Now if you will compare this Faun with your
Florentine art, you will see what I mean by going to the fountain.
There is a difference not only in technique, but in outlook. The man
who wrought this did not trouble about you, or me, or himself. He had
not moods. His art is purely intellectual; he stands aloof, like a
glacier. Here the spring issued, crystal-clear. As the river swells in
size it grows turbid and discoloured with alien elements--personality,
emotions."
"I have noticed that," said Denis. "It is what we call the malady of
thought. This Faun, you say, was found on the mainland yonder?"
"Near the site of old Locri, on a piece of ground which still belongs
to me. I suspect there are still a good many Greek relics to be
excavated on the site. We have discovered a Demeter some years ago; a
mutilated head in marble; it is now in Paris. You can see the very
place from my roof here, on bright days. These men, Mr. Denis, were our
masters. Do not be misled by what you are told of the wanton luxury of
those shores; do not forget that your view of that age has filtered
through Roman stoicism and English puritanism which speak with envy
lurking at their hearts--the envy of the incomplete creature for him who
dares express himself.
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