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  • 1. (2022九上·温州开学考) 阅读理解

    I live in Mentone, a quiet, simple, restful place, where the rich never come. I met Mark Toin Theophile Magnan, a retired, rich, old man from Lyons yesterday, in the Hotel des Anglais. Theophile looked sad and dreamy, and didn't talk with anybody else, which brought me back to the past.

    A long time ago, Francois Millet, Claude, Carl and I were young artists-very young artists——in fact.

    Yes, Francois Millet, the great French artist, was my friend.

    Millet wasn't any greater than we were at that time. He didn't have any fame, even in his own village.

    We were all poor though we had stacks and stacks of as good pictures as anybody in Europe painted. Once a person ever offered four francs for Millet's "Angelus", which he intended to sell for eight.

    It was a fact in human history that a great artist would never be acknowledged until after he was starved and dead. His pictures climbed to high prices after his death.

    Then we made a decision that one of us must die, to save the others and himself.

    Millet was elected—elected to die.

    During the next three months Millet painted with all his might, enlarged his stock all he could, not pictures, no! sketches, studies, parts of studies, fragments of studies, of course, with his cipher on them.

    They were the things to be sold.

    Carl went to Paris to start the work of building up Millet's name. Claude and I went to sell Millet's small pictures and to build up his name as well.

    We made Millet a master. I always said to my customer, "I am a fool to sell a picture of Francois Millet's at all, for he is not going to live three months, and when he dies his pictures can't be had for love or money." Claude and I took care to spread that little fact as far as we could.

    Carl made friends with the correspondents, and got Millet's condition reported to England and all over the continent, and America, and everywhere.

    The sad end came at last, Millet died, not really. He became Theophile Magnan.

    The pictures went up. There's a man in Paris today who owns seventy Millet pictures. He paid us two million francs for them. Do you still remember the "Angelus"? Carl sold it for twenty-two hundred francs. And as for the bushels of sketches and studies which Millet produced in the last six weeks, well, it would astonish you to know the figure we sell them at nowadays.

    We are no longer artists and Millet dead.

    1. (1) Why did the four friends decide to elect one of them to die?
      A . They wanted to be rich. B . They wanted to be famous. C . They wanted to save money. D . They wanted to be respected.
    2. (2) Which of the following statements is TRUE about the passage?
      A . The writer lives a busy life in Mentone. B . Millet was finally made a famous artist. C . Millet painted best among the four friends. D . The story was written in memory of Millet.
    3. (3) What made the four friends' plan succeed?
      A . That they didn't want to be artists any longer. B . That Millet's pictures were sold at very high prices. C . People's attitude towards the artists who were starving D . People's desire to own precious art works at low prices.
    4. (4) Is Millet living or dead? Why?(请用约40词回答)

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