[da'ga] and Monet [mo'ne]. But although he studied the masters, he went beyond them. He was in every sense of the word a. great original artist who opened up a new era (['iaraj эра) of expression. When we look at these works we know he has not lived in vain (напрасно)."
Here the teacher put away her notes. Looking round at her pupils, she asked:
“Any questions, class?”
One of the girls, who stood close to the teacher, spoke up, in the manner of the favourite pupil.
"Is he dead. Miss?”
“Yes, Doris. He died quite a young man, rather tragi cally, and almost unrecognized.”
“But, Miss, didn’t you just tell us he was a great paint er?”
"Yes, Doris, but like so many others he had to die to become great. Don’t you remember what I told you about Rembrandt’s ('rembrantj poverty (бедность), and Gauguin ['дэ'да], who could hardly sell a single picture when he was penniless, and Van Gogh (vaen'gok)...”
“Yes, Miss,... people didn’t understand, they were mista ken about them.”
“We can all make mistakes, dear ... Gladys, do stop sniffing (сопеть).”
“Please, Miss, I have a cold."
“Then use your handkerchief... As I was saying, Doris, perhaps England didn’t appreciate Stephen Desmonde’s talent at once, but she has made up for it handsomely. Here are these paintings in the Tate for all of us to admire (восхи щаться). Now come along, follow me, girls.
When they had gone, Bertram still sat in deep thought, looking at the pictures, unable to move. Stephen, his son, a great artist... yes, even the word genius (['d3i.njas] гений) was now being used without reserve. There was no pride in him at the thought, no triumph, but rather a strange sadness, and he wondered if it had all been worth it. Was any picture worth it — the greatest masterpiece (шедевр) ever pro duced? What was beauty, after all, that men should die for it? He thought that the conflict between life and art could never be settled. He thought of Stephen’s last minutes when, unable to talk any longer, his son handed him a note: “Too bad, Father, I have never drawn you. You have a fine head.”
With an effort Bertram made himself rise ... the past was the past and it was no use remembering...