Chapter XL

by William Somerset Maugham

　　A few days later Mrs. Carey went to the station to see Philip off. Shestood at the door of the carriage, trying to keep back her tears. Philipwas restless and eager. He wanted to be gone."Kiss me once more," she said.He leaned out of the window and kissed her. The train started, and shestood on the wooden platform of the little station, waving herhandkerchief till it was out of sight. Her heart was dreadfully heavy, andthe few hundred yards to the vicarage seemed very, very long. It wasnatural enough that he should be eager to go, she thought, he was a boyand the future beckoned to him; but she--she clenched her teeth so thatshe should not cry. She uttered a little inward prayer that God wouldguard him, and keep him out of temptation, and give him happiness and goodfortune.But Philip ceased to think of her a moment after he had settled down inhis carriage. He thought only of the future. He had written to Mrs. Otter,the massiere to whom Hayward had given him an introduction, and had inhis pocket an invitation to tea on the following day. When he arrived inParis he had his luggage put on a cab and trundled off slowly through thegay streets, over the bridge, and along the narrow ways of the LatinQuarter. He had taken a room at the Hotel des Deux Ecoles, which was in ashabby street off the Boulevard du Montparnasse; it was convenient forAmitrano's School at which he was going to work. A waiter took his box upfive flights of stairs, and Philip was shown into a tiny room, fusty fromunopened windows, the greater part of which was taken up by a large woodenbed with a canopy over it of red rep; there were heavy curtains on thewindows of the same dingy material; the chest of drawers served also as awashing-stand; and there was a massive wardrobe of the style which isconnected with the good King Louis Philippe. The wall-paper wasdiscoloured with age; it was dark gray, and there could be vaguely seen onit garlands of brown leaves. To Philip the room seemed quaint andcharming.Though it was late he felt too excited to sleep and, going out, made hisway into the boulevard and walked towards the light. This led him to thestation; and the square in front of it, vivid with arc-lamps, noisy withthe yellow trams that seemed to cross it in all directions, made him laughaloud with joy. There were cafes all round, and by chance, thirsty andeager to get a nearer sight of the crowd, Philip installed himself at alittle table outside the Cafe de Versailles. Every other table was taken,for it was a fine night; and Philip looked curiously at the people, herelittle family groups, there a knot of men with odd-shaped hats and beardstalking loudly and gesticulating; next to him were two men who looked likepainters with women who Philip hoped were not their lawful wives; behindhim he heard Americans loudly arguing on art. His soul was thrilled. Hesat till very late, tired out but too happy to move, and when at last hewent to bed he was wide awake; he listened to the manifold noise of Paris.Next day about tea-time he made his way to the Lion de Belfort, and in anew street that led out of the Boulevard Raspail found Mrs. Otter. She wasan insignificant woman of thirty, with a provincial air and a deliberatelylady-like manner; she introduced him to her mother. He discoveredpresently that she had been studying in Paris for three years and laterthat she was separated from her husband. She had in her small drawing-roomone or two portraits which she had painted, and to Philip's inexperiencethey seemed extremely accomplished."I wonder if I shall ever be able to paint as well as that," he said toher."Oh, I expect so," she replied, not without self-satisfaction. "You can'texpect to do everything all at once, of course."She was very kind. She gave him the address of a shop where he could geta portfolio, drawing-paper, and charcoal."I shall be going to Amitrano's about nine tomorrow, and if you'll bethere then I'll see that you get a good place and all that sort of thing."She asked him what he wanted to do, and Philip felt that he should not lether see how vague he was about the whole matter."Well, first I want to learn to draw," he said."I'm so glad to hear you say that. People always want to do things in sucha hurry. I never touched oils till I'd been here for two years, and lookat the result."She gave a glance at the portrait of her mother, a sticky piece ofpainting that hung over the piano."And if I were you, I would be very careful about the people you get toknow. I wouldn't mix myself up with any foreigners. I'm very carefulmyself."Philip thanked her for the suggestion, but it seemed to him odd. He didnot know that he particularly wanted to be careful."We live just as we would if we were in England," said Mrs. Otter'smother, who till then had spoken little. "When we came here we brought allour own furniture over."Philip looked round the room. It was filled with a massive suite, and atthe window were the same sort of white lace curtains which Aunt Louisa putup at the vicarage in summer. The piano was draped in Liberty silk and sowas the chimney-piece. Mrs. Otter followed his wandering eye."In the evening when we close the shutters one might really feel one wasin England.""And we have our meals just as if we were at home," added her mother. "Ameat breakfast in the morning and dinner in the middle of the day."When he left Mrs. Otter Philip went to buy drawing materials; and nextmorning at the stroke of nine, trying to seem self-assured, he presentedhimself at the school. Mrs. Otter was already there, and she came forwardwith a friendly smile. He had been anxious about the reception he wouldhave as a nouveau, for he had read a good deal of the rough joking towhich a newcomer was exposed at some of the studios; but Mrs. Otter hadreassured him."Oh, there's nothing like that here," she said. "You see, about half ourstudents are ladies, and they set a tone to the place."The studio was large and bare, with gray walls, on which were pinned thestudies that had received prizes. A model was sitting in a chair with aloose wrap thrown over her, and about a dozen men and women were standingabout, some talking and others still working on their sketch. It was thefirst rest of the model."You'd better not try anything too difficult at first," said Mrs. Otter."Put your easel here. You'll find that's the easiest pose."Philip placed an easel where she indicated, and Mrs. Otter introduced himto a young woman who sat next to him."Mr. Carey--Miss Price. Mr. Carey's never studied before, you won't mindhelping him a little just at first will you?" Then she turned to themodel. "La Pose."The model threw aside the paper she had been reading, La PetiteRepublique, and sulkily, throwing off her gown, got on to the stand. Shestood, squarely on both feet with her hands clasped behind her head."It's a stupid pose," said Miss Price. "I can't imagine why they choseit."When Philip entered, the people in the studio had looked at him curiously,and the model gave him an indifferent glance, but now they ceased to payattention to him. Philip, with his beautiful sheet of paper in front ofhim, stared awkwardly at the model. He did not know how to begin. He hadnever seen a naked woman before. She was not young and her breasts wereshrivelled. She had colourless, fair hair that fell over her foreheaduntidily, and her face was covered with large freckles. He glanced at MissPrice's work. She had only been working on it two days, and it looked asthough she had had trouble; her paper was in a mess from constant rubbingout, and to Philip's eyes the figure looked strangely distorted."I should have thought I could do as well as that," he said to himself.He began on the head, thinking that he would work slowly downwards, but,he could not understand why, he found it infinitely more difficult to drawa head from the model than to draw one from his imagination. He got intodifficulties. He glanced at Miss Price. She was working with vehementgravity. Her brow was wrinkled with eagerness, and there was an anxiouslook in her eyes. It was hot in the studio, and drops of sweat stood onher forehead. She was a girl of twenty-six, with a great deal of dull goldhair; it was handsome hair, but it was carelessly done, dragged back fromher forehead and tied in a hurried knot. She had a large face, with broad,flat features and small eyes; her skin was pasty, with a singularunhealthiness of tone, and there was no colour in the cheeks. She had anunwashed air and you could not help wondering if she slept in her clothes.She was serious and silent. When the next pause came, she stepped back tolook at her work."I don't know why I'm having so much bother," she said. "But I mean to getit right." She turned to Philip. "How are you getting on?""Not at all," he answered, with a rueful smile.She looked at what he had done."You can't expect to do anything that way. You must take measurements. Andyou must square out your paper."She showed him rapidly how to set about the business. Philip was impressedby her earnestness, but repelled by her want of charm. He was grateful forthe hints she gave him and set to work again. Meanwhile other people hadcome in, mostly men, for the women always arrived first, and the studiofor the time of year (it was early yet) was fairly full. Presently therecame in a young man with thin, black hair, an enormous nose, and a face solong that it reminded you of a horse. He sat down next to Philip andnodded across him to Miss Price."You're very late," she said. "Are you only just up?""It was such a splendid day, I thought I'd lie in bed and think howbeautiful it was out."Philip smiled, but Miss Price took the remark seriously."That seems a funny thing to do, I should have thought it would be more tothe point to get up and enjoy it.""The way of the humorist is very hard," said the young man gravely.He did not seem inclined to work. He looked at his canvas; he was workingin colour, and had sketched in the day before the model who was posing. Heturned to Philip."Have you just come out from England?""Yes.""How did you find your way to Amitrano's?""It was the only school I knew of.""I hope you haven't come with the idea that you will learn anything herewhich will be of the smallest use to you.""It's the best school in Paris," said Miss Price. "It's the only one wherethey take art seriously.""Should art be taken seriously?" the young man asked; and since Miss Pricereplied only with a scornful shrug, he added: "But the point is, allschools are bad. They are academical, obviously. Why this is lessinjurious than most is that the teaching is more incompetent thanelsewhere. Because you learn nothing....""But why d'you come here then?" interrupted Philip."I see the better course, but do not follow it. Miss Price, who iscultured, will remember the Latin of that.""I wish you would leave me out of your conversation, Mr. Clutton," saidMiss Price brusquely."The only way to learn to paint," he went on, imperturbable, "is to takea studio, hire a model, and just fight it out for yourself.""That seems a simple thing to do," said Philip."It only needs money," replied Clutton.He began to paint, and Philip looked at him from the comer of his eye. Hewas long and desperately thin; his huge bones seemed to protrude from hisbody; his elbows were so sharp that they appeared to jut out through thearms of his shabby coat. His trousers were frayed at the bottom, and oneach of his boots was a clumsy patch. Miss Price got up and went over toPhilip's easel."If Mr. Clutton will hold his tongue for a moment, I'll just help you alittle," she said."Miss Price dislikes me because I have humour," said Clutton, lookingmeditatively at his canvas, "but she detests me because I have genius."He spoke with solemnity, and his colossal, misshapen nose made what hesaid very quaint. Philip was obliged to laugh, but Miss Price grew darklyred with anger."You're the only person who has ever accused you of genius.""Also I am the only person whose opinion is of the least value to me."Miss Price began to criticise what Philip had done. She talked glibly ofanatomy and construction, planes and lines, and of much else which Philipdid not understand. She had been at the studio a long time and knew themain points which the masters insisted upon, but though she could showwhat was wrong with Philip's work she could not tell him how to put itright."It's awfully kind of you to take so much trouble with me," said Philip."Oh, it's nothing," she answered, flushing awkwardly. "People did the samefor me when I first came, I'd do it for anyone.""Miss Price wants to indicate that she is giving you the advantage of herknowledge from a sense of duty rather than on account of any charms ofyour person," said Clutton.Miss Price gave him a furious look, and went back to her own drawing. Theclock struck twelve, and the model with a cry of relief stepped down fromthe stand.Miss Price gathered up her things."Some of us go to Gravier's for lunch," she said to Philip, with a look atClutton. "I always go home myself.""I'll take you to Gravier's if you like," said Clutton.Philip thanked him and made ready to go. On his way out Mrs. Otter askedhim how he had been getting on."Did Fanny Price help you?" she asked. "I put you there because I know shecan do it if she likes. She's a disagreeable, ill-natured girl, and shecan't draw herself at all, but she knows the ropes, and she can be usefulto a newcomer if she cares to take the trouble."On the way down the street Clutton said to him:"You've made an impression on Fanny Price. You'd better look out."Philip laughed. He had never seen anyone on whom he wished less to make animpression. They came to the cheap little restaurant at which several ofthe students ate, and Clutton sat down at a table at which three or fourmen were already seated. For a franc, they got an egg, a plate of meat,cheese, and a small bottle of wine. Coffee was extra. They sat on thepavement, and yellow trams passed up and down the boulevard with aceaseless ringing of bells."By the way, what's your name?" said Clutton, as they took their seats."Carey.""Allow me to introduce an old and trusted friend, Carey by name," saidClutton gravely. "Mr. Flanagan, Mr. Lawson."They laughed and went on with their conversation. They talked of athousand things, and they all talked at once. No one paid the smallestattention to anyone else. They talked of the places they had been to inthe summer, of studios, of the various schools; they mentioned names whichwere unfamiliar to Philip, Monet, Manet, Renoir, Pissarro, Degas. Philiplistened with all his ears, and though he felt a little out of it, hisheart leaped with exultation. The time flew. When Clutton got up he said:"I expect you'll find me here this evening if you care to come. You'llfind this about the best place for getting dyspepsia at the lowest cost inthe Quarter."