"Like Melchizedek," suggested Sir Benjamin.
"Exactly," said Paul, "but the man of science, on the contrary, builds on foundations which his predecessors have laid, and reaps what they have sown."
"I think you are about right," remarked Mr. Kesterton, the Cabinet Minister, "an ordinary plumber now knows more than Galileo did, and a chemist's assistant more than Jenner: but our innumerable host of minor poets have not yet out-Shakespeared Shakespeare, nor do our modern impressionists put Raphael and Michael Angelo to shame."
"Still some of the modern pictures are very pretty, don't you think?" chimed in Lady Esdaile, "and so much more interesting than the old ones. Do you know, I get rather tired of nothing but Madonnas and Holy Families? Of course they are very nice in their way, and devout and religious and all that; but if I had to choose a picture, I'd much rather have a hunting scene or a railway station or a Scotch moor."
Mr. Kesterton did not answer. Some men, he felt, were appointed to govern kingdoms, and some to talk to silly women; but no man could reasonably be expected to do both.
"My lady's tastes are modern," said Sir Richard, smiling.
"Yes, they are," agreed Sir Richard's wife. "I'd rather read a new novel than all Shakespeare's things put together; and I enjoy Gilbert and Sullivan far more than Handel and Mozart."
"So do I, Lady Esdaile," chimed in Lord Robert Thistletown. "I am 'the heir of all the ages in the foremost files of time,' and I cannot waste my time in looking back, like Lot's wife."
"But if, as you say, the artist is born not made, how can art be an education?" inquired Lord Wrexham.
"Art is really the interpretation of nature," replied Paul; "therefore the artist has the power to reveal to others what he alone has the eyes to discover for himself. He will not teach other men to be artists; he will only show them what he has seen. Do I make myself clear, Lord Wrexham? I know what I mean, but I am afraid I put it rather badly."