"Do not men of great genius notoriously forget themselves, forget to eat and drink and dress themselves like Christians? That is because they have not two heads. Providence expects a man to do two things at once—an air from an opera and invent the steam-engine at the same moment. Nature rebels. Then Providence and Nature do not agree. What becomes of religion? It is all a mystery. Believe me, Madame, art is easier than, nature, and painting is simpler than theology."
Maria Consuelo listened to Gouache's extraordinary remarks with a smile.
"You are either paradoxical, or irreligious, or both," she said.
"Irreligious? I, who carried a rifle at Mentana? No, Madame, I am a good Catholic."
"What does that mean?"
"I believe in God, and I love my wife. I leave it to the Church to define my other articles of belief. I have only one head, as you see."
Gouache smiled, but there was a note of sincerity in the odd statement which did not escape his hearer.
"You are not of the type which belongs to the end of the century," she said.
"That type was not invented when I was forming myself."
"Perhaps you belong rather to the coming age—the age of simplification."