Chapter 40 Chapter Forty

A few days later Mrs. Carey went to see Philip off at the station.She stood at the door of the carriage, holding back tears.Philip looked anxious and restless, wishing to take flight sooner. "Kiss me one more time," she said. Philip leaned out the window and kissed her.The train starts.She stood on the wooden platform of the small station, waving her handkerchief until the train was out of sight.Her heart felt like a weight of lead, and it was very heavy.The journey back to the vicarage was only a few hundred yards in all, but it seemed a thousand miles away.She thought as she walked: Philip, boy, it's no wonder he can't wait to go, he is young after all, and the future is calling to him.But herself—she clenched her teeth, trying not to cry.She prayed silently, asking God secretly to protect Philip from temptation, and to grant him happiness and good fortune.

But Philip settled himself in the carriage, and presently forgot his aunt.He was full of longing for the future.He had written a letter to the treasurer of Mrs. Otter's school of fine arts, to whom Hayward had told him about Philip, while Philip still had in his pocket Mrs. Otter's invitation to tea to-morrow.When he arrived in Paris, he hired a buggy and had his luggage loaded into it.The carriage moved slowly, through the colorful streets, climbed over the bridge, and drove into the narrow streets of the Latin Quarter.Philip had taken a room at the Two Pole Hotel.This hotel is located in a poor side street not far from Montparnasse Avenue, from here to the Amitrano Art School where he studied painting.A waiter carried the luggage up to the fifth floor, and Philip was shown into a small room with the windows tightly shut and a musty smell upon entering.Most of the room is occupied by a big wooden bed.The bed was draped in scarlet ribbed muslin, and the windows were hung with heavy, tarnished curtains of the same fabric.The chest of drawers doubled as a washstand, and there was also a solid chest of drawers, in a style reminiscent of the wise monarch Louis Philippe.The wallpaper in the room had lost its original color due to age, and was now dark gray, but the pattern of wreaths with brown leaves could still be vaguely discerned on the paper.Philip found the room fascinating and curiously arranged.

It was late at night, but Philip was too excited to sleep.He simply left the hotel, walked onto the street, and strolled towards the brightly lit gate.He came to the train station unknowingly.The square in front of the station, illuminated by a few arc lights, is full of life and interest. The yellow trams seem to rush to the square from all directions, and jingling across the square.Philip watched all this, and could not help laughing gaily.There are many cafes around the square.He happened to be a little thirsty, and eager to see the people in the street, so he sat down at a small table outside the Café de Versailles.The night was charming tonight, and the other tables were full of people. Philip looked at the crowd around him curiously: here was the family having a reunion drink, and there was a group of people wearing strange hats and chins. There were men with beards sitting on their backs, croaking loudly and gesticulating; the two men sitting next to them looked like painters, and there were women sitting beside them, Philip thought. The painter's married wife is wonderful; behind him, he heard a few Americans talking and arguing about issues related to art.Philip's heart skipped a beat.He just sat there until very late and reluctantly left, exhausted but happy in his heart.When he finally got into bed, he was refreshed and tired.He listened attentively to the din of Parisian nightlife.

At tea-time next afternoon Philip set off for the Rue de la Lion in Belfort, and found Mrs Otter, a woman of thirty, on a newly paved road which ran out from the Rue Raspail. A woman of insignificant circumstances, her appearance is vulgar, but she pretends to be a noble lady.She introduced Philip to her mother.After a few words Philip learned that she had studied art for three years in Paris, and that she had parted ways with her husband.In the small living room hung one or two portraits by her.After all, Philip was not an expert. In his opinion, these paintings were perfect, and his skills had reached the point of perfection.

"I don't know if there will be a day when I can draw the same excellent paintings," he said with admiration. "Oh, I see you're fine," she replied, not without complacency. "Of course, you can't dig a well with a shovel, you have to do it step by step." She was very thoughtful and gave him the address of a store where she could buy supplies such as painting clips, construction paper, and charcoal pencils. "I'm going to Amitrano's studio around nine o'clock tomorrow morning, and if you're there at that time, I can try to find you a good seat and help you find something else."

She asked Philip exactly what he wanted to do, and Philip felt that he could not let her see that he had not yet had a definite plan for the whole thing. "Well, I'd like to start with a sketch," he said. "I'm glad to hear you say that. Most people are always ambitious and eager for success. Take me as an example. I stayed here for two years before I dared to try a few oil paints. As for the effect, you can see for yourself." Mrs. Otter glanced at a sticky oil painting, a portrait of her mother, lined above the piano. "If I were you, I would be very careful when interacting with strangers, and I would not hang out with foreigners. I have always been cautious in my words and deeds, and I dare not be careless."

Philip thanked her for her advice.But to be honest, Philip was very surprised to hear these words. He didn't understand why he had to be a gentleman who was cautious and cautious. "We're living now as if we were staying in England," said Mrs. Otter's mother, who remained almost silent. "When we came here, we moved all the belongings from our hometown." Philip looked around.The room was crammed with clumsy furniture, and the windows were hung with the same white lace curtains that hung in the Vicarage in the summer.The piano and the mantel were covered with Liberty silk drapes.Philip looked around, and Mrs. Otter looked back and forth accordingly.

"When the shutters are closed at night, it's like being back home in England." "We still eat three meals a day according to the rules of our hometown," her mother added. "We have meat for breakfast and dinner at noon." After leaving Mrs. Otter's, Philip went to buy painting supplies.The next morning, he arrived at the art school at nine o'clock, trying his best to appear calm and confident.Otto had already arrived one step ahead, and at this moment he greeted him with a wide smile.Philippe was constantly worried about the reception he would receive as a "nouyeau".He had read in many books that students who first entered the studio to study painting were often teased rudely by others, but Mrs. Ott's words made his doubts go away.

"Oh, that's not the thing here," she said. "Look, almost half of our classmates are women, and the ladies are in charge here." The studio is quite spacious and empty, with award-winning studies hanging on the gray walls around.A mannequin was sitting in a chair wrapped in a baggy coat.There were about a dozen male and female students standing around her, some were chatting, and some were still immersed in painting.This is the model's first break. "At first, it's best to try something that isn't too difficult," Mrs. Otter said. "Put the easel here. You'll find it most flattering to sketch from this angle."

Philip set up his easel according to her instructions, and Mrs. Otter introduced him to a young woman nearby. "This is Mr. Carey. This is Miss Price. Mr. Carey has never learned to paint before, so I have to ask you for help at the beginning. You won't bother me?" She said, turning to the model Son shouted: La pose. The model was reading the "Little Republic". At this time, she threw the newspaper away, took off her coat with a sullen face, and stepped onto the painting platform.She spread her feet, stood there firmly, crossed her fingers, and supported the back of her head.

"That's an awkward position," said Miss Price. "I don't see why they chose such an odd position." When Philip entered the studio just now, people had looked at him curiously, the model had glanced at him indifferently, and no one paid any attention to him now.On the easel in front of Philip was a piece of beautiful, scratchy drawing paper. He stared at the model uneasily, not knowing where to start to draw.It was the first time in his life that he saw a naked woman.The model was aging, with shrinking breasts, tarnished blond hair that fell over her forehead like a matted grass, and conspicuous freckles all over her face.He glanced at Miss Price's work.She has only been working on this painting for two days, and she seems to be in trouble.Because she always erases with an eraser, the picture has become messy.In Philip's opinion, the human body she drew was all out of shape, and she didn't know what to draw. "I should have thought I couldn't draw any worse than this," he said to himself. He started with the head first, intending to work his way down slowly.But for some reason, he found that it is much more difficult to sketch from life than to draw with imagination alone.He got stuck and couldn't draw any more.He glanced at Miss Price.She is concentrating on drawing meticulously.She was so eager that she didn't even feel her brows tightening, and her eyes showed a restless expression.It was very hot in the studio, and beads of sweat appeared on her forehead.Miss Price is twenty-six years old. She has thick, soft, golden-brown hair, which is smooth and beautiful, but it is a pity that she combs it carelessly.There are a pair of small eyes embedded in the big face, and the facial features are broad and flat; the skin is white and blue, with a strange morbidity, and there is no trace of blood on the cheeks.She looked as if she never dressed, and one wondered if she slept with her clothes on at night.She is silent by nature, unsmiling.During the second break, she stepped back and looked at her masterpiece. "It doesn't work out for some reason," she said, "but I've got my mind on it." She turned to Philip. "How are you doing?" "Terrible," Philip replied with a wry smile. She looked at his drawing. "How can you draw like this! You have to draw with a pen first, and then you have to outline the outline on the paper. She showed him neatly. Philip was really moved by her sincerity, but Her lack of charm still displeased Philip. He thanked her for her kindness, and resumed his brush. Most of the people who come slowly are men, because women always come early in the morning. At this time of this year (although the season is still a bit early), the studio is already overcrowded. After a while, a young man walked in, sparsely With black hair, an oversized nose, and a long face reminiscent of a horse, he sat down beside Philip and nodded to Miss Price across Philip. "Why are you here now," she said, "have you just woken up?" "It's such a beautiful day and I thought, I'm going to lie in bed and imagine how beautiful it is outside." Philip smiled knowingly.Miss Price, however, was quite sincere and did not take the remark as a joke. "It's kind of funny. In my opinion, it makes more sense to get up early and go out when the weather is nice." "It seems that it is not easy to be a humorist," said the young man solemnly. He didn't seem to want to start writing immediately, just glanced at his canvas.He was watercolouring, the sketch of the model, which he had sketched yesterday.He turned to Philip. "You just came from England?" "yes." "How did you come to the Amitrano school?" "That's the only art school I know of." "I hope you didn't come here with the idea that you might learn something at least useful here." "Amitrano is the leading art school in Paris," said Miss Price. "There is no other school that takes art so seriously." "Does art have to be serious?" asked the young man.Since Miss Price's answer was only a contemptuous shrug, he went on: "But here's the point: all the art schools are big and bad. They're all academics, obviously. And here's why Less harmful, simply because the teaching here is more incompetent than elsewhere, and nothing can be learned here..." "Then why do you come here?" interrupted Philip. "I have found a shortcut and a smooth path, but I am still following the old path. Miss Price is very educated. You must remember the original Latin of this sentence." "I hope you don't involve me in your conversation, Mr. Clutton," said Miss Price sharply. "The only way to learn to draw," he went on nonchalantly, "is to rent a small studio, hire a model, and make your own way." "It didn't seem that hard to do," Phillips said. "It costs money," Clutton interjected. Clutton began to write, and Philip watched him furtively out of the corner of his eye.I saw that he was tall, so thin that only a few bones remained, and the broad frame seemed to protrude from the outside of the body; his elbows were sharp, almost breaking the sleeves of his torn coat.The hips of the trousers were frayed, and each boot had an ugly patch.Miss Price got up and came over to Philip's easel. "If Mr. Clutton will shut up and be quiet for a while, I'll come over and help you," she said. "Miss Price doesn't like me because I have a bit of a sense of humor," Clutton said, looking thoughtfully at his own picture, "and she hates me because I have a bit of wit." Clutton was talking seriously, and Philip looked at his strange big nose, and thought his words sounded very funny, so he couldn't help but snort.Miss Price flushed with anger. "Nobody here has complained about your talent except you." "Here is my opinion alone, and I find it most insignificant." Miss Price began to criticize Philip's work.She talked endlessly about sections, structures, planes, lines, and many other things Philip knew nothing about.She had been in the studio here for a long time, and she knew the essentials of painting repeatedly emphasized by the teachers. She pointed out all kinds of faults in Philip's studies at one breath, but she couldn't tell a correct way. "Thank you for taking so much trouble to teach me," said Philip. "Oh, nothing," she replied, blushing with embarrassment. "That's what I was told when I first came here, and no matter who it is, I'm happy to help." "What Miss Price would like to say is that she preached to you out of a sense of duty, not because of any personal charm in you," Clutton said. Miss Price gave him a savage look, and returned to her seat to continue drawing. The clock struck twelve, and the model gave a cry of relief and stepped down from the painting table. Miss Price packed her paints. "Some of us are going to eat at Grevia's," she said to Philip, and gave Clutton a look. "I always eat lunch at home myself." "If you don't mind, let me accompany you to Grevia's," Clutton said. Philip thanked him and got up to leave the studio.After walking a few steps, Mrs. Otter came over and asked him how he was studying painting today. "Did Fanny Price teach you anything?" she asked. "I put you next to her on purpose, because I knew she could do it if she wanted to. This girl is not very pleasant and has a bad temper, and she can't paint herself. But she knows how to paint." As long as she doesn't bother, she can point out the maze for newcomers." Clutton said to Philip as they went into the street: "Fanny Price has a good impression of you, you'd better watch out." Philip laughed.It never occurred to him to make a good impression on a woman like her.They came to a small economical restaurant, where some students from the studio were sitting to eat, and Clutton sat down at a table where three or four people were already seated.Here, for one franc, you can eat an egg, a plate of meat, plus cheese and a small bottle of wine.To drink coffee, you have to pay extra.They sat on the sidewalk, and the yellow trams went up and down the street, tinkling their bells. "Oh, may I have your last name?" Clutton asked abruptly when they were seated. "Kerry." "Permit me to introduce to you an old and trustworthy friend--Kerry," said Clutton with seriousness. "This is Mr. Flanagan, and this is Mr. Lawson." The people present laughed and continued to talk about themselves.They talk about everything, and they talk about everything; they just talk about themselves, and don't pay attention to what others say.They talked about where they had been in the summer, about studios, about schools of one kind or another; they mentioned many names that were still unfamiliar to Philip: Monet, Manet, Renoir, Pissarro, Degas, etc. Wait.Philip pricked up his ears to listen, and although he felt a little bewildered, he was excited, and his heart was pounding like a deer. time flies.Clutton stood up and said: "If you'd like to come tonight, you'll find me here. You'll find it's the cheapest place in the Latin Quarter. It won't cost you a penny, and you're guaranteed to get indigestion."