His Masterpiece by Emile Zola (most inspirational books of all time txt) 📕

For This Kind Of Thing; Indeed,  She Could Have Sworn That She Would

Never Serve Him As A Model Again. Her Compliance Already Filled Her

With Remorse,  As If She Were Lending Herself To Something Wrong By

Letting Him Impart Her Own Countenance To That Big Creature,  Lying

Refulgent Under The Sun.

However,  In Two Sittings,  Claude Worked In The Head All Right. He

Exulted With Delight,  And Exclaimed That It Was The Best Bit Of

Painting He Had Ever Done; And He Was Right,  Never Had He Thrown Such

A Play Of Real Light Over Such A Life-Like Face. Happy At Seeing Him

So Pleased,  Christine Also Became Gay,  Going As Far As To Express

Approval Of Her Head,  Which,  Though Not Extremely Like Her,  Had A

Wonderful Expression. They Stood For A Long While Before The Picture,

Blinking At It,  And Drawing Back As Far As The Wall.

'And Now,' He Said At Last,  'I'll Finish Her Off With A Model. Ah! So

I've Got Her At Last.'

In A Burst Of Childish Glee,  He Took The Girl Round The Waist,  And

They Performed 'A Triumphant War Dance,' As He Called It. She Laughed

Very Heartily,  Fond Of Romping As She Was,  And No Longer Feeling Aught

Of Her Scruples And Discomfort.

But The Very Next Week Claude Became Gloomy Again. He Had Chosen Zoe

Piedefer As A Model,  But She Did Not Satisfy Him. Christine's Delicate

Head,  As He Expressed It,  Did Not Set Well On The Other's Shoulders.

He,  Nevertheless,  Persisted,  Scratched Out,  Began Anew,  And Worked So

Hard That He Lived In A Constant State Of Fever. Towards The Middle Of

January,  Seized With Despair,  He Abandoned His Picture And Turned It

Against The Wall,  Swearing That He Would Not Finish It. But A

Fortnight Later,  He Began To Work At It Again With Another Model,  And

Then Found Himself Obliged To Change The Whole Tone Of It. Thus

Matters Got Still Worse; So He Sent For Zoe Again; Became Altogether

At Sea,  And Quite Ill With Uncertainty And Anguish. And The Pity Of It

Was,  That The Central Figure Alone Worried Him,  For He Was Well

Satisfied With The Rest Of The Painting,  The Trees Of The Background,

The Two Little Women And The Gentleman In The Velvet Coat,  All

Finished And Vigorous. February Was Drawing To A Close; He Had Only A

Few Days Left To Send His Picture To The Salon; It Was Quite A

Disaster.

One Evening,  In Christine's Presence,  He Began Swearing,  And All At

Once A Cry Of Fury Escaped Him: 'After All,  By The Thunder Of Heaven,

Is It Possible To Stick One Woman's Head On Another's Shoulders? I

Ought To Chop My Hand Off.'

From The Depths Of His Heart A Single Idea Now Rose To His Brain: To

Obtain Her Consent To Pose For The Whole Figure. It Had Slowly

Sprouted,  First As A Simple Wish,  Quickly Discarded As Absurd; Then

Had Come A Silent,  Constantly-Renewed Debate With Himself; And At

Last,  Under The Spur Of Necessity,  Keen And Definite Desire. The

Recollection Of The Morning After The Storm,  When She Had Accepted His

Hospitality,  Haunted And Tortured Him. It Was She Whom He Needed; She

Alone Could Enable Him To Realise His Dream,  And He Beheld Her Again

In All Her Youthful Freshness,  Beaming And Indispensable. If He Could

Not Get Her To Pose,  He Might As Well Give Up His Picture,  For No One

Else Would Ever Satisfy Him. At Times,  While He Remained Seated For

Hours,  Distracted In Front Of The Unfinished Canvas,  So Utterly

Powerless That He No Longer Knew Where To Give A Stroke Of The Brush,

He Formed Heroic Resolutions. The Moment She Came In He Would Throw

Himself At Her Feet; He Would Tell Her Of His Distress In Such

Touching Words That She Would Perhaps Consent. But As Soon As He

Beheld Her,  He Lost All Courage,  He Averted His Eyes,  Lest She Might

Decipher His Thoughts In His Instinctive Glances. Such A Request Would

Be Madness. One Could Not Expect Such A Service From A Friend; He

Would Never Have The Audacity To Ask.

Nevertheless,  One Evening As He Was Getting Ready To Accompany Her,

And As She Was Putting On Her Bonnet,  With Her Arms Uplifted,  They

Remained For A Moment Looking Into Each Other's Eyes,  He Quivering,

And She Suddenly Becoming So Grave,  So Pale,  That He Felt Himself

Detected. All Along The Quays They Scarcely Spoke; The Matter Remained

Unmentioned Between Them While The Sun Set In The Coppery Sky. Twice

Afterwards He Again Read In Her Looks That She Was Aware Of His

All-Absorbing Thought. In Fact,  Since He Had Dreamt About It,  She Had

Began To Do The Same,  In Spite Of Herself,  Her Attention Roused By His

Involuntary Allusions. They Scarcely Affected Her At First,  Though She

Was Obliged At Last To Notice Them; Still The Question Seemed To Her

To Be Beyond The Range Of Possibility,  To Be One Of Those Unavowable

Ideas Which People Do Not Even Speak Of. The Fear That He Would Dare

To Ask Her Did Not Even Occur To Her; She Knew Him Well By Now; She

Could Have Silenced Him With A Gesture,  Before He Had Stammered The

First Words,  And In Spite Of His Sudden Bursts Of Anger. It Was Simple

Madness. Never,  Never!

Days Went By,  And Between Them That Fixed Idea Grew In Intensity. The

Moment They Were Together They Could Not Help Thinking Of It. Not A

Word Was Spoken On The Subject,  But Their Very Silence Was Eloquent;

They No Longer Made A Movement,  No Longer Exchanged A Smile Without

Stumbling Upon That Thought,  Which They Found Impossible To Put Into

Words,  Though It Filled Their Minds. Soon Nothing But That Remained In

Their Fraternal Intercourse. And The Perturbation Of Heart And Senses

Which They Had So Far Avoided In The Course Of Their Familiar

Intimacy,  Came At Last,  Under The Influence Of The All-Besetting

Thought. And Then The Anguish Which They Left Unmentioned,  But Which

They Could Not Hide From One Another,  Racked And Stifled Them,  Left

Them Heaving Distressfully With Painful Sighs.

Towards The Middle Of March,  Christine,  At One Of Her Visits,  Found

Claude Seated Before His Picture,  Overcome With Sorrow. He Had Not

Even Heard Her Enter. He Remained Motionless,  With Vacant,  Haggard

Eyes Staring At His Unfinished Work. In Another Three Days The Delay

For Sending In Exhibits For The Salon Would Expire.

'Well,' She Inquired Gently,  After Standing For A Long Time Behind

Him,  Grief-Stricken At Seeing Him In Such Despair.

He Started And Turned Round.

'Well,  It's All Up. I Sha'n't Exhibit Anything This Year. Ah! I Who

Relied So Much Upon This Salon!'

Both Relapsed Into Despondency--A Despondency And Agitation Full Of

Confused Thoughts. Then She Resumed,  Thinking Aloud As It Were:

'There Would Still Be Time.'

'Time? Oh! No Indeed. A Miracle Would Be Needed. Where Am I To Find A

Model So Late In The Day? Do You Know,  Since This Morning I Have Been

Worrying,  And For A Moment I Thought I Had Hit Upon An Idea: Yes,  It

Would Be To Go And Fetch That Girl,  That Irma Who Came While You Were

Here. I Know Well Enough That She Is Short And Not At All Such As I

Thought Of,  And So I Should Perhaps Have To Change Everything Once

More; But All The Same It Might Be Possible To Make Her Do. Decidedly,

I'll Try Her--'

He Stopped Short. The Glowing Eyes With Which He Gazed At Her Clearly

Said: 'Ah! There's You! Ah! It Would Be The Hoped-For Miracle,  And

Triumph Would Be Certain,  If You Were To Make This Supreme Sacrifice

For Me. I Beseech You,  I Ask You Devoutly,  As A Friend,  The Dearest,

The Most Beauteous,  The Most Pure.'

She,  Erect,  Looking Very Pale,  Seemed To Hear Each Of Those Words,

Though All Remained Unspoken,  And His Ardently Beseeching Eyes

Overcame Her. She Herself Did Not Speak. She Simply Did As She Was

Desired,  Acting Almost Like One In A Dream. Beneath It All There

Lurked The Thought That He Must Not Ask Elsewhere,  For She Was Now

Conscious Of Her Earlier Jealous Disquietude And Wished To Share His

Affections With None. Yet It Was In Silence And All Chastity That She

Stretched Herself On The Couch,  And Took Up The Pose,  With One Arm

Under Her Head,  Her Eyes Closed.

And Claude? Startled,  Full Of Gratitude,  He Had At Last Found Again

The Sudden Vision That He Had So Often Evoked. But He Himself Did Not

Speak; He Began To Paint In The Deep Solemn Silence That Had Fallen

Upon Them Both. For Two Long Hours He Stood To His Work With Such

Manly Energy That He Finished Right Off A Superb Roughing Out Of The

Whole Figure. Never Before Had He Felt Such Enthusiasm In His Art. It

Seemed To Him As If He Were In The Presence Of Some Saint; And At

Times He Wondered At The Transfiguration Of Christine's Face,  Whose

Somewhat Massive Jaws Seemed To Have Receded Beneath The Gentle

Placidity Which Her Brow And Cheeks Displayed. During Those Two Hours

She Did Not Stir,  She Did Not Speak,  But From Time To Time She Opened

Her Clear Eyes,  Fixing Them On Some Vague,  Distant Point,  And

Remaining Thus For A Moment,  Then Closing Them Again,  And Relapsing

Into The Lifelessness Of Fine Marble,  With The Mysterious Fixed Smile

Required By The Pose.

It Was By A Gesture That Claude Apprized Her He Had Finished. He

Turned Away,  And When They Stood Face To Face Again,  She Ready To

Depart,  They Gazed At One Another,  Overcome By Emotion Which Still

Prevented Them From Speaking. Was It Sadness,  Then,  Unconscious,

Unnameable Sadness? For Their Eyes Filled With Tears,  As If They Had

Just Spoilt Their Lives And Dived To The Depths Of Human Misery. Then,

Moved And Grieved,  Unable To Find A Word,  Even Of Thanks,  He Kissed

Her Religiously Upon The Brow.