The Argonauts | Page 4

then to read from it. In reading he used glasses with horn-rims;
from these the yellowish pallor of his lean face became deeper. The
renowned jurist was confused and astonished.
"You are right," said he. "I was mistaken. You know law famously."
How was he to avoid knowing it, since it was his weapon and
safety-valve! The jurist sat down on one of the broad and low
armchairs in silence, and now the architect unrolled on the table the
plan of a public edifice to which the last finish was to be given during
winter and before work began in spring.
Darvid listened again in silent thought, looking at the plan with his
steel-colored eyes, in which at times there flashed sparks of ideas
coming from the brain-ideas which, after a while, he presented to the
trained architect. He spoke in a voice low and fluent; he spoke
connectedly and very clearly. The architect answered with respect, and,
like, the jurist who had preceded, not without a certain astonishment.
Great God! this man knows everything; he moves as freely in the fields
of architecture, mathematics, and law as in his own chamber! Darvid
noticed the astonishment of those around him, and irony settled on his
thin lips. Did those men imagine that he could begin such undertakings
and be like a blind man among colors? Some begin thus but are ruined!
He understood that in our time immense knowledge is the only
foundation for pyramidal fortunes, and his memory alone knew the

long series of nights which had passed above his head while it was
sleepless in winning knowledge.
Next appeared before the table a young man, lean and slender; his dark
eyes expressed genius, his clothing was threadbare, his gestures almost
vulgar. This was a sculptor, young but already famous. The man had
incipient consumption, which brought excessive ruddiness to his face, a
glitter to his eyes, and a short, rasping cough from his breast.
He spoke of the sculptures which he was to finish for the edifices
reared by the great contractor; he showed the drawings of them, and
explained his ideas; he rose to enthusiasm; he spoke more loudly, and
coughed at more frequent intervals. Darvid raised his head; the
sensitive skin on his cheeks quivered with a delicate movement; he
touched the shoulder of the artist with the tips of two white, slender
fingers.
"Best," said he; "it hurts you to speak too long."
"My younger daughter coughs in just this way," remarked he to the
other men present, "and it troubles me somewhat."
"Perhaps a visit to Italy," said the architect.
"Yes, I have thought of that, but the doctors note nothing dangerous so
far." Then he turned to the sculptor:
"You ought to visit Italy, for its collections of art and--its climate." The
artist, not pleased with this interruption, did not answer directly, but
went on showing his projects and explaining them; though his short
breath and the cough, which was repeated oftener, made his
conversation more difficult. Thereupon Darvid straightened himself.
"I know very little of art," said he. "Not because I despise it; on the
contrary, I think art a power, since the world does it homage, but
because I lack time. Trouble yourself no further to exhibit plans and
ideas here. I confirm them beforehand, knowing well what I do. Prince
Zeno, whose good taste and intellect I admire, advised me to turn to

you. At his house, moreover, I have seen works of your chisel which
charmed me. Some declare that we men of finance and business
represent only matter, and have no concern with Psyche (the soul). But
I say that your Psyche, now in Prince Zeno's palace, produced on me
the impression that I am not matter only."
Irony covered his lips, but with increased amiability he added:
"Let us fix the amount of your honorarium, permit me to take the
initiative," said he, hurriedly.
In a tone of inquiry he mentioned a sum which was very considerable.
The sculptor bowed, unwilling, or unable to conceal his delight and
astonishment. Darvid touched him lightly on the arm, and conducted
him to a great desk, one drawer of which he opened. The jurist and the
architect at the round table exchanged glances.
"A protege of the prince!" whispered one.
"Cleverness! advertising!" whispered the other.
"I know from report," said Darvid, to the young artist, "that sculptors
must spend considerable sums before they begin a given work. Here is
an advance. Do not hesitate. Money should be at the service of talent."
The sculptor was astonished. He had imagined the millionaire as
entirely different.
"Money should be at the service of talent!" repeated he.
"I hear this for the first time from a man having money! Do you really
think so?" Darvid