles. A waiting-woman appeared and admitted the Count, who beckoned Lautrec to follow him into the room. Here sat a young female, whose dress and mien proclaimed her rank: she was busily engaged with her women in embroidering a piece of tapestry, but rose on the entrance of her father, and offered her cheek, which the Count brushed with his huge moustaches, and turning to Lautrec, intro duced him to his fair daughter. It was arranged that the beautiful Isaura should sit for her portrait on the following day, and Lautrec, until the evening came, found in the Count's library abundant amusement.

The young painter rose early the next morning, and betook himself to a romantic spot in the neighbourhood, which he began to sketch, when he was startled at a voice behind him, Hastily turning round, his eye fell on the burly figure and ominous physiognomy of Gaubert, who, grinning a ghastly smile, gave him "good morrow." Lautrec returned the salute with a slight inclination of the head, and continued to work at his sketch; but the huntsman would not be foiled.

"Why, how now ?" he cried"your's is a cold greeting, Monsieur. 'S'death! you do not hold yourself too high for me, who am the Count's huntsman."

The bullying tone with which this was uttered somewhat disconcerted Lau

trec. He dreaded a quarrel with such a ruffian merely because he was a servant of the Count's, who might take it ill, while at the same time he wished to shew the intruder that he could not insult him with impunity, he therefore replied carelessly

"I came not here to meet acquaintances, good fellow, and I would wish now to be alone."

"Mass!" exclaimed the enraged Gaubert, "dost thou fellow me! Know that I esteem myself a better man than thee and thy whole tribe, who are a race of thieves

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He was proceeding in this strain when the painter interrupted him.

"Insolent hireling!" said he, his blood rising at this insult, "get thee gone from my sight, or I may forget thy base birth, and punish thee for thy daring!"

The huntsman champed his teeth with fury on hearing these words; he paused for a moment, and then unsheathed his hanger.

"Look to thyself," he cried, rushing towards Lautrec-" draw, boy, and take thy last look at sun and sky."And suiting the action to the word, he struck at the painter with all his force.

Lautrec had not time to unsheath his weapon, but, stepping lightly on one side, he avoided the blow, and ere the huntsman had recovered himself, he closed with him, threw him violently to the ground, and wrenched the hanger from his grasp. Had the painter been merely a spectator, instead of an actor, in this scene, he might have been furnished with an excellent subject for his pencil. The figures in the ancient paintings of Saint Michael and his enemy, the Arch-fiend, present not a more perfect contrast to each other than did Lautrec and his brutal adversary.— Gaubert lay foaming with rage beneath the foot of his victor, whose elegant figure, noble countenance, and long auburn hair, served to make the burly frame, uncouth visage, and black curly locks of the huntsman appear more to disadvantage. Gaubert struggled hard to rise, but the foot of the painter prevented it, and perceiving him endeavour to reach the hilt of his dagger, Lautrec, for the first time, unsheathed his sword.

"Minion!" cried he, " desist! if thou offerest any shew of resistance, I will smite off thy right hand."

"Let me rise, then-take thy foot from my throat,"growled the huntsman.

"Swear," replied his antagonist, "that thou wilt cease to molest me, or, by Heaven, I will stab thee as thou liest!"

As he uttered this threat, he brought the point of his sword in contact with the prostrate ruffian's throat. Gaubert gnashed his teeth with rage, but the naked weapon of his adversary gleamed before his eyes, and he reluctantly took the oath required of him. The young painter suffered him to rise, and the huntsman, recovering his legs, shook himself, picked up his hanger, which had in the struggle flown some paces from the spot, sheathed it, and plunged into a neighbouring brake to hide his shame, muttering as he went curses upon the youth by whom he had been so roughly handled. Lautrec, much chagrined at this rencontre, returned to the chateau immediately, and shortly after commenced the portrait of the Lady Isaura.

Reader, if thou hast ever sketched the features of a beautiful woman, thou wilt readily imagine the emotion of the young painter when tracing the likeness of one of the fairest maidens in France. Lautrec had painted the peasant beauties of Italy, and his own country, and not a few dames of quality, but Isaura was the realization of his fondest dreams he had never beheld a face and figure at once so beautiful and winning. He pursued his delightful task, wondered and loved, without dreaming for a moment of the danger of encouraging his passion. A life so secluded, with so few opportunities of observing the youth of her country, exposed Isaura to the same danger; she began by admiring the personal comeliness of the painter, and ended where hearts as young and as susceptible as her own are sure to end. A few days intercourse ripened their mutual regard into love.

The completion of the portrait was, of course, delayed, the work of one day was obliterated the next, and excuses were not wanting. Love not only makes lovers blind to the faults of each other, but renders them insensible to the approach of danger. Our fond couple had quickly cultivated an acquaintance, and dreamt that it was unknown to all but themselves. But they erred. Lautrec's enemy, the wily and malignant ruffian Gaubert, had watched him narrowly, and waited but for an opportunity to crush him. He had, through the treachery of one of the Lady Isaura's maids, become acquaint

ed with their evening meetings in a small apartment which the Count seldom entered; and one morning, as Chevillion rode out to the chase, he threw out some hints for his master's ear, which the Count heard in silence, but appeared not to notice. Gaubert was, therefore, agreeably surprised when, about mid-day the Count leapt from his horse, and sitting down on the fragment of a broken column, by the side of a small spring, desired him to be more explicit.

"Gaubert," said he, "I would fain hear more of this; think'st thou this painter loves-pshaw! I would say dares to

"Dares!" interrupted the huntsman, "what will not such as he dare, my lord? the prize is worth some risk, and

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"Villain!" cried Chevillion, starting on his feet, and clutching his sword.

"I am your vassal, my lord," replied Gaubert, "and you may sacrifice me in your anger, but I have done my duty; I say your house is dishonoured by this beggar painter.'

The Count uttered a volley of imprecations against the young painter, when he was again interrupted by the huntsman.

"My lord," said the wily villain, "command but this arm, and the cause of your anger shall not look upon tomorrow's sun.'

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"Thou art a fool," said the Count, "he would prove thy master: I must deal with him myself;" (Gaubert shrugged his shoulders, and gulped the rebuke, bitter as it was, for it reminded him of the morning's scuffle,) "Call together my people, and proceed homeward."

As they returned to the chateau, the huntsman took care to possess his master with all that had come to his knowledge respecting the lovers; and the Count, after dispatching a hasty meal, retired to his private room, resolving to wait the appointed time, and be himself a witness of the truth of what he had heard from Gaubert.

Evening came, and with it the hour at which the lovers usually met. Chevillion, swallowing a large goblet of wine, proceeded to the apartment, and stationed himself at the door, listening attentively. He heard voices in earnest conversation, but in an inaudible tone, and he doubted not but that the guilty pair had met; yet he resolved to wait and receive confirmation, lest

he might be deceived, and create an alarm ere he had sufficient evidence. The sound ceased for awhile-was renewed-and some one approached the door. The Count stepped asidethe door opened. A flood of light which entered at the large window on the opposite side of the apartment, streamed across the gloomy corridor; and Chevillion-his vision distempered by rage, the sudden burst of light, and the wine he had drank, imagined that he saw his enemy emerge from the doorway, and leaping forward, struck his dagger against the approaching figure. But, oh! horror of horrors!the faint and stifling shriek of a female smote his startled ear, and his only child fell at his feet bathed in blood. A cry as of some wild animal in the agonies of death rung through the chateau, and the domestics hastening to the scene of blood, discovered the wretched father, gazing with the distorted eyes of a maniac, on the lifeless form of his child, and still clutching the fatal weapon with which he had destroyed her.

The Count was with difficulty removed to his chamber, where his paroxysms were such, that nature yielded to their violence, and ere morning dawned, Laurent de Chevillion was numbered with his fathers. Lautrec

was

never seen again, and his fate was unknown, until many years afterwards, when a monk received the confession of a criminal at Avignon, who was sentenced to be broken on the wheel, wherein the penitent stated, that he had murdered the young painter on the evening of the event we have recorded took place, and that he had secretly interred the body in a neighbouring wood. The prisoner was the huntsman Gaubert.

Reader, if thou would'st desire more, ask it of the murmuring waters of the Rhone, which daily receive the mouldering fragments of the ruined Chateau de Chevillion; or of the owl, that on its only remaining turret, nightly sings the requiem of its once proud

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***

- SEA SICKNESS. Ali Hazing, an eastern writer, in his autobiography, assimilates himself, while labouring under this unpleasant affection, to a mill-horse, "my head goes round, puzzled to know why it goes round."

CHANCE is but a coming round of some notch in the wheel, that changes the patterns in the webs of the powerlooms of Providence.

THE HAUNTED MOOR.

THE narrator of the following, Peter Walker, though an enthusiast, was a man of credit. It appears in a work published by him in Edinburgh, in the year 1827, entitled, "Walker's Lives."

"In the year 1786, in the months of June and July," says the honest chronicler, "many yet alive can witness, that about the Crossford Boat, two miles beneath Lanark, especially at the Mains, on the water of Clyde, many people gathered together for several afternoons, when there were showers of bonnets, hats, guns, and swords, which covered the trees and the ground; companies of men in arms marching in order upon the water-side; companies meeting companies, going all through together, and then all falling to the ground and disappearing: other companies immediately appeared, marching the same way. I went there three afternoons together, and as I observed there were two-thirds of the people that were together saw, and a third tha saw not, and though I could see no thing, there was such a fright and trembling on those that did see, that was discernible to all from those that saw not. There was a gentleman standing next to me, who spoke as too many gentlemen and others speak, who said, A pack of d-d witches and warlocks that have the second sight!— the devil ha't do I see;' and immediately there was a discernible change in his countenance. With as much fear and trembling as any woman I saw there, he called out, "All you that do not see, say nothing; for I persuade you it is matter of fact, and discernible to all that are not stone-blind." And those who did see, told what works (i. e. locks) the guns had, and their lengths and wideness, and what handles the swords had, whether small or threebarr'd, or Highland guards, and the closing knots of the bonnets, black or blue; and those who did see them there, whenever they went abroad, saw a bonnet and a sword drop in the way."

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This singular phenomenon, in which a multitude believed, although only two-thirds of them saw what must, if real, have been equally obvious to all, may be compared with the exploit of a humorist, who planted himself in an attitude of astonishment, with his eyes rivetted on the well-known bronze lion that graces the front of Northumberland House in the Strand, and having attracted the attention of those who looked

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