Moore, George, 1852-1933; Paris (France) -- Intellectual life
Not even to Marshall did I confide my foreboding that Paris would pass out
of my life, that it would henceforth be with me a beautiful memory, but
never more a practical delight. He and I were no longer living together; we
had parted a second time, but this time without bitterness of any kind; he
had learnt to feel that I wanted to live alone, and had moved away into the
Latin quarter, whither I made occasional expeditions. I accompanied him
once to the old haunts, but various terms of penal servitude had scattered
our friends, and I could not interest myself in the new. Nor did Marshall
himself interest me as he had once done. To my eager taste, he had grown
just a little trite. My affection for him was as deep and sincere as ever;
were I to meet him now I would grasp his hand and hail him with firm, loyal
friendship; but I had made friends in the Nouvelle Athènes who interested
me passionately, and my thoughts were absorbed by and set on new ideals,
which Marshall had failed to find sympathy for, or even to understand. I
had introduced him to Degas and Manet, but he had spoken of Jules Lefèvre
and Bouguereau, and generally shown himself incapable of any higher
education; he could not enter where I had entered, and this was alienation.
We could no longer even talk of the same people; when I spoke of a certain
_marquise_, he answered with an indifferent "Do you really think so?"
and proceeded to drag me away from my glitter of satin to the dinginess of
print dresses. It was more than alienation, it was almost separation; but
he was still my friend, he was the man, and he always will be, to whom my
youth, with all its aspirations, was most closely united. So I turned to
say good-bye to him and to my past life. Rap--rap--rap!
"Who's there?"
"I--Dayne."
"I've got a model."
"Never mind your model. Open the door. How are you? what are you painting?"
"This; what do you think of it?"
"It is prettily composed. I think it will come out all right. I am going to
England; come to say good-bye."
"Going to England! What will you do in England?"
"I have to go about money matters; very tiresome. I had really begun to
forget there was such a place."
"But you are not going to stay there?"
"Oh, no!"
"You will be just in time to see the Academy."
The conversation turned on art, and we æstheticised for an hour. At last
Marshall said, "I am really sorry, old chap, but I must send you away;
there's that model."
The girl sat waiting, her pale hair hanging down her back, a very picture
of discontent.
"Send her away."
"I asked her to come out to dinner."
"D----n her ... Well, never mind, I must spend this last evening with you;
you shall both dine with me. _Je quitte Paris demain matin, peut-être
pour longtemps; je voudrais passer ma dernière soirée avec mon ami; alors
si vous voulez bien me permettre, mademoiselle, je vous invite tous les
deux à diner; nous passerons la soirée ensemble si cela vous est
agréable?_"
"_Je veux bien, monsieur._"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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