I may say, with some satisfaction, that I have
not added a mite to the rubbish of the world. As a proof of my
conscientiousness"--and he stopped short, and eyed me with extraordinary
candour, as if the proof were to be overwhelming--"I have never sold a
picture! 'At least no merchant traffics in my heart!' Do you remember
that divine line in Browning? My little studio has never been profaned
by superficial, feverish, mercenary work. It's a temple of labour, but
of leisure! Art is long. If we work for ourselves, of course we must
hurry. If we work for her, we must often pause. She can wait!"
This had brought us to my hotel door, somewhat to my relief, I confess,
for I had begun to feel unequal to the society of a genius of this heroic
strain. I left him, however, not without expressing a friendly hope that
we should meet again. The next morning my curiosity had not abated; I
was anxious to see him by common daylight. I counted upon meeting him in
one of the many pictorial haunts of Florence, and I was gratified without
delay.
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