RODERICK HUDSON
Nothing comes out of the bottle; he turns it upside down; it refuses to flow. Sometimes he declares it 's empty — that he has done all he was made to do. This I consider great nonsense; but I would nevertheless take him on his own terms if it were only I that am concerned. But I keep thinking of those two praying, trusting neighbours of yours, and I feel like a bad bungler when I don't feel like a swindler. If his working mood came at its intervals, fixed ones, I 'd willingly wait for it and keep him on his legs somehow or other between; but that would be a sorry account to present to them! A few years of this sort of thing, moreover, would effectually settle the question. I wish, heaven forgive me, that he were less of a genius and more of a charlatan. He 's too confoundedly all of one piece; he won't throw overboard a grain of the cargo to save the rest. Fancy him thus with all his brilliant personal charm, his handsome head, his careless step, his look as of a nervous nineteenth-century Apollo, and you 'll understand that there 's mighty little comfort in seeing him spoil on the tree. He was extremely perverse last summer at Baden-Baden, but he finally pulled together and for some time was steady. Then he began to knock about again and at last toppled over. Now, literally, he 's lying prone. He came into my room last night miserably the worse for liquor. I assure you it did n't amuse me. . . . About Miss Light it 's a long story. She 's one of the great beauties of all time and worth coming barefoot to Rome, like the pilgrims of old, to see. Her complexion, her eyes, her step, the plant-
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