Місяць і гріш

Chapter XVIII

           

           "Idon’tpretendtobeagreatpainter,"hesaid,"I’mnotaMichaelAngelo,no,butIhavesomething.Isell.Ibringromanceintothehomesofallsortsofpeople.Doyouknow,theybuymypicturesnotonlyinHolland,butinNorwayandSwedenandDenmark?It’smostlymerchantswhobuythem,andrichtradesmen.Youcan’timaginewhatthewintersarelikeinthosecountries,solonganddarkandcold.TheyliketothinkthatItalyislikemypictures.That’swhattheyexpect.That’swhatIexpectedItalytobebeforeIcamehere."

           AndIthinkthatwasthevisionthathadremainedwithhimalways,dazzlinghiseyessothathecouldnotseethetruth;andnotwithstandingthebrutalityoffact,hecontinuedtoseewiththeeyesofthespiritanItalyofromanticbrigandsandpicturesqueruins.Itwasanidealthathepainted—apoorone,commonandshop-soiled,butstillitwasanideal;anditgavehischaracterapeculiarcharm.

           ItwasbecauseIfeltthisthatDirkStroevewasnottome,astoothers,merelyanobjectofridicule.Hisfellow-paintersmadenosecretoftheircontemptforhiswork,butheearnedafairamountofmoney,andtheydidnothesitatetomakefreeuseofhispurse.Hewasgenerous,andtheneedy,laughingathimbecausehebelievedsonaivelytheirstoriesofdistress,borrowedfromhimwitheffrontery.Hewasveryemotional,yethisfeeling,soeasilyaroused,hadinitsomethingabsurd,sothatyouacceptedhiskindness,butfeltnogratitude.Totakemoneyfromhimwaslikerobbingachild,andyoudespisedhimbecausehewassofoolish.

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