Місяць і гріш

Chapter XVIII

           Iimaginethatapickpocket,proudofhislightfingers,mustfeelasortofindignationwiththecarelesswomanwholeavesinacabavanity-bagwithallherjewelsinit.Naturehadmadehimabutt,buthaddeniedhiminsensibility.Hewrithedunderthejokes,practicalandotherwise,whichwereperpetuallymadeathisexpense,andyetneverceased,itseemedwilfully,toexposehimselftothem.Hewasconstantlywounded,andyethisgood-naturewassuchthathecouldnotbearmalice:thevipermightstinghim,butheneverlearnedbyexperience,andhadnosoonerrecoveredfromhispainthanhetenderlyplaceditoncemoreinhisbosom.Hislifewasatragedywritteninthetermsofknockaboutfarce.BecauseIdidnotlaughathimhewasgratefultome,andheusedtopourintomysympatheticearthelonglistofhistroubles.Thesaddestthingaboutthemwasthattheyweregrotesque,andthemorepathetictheywere,themoreyouwantedtolaugh.

           Butthoughsobadapainter,hehadaverydelicatefeelingforart,andtogowithhimtopicture-gallerieswasararetreat.Hisenthusiasmwassincereandhiscriticismacute.Hewascatholic.Hehadnotonlyatrueappreciationoftheoldmasters,butsympathywiththemoderns.Hewasquicktodiscovertalent,andhispraisewasgenerous.IthinkIhaveneverknownamanwhosejudgmentwassurer.Andhewasbettereducatedthanmostpainters.Hewasnot,likemostofthem,ignorantofkindredarts,andhistasteformusicandliteraturegavedepthandvarietytohiscomprehensionofpainting.Toayoungmanlikemyselfhisadviceandguidancewereofincomparablevalue

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