Lust for Life by Irving Stone Read Free Book Online

left him instantly. He launched into an enthusiastic description of Maris's art. Mendes shook his head imperceptibly. The Reverend Stricker was paying him a high price to instruct Vincent in Latin and Greek.
    "Vincent," he said quietly, "Maris is very fine, but the time grows short and we had better get on with our studies, yes?"
    Vincent understood. On the way home, after a two hour lesson, he would pause before the interiors of houses where the wood-choppers, carpenters, and ships' victualers were at work. The doors stood open before a big wine cellar, and men with lights were running to and fro in the dark vault.
    Uncle Jan went to Helvoort for a week; knowing that he was alone in the big house behind the Navy Yard, Kay and Vos walked over late one afternoon to fetch Vincent for dinner.
    "You must come to us every night until Uncle Jan gets back," Kay told him. "And Mother asks if you won't take Sunday dinner with us each week, after services?"
    When dinner was over the family played cards, but since Vincent did not know how to play, he settled in a quiet corner and read August Gruson's "Histoire des Croisades." From where he was sitting he could watch Kay and the changes of her quick, provocative smile. She left the table and came to his side.
    "What are you reading, Cousin Vincent?" she asked. He told her and then said, "It's a fine little book, I should almost say written with the sentiment of Thys Maris."
    Kay smiled. He was always making these funny literary allusions. "Why Thys Maris?" she demanded.
    "Read this and see if it doesn't remind you of a Maris canvas, where the writer describes an old castle on a rock, with the autumn woods in twilight, and in the foreground the black fields, and a peasant who is ploughing with a white horse."
    While Kay was reading, Vincent drew up a chair for her. When she looked at him a thoughtful expression darkened her blue eyes.
    "Yes," she said, "it is just like a Maris. The writer and painter use their own medium to express the same thought."
    Vincent took the book and ran his finger across the page eagerly. "This line might have been lifted straight from Michelet or Carlyle.''
    "You know, Cousin Vincent, for a man who has spent so little time in classrooms, you are surprisingly well educated. Do you still read a good many books?"
    "No, I should like to, but I may not. Though in fact I need not long for it so much, for all things are found in the word of Christ—more perfect and more beautiful than in any other book."
    "Oh, Vincent," exclaimed Kay, jumping to her feet, "that was so unlike you!"
    Vincent stared at her in amazement.
    "I think you are ever so much nicer when you're seeing Thys Maris in the 'Histoire des Croisades'—though Father says you ought to concentrate and not think of such things—than when you talk like a stuffy, provincial clergyman."
    Vos strolled over and said, "We've dealt you a hand, Kay."
    Kay looked for a moment into the live, burning coals under Vincent's overhanging brows, then took her husband's arm and joined the other card players.
     
     
     
    4
     
    Mendes da Costa knew that Vincent like to talk to him about the more general things of life, so several times a week he invented excuses to accompany him back to town when their lesson was done.
    One day he took Vincent through an interesting part of the city, the outskirts that extend from the Leidsche Poort, near Vondel Park, to the Dutch railway station. It was full of saw mills, workmen's cottages with little gardens, and was very populous. The quarter was cut through with many small canals.
    "It must be a splendid thing to be a clergyman in a quarter like this," said Vincent.
    "Yes," replies Mendes, as he filled his pipe and passed the cone-shaped bag of tobacco to Vincent, "these people need God and religion more than our friends uptown."
    They were crossing a tiny wooden bridge that might almost have been Japanese. Vincent stopped and said, "What do you mean, Mijnheer?"
    "These workers,"