Chapter 110 (1) - The Mysterious Art Museum
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Renoir, unaffected by his friend's harsh words, laughed as he spoke.
"Seeing your face reminds me of the Saint-Lazare station. Ha ha! Whenever I see your face, that's the first thing I think of."
Perhaps feeling sorry for his harsh words, Monet didn't respond and just stared at Renoir's face.
Renoir continued with a smile.
"That time, you wanted to paint the trains at that station, belching steam on the tracks. Then Paul said, 'Hey, Monet! Only officials can enter the tracks. No way they'd let poor painters like us in!'"
Monet's face softened slightly.
It seemed like a pleasant memory for him too.
Renoir, mimicking a silly walk, added,
"Back then, you brazenly dressed in your best clothes, with lace cuffs on your sleeves, and borrowed a gold-knobbed cane to wave around as you handed your card to the station master. I was so nervous watching that scene unfold."
Renoir burst into laughter.
"The station master's face was so funny. He treated you like some great noble! Naturally, how could he think otherwise, seeing you so confident? But, Monet, did you really lie about being a noble that day?"
Monet shook his head.
"No."
"Then?"
"When I went into the office, the station master offered me a seat. I said I wanted to paint on the tracks. He admitted he knew nothing about art but didn't have the courage to stop the trains for me."
"Oh, but how did you get permission?"
"I said this,"
Monet, using his brush as a cane and striking a solemn pose, continued,
"I've decided to paint your station. For a long time, I couldn't decide whether to paint the northern station or yours, but now I see yours has more character."
"Ha ha!! And then?"
"The station master, pleased at his station being praised, immediately closed the platform and stopped the trains for me. I got to have the idle train belch smoke as I wished."
"Ha ha, you didn't just go there for a day, did you?"
"I painted six pieces over several weeks. But the station master was always very gracious whenever I came."
Renoir chuckled.
"Probably the station master thought you were an incredibly famous painter at that time. If he knew you were a painter struggling for living expenses, he never would have allowed it."
Monet grinned, then his face turned somber.
"Renoir."
"Hmm?"
"Money, that monster, seems to put many masks on people."
".."
Monet spoke as if reminiscing.
"Around that time, I was busy painting for the Salon and taking commissions. I couldn't even attend our gatherings."
"Yes, everyone misunderstood you."
"Then Paul came to me and asked, 'Why have you changed? Weren't we supposed to chase ideals, not money? You seem obsessed with earning money. Have you really succumbed to it, Monet?'"
".."
Renoir's face turned apologetic. Judging by his expression, he probably had joined the public in condemning Monet back then.
"I'm sorry."
""
"I didn't know Camille, Jean was so ill. It's partly because you didn't say anything, but us friends didn't understand that you were painting pictures you didn't want to, shedding tears, just to pay hospital bills. I should apologize a hundred times. I'm really sorry."
"That's enough, you've apologized sufficiently."
Monet stared intently at his own painting and said,
"Money, poverty, it makes people both wise and desperate."
Money is the best servant, but the worst master.
Hmm, but Monet. While greed for money is considered the root of all evil, being without money is the same in this regard.
Monet nods in agreement.
Money is like a bottomless sea. It drowns conscience and honor, never resurfacing. There's nothing that breaks a person's spirit more than money.
So, do I regret running around to pay for my wife and sons hospital bills back then? Absolutely not. If I had done nothing and just pursued my ideals, I might have been swallowing tears of regret while following them.
Hmm.
It's because of my best efforts back then that I can love and paint again today. It was all for the sake of protecting the ones I love.
Was it?
Monet opens her mouth as she looks at her friend's face. But coincidentally standing in the same line as Renoir, it felt as if he was speaking to me.
Now that I've earned enough money, you may think this is something I can say. But if someone asks me if it's okay to do something unprofitable, I would answer like this.
A delusion of making eye contact with Monet.
As I was intently looking, his mouth opens.
If it's not for the sake of money, forget about money altogether.
It's not a big emotion. Just like a gentle ripple, the words of the old man echo.
The only way to forget about money is to have a lot of it. Happiness can't be bought with money, but neither can it be bought with poverty. But if a person wakes up in the morning, goes to bed at night, and does what they want in between, thats a successful life.
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