Publisher's Synopsis
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1920 edition. Excerpt: ... That Scoundrel Miron NO one ever understood how this woman, who was neither young nor pretty, got complete possession of the heart, the mind, the whole life of Miron. Directly he met her he broke with his best friends, left off going to his familiar haunts, and instead of devoting himself as formerly to Art for Art's sake, took to painting the rankest pot-boilers. "When a man who had been a great friend in the old days ventured to say: "You're an idiot, Miron. You are spoiling your style, abusing your talent . . ."he only shrugged his shoulders and said: "Nonsense." When the friend insisted, reminding him of the conscientious work, full of more than promise, he had done in the old days of his dreams of fame, he grew angry. "My talent? My dreams? You make me laugh. When I had them I slept in a garret, I had one meal a day. I know people will now stop saying: 'You'll see, he'll be rich some day!' but in the meanwhile I can eat as much as I like and am free from sordid worries. I am happy, very happy." He walked rapidly away. But when he was sure that he was out of sight, he stopped at a cafe and sat for hours lost in thought with an empty glass in front of him. Miron lied: he was not happy. At first his love had absorbed him to the exclusion of everything else. To get the extra money that was necessary for his new kind of existence he had dashed off little sketches and drawings for the illustrated papers, and when he felt too disgusted with this prostitution of his talent, he had consoled himself by thinking that before long he would return to serious work. But as time flew by he had become morally weak, almost cowardly, and now there was a gnawing bitterness at the bottom of his heart and he was ashamed of himself, ashamed of the soulless...