Chapter 22 twenty two

I settled down in Paris and started writing a screenplay.My life is very regular; I work in the morning and walk in the Luxembourg Gardens or the streets in the afternoon.I spent a lot of time in the Louvre, the most intimate of all the galleries in Paris, and the most congenial place for me to meditate.Or else I'm just lazing around by the Seine, rummaging through old books I never wanted to buy.I read two pages to the east and two pages to the west, and I got acquainted with many writers in this way.This fragmentary knowledge of these writers is quite sufficient for me.After dinner I went to see my friends.I often went to the Stroeve's, and sometimes had a light supper with him.Stroeve thinks Italian food is his specialty, and I admit that his pasta is far better than his pictures.When he brought out a large plate of delicious macaroni with tomatoes, and we ate his home-baked bread with the macaroni while we drank red wine, it was a meal worthy of the emperor.I grew to know Blanche Stroeve.I think maybe because I'm British and she doesn't know many British people here, she's happy to see me.She is simple-hearted and always cheerful, but she is generally not very talkative.For some reason, she gave me the impression that she had something hidden in her heart.But I also thought that maybe it was just because of her restrained nature and her husband's outspokenness and excessive garrulousness.Dirk can't hold back any words in his heart, even the most secret things will be discussed openly with you without hesitation.His attitude sometimes embarrassed his wife.I saw her get angry only once.That time Stroeve insisted on telling me about his laxatives, and he said it vividly.As he described the disaster to me, he looked so serious that I nearly burst out laughing, while Mrs. Stroeve, utterly embarrassed, finally lost her temper.

"Looks like you'd like to think of yourself as a fool," she said. When he saw that his wife was really angry, his round eyes widened and his brows furrowed in bewilderment. "Honey, are you mad at me? I don't take laxatives anymore. It's all because of my anger. I sit all day. I don't move enough. I haven't had a... " "My God, you still don't shut up!" she interrupted him, bursting into tears with exasperation. His face drooped and his lips pursed like a scolded child.He gave me a pleading wink, hoping that I would smooth things over for him, but I couldn't control myself, and I couldn't straighten up laughing.

One day we went together to a dealer, and Stroeve thought he would show me at least two or three Strickland pictures.But when we got there, the dealer told us that Strickland had taken the painting.The art dealer didn't know why he did this. "Don't think I'm annoyed by it. I accepted his drawings for Mr. Stroeve's sake. I told him I'd try to sell him. But really—" He shrugged. . "I'm interested in young people, but you know it yourself, Herr Schwarzloeff, and you don't think there's any genius in them." "I assure you on my honor that of all these painters there was none more gifted than he. You will take my word for it, you have ruined a lucrative business. Sooner or later these pictures of his It will be worth more than all the pictures in your shop put together. Do you remember Monet? At that time, no one wanted a picture of him for a hundred francs. How much is it worth now?"

"That's right. But there were a hundred painters at that time, not inferior to Monet at all, and they couldn't sell their paintings. Now these people's paintings are still worthless. Who knows what happened? Did the painters only Can you be famous if you draw well? Don't believe that. Besides, it has not been proved whether your friend is good at drawing. You, Mr. Stroeve, are the only one who praises him. I haven't heard anyone say that he OK." "Then tell me, how do you know if a person draws well?" Dirk asked, his face flushed with anger. "There's only one way - to be famous and paint."

"Philippines," Dirk shouted. "Just think about the great artists of the past—Raphael, Michelangelo, Ingres, Delacroix, all famous." "Let's go," Stroeve said to me, "or I'll kill this man."