Девять рассказов
De Daumier-Smith’s Blue Period
Iquicklystoodupashecameintomyvicinity,stoopingatrifleinordernottolookdisrespectfullytall.Hehandedmethesheafofpapershe’dbroughtoverandaskedmeifIwouldkindlytranslatehiswrittencorrectionsfromFrenchintoEnglish.Isaid,"Oui,monsieur!"Hebowedslightly,andpaddedbacktohisowndesk.Ipushedmyhandfulofsoft-leaddrawingpencilstoonesideofmydesk,tookoutmyfountainpen,andfell—verynearlyheartbroken—towork.
Likemanyareallygoodartist,M.Yoshototaughtdrawingnotawhitbetterthanit’staughtbyaso-soartistwhohasaniceflairforteaching.Withhispracticaloverlaywork—thatistosay,histracing-paperdrawingsimposedoverthestudent’sdrawings—alongwithhiswrittencommentsonthebacksofthedrawings—hewasquiteabletoshowareasonablytalentedstudenthowtodrawarecognizablepiginarecognizablesty,orevenapicturesquepiginapicturesquesty.Buthecouldn’tforthelifeofhimshowanyonehowtodrawabeautifulpiginabeautifulsty(which,ofcourse,wastheonelittletechnicalbithisbetterstudentsmostgreedilywantedsenttothemthroughthemail).Itwasnot,needIadd,thathewasconsciouslyorunconsciouslybeingfrugalofhistalent,ordeliberatelyunprodigalofit,butthatitsimplywasn’thistogiveaway.Forme,therewasnorealelementofsurpriseinthisruthlesstruth,andsoitdidn’twaylayme.
