Chapter 46 Chapter Forty-Six

[Philip realized that living in Paris was not as economical as he had heard people say, and he had spent more than half of the few money he brought with him before February.He was haughty by nature, and of course he would not ask his guardian for help, and he would not let Aunt Louisa know of his present predicament, because he believed that if she knew, she would send him money out of her own pocket. Come, and he knew in his heart that his aunt was unable to do what she wanted, and there was really not much room for her "private room".Fortunately, after another three months, when he reaches the legal age of majority, that small fortune will be at his disposal.He sold a few odd accessories left by his father to cope with the incomplete life in front of him.

It was about this time that Lawson proposed to Philip a partnership to rent a small, closed studio.The studio was located in a fork in the Rue Raspell, and the rent was very low, and there was a small room that could be used as a bedroom.Since Philip had to go to school every morning, Lawson could then enjoy the studio alone without being disturbed.Lawson had switched schools several times in a row before finally coming to the conclusion that it was better to go it alone.He suggested hiring a model three or four days a week.At first Philip could not make up his mind, apprehensive of the expense, but when they did the calculations together (they were both very anxious to have a studio of their own, they did the actual calculations), they found that the cost of a studio seemed to have disappeared as well. Much higher than staying in a hotel.Although the rent expenses are slightly more, and you have to pay the janitor for cleaning, but the petit dejeuner can save money by doing it yourself.Had it been a year or two ago Philip would have refused to share a room because he was too sensitive about his handicap.Now, however, the morbidity had faded: in Paris his disability seemed to be nothing; and although he never forgot it himself, he no longer felt that his lameness was constantly being noticed.

They moved in at last, added two cots, a washstand, and some chairs, and for the first time felt a sense of possessiveness.On the first night after moving in, in this room that can be called "home", they lay on the bed, closed their eyes with excitement, and talked about it until three o'clock in the morning.The next day, they made their own fire and brewed coffee, and then sipped it slowly in their pajamas, which was really special.It was not until about eleven o'clock that Philip hurried to Amitrano's studio.He was in particularly good spirits today, nodding to Fanny Price as soon as he saw her.

"How are you doing?" he asked casually, cheerfully. "What's your business?" she asked rhetorically. Philip couldn't help laughing. "That stops me, why bother? I'm just trying to be polite." "Who cares about your politeness?" "Do you think it would be worth it if you quarreled with me too?" said Philip gently. "To be honest, there are not many people who are willing to talk to you." "That's my business, isn't it?" "Of course." Philip began to paint, wondering to himself why Fanny Price wanted to be annoying.He came to the conclusion that there was nothing lovable about this woman.Here, people don't like her.If anyone was to be polite to her, it would be because she was concerned about her venomous tongue, for fear that she would spit out some unsavory dirty words in front of and behind others.But Philip was really happy that day, and even Miss Price didn't want to offend her.Usually, he only needs to play tricks to make her angry, and now he wants to repeat the old trick.

"Hey, I wish you'd come over and see my drawings. I suck at drawing." "Thank you for your compliment, but I don't have much free time, I have more worthwhile things to do." Philip stared at Miss Price in amazement, thinking he knew her temper, and would be more than happy to ask her advice.She lowered her voice and said angrily: "Now Lawson's gone, so you've come to accommodate me again. Thank you for your kindness. Better get someone else! I don't want to pick up other people's junk." Lawson was born with the gift of being a teacher. Whenever he had some experience, he was always eager to pass it on to others.It is precisely because he is willing to teach people that he can teach well.Philip got into the habit of sitting down next to Lawson as soon as he entered the studio; it never occurred to him that Fanny Price would knock over the vinegar jar, I suffocated my stomach.

"At the beginning, you were not familiar with the place here, so you were very happy to find me," she said bitterly. "But as soon as you made a new friend, you dumped me like an old glove.—she repeated the overused metaphor with some satisfaction—"As Shake it off only.Older than sets.Well, I don't care anyway, but you can't make me a fool a second time! " Her words may not be unreasonable. Philip was furious because he was touched on a sore spot. Whenever something came to his mind, he blurted out: "Fuck you! I'm asking you for advice just to please you.""

She gasped for breath and cast a sudden, painful look at Philip.Then, two lines of tears rolled down the cheeks.She looked scruffy and eccentric.Philip had never seen such an air before, and he did not know what it was, but went about his work.He felt uncomfortable and deeply guilty.However, he refused to run up to her, apologized to her, and asked if he had hurt her, because he was afraid that she would take the opportunity to ridicule her.She had not said a word to him for two or three weeks after that.At first Philip was a little apprehensive to see her ignoring him, but after the incident he seemed to be relieved to be rid of such a difficult girlfriend.In the past, she always looked like Philip wanted her, which Philip couldn't bear.This woman is indeed unusual.She came to the studio at eight o'clock every morning, and as soon as the models were posed, she immediately began to paint.He really has a tenacity when he paints, he doesn't say a word to anyone, even if he encounters obstacles that he can't overcome, he still keeps his head in asking hour after hour, and doesn't leave the studio until the clock strikes twelve o'clock.When it comes to the paintings she paints, it's just beyond redemption.Most of the young people who come to the studio to study for a few months will always improve to some extent, at least they can draw a few strokes, but she is still far behind them.She wore the same ugly brown dress every day, the hem of which still had the mud of the previous rainy day, when Philip saw her for the first time.The tatters I saw when I was there, have not been tidied up to this day.

One day, however, she came up to Philip, blushing, and asked him if she could speak to him later. "Of course, you can say as much as you like," said Philip, smiling. "I'll stay and wait for you at twelve o'clock. When the lesson was over, Philip walked up to her. "Will you walk with me?" she said, too embarrassed to look Philip in the eye. "Happy to accompany." For two or three minutes they walked in silence. "Do you remember what you said to me that day?" she asked suddenly. "Well, let me tell you, let's not quarrel," said Philip, "it's not worth it."

She drew in a sharp, painful breath. "I don't want to quarrel with you. You are the only friend I have in Paris. I thought you had a certain affection for me. I thought there seemed to be something between us. It was you who attracted me--you know me What do you mean, it's your lameness that attracts me." Philip blushed, instinctively trying to pretend to be a normal person walking.He hates being mentioned about his disability.He understood what Fanny Price meant by saying nothing more than that she was ugly and slovenly, and he was crippled, so that they should be sympathetic.Philip was very annoyed with her, but managed to keep silent.

"You said that you taught me just to please me. Then you think my paintings are useless?" "I've only seen the paintings you made in Amitrano, and it's hard to tell from those alone." "I wonder if you'd like to come over to my place and see my other works. I never let anyone see my works. I'd love to show you." "Thank you for your kindness. I really want to feast my eyes too." "I live near here," she said apologetically. "It's only a ten-minute walk." "Oh, all right," he said. They walked down the street.She turned into a side street and led Philip into a still narrower street, lined with small shops selling cheap wares on the ground floors of the houses.At last it was here.They climbed flight after flight of stairs.She unlocked the door, and they entered a small attic with a sloping roof and a small window.The windows were closed tightly, and there was a musty smell in the room.Although the weather was very cold, there was no fire in the house. It seemed that the house had never had a stove.The bedding on the bed was messy.A chair, a chest of drawers that doubled as a washstand, and a cheap easel—these were all the furnishings of the room.The place was filthy enough, but with all the clutter and mess, it was disgusting to watch.Paints and brushes were scattered about on the mantelpiece, with a cup, a dirty dish, and a teapot among them.

"Stand over there, please, so I can put the painting on the chair so you can see it better." She showed Philip twenty small oil paintings about eighteen centimeters long and twenty centimeters wide.She laid them one after the other on the chair, and watched Philip's face.Philip nodded each time he read one of them. "You like these pictures very much, don't you?" she asked impatiently after a while. "I want to see all the pictures first," he replied, "and then give my opinion." Philip tried to be calm, but in fact he was startled and flustered, not knowing what to say.Not only were the pictures badly drawn, they were also poorly painted, as if they had been painted by a layman who didn't know much about art, and they were disorganized, showing no contrast of light and dark at all, and the perspective was absurd.The drawings look like they were drawn by a five-year-old.But having said that, if it is really written by a five-year-old child, there will still be a bit of naive interest, at least try to sketch what you see as it is.And the paintings in front of me can only come from the hands of a painter who is full of business spirit and whose head is full of messy and vulgar pictures.Philip remembered that she had talked gleefully about Monet and the Impressionists, but the works before him followed the worst academic traditions. "There," she said at last, "here it is." Although Philip was not necessarily more honest in his dealings with others, it was a real embarrassment for him to tell a big lie to his face.He blushed to the base of his neck when he said the following: "I think these are pretty well drawn." A faint blush appeared on her pale face, and there was a smile at the corner of her mouth. "I said, if you think these paintings are not very good, you don't have to praise me to my face. I want to listen to your truth." "That's really what's on my mind." "Is there nothing to criticize? There are always a few works that you don't like so much." Philip looked around helplessly.He caught a glimpse of a landscape painting, a "sketch" of landscapes that amateurs love to paint: a colorful picture of an ancient bridge, a farmhouse covered with ivy, and a tree-lined embankment . "Of course, I don't want to pretend to be a connoisseur and say I'm good at painting," he said, "but I don't quite understand the significance of that painting." Her face was flushed red.She quickly picked up the painting in her hands, turning the back to Ficop. "I don't know why you pick this one to be picky. It's the best one I've ever painted. I believe my eyesight is right. As for the value of a painting, if you know it, you know it, and if you don't know it, you don't know it. That's the kind of thing you can't teach yourself." "I think all of them are well drawn," repeated Philip. She looked at the pictures with a smug expression. "In my opinion, these paintings are perfectly passable, and there's nothing to be ashamed of." Philip looked at his watch. "I said, it's getting late. Would you like me to treat you to a light meal?" "Here I have lunch ready." Philip saw no trace of lunch, and thought: Perhaps the porter will bring it up when he is gone.He just wanted to get out of here quickly, the musty smell in the room made his head ache.