Le Roy ceased speaking and stood thoughtfully before his wonderful picture—verily his masterpiece, in that it rose to a height of spiritual suggestion he had not before attained, and by means the best he knew. His eyes were fixed upon it, and he seemed to become oblivious to his surroundings.
Adele drew near, the Doctor and Paul close behind her; the grouping itself was suggestive. The artist-philosopher, mystic and artistic; the inquisitive Doctor, sincere and at times metaphysical; the practical Paul, true and observing; and Adele, an idealist—all dominated by a landscape utterly devoid of figures.
A pure landscape. The beholder stood upon a moderate elevation, a grove of trees on his left, the branches covering the upper part of the canvas. Looking forward, a valley; a village nestled below, telling of happy homes and playgrounds, and near by the parish church, where the belfry chimes could almost be heard. Through openings in the grove and in the broader expanse were cultivated fields, and faintly outlined was a winding stream meandering off toward the horizon; the course of the stream broken by woodlands and far distant bluffs, the bluffs lessening to a point in mid-distance, where the stream for a time was concealed behind the foliage on its banks. As observed by the physical eye trained to seek many lines and complicated perspective it was truly a very simple, modern subject, embodying little more than elementary drawing. But what had this great artist seen by spiritual insight dominating his art? What impression had the Spirit that is Holy, the Creator with whom he had spoken when alone, revealed to him? What had “the candle of the Lord,” within himself, illumined?
An early morning, the atmosphere clear and transparent, with fleecy clouds pure and chaste, late draperies of the flying night, so delicately refined in form and shade, with light and shadow, that with the birth of a new day the resurrection from the dawn became brilliant with color. Every cloud and celestial vista, every hillside, undulation, meadow, stream, stone, branch, leaf and leaflet gave its own responsive reflection of the Brightness of the Coming. Each diversified form was alive with the inspiration caught and expressed by tints and hues in the harmony of colors. So brilliant were some of the combinations nature had called for, that the artistic sense demanded that they should be partly hidden behind the darker foliage. A vision of this world as it is, yet looking towards something more beautiful, heavenward. Earth idealized by the artist’s dream, to a reality too lavish for the credulity of ordinary experience. None, unless with the artist (he had seen with the eyes of the Spirit as well as of Science and of Art), would have credited the glorious impression so simple a landscape could give; therefore the sombre contrast had been introduced. The artistic sense had controlled the flight of imagination, and deeper shadows told each beholder to look within and complete the scenes from his own experience. Let us approach more closely, and go with the artist nearer to the inner recesses of the heart of nature.
Among the shadows what had the Spirit suggested? “The place whereon thou standest is Holy Ground.”
The beholders are upon an elevation, and close at hand in the subdued light a group of trees, modestly conspicuous among others in the grove. Vines encircle and climb their trunks, and blossoms glorify the branches on either side. The central vine is more luxuriant than the others, and its flowers, tinged with a roseate glow, much akin to flesh tints in nature.
The vine and its branches are waving in the wind; they take graceful forms and scatter blossoms at the beholders’ feet. To every lover of nature and weary one who seeks repose it is a vision of beauty and rest now, and a promise of rest to come.
The artist seemed especially fond of this feature in his work; his eyes repeatedly reverted from the glorious coloring he had given to the sky and the heavens above, to this notable detail in shadow.
“May I ask what flower you intend to suggest?” said Adele.
“A passion vine. It climbs aloft among the ordinary forest trees; some life-plants grow at its feet; the Rose of Sharon is in bloom among the shrubs, and I leave to your imagination the lilies-of-the-valley in the grass beneath. One of my impressions when alone was, that a cross might have once stood in such a place in the years gone by, when the mount was bare and bleak; since then nature has shown her constant kindness, for she abhors the void of bleakness and barrenness in such a place, and has covered the mount with lovely foliage. But the vision, the sight and the site of the cross remain; you may find the suggestion here—it upholds the vine and the branches, and the flowers are cradled in its arms.