Chapter 22 four, five, six

Four By the time I passed through Paris again, the Maturins had left; Elliott's apartment had been taken up by someone else.I miss Isabel very much.She is good-looking, and she talks freely, understands quickly, and has no malice towards people.I never saw her afterwards.I couldn't write and procrastinated, Isabel never corresponded.You can never hear from her unless she calls or telegraphs you.I received a card from her for Christmas that year, with a beautiful photograph of a house with a colonial porch surrounded by lush trees, presumably the house on the farm; They couldn't sell it when they needed money, but now they are probably willing to stay.The postmark indicated that the letter was sent from Dallas. It was certain that the joint venture transaction had been negotiated and they had settled in Dallas.

I have never been to Dallas, but I can imagine that it is like other cities in the United States that I have seen. There is a residential area, and it does not take much time to go to the business center and country clubs by car; There is a large garden, and beautiful mountains or valleys can be seen from the living room window.Isabel must have lived in such a place and in such a house, furnished from cellar to garret in the latest fashion by the most fashionable interior decorators in New York.I just hope that the paintings she hangs, Lenoir, Manet's flowers, Monet's landscapes and Gauguin don't look dated.The restaurant was no doubt not too big, just right for Isabel's frequent lunches, the wine was sure to be good, and the food was of course first-rate.Isabel learned a lot in Paris.She can tell at a glance whether the living room is big enough or not, and she won't live in a house with a small living room; because she wants to wait for her two daughters to grow up a bit, and hold minor dances in the living room, which is a mother's responsibility. a pleasant responsibility.Joan and Priscilla would be of marriageable age today.Surely they were well brought up.They went to the best schools, and Isabel would bring them up to the point where they would be desirable in the eyes of competent young men.Gray looks more rosy now, more cheerful, more bald, and puts on more weight, but, Isabel, I don't believe it's going to change.She will still be more beautiful than the two daughters.The Maturin family must be indispensable in the Duhui, and I am fully sure that they are very popular in the local area, as they should.Isabel was funny, refined, courteous, and witty; Gray, needless to say, was the best of the standard American.

Fives I still go to see Susan Rouvier from time to time.Later, an unexpected change in her circumstances caused her to leave Paris and disappear from my life.It was one afternoon, roughly two years after the events I narrated, that I had spent a pleasant hour browsing books in the corridors of the Otion Theatre, and then, having nothing to do for a while, it occurred to me to visit Susan.I haven't seen her for six months.She opened the door with her thumb on a palette, a paintbrush in her mouth, and a smock covered in paint. "Ah, cest vons, Cher ami. Entrez, je vons en prie. [Note] I was a little surprised by her politeness, because usually we just match each other. I went into the parlor-studio room. On the easel was a An oil painting.

"I'm very busy and don't know what to do. I can't waste a minute. You won't believe it. I have thirty paintings for my solo exhibition at the Meyerheim shop." "In Meyerheim? That's amazing. How did you do it?" For Meyerheim was not one of those dodgy art dealers in the rue de Seine; they have a small shop that is liable to close at any moment because they cannot pay the rent.Meyerheim has a beautiful shop on this bustling side of the Seine and an international reputation.A painter will get rich if he takes a fancy to him. "Mr. Yasir took him to see my work, and he thought I was very talented."

"A dautres, ma vieille," I replied, which I think is best translated in French as "ghosts believe in you, little woman." She glanced at me and giggled. "I'm getting married." "With Meyerheim?" "Don't be stupid." She put down her brushes and palette. "I've been working all day, now it's time to take a break. Let's have a glass of red wine and I'll let you know." One of the less pleasant aspects of living in France is that you are often forced to drink a glass of sour red wine at inappropriate times.You have to obey.Susan got out a bottle of wine and two glasses, filled them up, and sat down with a sigh of relief.

"I stood for hours and my varicose veins ached. That's it. Mr. Yasir's wife died earlier this year. She was a good woman and a good Catholic, but Yassir and She did not marry of her own free will; he married her for business, and though he valued her and respected her, it would be an exaggeration to say how much her death grieved Mr. Yassir. His son's marriage was very unhappy. Nay, he's done very well in the company, too; and now his daughter's marriage is settled, with a count, though Belgian, a real nobleman, with a beautiful castle near Namur. Mr. Yahir thought that his poor wife would not delay the happiness of the two young people for her own sake, so although she was still in mourning, the wedding was held as soon as the property transfer procedures[Note] were completed. Apparently Yahir Mr. Earl will be lonely in that big house in Lille; he needs a woman to take care of him and manage the house which is his status. To make a long story short, he wants me to take his wife's place. position; he put it logically: 'The first time I got married was to eliminate the rivalry between the two families, and I didn't regret it, but the second time I got married, I had to listen to what I liked'."

"Congratulations," I said. "Of course I will lose my liberty, and I like freedom. But one should think about one's own future. To tell you the truth, I'm already in my forties, and only you and I know about it. Yahil Mr. is at a dangerous age; what should I do if he suddenly wants to pursue a twenty-year-old girl? I also have to think about my daughter, who is now sixteen and will look as beautiful as her father.I have given her a good education.But the fact is before you that you cannot deny that Z has neither the talent to be an actress nor the temperament of her poor mother to be a whore, so I ask you, what can she expect?Be a secretary, or be a clerk in the post office.Mr. Yasher very generously agreed to allow her to live with us, and promised to give her a generous dowry so that she could marry a good family.To tell the truth, my dear friend, regardless of what others say, marriage is still the most satisfying career for a woman.Obviously, when I thought of my daughter's well-being, I did not hesitate to accept Mr. Yasir's advice, even at the expense of a certain satisfaction which was becoming less and less accessible as the years went by. up.And I must tell you that after I get married, I am prepared to be absolutely dune vertu farouche, because according to my many years of experience, I firmly believe that the only thing that depends on a happy marriage is the absolute faithfulness of both parties. "

"It is a noble sentiment, my beauty," said I. "Is Mr. Yasser still planning to come to Paris every fortnight to discuss business?" "Oh la la, what do you think of me, my little darling? The first thing I said to Mr. Yasir when he proposed to me was: 'Listen to me, my dear, are you coming? When Paris comes to hold the board meeting, I'll come along, it's a deal. I don't worry about you being here alone." "You can't imagine doing stupid things at my age," he replied. "Aki Mr. Hall,' I said to him, 'you are in the prime of life, and I know better than anyone that you are a lover, and that you are very personable and pompous. You are attracted to women in every way. In short, I think it is best that you should not be seduced. In the end, he agreed to give up the position of director to his son, and he would come to Paris for the meeting instead of his father. Mr. Yassir pretended to be unhappy and thought I was unreasonable, but in fact he felt very good in his heart." Susan sighed with satisfaction. tone. "Life would be much more difficult for our poor women if it were not for this unimaginable vanity of men."

"That's all very well, but what does this have to do with your solo exhibition in Meyerheim?" "My poor friend, you are a bit of a fool today. Haven't I told you for years that Mr. Yassir is an extremely intelligent man? He takes his position into account, and Lear's people are very picky." . Mr. Yasir wanted me to have a place in society; as the wife of a man of his importance, I was entitled to it.You know what those provincials are like, they like to meddle in other people's business; the first thing they do is ask: Who is Susan Rouvier?Well, here's their answer.She is a famous painter, and her recent exhibition at the Meyerheim shop was a remarkable and well-deserved success, 'Susan Rouvier, the widow of an officer in the Colonial Infantry, has for many years relied on her art In order to maintain life and raise a delicate daughter who lost her father's love at an early age, she showed the resolute character of a typical French woman.Now we are delighted to learn that her work will soon be exhibited in the studio of the sharp-eyed Mr. Meyerheim; the wider public will have the opportunity to admire her delicate brushwork and proven technique. '"

"What nonsense are you talking about?" I said, ears perked up. "My dear, this is the propaganda that M. Achille plans to do to promote me. It will be published in all the important French newspapers. He is a great man. Mr. Meyerheim's conditions are very strict, and M. Achille will not give up. I don't care if it's all accepted. There will be champagne at the preview; the Minister of Fine Arts (who owes Mr. Yasser a favor) will give a bombastic speech at the opening; It will be announced that the duty and power of the state is to be rewarded for merit, so one of my paintings has been bought for the state collection. People from all walks of life in Paris will be there, and Mr. Meyerheim will personally greet the critics and ensure that their reports will not only It takes a lot of space to say something nice. Those poor guys, they make so little money. It would be a good thing to give them a chance to make some extra money."

"You deserve it all," I said. "You have always been a kind man." "Et ta soeur, [Note]" she replied, the sentence could not be translated. "But that's not enough. Monsieur Yachle has bought a villa in my name in Saint-Raphaël-sur-Mer, so I will not only be an artist, but also a woman of property in the community of Lille." In two or three years he will retire, and then we will live on the Riviera like high-class people [Comme des gens bien]. He can row a boat on the sea and fish for shrimps, and I will paint my own. painting. Now I will show you the painting." Suzanne had been painting for several years, and having learned the ways of her lovers, she finally drew in her own style.Sketch is still not good, but the color sense is very good.The paintings she showed me included landscapes drawn when she lived with her mother in Anjou, small scenes of the gardens of the Palace of Versailles and the Forest of Fontainebleau, and street scenes in the suburbs of Paris that she favored.Her portraits are superficial and unsteady, but they have a kind of gorgeous beauty, and even some kind of casual taste.There was a painting I really liked and told her I would buy it because I thought it would please her.I can't remember whether this painting is called "Avenue in the Woods" or "White Scarf", and after reviewing it afterwards, I still can't tell it.I asked the price, and the asking price was also very reasonable, so I said I would buy it. "You're a treasure," she called. "My first deal. You won't get it until after the fair, of course, but I'll get them to put it in the papers and say you bought it. A little publicity won't hurt you anyway. I'm glad you picked this one, I think it's one of my favorites. She picked up a mirror and looked at the painting in it. "It's very moody," she said, her eyes narrowing. "Nobody can deny that." These greens--how rich, and yet how delicate!And the white color in the middle is indeed a stroke of genius; it unifies the whole picture and has its own characteristics.It was a sign of talent, no doubt about it, real talent. " I could see that she had come a long way on her way to becoming a professional painter. "Now, my little one, we've talked long enough, and I've got to get back to work." "I have to go too," I said. "By the way, does poor Larry still live among the Indians?" She had been accustomed to speak of such disdain when speaking of the inhabitants of God's own country. "As far as I know, it's still there." "It must have been hard for a gentle and sweet man like him. If those movies are to be believed, life must have been unbearable over there with all the gangsters and cowboys and Mexicans. No Saying those cowboys don't have an appeal reminds you of something. Oh la la. But it would be extremely dangerous to look like a man walking the streets of New York without a pistol in his pocket." She walks me to the door and kisses both of my breasts. "We used to have a lot of fun together. Think of me more in the future." six That's the end of my story.I never heard from Larry and didn't expect to.Since he generally does what he wants, I think that when he comes back to America, he will probably get a job in a garage and work as a truck driver until he acquires the knowledge of the country he has been away from for so many years.After reaching this project, he is likely to implement the whimsical idea of ​​​​driving a taxi: it is true that this was just a joke when we sat across from each other in the cafe at the time, but if he did it It didn't surprise me in the slightest; and afterwards, whenever I hired a cab in New York, I always took a look at the driver, hoping that I might run into Larry's deep-set, solemn, smiling eyes.I've never come across it.The Great War broke out.He is not young, of course he can't fly, but he may go to drive a truck again, at home or abroad; he may also work in a factory.Presumably he would write a book in his spare time, trying to explain his life experience and teachings to his own kind; however, if he was writing, it would take a long time to finish.He had plenty of time; the years had left no marks on him; he was still a youth in every respect. He has no ambitions, no fame; he hates being famous above all; so he is likely to live the life he chooses at ease, doing his own way and wanting nothing more.He was too modest to make himself an example to others; but he might have imagined that some unnamed people would be drawn to him like moths to a lamp, and gradually get along with his ardent faith. Unanimously, he believes that the greatest satisfaction in life can only be realized through spiritual life, and he himself has always held the attitude of selflessness and desirelessness, walking a road leading to self-improvement, and will make his own contribution, just like writing a book It is the same as making speeches or giving speeches to a broad audience. But this is all speculation.I am an ordinary person, a person in the world; I can only express my admiration for the glorious image of Linfeng among such people, and I cannot follow in his footsteps.Sometimes people who are closer to the usual type, I pretend to know the depths of their hearts; with Larry, I can't.Larry has been hiding in the turbulent sea of ​​people as he wished, and this sea of ​​people is troubled by so many contradictory interests, so lost in the chaos of the world, so longing for the good, so Sure on the outside, uncertain on the inside, so benevolent, so cruel, so honest, so cunning, so vile, so generous; and such is the American people.That's all I can say about Larry, and I know it's not enough, but there's no way.However, when I finished writing the book and felt that the reader would be confused and a little uncomfortable, I went over this long story in my mind to see if I could design a satisfying story. A little ending.To my great surprise, it suddenly dawned on me that, although I had no intention of doing so, I had just written a novel about "success" as the subject. For all the characters I have been associated with in the book have gotten what they wanted: Elliott became a socialite; A job can go to work from nine in the morning to six in the afternoon; Susan Rouvier gets security; Sophie gets death; Larry finds a way to live.So, however fastidious the pretentious people may be, the general public at heart likes a novel that does what it wants; so perhaps my story's ending isn't so unsatisfactory after all. --Finish--