Speaking；　signore；　to　a　man　of　imagination；　I　may　say　that　my　little
  designs　are　not　without　a　philosophy　of　their　own。　　Truly；　I　don't
  know　whether　the　cats　and　monkeys　imitate　us；　or　whether　it's　we　who
  imitate　them。〃　　I　congratulated　him　on　his　philosophy；　and　he
  resumed：　　〃You　will　do　use　the　honour　to　admit　that　I　have　handled　my
  subjects　with　delicacy。　　Eh；　it　was　needed；　signore！　　I　have　been
  free；　but　not　too　freeeh？　　Just　a　hint；　you　know！　　You　may　see　as
  much　or　as　little　as　you　please。　　These　little　groups；　however；　are
  no　measure　of　my　invention。　　If　you　will　favour　me　with　a　call　at　my
  studio；　I　think　that　you　will　admit　that　my　combinations　are　really
  infinite。　　I　likewise　execute　figures　to　command。　　You　have　perhaps
  some　little　motivethe　fruit　of　your　philosophy　of　life；　signore
  which　you　would　like　to　have　interpreted。　　I　can　promise　to　work　it
  up　to　your　satisfaction；　it　shall　be　as　malicious　as　you　please！
  Allow　me　to　present　you　with　my　card；　and　to　remind　you　that　my
  prices　are　moderate。　　Only　sixty　francs　for　a　little　group　like　that。
  My　statuettes　are　as　durable　as　bronzeaere　perennius；　signoreand；
  between　ourselves；　I　think　they　are　more　amusing！〃
  As　I　pocketed　his　card　I　glanced　at　Madonna　Serafina；　wondering
  whether　she　had　an　eye　for　contrasts。　　She　had　picked　up　one　of　the
  little　couples　and　was　tenderly　dusting　it　with　a　feather　broom。
  What　I　had　just　seen　and　heard　had　so　deepened　my　compassionate
  interest　in　my　deluded　friend　that　I　took　a　summary　leave；　making　my
  way　directly　to　the　house　designated　by　this　remarkable　woman。　　It
  was　in　an　obscure　corner　of　the　opposite　side　of　the　town；　and
  presented　a　sombre　and　squalid　appearance。　　An　old　woman　in　the
  doorway；　on　my　inquiring　for　Theobald；　ushered　me　in　with　a　mumbled
  blessing　and　an　expression　of　relief　at　the　poor　gentleman　having　a
  friend。　　His　lodging　seemed　to　consist　of　a　single　room　at　the　top　of
  the　house。　　On　getting　no　answer　to　my　knock；　I　opened　the　door；
  supposing　that　he　was　absent；　so　that　it　gave　me　a　certain　shock　to
  find　him　sitting　there　helpless　and　dumb。　　He　was　seated　near　the
  single　window；　facing　an　easel　which　supported　a　large　canvas。　　On　my
  entering　he　looked　up　at　me　blankly；　without　changing　his　position；
  which　was　that　of　absolute　lassitude　and　dejection；　his　arms　loosely
  folded；　his　legs　stretched　before　him；　his　head　hanging　on　his
  breast。　　Advancing　into　the　room　I　perceived　that　his　face　vividly
  corresponded　with　his　attitude。　　He　was　pale；　haggard；　and　unshaven；
  and　his　dull　and　sunken　eye　gazed　at　me　without　a　spark　of
  recognition。　　I　had　been　afraid　that　he　would　greet　me　with　fierce
  reproaches；　as　the　cruelly　officious　patron　who　had　turned　his
  contentment　to　bitterness；　and　I　was　relieved　to　find　that　my
  appearance　awakened　no　visible　resentment。　　〃Don't　you　know　me？〃　I
  asked；　as　I　put　out　my　hand。　　〃Have　you　already　forgotten　me？〃
  He　made　no　response；　kept　his　position　stupidly；　and　left　me　staring
  about　the　room。　　It　spoke　most　plaintively　for　itself。　　Shabby；
  sordid；　naked；　it　contained；　beyond　the　wretched　bed；　but　the
  scantiest　provision　for　personal　comfort。　　It　was　bedroom　at　once　and
  studioa　grim　ghost　of　a　studio。　　A　few　dusty　casts　and　prints　on
  the　walls；　three　or　four　old　canvases　turned　face　inward；　and　a
  rusty…looking　colour…box；　formed；　with　the　easel　at　the　window；　the
  sum　of　its　appurtenances。　　The　place　savoured　horribly　of　poverty。
  Its　only　wealth　was　the　picture　on　the　easel；　presumably　the　famous
  Madonna。　　Averted　as　this　was　from　the　door；　I　was　unable　to　see　its
  face；　but　at　last；　sickened　by　the　vacant　misery　of　the　spot；　I
  passed　behind　Theobald；　eagerly　and　tenderly。　　I　can　hardly　say　that
  I　was　surprised　at　what　I　founda　canvas　that　was　a　mere　dead　blank；
  cracked　and　discoloured　by　time。　　This　was　his　immortal　work！　　Though
  not　surprised；　I　confess　I　was　powerfully　moved；　and　I　think　that　for
  five　minutes　I　could　not　have　trusted　myself　to　speak。　　At　last　my
  silent　nearness　affected　him；　he　stirred　and　turned；　and　then　rose
  and　looked　at　me　with　a　slowly　kindling　eye。　　I　murmured　some　kind
  ineffective　nothings　about　his　being　ill　and　needing　advice　and　care；
  but　he　seemed　absorbed　in　the　effort　to　recall　distinctly　what　had
  last　passed　between　us。　　〃You　were　right；〃　he　said；　with　a　pitiful
  smile；　〃I　am　a　dawdler！　　I　am　a　failure！　　I　shall　do　nothing　more　in
  this　world。　　You　opened　my　eyes；　and；　though　the　truth　is　bitter；　I
  bear　you　no　grudge。　　Amen！　　I　have　been　sitting　here　for　a　week；　face
  to　face　with　the　truth；　with　the　past；　with　my　weakness　and　poverty
  and　nullity。　　I　shall　never　touch　a　brush！　　I　believe　I　have　neither
  eaten　nor　slept。　　Look　at　that　canvas！〃　he　went　on；　as　I　relieved　my
  emotion　in　an　urgent　request　that　he　would　come　home　with　me　and
  dine。　　〃That　was　to　have　contained　my　masterpiece！　　Isn't　it　a
  promising　foundation？　　The　elements　of　it　are　all　HERE。　　And　he
  tapped　his　forehead　with　that　mystic　confidence　which　had　marked　the
  gesture　before。　　〃If　I　could　only　transpose　them　into　some　brain　that
  has　the　hand；　the　will！　　Since　I　have　been　sitting　here　taking　stock
  of　my　intellects；　I　have　come　to　believe　that　I　have　the　material　for
  a　hundred　masterpieces。　　But　my　hand　is　paralysed　now；　and　they　will
  never　be　painted。　　I　never　began！　　I　waited　and　waited　to　be　worthier
  to　begin；　and　wasted　my　life　in　preparation。　　While　I　fancied　my
  creation　was　growing　it　was　dying。　　I　have　taken　it　all　too　hard！
  Michael　Angelo　didn't；　when　he　went　at　the　Lorenzo！　　He　did　his　best
  at　a　venture；　and　his　venture　is　immortal。　　THAT'S　mine！〃　　And　he
  pointed　with　a　gesture　I　shall　never　forget　at　the　empty　canvas。　　〃I
  suppose　we　are　a　genus　by　ourselves　in　the　providential　schemewe
  talents　that　can't　act；　that　can't　do　nor　dare！　　We　take　it　out　in
  talk；　in　plans　and　promises；　in　study；　in　visions！　　But　our　visions；
  let　me　tell　you；〃　he　cried；　with　a　toss　of　his　head；　〃have　a　way　of
  being　brilliant；　and　a　man　has　not　lived　in　vain　who　has　seen　the
  things　I　have　seen！　　Of　course　you　will　not　believe　in　them　when　that
  bit　of　worm…eaten　cloth　is　all　I　have　to　show　for　them；　but　to
  convince　you；　to　enchant　and　astound　the　world；　I　need　only　the　hand
  of　Raphael。　　His　brain　I　already　have。　　A　pity；　you　will　say；　that　I
  haven't　his　modesty！　　Ah；　let　me　boast　and　babble　now；　it's　all　I
  have　left！　　I　am　the　half　of　a　genius！　　Where　in　the　wide　world　is　my
  other　half？　　Lodged　perhaps　in　the　vulgar　soul；　the　cunning；　ready
  fingers　of　some　dull　copyist　or　some　trivial　artisan；　who　turns　out
  by　the　dozen　his　easy　prodigies　of　touch！　　But　it's　not　for　me　to
  sneer　at　him；　he　at　least　does　something。　　He's　not　a　dawdler！　　Well
  for　me　if　I　had　been　vulgar　and　clever　and　reckless；　if　I　could　have
  shut　my　eyes　and　taken　my　leap。〃
  What　to　say　to　the　poor　fellow；　what　to　do　for　him；　seemed　hard　to
  determine；　I　chiefly　felt　that　I　must　break　the　spell　of　his　present
  inaction；　and　remove　him　from　the　haunted　atmosphere　of　the　little
  room　it　was　such　a　cruel　irony　to　call　a　studio。　　I　cannot　say　I
  persuaded　him　to　come　out　with　me；　he　simply　suffered　himself　to　be
  led；　and　when　we　began　to　walk　in　the　open　air　I　was　able　to
  appreciate　his　pitifully　weakened　condition。　　Nevertheless；　he　seemed
  in　a　certain　way　to　revive；　and　murmured　at　last　that　he　should　like
  to　go　to　the　Pitti　Gallery。　　I　shall　never　forget　our　melancholy
  stroll　through　those　gorgeous　halls；　every　picture　on　whose　walls
  seemed；　even　to　my　own　sympathetic　vision；　to　glow　with　a　sort　of
  insolent　renewal　of　strength　and　lustre。　　The　eyes　and　lips　of　the
  great　portraits　appeared　to　smile　in　ineffable　scorn　of　the　dejected
  pretender　who　had　dreamed　of　competing　with　their　triumphant　authors；
  the　celestial　candour；　even；　of　the　Madonna　of　the　Chair；　as　we
  paused　in　perfect　silence　before　her；　was　tinged　with　the　sinister
  irony　of　the　women　of　Leonardo。　　Perfect　silence；　indeed；　marked　our
  whole　progressthe　silence　of　a　deep　farewell；　for　I　felt　in　all　my
  pulses；　as　Theobald；　leaning　on　my　arm；　dragged　one　heavy　foot　after
  the　other；　that　he　was　looking　his　last。　　When　we　came　out　he　was　so
  exhausted　that　instead　of　taking　him　to　my　hotel　to　dine；　I　called　a
  carriage　and　drove　him　straight　to　his　own　poor　lodging。　　He　had　sunk
  into　an　extraordinary　lethargy；　he　lay　back　in　the　carriage；　with　his
  eyes　closed；　as　pale　as　death；　his　faint　breathing　interrupted　at
  intervals　by　a　sudden　gasp；　like　a　smothered　sob　or　a　vain　attempt　to
  speak。　　With　the　help　of　the　old　woman　who　had　admitted　me　before；
  and　who　emerged　from　a　dark　back　court；　I　contrived　to　lead　him　up
  the　long　steep　staircase　and　lay　him　on　his　wretched　bed。　　To　her　I
  gave　him　in　charge；　while　I　prepared　in　all　haste　to　seek　a
  physician。　　But　she　followed　me　out　of　the　room　with　a　pitiful
  clasping　of　her　hands。
  〃Poor；　dear；　blessed　gentleman；〃　she　murmured；　〃is　he　dying？〃