![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() Fancy one, she roams the earth, here today, gone tomorrow – the world is stuck with the useless flowers of her favour… ![]() Poor artist: Dishevelled, irresponsible gypsy, it was more than she could bear – Now the woman belonged heart and soul to her husband and her children, but the artist belonged to no-one, or rather to humanity. And the artist stood and jeered at the woman. Presently, they met they confronted each other, the woman serene, loving imperturbable, the artist defiant, jealous, irritated beyond endurance. Stricken with panic she rushed to her window she saw a woman playing on a smooth lawn with a laughing child. One day the artist awoke to find the chamber of her slumbers shrunken and distorted, the windows had become so small, she could scarcely see out of them, the brocades were faded damasks and satins hung like limp ghosts on limp nails…. The artist was temporarily forgotten: wrapped in comfortable torpor, the artist slept, and the woman gloried in her womanhood and in the happiness she could give. In the course of time the woman married she married the prince of her dreams, and irrevocable, changeless contentment descended upon her. Once upon a time there lived an artist and a woman, and the artist and the woman were one. ![]()
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