"
Stanton's concluding words were as incense to Van Berg, for he
prided himself in no slight degree on his even pulse and sensible
heart, that, thus far, had given him so little trouble; and he therefore
replied, with a certain tinge of complacency and consciousness of
security:
"You know me well enough, Ik, to be aware that I am becoming almost
a monomaniac in my art. A woman's face is to me little more than
a picture which I analyze from an artistic stand-point. A MERELY
PRETTY face is like a line of verse of musical rhythm, but without
sense or meaning. This is bad and provoking enough; but when
the most exquisite features give expression only to some of the
meanest and unworthiest qualities that can infest a woman's soul,
one is exasperated almost beyond endurance. At least I am, for I
am offended in my strongest instincts. Think of employing stately
Homeric words and measure in describing a belle's toilet table with
its rouge-pots, false hair, and other abominations! Much worse is
it, in my estimation, that the features of a goddess should tell
us only of such moral vermin as vanity, silliness, and the egotism
of a poor little self that thinks of nothing, and knows nothing
save its own small cravings.
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