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Updated: May 23, 2025
For a moment a silence fell between them, succeeded by an outburst from Monet. "Let's keep on!" he cried, harshly. "Let's keep right on going! I don't want to go back. I won't, I tell you! I won't!" Fred took him by the shoulders ... he was trembling violently. "Come ... come! We can't do that, you know!... We haven't provisions or proper clothing. And the rain, my boy!
There, M. de Rességuier, undoubtedly with a good purpose, and in order to form a more compact group, urged that they should all install themselves on the Right side. "No," said Marc Dufraisse, "every one to his bench." They scattered themselves about the Hall, each in his usual place. M. Monet, who sat on one of the lower benches of the Left Centre, held in his hand a copy of the Constitution.
And as he stirred ever so slightly he felt the nearness of two souls. Clearly and more clearly they defined themselves until he knew them for those two erring companions of his misery who had been made suddenly perfect in the crucible of sorrow and sacrifice. They came toward him in a white, silent beauty, until on one side stood Felix Monet and on the other Sylvia Molineaux.
The next morning Fred decided to chance a walk in the open. He had a vague wish to try his wings again, now that he had grown stronger. The situation reminded him remotely of Fairview on those first days when Monet and he had attempted to harden their muscles against the day of escape. But this time he was struggling to free himself from a personality, from an idea.
If I can paint a fair imitation of a Claude Monet on canvas, I can also produce for you a colourless gas which, when handled by a virtuoso, produces astonishing illusions. In the open air, against the dark background of the horizon, I can show you the luminous dots planewise of the Impressionists; or I can give you the broad, sabrelike brushwork of Velasquez, or the imperial tintings of Titian.
He was gloating over a small picture, its frame tilted back on the upright of his easel. It was the Monet! "Did he loan it to you, old man?" Sam inquired. "Loan it to me, you quill-driver! No, I bought it!" "For how much?" "Full price six hundred dollars. Do you suppose I'd insult Monet by dickering for it?" "What have you got to pay it with?" This came in a hopeless tone. "Not a cent!
The one-eyed dealer Jack was right, he had but one eye at once agreed with Jack as to the proper ultimate destination of the Ziem, and under the influence of the cigar which Jack had insisted on lighting for him, assisted by Jack's casual mention of his father a name that was known to be good for half a million and encouraged greatly encouraged indeed by an aside from Sam that the painter had already been offered more than he paid for it by a man worth millions under all these influences, assistances, and encouragements, I say, the one-eyed dealer so modified his demands that an additional twenty-four hours was granted Jack in which to settle his account, the Monet to remain in his possession.
What did the Luxembourg do for Corot, Millet, Manet, Degas, Monet, Renoir, Sisley, Pissaro? The Luxembourg chose rather to honour such pretentious mediocrities as Bouguereau, Jules Lefebvre, Jules Breton, and their like. What has our Academy done to rescue struggling genius from poverty and obscurity?
When Monet is dead it will be as impossible to paint an impressionistic picture as to revive the ichthyosaurus. A little world of ideas goes by every five-and-twenty years, and the next that emerges will be incomprehensible to me, as incomprehensible as Monet was to Corot.... Was the young generation knocking at the door of the Opera Comique last night?
What difference does that make? Samuel, you interest me. Why is it your soul never rises above dollars and cents?" "But, Jack you can't take his property and " "I can't can't I? His property! Do you suppose Monet painted it to please that one-eyed, double-jointed dealer, who don't know a picture from a hole in the ground!
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