RODERICK HUDSON
he was above all an advocate for American art. He did n't see why we should n't produce the greatest works in the world. We were the biggest people, and we ought to have the biggest conceptions. The biggest conceptions, of course, would bring forth in time the biggest performances. We had only to be true to ourselves, to pitch in and not be afraid, to fling Imitation overboard and fix our eyes upon our National Individuality. "I declare," he cried, "there's a career for a man, and I have twenty minds to embrace it on the spot—to be the typical, original, aboriginal American artist! It 's inspiring!"
Rowland burst out laughing and told him that he liked his practice better than his theory and that a saner impulse than this had inspired his little Waterdrinker. Roderick took no offence and three minutes afterwards was talking volubly of some humbler theme—only half heeded by his friend, who had returned to cogitation. At last Rowland delivered himself of the upshot of his thought.
"How should you like," he suddenly demanded, "to go to Rome?"
Hudson stared, and with an emphasis which speedily consigned our National Individuality to perdition, responded that he should like it first-rate. "And I should like, by the same token," he added, "to go to Athens, to Constantinople, to Damascus, to the holy city of Benares, where there 's a golden statue of Brahma twenty feet tall."
"No," said Rowland with a certain literalness, "if you were to go to Rome you would have to settle
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