the madonna of the future-第8部分

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cork；　and　yet　as　firm　as　alabaster！　　I　frankly　confess　that　I　really

pride　myself　as　much　on　this　little　stroke　of　chemical　ingenuity　as

upon　the　other　element　of　novelty　in　my　creationsmy　types。　　What　do

you　say　to　my　types；　signore？　　The　idea　is　bold；　does　it　strike　you

as　happy？　　Cats　and　monkeysmonkeys　and　catsall　human　life　is

there！　　Human　life；　of　course；　I　mean；　viewed　with　the　eye　of　the

satirist！　　To　combine　sculpture　and　satire；　signore；　has　been　my

unprecedented　ambition。　　I　flatter　myself　that　I　have　not　egregiously

failed。〃



As　this　jaunty　Juvenal　of　the　chimney…piece　delivered　himself　of　his

persuasive　allocution；　he　took　up　his　little　groups　successively　from

the　table；　held　them　aloft；　turned　them　about；　rapped　them　with　his

knuckles；　and　gazed　at　them　lovingly；　with　his　head　on　one　side。

They　consisted　each　of　a　cat　and　a　monkey；　fantastically　draped；　in

some　preposterously　sentimental　conjunction。　　They　exhibited　a

certain　sameness　of　motive；　and　illustrated　chiefly　the　different

phases　of　what；　in　delicate　terms；　may　be　called　gallantry　and

coquetry；　but　they　were　strikingly　clever　and　expressive；　and　were　at

once　very　perfect　cats　and　monkeys　and　very　natural　men　and　women。　　I

confess；　however；　that　they　failed　to　amuse　me。　　I　was　doubtless　not

in　a　mood　to　enjoy　them；　for　they　seemed　to　me　peculiarly　cynical　and

vulgar。　　Their　imitative　felicity　was　revolting。　　As　I　looked　askance

at　the　complacent　little　artist；　brandishing　them　between　finger　and

thumb　and　caressing　them　with　an　amorous　eye；　he　seemed　to　me　himself

little　more　than　an　exceptionally　intelligent　ape。　　I　mustered　an

admiring　grin；　however；　and　he　blew　another　blast。　　〃My　figures　are

studied　from　life！　　I　have　a　little　menagerie　of　monkeys　whose

frolics　I　contemplate　by　the　hour。　　As　for　the　cats；　one　has　only　to

look　out　of　one's　back　window！　　Since　I　have　begun　to　examine　these

expressive　little　brutes；　I　have　made　many　profound　observations。

Speaking；　signore；　to　a　man　of　imagination；　I　may　say　that　my　little

designs　are　not　without　a　philosophy　of　their　own。　　Truly；　I　don't

know　whether　the　cats　and　monkeys　imitate　us；　or　whether　it's　we　who

imitate　them。〃　　I　congratulated　him　on　his　philosophy；　and　he

resumed：　　〃You　will　do　use　the　honour　to　admit　that　I　have　handled　my

subjects　with　delicacy。　　Eh；　it　was　needed；　signore！　　I　have　been

free；　but　not　too　freeeh？　　Just　a　hint；　you　know！　　You　may　see　as

much　or　as　little　as　you　please。　　These　little　groups；　however；　are

no　measure　of　my　invention。　　If　you　will　favour　me　with　a　call　at　my

studio；　I　think　that　you　will　admit　that　my　combinations　are　really

infinite。　　I　likewise　execute　figures　to　command。　　You　have　perhaps

some　little　motivethe　fruit　of　your　philosophy　of　life；　signore

which　you　would　like　to　have　interpreted。　　I　can　promise　to　work　it

up　to　your　satisfaction；　it　shall　be　as　malicious　as　you　please！

Allow　me　to　present　you　with　my　card；　and　to　remind　you　that　my

prices　are　moderate。　　Only　sixty　francs　for　a　little　group　like　that。

My　statuettes　are　as　durable　as　bronzeaere　perennius；　signoreand；

between　ourselves；　I　think　they　are　more　amusing！〃



As　I　pocketed　his　card　I　glanced　at　Madonna　Serafina；　wondering

whether　she　had　an　eye　for　contrasts。　　She　had　picked　up　one　of　the

little　couples　and　was　tenderly　dusting　it　with　a　feather　broom。



What　I　had　just　seen　and　heard　had　so　deepened　my　compassionate

interest　in　my　deluded　friend　that　I　took　a　summary　leave；　making　my

way　directly　to　the　house　designated　by　this　remarkable　woman。　　It

was　in　an　obscure　corner　of　the　opposite　side　of　the　town；　and

presented　a　sombre　and　squalid　appearance。　　An　old　woman　in　the

doorway；　on　my　inquiring　for　Theobald；　ushered　me　in　with　a　mumbled

blessing　and　an　expression　of　relief　at　the　poor　gentleman　having　a

friend。　　His　lodging　seemed　to　consist　of　a　single　room　at　the　top　of

the　house。　　On　getting　no　answer　to　my　knock；　I　opened　the　door；

supposing　that　he　was　absent；　so　that　it　gave　me　a　certain　shock　to

find　him　sitting　there　helpless　and　dumb。　　He　was　seated　near　the

single　window；　facing　an　easel　which　supported　a　large　canvas。　　On　my

entering　he　looked　up　at　me　blankly；　without　changing　his　position；

which　was　that　of　absolute　lassitude　and　dejection；　his　arms　loosely

folded；　his　legs　stretched　before　him；　his　head　hanging　on　his

breast。　　Advancing　into　the　room　I　perceived　that　his　face　vividly

corresponded　with　his　attitude。　　He　was　pale；　haggard；　and　unshaven；

and　his　dull　and　sunken　eye　gazed　at　me　without　a　spark　of

recognition。　　I　had　been　afraid　that　he　would　greet　me　with　fierce

reproaches；　as　the　cruelly　officious　patron　who　had　turned　his

contentment　to　bitterness；　and　I　was　relieved　to　find　that　my

appearance　awakened　no　visible　resentment。　　〃Don't　you　know　me？〃　I

asked；　as　I　put　out　my　hand。　　〃Have　you　already　forgotten　me？〃



He　made　no　response；　kept　his　position　stupidly；　and　left　me　staring

about　the　room。　　It　spoke　most　plaintively　for　itself。　　Shabby；

sordid；　naked；　it　contained；　beyond　the　wretched　bed；　but　the

scantiest　provision　for　personal　comfort。　　It　was　bedroom　at　once　and

studioa　grim　ghost　of　a　studio。　　A　few　dusty　casts　and　prints　on

the　walls；　three　or　four　old　canvases　turned　face　inward；　and　a

rusty…looking　colour…box；　formed；　with　the　easel　at　the　window；　the

sum　of　its　appurtenances。　　The　place　savoured　horribly　of　poverty。

Its　only　wealth　was　the　picture　on　the　easel；　presumably　the　famous

Madonna。　　Averted　as　this　was　from　the　door；　I　was　unable　to　see　its

face；　but　at　last；　sickened　by　the　vacant　misery　of　the　spot；　I

passed　behind　Theobald；　eagerly　and　tenderly。　　I　can　hardly　say　that

I　was　surprised　at　what　I　founda　canvas　that　was　a　mere　dead　blank；

cracked　and　discoloured　by　time。　　This　was　his　immortal　work！　　Though

not　surprised；　I　confess　I　was　powerfully　moved；　and　I　think　that　for

five　minutes　I　could　not　have　trusted　myself　to　speak。　　At　last　my

silent　nearness　affected　him；　he　stirred　and　turned；　and　then　rose

and　looked　at　me　with　a　slowly　kindling　eye。　　I　murmured　some　kind

ineffective　nothings　about　his　being　ill　and　needing　advice　and　care；

but　he　seemed　absorbed　in　the　effort　to　recall　distinctly　what　had

last　passed　between　us。　　〃You　were　right；〃　he　said；　with　a　pitiful

smile；　〃I　am　a　dawdler！　　I　am　a　failure！　　I　shall　do　nothing　more　in

this　world。　　You　opened　my　eyes；　and；　though　the　truth　is　bitter；　I

bear　you　no　grudge。　　Amen！　　I　have　been　sitting　here　for　a　week；　face

to　face　with　the　truth；　with　the　past；　with　my　weakness　and　poverty

and　nullity。　　I　shall　never　touch　a　brush！　　I　believe　I　have　neither

eaten　nor　slept。　　Look　at　that　canvas！〃　he　went　on；　as　I　relieved　my

emotion　in　an　urgent　request　that　he　would　come　home　with　me　and

dine。　　〃That　was　to　have　contained　my　masterpiece！　　Isn't　it　a

promising　foundation？　　The　elements　of　it　are　all　HERE。　　And　he

tapped　his　forehead　with　that　mystic　confidence　which　had　marked　the

gesture　before。　　〃If　I　could　only　transpose　them　into　some　brain　that

has　the　hand；　the　will！　　Since　I　have　been　sitting　here　taking　stock

of　my　intellects；　I　have　come　to　believe　that　I　have　the　material　for

a　hundred　masterpieces。　　But　my　hand　is　paralysed　now；　and　they　will

never　be　painted。　　I　never　began！　　I　waited　and　waited　to　be　worthier

to　begin；　and　wasted　my　life　in　preparation。　　While　I　fancied　my

creation　was　growing　it　was　dying。　　I　have　taken　it　all　too　hard！

Michael　Angelo　didn't；　when　he　went　at　the　Lorenzo！　　He　did　his　best

at　a　venture；　and　his　venture　is　immortal。　　THAT'S　mine！〃　　And　he

pointed　with　a　gesture　I　shall　never　forget　at　the　empty　canvas。　　〃I

suppose　we　are　a　genus　by　ourselves　in　the　providential　schemewe

talents　that　can't　act；　that　can't　do　nor　dare！　　We　take　it　out　in

talk；　in　plans　and　promises；　in　study；　in　visions！　　But　our　visions；

let　me　tell　you；〃　he　cried；　with　a　toss　of　his　head；　〃have　a　way　of

being　brilliant；　and　a　man　has　not　lived　in　vain　who　has　seen　the

things　I　have　seen！　　Of　course　you　will　not　believe　in　them　when　that

bit　of　worm…eaten　cloth　is　all　I　have　to　show　for　them；　but　to

convince　you；　to　enchant　and　astound　the　world；　I　need　only　the　hand

of　Raphael。　　His　brain　I　already　have。　　A　pity；　you　will　say；　that　I

haven't　his　modesty！　　Ah；　let　me　boast　and　babble　now；　it's　all　I

have　left！　　I　am　the　half　of　a　genius！　　Where　in　the　wide　world　is　my

other　half？　　Lodged　perhaps　in　the　vulgar　soul；　the　cunning；　ready

fingers　of　some　dull　copyist　or　some　trivial　artisan；　who　turns　out

by　the　dozen　his　easy　prodigies　of　touch！　　But　it's　not　for　me　to

sneer　at　him；　he　at　least　does　something。　　He's　not　a　dawdler！　　Well

for　me　if　I　had　been　vulgar　and　clever　and　reckless；　if　I　could　have

shut　my　eyes　and　taken　my　leap。〃



What　to　say　to　the　poor　fellow；　what　to　do　for　him；　seemed　hard　to

determine；　I　chiefly　felt　that　I　must　break　the　spell　of　his　present

inaction；　and　remove　him　from　the　haunted　atmosphere　of　the　little

room　it　was　such　a　cruel　irony　to　call　a　studio。　　I　cannot　say　I

persuaded　him　to　come　out　with　me；　he　simply　suffered　himself　to　be

led；　and　when　we　began　to　walk　in　the　open　air　I　was　able　to

appreciate　his　pitifully　weakened　condition。　　Nevertheless；　he　seemed

in　a　certain　way　to　revive；　and　murmured　at　last　that　he　should　like

to　go　to　the　Pitti　Gallery。　　I　shall　never　forget　our　melancholy

stroll　through　those　gorgeous　halls；　every　picture　on　whose　walls

seemed；　even　to　my　own　sympathetic　vision；　to　glow　with　a　sort　of

insolent　renewal　of　strength　and　lustre。　　The　eyes　and　lips　of　the

great　portraits　appeared　to　smile　in　ineffable　scorn　of　the　dejected

pretender　who　had　dreamed　of　competing　with　their　triumphant　authors；

the　celestial　candour；　even；　of　the　Madonna　of　the　Chair；　as　we

paused　in　perfect　silence　before　her；　was　tinged　with　the　sinister

irony　of　the　women　of　Leonardo。　　Perfect　silence；　i