Such
Acquirements As These Are Very Precious To Me.
But for the time being I have had enough.
At this hour of writing
I feel that I am stocked up with enough of Bouguereau's sorrel
ladies and Titian's chestnut ones and Rubens' bay ones and Velasquez's
pintos to last me, at a conservative estimate, for about seventy-five
years. I am too young as a theatergoer to recall much about
Lydia Thompson's Blondes, but I have seen sufficient of Botticelli's
to do me amply well for a spell. I am still willing to walk a
good distance to gaze on one of Rembrandt's portraits of one of
his kinfolks, though I must say he certainly did have a lot of
mighty homely relatives; and any time there is a first-rate Millet
or Corot or Meissonier in the neighborhood I wish somebody would
drop me a line, giving the address. As for pictures by Tintoretto,
showing Venetian Doges hobnobbing informally with members of the
Holy Family, and Raphael's angels, and Michelangelo's lost souls,
and Guidos, and Murillos, I have had enough to do me for months
and months and months. Nor am I in the market for any of the dead
fish of the Flemish school. Judging by what I have observed,
practically all the Flemish painters were devout churchmen and
painted their pictures on Friday.
There was just one drawback to my complete enjoyment of that part
of our European travels we devoted to art. We would go to an art
gallery, hire a guide and start through.
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