Chapter40

afewdayslatermrs.careywenttothestationtoseephilipoff.shestoodatthedoorofthecarriage,tryingtokeepbackhertears.philipwasrestlessandeager.hewantedtobegone.

“kissmeoncemore,”shesaid.

heleanedoutofthewindowandkissedher.thetrainstarted,andshestoodonthewoodenplatformofthelittlestation,wavingherhandkerchieftillitwasoutofsight.herheartwasdreadfullyheavy,andthefewhundredyardstothevicarageseemedvery,verylong.itwasnaturalenoughthatheshouldbeeagertogo,shethought,hewasaboyandthefuturebeckonedtohim;butshe—sheclenchedherteethsothatsheshouldnotcry.sheutteredalittleinwardprayerthatgodwouldguardhim,andkeephimoutoftemptation,andgivehimhappinessandgoodfortune.

butphilipceasedtothinkofheramomentafterhehadsettleddowninhiscarriage.hethoughtonlyofthefuture.hehadwrittentomrs.otter,themassieretowhomhaywardhadgivenhimanintroduction,andhadinhispocketaninvitationtoteaonthefollowingday.whenhearrivedinparishehadhisageputonacabandtrundledoffslowlythroughthegaystreets,overthebridge,andalongthenarrowwaysofthelatinquarter.hehadtakenaroomatthehoteldesdeuxecoles,whichwasinashabbystreetofftheboulevarddumontparnasse;itwasconvenientforamitrano’sschoolatwhichhewasgoingtowork.awaitertookhisboxupfiveflightsofstairs,andphilipwasshownintoatinyroom,fustyfromunopenedwindows,thegreaterpartofwhichwastakenupbyalargewoodenbedwithacanopyoveritofredrep;therewereheavycurtainsonthewindowsofthesamedingymaterial;thechestofdrawersservedalsoasawashing-stand;andtherewasamassivewardrobeofthestylewhichisconnectedwiththegoodkinglouisphilippe.thewall-paperwasdiscolouredwithage;itwasdarkgray,andtherecouldbevaguelyseenonitgarlandsofbrownleaves.tophiliptheroomseemedquaintandcharming.

thoughitwaslatehefelttooexcitedtosleepand,goingout,madehiswayintotheboulevardandwalkedtowardsthelight.thisledhimtothestation;andthesquareinfrontofit,vividwitharc-lamps,noisywiththeyellowtramsthatseemedtocrossitinalldirections,madehimlaughaloudwithjoy.therewerecafesallround,andbychance,thirstyandeagertogetanearersightofthecrowd,philipinstalledhimselfatalittletableoutsidethecafedeversailles.everyothertablewastaken,foritwasafinenight;andphiliplookedcuriouslyatthepeople,herelittlefamilygroups,thereaknotofmenwithodd-shapedhatsandbeardstalkingloudlyandgesticulating;nexttohimweretwomenwholookedlikepainterswithwomenwhophiliphopedwerenottheirlawfulwives;behindhimheheardamericansloudlyarguingonart.

hissoulwasthrilled.hesattillverylate,tiredoutbuttoohappytomove,andwhenatlasthewenttobedhewaswideawake;helistenedtothemanifoldnoiseofparis.

nextdayabouttea-timehemadehiswaytotheliondebelfort,andinanewstreetthatledoutoftheboulevardraspailfoundmrs.otter.shewasaninsignificantwomanofthirty,withaprovincialairandadeliberatelylady-likemanner;sheintroducedhimtohermother.hediscoveredpresentlythatshehadbeenstudyinginparisforthreeyearsandlaterthatshewasseparatedfromherhusband.shehadinhersmalldrawing-roomoneortwoportraitswhichshehadpainted,andtophilip’sinexperiencetheyseemedextremelyaccomplished.

“iwonderifishalleverbeabletopaintaswellasthat,”hesaidtoher.

“oh,iexpectso,”shereplied,notwithoutself-satisfaction.“youcan’texpecttodoeverythingallatonce,ofcourse.”  shewasverykind.shegavehimtheaddressofashopwherehecouldgetaportfolio,drawing-paper,andcharcoal.

“ishallbegoingtoamitrano’saboutninetomorrow,andifyou’llbetheretheni’llseethatyougetagoodplaceandallthatsortofthing.”

sheaskedhimwhathewantedtodo,andphilipfeltthatheshouldnotletherseehowvaguehewasaboutthewholematter.

“well,firstiwanttolearntodraw,”hesaid.

“i’msogladtohearyousaythat.peoplealwayswanttodothingsinsuchahurry.inevertouchedoilstilli’dbeenherefortwoyears,andlookattheresult.”

shegaveaglanceattheportraitofhermother,astickypieceofpaintingthathungoverthepiano.

“andifiwereyou,iwouldbeverycarefulaboutthepeopleyougettoknow.iwouldn’tmixmyselfupwithanyforeigners.i’mverycarefulmyself.”

philipthankedherfortheestion,butitseemedtohimodd.hedidnotknowthatheparticularlywantedtobecareful.

“welivejustaswewouldifwewereinengland,”saidmrs.otter’smother,whotillthenhadspokenlittle.“whenwecameherewebroughtallourownfurnitureover.”philiplookedroundtheroom.itwasfilledwithamassivesuite,andatthewindowwerethesamesortofwhitelacecurtainswhichauntlouisaputupatthevicarageinsummer.thepianowasdrapedinlibertysilkandsowasthechimney-piece.mrs.otterfollowedhiswanderingeye.

“intheeveningwhenweclosetheshuttersonemightreallyfeelonewasinengland.”

“andwehaveourmealsjustasifwewereathome,”addedhermother.“ameatbreakfastinthemorninganddinnerinthemiddleoftheday.”

whenheleftmrs.otterphilipwenttobuydrawingmaterials;andnextmorningatthestrokeofnine,tryingtoseemself-assured,hepresentedhimselfattheschool.mrs.otterwasalreadythere,andshecameforwardwithafriendlysmile.hehadbeenanxiousaboutthereceptionhewouldhaveasanouveau,forhehadreadagooddealoftheroughjokingtowhichanewcomerwasexposedatsomeofthestudios;butmrs.otterhadreassuredhim.

“oh,there’snothinglikethathere,”shesaid.“yousee,abouthalfourstudentsareladies,andtheysetatonetotheplace.”

thestudiowaslargeandbare,withgraywalls,onwhichwerepinnedthestudiesthathadreceivedprizes.amodelwassittinginachairwithaloosewrapthrownoverher,andaboutadozenmenandwomenwerestandingabout,sometalkingandothersstillworkingontheirsketch.itwasthefirstrestofthemodel.

“you’dbetternottryanythingtoodifficultatfirst,”saidmrs.otter.“putyoureaselhere.you’llfindthat’s

theeasiestpose.”

philipplacedaneaselwheresheindicated,andmrs.otterintroducedhimtoayoungwomanwhosatnexttohim.

“mr.carey—missprice.mr.carey’sneverstudiedbefore,youwon’tmindhelpinghimalittlejustatfirstwillyou?”thensheturnedtothemodel.“lapose.”

themodelthrewasidethepapershehadbeenreading,lapetiterepublique,andsulkily,throwingoffhergown,gotontothestand.shestood,squarelyonbothfeetwithherhandsclaspedbehindherhead.

“it’sastupidpose,”saidmissprice.“ican’timaginewhytheychoseit.”

whenphilipentered,thepeopleinthestudiohadlookedathimcuriously,andthemodelgavehimanindifferentglance,butnowtheyceasedtopayattentiontohim.philip,withhisbeautifulsheetofpaperinfrontofhim,staredawkwardlyatthemodel.hedidnotknowhowtobegin.hehadneverseenanakedwomanbefore.shewasnotyoungandherbreastswereshrivelled.shehadcolourless,fairhairthatfelloverherforeheaduntidily,andherfacewascoveredwithlargefreckles.heglancedatmissprice’swork.shehadonlybeenworkingonittwodays,anditlookedasthoughshehadhadtrouble;herpaperwasinamessfromconstantrubbingout,andtophilip’seyesthefigurelookedstrangelydistorted.

“ishouldhavethoughticoulddoaswellasthat,”hesaidtohimself.

hebeganonthehead,thinkingthathewouldworkslowlydownwards,but,hecouldnotunderstandwhy,hefounditinfinitelymoredifficulttodrawaheadfromthemodelthantodrawonefromhisimagination.hegotintodifficulties.heglancedatmissprice.shewasworkingwithvehementgravity.herbrowwaswrinkledwitheagerness,andtherewasananxiouslookinhereyes.itwashotinthestudio,anddropsofsweatstoodonherforehead.shewasagirloftwenty-six,withagreatdealofdullgoldhair;itwashandsomehair,butitwascarelesslydone,edbackfromherforeheadandtiedinahurriedknot.shehadalargeface,withbroad,flatfeaturesandsmalleyes;herskinwaspasty,withasingularunhealthinessoftone,andtherewasnocolourinthecheeks.shehadanunwashedairandyoucouldnothelpwonderingifshesleptinherclothes.shewasseriousandsilent.whenthenextpausecame,shesteppedbacktolookatherwork.

“idon’tknowwhyi’mhavingsomuchbother,”shesaid.“butimeantogetitright.”sheturnedtophilip.“howareyougettingon?”

“notatall,”heanswered,witharuefulsmile.

shelookedatwhathehaddone.

“youcan’texpecttodoanythingthatway.youmusttakemeasurements.andyoumustsquareoutyourpaper.”

sheshowedhimrapidlyhowtosetaboutthebusiness.philipwasimpressedbyherearnestness,butrepelledbyherwantofcharm.hewasgratefulforthehintsshegavehimandsettoworkagain.meanwhileotherpeoplehadcomein,mostlymen,forthewomenalwaysarrivedfirst,andthestudioforthetimeofyear(itwasearlyyet)wasfairlyfull.presentlytherecameinayoungmanwiththin,blackhair,anenormousnose,andafacesolongthatitremindedyouofahorse.hesatdownnexttophilipandnoddedacrosshimtomissprice.

“you’reverylate,”shesaid.“areyouonlyjustup?”

“itwassuchasplendidday,ithoughti’dlieinbedandthinkhowbeautifulitwasout.”

philipsmiled,butmisspricetooktheremarkseriously.

“thatseemsafunnythingtodo,ishouldhavethoughtitwouldbemoretothepointtogetupandenjoyit.”

“thewayofthehumoristisveryhard,”saidtheyoungmangravely.

hedidnotseeminclinedtowork.helookedathiscanvas;hewasworkingincolour,andhadsketchedinthedaybeforethemodelwhowasposing.heturnedtophilip.

“haveyoujustcomeoutfromengland?”

“yes.”

“howdidyoufindyourwaytoamitrano’s?”

“itwastheonlyschooliknewof.”

“ihopeyouhaven’tcomewiththeideathatyouwilllearnanythingherewhichwillbeofthesmallestusetoyou.”

“it’sthebestschoolinparis,”saidmissprice.“it’stheonlyonewheretheytakeartseriously.”

“shouldartbetakenseriously?”theyoungmanasked;andsincemisspricerepliedonlywithascornfulshrug,headded:“butthepointis,allschoolsarebad.theyareacademical,obviously.whythisislessinjuriousthanmostisthattheteachingismoreincompetentthanelsewhere.becauseyoulearnnothing”

“butwhyd’youcomeherethen?”interruptedphilip.