with--
"Pray take this, monsieur le conseiller; I have but two bottles left!"
Anything that monsieur my nephew Caspar, conseiller at the court of
justice, could do would certainly have been perfectly right and suitable,
and quite perfect in its way.
Alas for the vanity of human wishes! the poor woman's ambition was never
to be gratified. Her nephew is plain Caspar--Caspar Diderich; he has no
title, no wand of office, no big wig--he is just an artist! and Dame
Catherine has running in her head the old proverb, "Beggarly as an
artist," which distresses her more than she can tell.
At first I used to try to make her understand that a true artist is
worthy of great respect, that his works sometimes endure for ages, and
are admired by many successive generations, and that, in point of fact,
a good artist is quite as good as a councillor. Unhappily, I failed to
convince her; she merely shrugged her shoulders, clasped her hands in
despair, and vouchsafed no answer.
I would have done anything to convert my aunt Catherine to my
views--anything; but I would rather die than sacrifice art and an
artist's life, music, painting, and Sebaldus's tavern!
Sebaldus's tavern is delightful.
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