Aminadab 0803213131 by Unknown Read Free Book Online

spotlight. It was difficult to tell what in this arrangement was supposed to be used for painting and what was supposed to be painted. One had the impression that the painting was there, already finished, and that the artist, exhausting himself in a destruc tive effort of transcription, was the only one who did not know it. One could even wonder whether in distributing colors on a canvas he had not intended to destroy the painting whose existence shocked him. Thomas wanted to look at everything in detail. There were so many interesting things in the painter's paraphernalia. A crystal carafe of unusual dimen sions was filled with liquid colors in a mixture that, under the brightness of the spotlight, shone like a single color, so pure and pleasing to the eye that it did not seem to be formed from the dirty residue of work. A twist ing iron stopper sealed it, and a glass tube extended down into the colors. Thomas raised the implement to eye level. The liquid was naturally flat and dark, but some reflections floated on the surface resembling particles of metal, and one could well believe that thanks to the siphon a very pure mixture would be transferred onto the canvas. In a corner of the room he picked out a stool. Taking it upon himself to place it in front of the easel, he sat down to appreciate the painter's work methods. The canvas stood directly in from of him now, and he saw that a painting had been sketched on it, representing, like all the others, a fur nished room, precisely the one in which he found himself at that moment. 12
    He could see the great concern for precision in the painter's work. Every detail was reproduced. This was still only a sketch, but every last object, with the exception, indeed, of the divan, was put in its place, such that one might well wonder what a more complete study would add to the faith fulness of the imitation: it would become impossible to distinguish the room from the painting. The only problem was that the color was lacking. Thomas noticed with a slight malaise that the stool on which he was sitting was represented on the canvas. Perhaps he had acted without thinking. When he stood up, he almost knocked against the guardian. So he was still there. As soon as he saw him, Thomas could not help shouting: "Who are you? " for he was surprised and almost terrified by the change that had occurred in his person. The guardian had put on a large gray smock. Either because of the length of the overcoat, or else for a completely different rea son, he seemed to cut a more towering figure, and the deformities of his body were no longer visible. On his face, which continued to be disfigured by the difficulty of seeing, there was a rather attractive and delicate expres sion. But Thomas was struck immediately by the disagreeable quality of the transformation. It was the same miserable man standing before him, but his misery was no longer humble. He took on the appearance of some thing temptihg, toward which one felt irresistibly drawn, and although there was nothing noble in this attraction, it seemed that one was obliged to the man who inspired so much gratitude and admiration for it. Thomas thought he recognized his face. But when would he have seen him? Every thing he had encountered outside was already so far away, and here he had not yet seen anyone else. Nevertheless, the guardian spoke to him in the same way as before. Only he was a little more talkative. "There is the painting," he said. "We will begin it now. Do you wish to remain standing, or would you not prefer to lie down on the divan? The work will not take very long, but I have noticed that you are subject to weak spells." Despite his fatigue, Thomas hesitated to follow this advice. He only moved back a little. The room was so cluttered that when he took a step back, he slipped on the puddles of oil and was able to stop himself from falling only by hanging onto the guardian's arm. "You see there," said the latter. "You still need some