Chapter41

philipwalkeddowntheboulevarddumontparnasse.itwasnotatallliketheparishehadseeninthespringduringhisvisittodotheaccountsofthehotelst.georges—hethoughtalreadyofthatpartofhislifewithashudder—butremindedhimofwhathethoughtaprovincialtownmustbe.therewasaneasy-goingairaboutit,andasunnyspaciousnesswhichinvitedthemindtoday-dreaming.thetrimnessofthetrees,thevividwhitenessofthehouses,thebreadth,wereveryagreeable;andhefelthimselfalreadythoroughlyathome.hesaunteredalong,staringatthepeople;thereseemedaneleganceaboutthemostordinary,workmenwiththeirbroadredsashesandtheirwidetrousers,littlesoldiersindingy,charminguniforms.hecamepresentlytotheavenuedel’observatoire,andhegaveasighofpleasureatthemagnificent,yetsograceful,vista.hecametothegardensoftheluxembourg:childrenwereplaying,nurseswithlongribbonswalkedslowlytwobytwo,busymenpassedthroughwithsatchelsundertheirarms,youthsstrangelydressed.thescenewasformalanddainty;naturewasarrangedandordered,butsoexquisitely,thatnatureunorderedandunarrangedseemedbarbaric.philipwasenchanted.itexcitedhimtostandonthatspotofwhichhehadreadsomuch;itwasclassicgroundtohim;andhefelttheaweandthedelightwhichsomeolddonmightfeelwhenforthefirsttimehelookedonthesmilingplainofsparta.

ashewanderedhechancedtoseemisspricesittingbyherselfonabench.hehesitated,forhedidnotatthatmomentwanttoseeanyone,andheruncouthwayseemedoutofplaceamidthehappinesshefeltaroundhim;buthehaddivinedhersensitivenesstoaffront,andsinceshehadseenhimthoughtitwouldbepolitetospeaktoher.

“whatareyoudoinghere?”shesaid,ashecameup.

“enjoyingmyself.aren’tyou?”  “oh,icomehereeverydayfromfourtofive.idon’tthinkonedoesanygoodifoneworksstraightthrough.”

“mayisitdownforaminute?”hesaid.

“ifyouwantto.”

“thatdoesn’tsoundverycordial,”helaughed.

“i’mnotmuchofaoneforsayingprettythings.”

philip,alittledisconcerted,wassilentashelitacigarette.

“didcluttonsayanythingaboutmywork?”sheaskedsuddenly.

“no,idon’tthinkhedid,”saidphilip.

“he’snogood,youknow.hethinkshe’sagenius,butheisn’t.he’stoolazy,foronething.geniusisaninfinitecapacityfortakingpains.theonlythingistopegaway.ifoneonlymakesupone’smindbadlyenoughtodoathingonecan’thelpdoingit.”

shespokewithapassionatestrenuousnesswhichwasratherstriking.sheworeasailorhatofblackstraw,awhiteblousewhichwasnotquiteclean,andabrownskirt.shehadnogloveson,andherhandswantedwashing.shewassounattractivethatphilipwishedhehadnotbeguntotalktoher.hecouldnotmakeoutwhethershewantedhimtostayorgo.

“i’lldoanythingicanforyou,”shesaidallatonce,withoutreferencetoanythingthathadgonebefore.“iknowhowharditis.”

“thankyouverymuch,”saidphilip,theninamoment:“won’tyoucomeandhaveteawithmesomewhere?”

shelookedathimquicklyandflushed.whenshereddenedherpastyskinacquiredacuriouslymottledlook,likestrawberriesandcreamthathadgonebad.

“no,thanks.whatd’youthinkiwantteafor?i’veonlyjusthadlunch.”

“ithoughtitwouldpassthetime,”saidphilip.

“ifyoufinditlongyouneedn’tbotheraboutme,youknow.idon’tmindbeingleftalone.”

atthatmomenttwomenpassed,inbrownvelveteens,enormoustrousers,andbasquecaps.theywereyoung,butbothworebeards.

“isay,arethoseart-students?”saidphilip.“theymighthavesteppedoutoftheviedeboheme.”

“they’reamericans,”saidmisspricescornfully.“frenchmenhaven’twornthingslikethatforthirtyyears,buttheamericansfromthefarwestbuythoseclothesandhavethemselvesphotographedthedayaftertheyarriveinparis.that’saboutasneartoartastheyeverget.butitdoesn’tmattertothem,they’veallgotmoney.”

philiplikedthedaringpicturesquenessoftheamericans’costume;hethoughtitshowedtheromanticspirit.misspriceaskedhimthetime.

“imustbegettingalongtothestudio,”shesaid.“areyougoingtothesketchclasses?”

philipdidnotknowanythingaboutthem,andshetoldhimthatfromfivetosixeveryeveningamodelsat,fromwhomanyonewholikedcouldgoanddrawatthecostoffiftycentimes.theyhadadifferentmodeleveryday,anditwasverygoodpractice.

“idon’tsupposeyou’regoodenoughyetforthat.you’dbetterwaitabit.”

“idon’tseewhyishouldn’ttry.ihaven’tgotanythingelsetodo.”

theygotupandwalkedtothestudio.philipcouldnottellfromhermannerwhethermisspricewishedhimtowalkwithherorpreferredtowalkalone.heremainedfromsheerembarrassment,notknowinghowtoleaveher;butshewouldnottalk;sheansweredhisquestionsinanungraciousmanner.

amanwasstandingatthestudiodoorwithalargedishintowhicheachpersonashewentindroppedhishalffranc.thestudiowasmuchfullerthanithadbeeninthemorning,andtherewasnotthepreponderanceofenglishandamericans;norwerewomenthereinsolargeaproportion.philipfelttheassemblagewasmorethesortofthinghehadexpected.itwasverywarm,andtheairquicklygrewfetid.itwasanoldmanwhosatthistime,withavastgraybeard,andphiliptriedtoputintopracticethelittlehehadlearnedinthemorning;buthemadeapoorjobofit;herealisedthathecouldnotdrawnearlyaswellashethought.heglancedenviouslyatoneortwosketchesofmenwhosatnearhim,andwonderedwhetherhewouldeverbeabletousethecharcoalwiththatmastery.thehourpassedquickly.notwishingtopresshimselfuponmisspricehesatdownatsomedistancefromher,andattheend,ashepassedheronhiswayout,sheaskedhimbrusquelyhowhehadgoton.

“notverywell,”hesmiled.

“ifyou’dcondescendedtocomeandsitnearmeicouldhavegivenyousomehints.isupposeyouthoughtyourselftoogrand.”

“no,itwasn’tthat.iwasafraidyou’dthinkmeanuisance.”

“whenidothati’lltellyousharpenough.”

philipsawthatinheruncouthwayshewasofferinghimhelp.

“well,tomorrowi’lljustforcemyselfuponyou.”

“idon’tmind,”sheanswered.

philipwentoutandwonderedwhatheshoulddowithhimselftilldinner.hewaseagertodosomethingcharacteristic.absinthe!ofcourseitwasindicated,andso,saunteringtowardsthestation,heseatedhimselfoutsideacafeandorderedit.hedrankwithnauseaandsatisfaction.hefoundthetastedisgusting,butthemoraleffectmagnificent;hefelteveryinchanart-student;andsincehedrankonanemptystomachhisspiritspresentlygrewveryhigh.hewatchedthecrowds,andfeltallmenwerehisbrothers.hewashappy.whenhereachedgravier’sthetableatwhichcluttonsatwasfull,butassoonashesawphiliplimpingalonghecalledouttohim.theymaderoom.thedinnerwasfrugal,aplateofsoup,adishofmeat,fruit,cheese,andhalfabottleofwine;butphilippaidnoattentiontowhatheate.hetooknoteofthemenatthetable.flanaganwasthereagain:hewasanamerican,ashort,snub-nosedyouthwithajollyfaceandalaughingmouth.heworeanorfolkjacketofboldpattern,abluestockroundhisneck,andatweedcapoffantasticshape.atthattimeimpressionismreignedinthelatinquarter,butitsvictoryovertheolderschoolswasstillrecent;andcarolus-duran,bouguereau,andtheirlikeweresetupagainstmanet,monet,anddegas.toappreciatethesewasstillasignofgrace.whistlerwasaninfluencestrongwiththeenglishandhiscompatriots,andthediscerningcollectedjapaneseprints.theoldmastersweretestedbynewstandards.theesteeminwhichraphaelhadbeenforcenturiesheldwasamatterofderisiontowiseyoungmen.theyofferedtogiveallhisworksforvelasquez’headofphilipivinthenationalgallery.philipfoundthatadiscussiononartwasraging.lawson,whomhehadmetatluncheon,satoppositetohim.hewasathinyouthwithafreckledfaceandredhair.hehadverybrightgreeneyes.asphilipsatdownhefixedthemonhimandremarkedsuddenly:

“raphaelwasonlytolerablewhenhepaintedotherpeople’spictures.whenhepaintedperuginosorpinturichioshewascharming;whenhepaintedraphaelshewas,”withascornfulshrug,“raphael.”

lawsonspokesoaggressivelythatphilipwastakenaback,buthewasnotobligedtoanswerbecause

flanaganbrokeinimpatiently.

“oh,tohellwithart!”hecried.“let’sgetginny.”

“youwereginnylastnight,flanagan,”saidlawson.

“nothingtowhatimeantobetonight,”heanswered.“fancybeinginpa-risandthinkingofnothingbutartallthetime.”hespokewithabroadwesternaccent.“my,itisgoodtobealive.”hegatheredhimselftogetherandthenbangedhisfistonthetable.“tohellwithart,isay.”

“younotonlysayit,butyousayitwithtiresomeiteration,”saidcluttonseverely.

therewasanotheramericanatthetable.hewasdressedlikethosefinefellowswhomphiliphadseenthatafternoonintheluxembourg.hehadahandsomeface,thin,ascetic,withdarkeyes;heworehisfantasticgarbwiththedashingairofaaneer.hehadavastquantityofdarkhairwhichfellconstantlyoverhiseyes,andhismostfrequentgesturewastothrowbackhisheaddramaticallytogetsomelongwispoutoftheway.hebegantotalkoftheolympiabymanet,whichthenhungintheluxembourg.

“istoodinfrontofitforanhourtoday,anditellyouit’snotagoodpicture.”

lawsonputdownhisknifeandfork.hisgreeneyesflashedfire,hegaspedwithrage;buthecouldbeseenimposingcalmuponhimself.

“it’sveryinterestingtohearthemindoftheuntutoredsavage,”hesaid.“willyoutelluswhyitisn’tagoodpicture?”

beforetheamericancouldanswersomeoneelsebrokeinvehemently.

“d’youmeantosayyoucanlookatthepaintingofthatfleshandsayit’snotgood?”