He was going to break with his
_impresario_, he would no longer debase himself with that false
painting, even if he had to beg for his living. Great things were being
done in the world, and he felt that he had the courage to be an
innovator, following the steps of those modern painters who made such a
profound impression on him.
Now he hated old Italy, where artists went to study under the protection
of ignorant governments.
In reality what they found there was a market of tempting commissions
where they soon grew accustomed to taking orders, to the luxurious,
indifferent life of easy profit. He wanted to move to Paris. But
Josephina, who listened to Renovales' fancies in silence, unable to
understand them for the most part, modified this determination by her
advice. She too wanted to leave Venice. The city seemed gloomy in the
winter with its ceaseless rains that left the bridges slippery and the
marble alleys impassable. Since they were determined to break up camp,
why not go back to Madrid? Mamma was sick, she complained in all her
letters at living so far from her daughter. Josephina wanted to see her,
she had a presentiment that her mother was going to die. Renovales
thought it over; he too wanted to go back to Spain. He felt homesick;
he thought of the great stir he would cause there, teaching his new
methods amid the general routine. The desire of shocking the
Academicians, who had accepted him before because he had renounced his
ideals, tempted him.
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