"It's all been so soft for you," he said bitterly; "you don't understand."He turned his head away, and then burst out: "I'm proud to come straight from the soil--I wouldn't have it otherwise; but they are of 'the people,' everything is narrow with them--they only understand what they can see and touch.""I'm sorry I spoke like that," said Christian softly; "you've never told me about yourself."There was something just a little cruel in the way the painter looked at her, then seeming to feel compunction, he said quickly: "I always hated--the peasant life--I wanted to get away into the world; I had a feeling in here--I wanted--I don't know what I wanted! I did run away at last to a house-painter at Meran.The priest wrote me a letter from my father--they threw me off; that's all."Christian's eyes were very bright, her lips moved, like the lips of a child listening to a story.
"Go on," she said.
"I stayed at Meran two years, till I'd learnt all I could there, then a brother of my mother's helped me to get to Vienna; I was lucky enough to find work with a man who used to decorate churches.We went about the country together.Once when he was ill I painted the roof of a church entirely by myself; I lay on my back on the scaffold boards all day for a week--I was proud of that roof." He paused.
"When did you begin painting pictures?"
"A friend asked me why I didn't try for the Academie.That started me going to the night schools; I worked every minute--I had to get my living as well, of course, so I worked at night.
Then when the examination came, I thought I could do nothing--it was just as if I had never had a brush or pencil in my hand.But the second day a professor in passing me said, 'Good! Quite good!' That gave me courage.I was sure I had failed though; but I was second out of sixty."Christian nodded.
"To work in the schools after that I had to give up my business, of course.There was only one teacher who ever taught me anything; the others all seemed fools.This man would come and rub out what you'd done with his sleeve.I used to cry with rage--but I told him Icould only learn from him, and he was so astonished that he got me into his class.""But how did you live without money?" asked Christian.
His face burned with a dark flush."I don't know how I lived; you must have been through these things to know, you would never understand.""But I want to understand, please."
"What do you want me to tell you? How I went twice a week to eat free dinners! How I took charity! How I was hungry! There was a rich cousin of my mother's--I used to go to him.I didn't like it.
But if you're starving in the winter"
Christian put out her hand.
"I used to borrow apronsful of coals from other students who were as poor--but I never went to the rich students."The flush had died out of his face.
"That sort of thing makes you hate the world! You work till you stagger; you're cold and hungry; you see rich people in their carriages, wrapped in furs, and all the time you want to do something great.You pray for a chance, any chance; nothing comes to the poor!
It makes you hate the world."
Christian's eyes filled with tears.He went on:
"But I wasn't the only one in that condition; we used to meet.
Garin, a Russian with a brown beard and patches of cheek showing through, and yellow teeth, who always looked hungry.Paunitz, who came from sympathy! He had fat cheeks and little eyes, and a big gold chain--the swine! And little Misek.It was in his room we met, with the paper peeling off the walls, and two doors with cracks in them, so that there was always a draught.We used to sit on his bed, and pull the dirty blankets over us for warmth; and smoke--tobacco was the last thing we ever went without.Over the bed was a Virgin and Child--Misek was a very devout Catholic; but one day when he had had no dinner and a dealer had kept his picture without paying him, he took the image and threw it on the floor before our eyes; it broke, and he trampled on the bits.Lendorf was another, a heavy fellow who was always puffing out his white cheeks and smiting himself, and saying: 'Cursed society!' And Schonborn, an aristocrat who had quarrelled with his family.He was the poorest of us all;but only he and I would ever have dared to do anything--they all knew that!"Christian listened with awe."Do you mean?" she said, "do you mean, that you--?""You see! you're afraid of me at once.It's impossible even for you to understand.It only makes you afraid.A hungry man living on charity, sick with rage and shame, is a wolf even to you!"Christian looked straight into his eyes.
"That's not true.If I can't understand, I can feel.Would you be the same now if it were to come again?""Yes, it drives me mad even now to think of people fatted with prosperity, sneering and holding up their hands at poor devils who have suffered ten times more than the most those soft animals could bear.I'm older; I've lived--I know things can't be put right by violence--nothing will put things right, but that doesn't stop my feeling.""Did you do anything? You must tell me all now.""We talked--we were always talking."
"No, tell me everything!"
Unconsciously she claimed, and he seemed unconsciously to admit her right to this knowledge.
