"
To this romance of dickering I would reply with the
romance (which is also the virtue) of art: reminding
him of those examples of constancy through many
tribulations, with which the ROLE of Apollo is
illustrated--from the case of Millet, to those of many
of our friends and comrades, who had chosen this
agreeable mountain path through life, and were now
bravely clambering among rocks and brambles, penniless
and hopeful.
"You will never understand it, Pinkerton," I would say.
"You look to the result, you want to see some profit of
your endeavours: that is why you could never learn to
paint, if you lived to be Methusalem. The result is
always a fizzle: the eyes of the artist are turned in;
he lives for a frame of mind. Look at Romney now.
There is the nature of the artist. He hasn't a cent;
and if you offered him to-morrow the command of an
army, or the presidentship of the United States, he
wouldn't take it, and you know he wouldn't."
"I suppose not," Pinkerton would cry, scouring his hair
with both his hands; "and I can't see why; I can't see
what in fits he would be after, not to; I don't seem to
rise to these views.
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