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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； indeed； marked our
whole progressthe silence of a deep farewell； for I felt in all my
pulses； as Theobald； leaning on my arm； dragged one heavy foot after
the other； that he was looking his last。 When we came out he was so
exhausted that instead of taking him to my hotel to dine； I called a
carriage and drove him straight to his own poor lodging。 He had sunk
into an extraordinary lethargy； he lay back in the carriage； with his
eyes closed； as pale as death； his faint breathing interrupted at
intervals by a sudden gasp； like a smothered sob or a vain attempt to
speak。 With the help of the old woman who had admitted me before；
and who emerged from a dark back court； I contrived to lead him up
the long steep staircase and lay him on his wretched bed。 To her I
gave him in charge； while I prepared in all haste to seek a
physician。 But she followed me out of the room with a pitiful
clasping of her hands。
〃Poor； dear； blessed gentleman；〃 she murmured； 〃is he dying？〃