Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - V. Purgatory
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confident air his demeanour revealed to me his
real position. The crash came quicker than one
expected.
One evening the unfortunate man came into
my room and asked for permission to remain
there a short time. He looked like a lost man,
and such in fact he was. His landlord had
driven him out of his studio, his grisette had
left him, he was head over ears in debt, and his
creditors were dunning him; he was insulted in
the streets by the supporters of his unpaid
models. But what depressed him most of all
was that the cruel landlord had retained his
picture intended for the Champ de Mars
Exhibition. The originality of its subject had
given him good grounds to hope for its success.
It displayed an “emancipated woman” crucified
and cursed by the mob.
Since he was also heavily in debt to the
restaurant, he had to go about the streets,
hungry. Among other things he confessed that
he had taken morphia enough to kill two people,
but death apparently did not yet want him.
After an earnest discussion, we agreed to go to
another quarter, and there eat our meals in some
obscure cook-shop. I said I would not desert
him, and that he should pluck up new courage
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