In a moment the thought flashed into my head: That is my picture!
I had my portfolio with me, and colors, for I never go walking without them; I begin to sketch on the spot, but I say to the Jews,—
"Sit as you are, don't move!—a ruble to each one at dark."
My Jews see the point, in a twinkle, and, as it were, grow to the ground. I sketch and sketch. The street Arabs crawl out of the water, and soon I hear behind me,—
"Painter! painter! When a man steals a thing, he says that he found it."
But I answer them in their jargon, and win them at once; they even stop throwing chips at the Jews, so as not to injure my work. But, as an offset, my group fall unexpectedly into good humor.
"Jews," cry I, "be sorrowful;" but the old woman answers,—
"With permission, Pan artist, how can we be sorrowful when you promise us each one a ruble? Let him be sad who has no profit."
I have to threaten them that I will not pay.
I sketched for two evenings; then they posed for me two months in the studio. Let Antek say what he pleases, the picture is good, for there is nothing cold in it; it has pure truth and a tremendous lot of nature. I left even the freckles on the young Jewess. The faces might be more beautiful; but they could not be truer or have greater character.