RODERICK HUDSON
found a good word to say for the Guercino; but chiefly he talked of the view from the little belvedere on the roof of the casino, and how it looked like the prospect from a castle turret in a fairy-tale.
"Very likely," said Roderick, throwing himself back with a yawn. "But I must let it pass. I've seen enough for the present; I 've reached the top of the hill. I 've an indigestion of impressions; I must work them off before I go in for any more. I don't want to look at any more of other people's works for a month—not even at nature's own. I want to look, if you please, at Roderick Hudson's. The result of it all is that I 'm not afraid. I can but try as well as the rest of them. The fellow who did that gazing goddess yonder only made an experiment. The other day when I was looking at Michael Angelo's Moses I was seized with a kind of exasperation, a reaction against all this mere passive enjoyment of grandeur, and, above all, against this perpetual platitude of spirit under imposed admirations. It was a rousing great success, certainly, that sat there before me, but somehow it was n't an inscrutable mystery, and it seemed to me, not perhaps that I should some day do as much, but that at least I might do as well."
"As you say, you can but try," said Rowland. "Achievement's only effort passionate enough."
"Well then, haven't I got up steam enough? It won't have been for want of your being a first-class stoker. It came over me just now that it 's exactly three months to a day since I left Northampton. I can't believe anything so ridiculous."
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