Read Online The Clowns of God by Morris West - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Morris West
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delicate yet so precise! Almost a Japanese quality in the colour. A magnificent draughts man a complete master of the most intricate perspective… Study these sketches. Notice how patiently he builds the composition. Strange! He lived in a dark little villa out on the Appia Antica. It’s still there. Terribly claustrophobic. Mind you, it was all meadowland in those days, so probably he had all the space and light he needed.” He broke off, suddenly embarrassed.
“I’m sorry, I’m talking too much; but I love these things!”
Mendelius laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“My friend, it’s a delight to listen to you! Look at all these young people! You’ve lifted them out of their resentments and confusions and set them down in another world, simpler, more beautiful, with all its ugliness forgotten. You have to be proud of that!”
“I am, Carl. I confess it. But I’m also scared of the day when all these canvases are down, and the packers arrive to ship them back to their owners. I’m getting old. I’m not sure whether I’ll have the time, or the energy the luck for that matter! to do anything like this again.”
“But you’ll still be trying. That’s the important thing.”
“Not for long, I’m afraid. I retire next year. I won’t know what to do with myself. We can’t afford to go on living here;
and yet I hate the idea of going back to Germany.”
“You could take up writing as a full-time occupation.
You’ve already got an established reputation as an art historian. I’m sure you could get a better publishing deal than you’ve had. Why don’t you let me talk to my agent and see what he can set up for you?”
“Would you?” He was almost pathetically grateful.
“I’m not very good at business and I worry about Hilde.”
“I’ll call him as soon as we get home. Which reminds me, can I use your telephone now? There is a call I must make before midday.”
“Come to my office. I’ll have some coffee sent in. Oh, before you go you simply must look at this view of the Tiber.
There are three versions of it: one from the Pallavicini collection, one from the National Gallery and this one came from an old engineer who bought it for a song in the flea market…”
It was another fifteen minutes before Mendelius was free to make his call to the Monastery of Monte Cassino. It took an unconscionable time to find the Abbot and bring him to the telephone. Mendelius fumed and fretted and then reminded himself that monasteries were designed to separate men from the world, not to keep them in touch with it.
The Abbot was cordial, if not exactly effusive.
“Professor Mendelius? This is Abbot Andrew. Kind of you to call so promptly. Would you be able to arrange your visit for Wednesday next? It’s a feast-day for us, and so we shall be.
able to offer you a little more generous hospitality. I suggest you arrive about three-thirty and stay to dinner. It’s a long drive from Rome; so if you care to remain overnight we’ll be happy to accommodate you.”
“That’s very kind. I’ll stay then and drive back on Thursday morning. How is my friend Jean?”
“He’s been unwell; but I hope he will be recovered in time for your visit. He looks forward to seeing you.”
“Please give him my most affectionate greetings and say that my wife asks to be remembered to him.”
“I’ll do that with pleasure. Until Wednesday then, Professor.”
“Thank you, Father Abbot.”
Mendelius put down the receiver and sat a moment lost in thought. There it was again: the courteous response, the veiled caution. Wednesday was a week ahead more than enough time to cancel the invitation, should circumstances change or authority intervene. Jean Marie’s illness, real or diplomatic, would provide an adequate excuse.
“Something wrong, Carl?” Herman set down the coffee tray and began pouring.
“I’m not sure. It seems the Vatican is more than a little interested in my activities.”
“I would have
“I’m sorry, I’m talking too much; but I love these things!”
Mendelius laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“My friend, it’s a delight to listen to you! Look at all these young people! You’ve lifted them out of their resentments and confusions and set them down in another world, simpler, more beautiful, with all its ugliness forgotten. You have to be proud of that!”
“I am, Carl. I confess it. But I’m also scared of the day when all these canvases are down, and the packers arrive to ship them back to their owners. I’m getting old. I’m not sure whether I’ll have the time, or the energy the luck for that matter! to do anything like this again.”
“But you’ll still be trying. That’s the important thing.”
“Not for long, I’m afraid. I retire next year. I won’t know what to do with myself. We can’t afford to go on living here;
and yet I hate the idea of going back to Germany.”
“You could take up writing as a full-time occupation.
You’ve already got an established reputation as an art historian. I’m sure you could get a better publishing deal than you’ve had. Why don’t you let me talk to my agent and see what he can set up for you?”
“Would you?” He was almost pathetically grateful.
“I’m not very good at business and I worry about Hilde.”
“I’ll call him as soon as we get home. Which reminds me, can I use your telephone now? There is a call I must make before midday.”
“Come to my office. I’ll have some coffee sent in. Oh, before you go you simply must look at this view of the Tiber.
There are three versions of it: one from the Pallavicini collection, one from the National Gallery and this one came from an old engineer who bought it for a song in the flea market…”
It was another fifteen minutes before Mendelius was free to make his call to the Monastery of Monte Cassino. It took an unconscionable time to find the Abbot and bring him to the telephone. Mendelius fumed and fretted and then reminded himself that monasteries were designed to separate men from the world, not to keep them in touch with it.
The Abbot was cordial, if not exactly effusive.
“Professor Mendelius? This is Abbot Andrew. Kind of you to call so promptly. Would you be able to arrange your visit for Wednesday next? It’s a feast-day for us, and so we shall be.
able to offer you a little more generous hospitality. I suggest you arrive about three-thirty and stay to dinner. It’s a long drive from Rome; so if you care to remain overnight we’ll be happy to accommodate you.”
“That’s very kind. I’ll stay then and drive back on Thursday morning. How is my friend Jean?”
“He’s been unwell; but I hope he will be recovered in time for your visit. He looks forward to seeing you.”
“Please give him my most affectionate greetings and say that my wife asks to be remembered to him.”
“I’ll do that with pleasure. Until Wednesday then, Professor.”
“Thank you, Father Abbot.”
Mendelius put down the receiver and sat a moment lost in thought. There it was again: the courteous response, the veiled caution. Wednesday was a week ahead more than enough time to cancel the invitation, should circumstances change or authority intervene. Jean Marie’s illness, real or diplomatic, would provide an adequate excuse.
“Something wrong, Carl?” Herman set down the coffee tray and began pouring.
“I’m not sure. It seems the Vatican is more than a little interested in my activities.”
“I would have
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