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

On His Knees And Began To Sketch With An Air Of Perfect Happiness. All

Else Vanished Amidst Artistic Surprise And Enthusiasm. No Thought Of

Sex Came To Him. It Was All A Mere Question Of Chaste Outlines,

Splendid Flesh Tints,  Well-Set Muscles. Face To Face With Nature,  An

Uneasy Mistrust Of His Powers Made Him Feel Small; So,  Squaring His

Elbows,  He Became Very Attentive And Respectful. This Lasted For About

A Quarter Of An Hour,  During Which He Paused Every Now And Then,

Blinking At The Figure Before Him. As He Was Afraid,  However,  That She

Might Change Her Position,  He Speedily Set To Work Again,  Holding His

Breath,  Lest He Should Awaken Her.

And Yet,  While Steadily Applying Himself To His Work,  Vague Fancies

Again Assailed His Mind. Who Could She Be? Assuredly No Mere Hussy.

But Why Had She Told Him Such An Unbelievable Tale? Thereupon He Began

To Imagine Other Stories. Perhaps She Had But Lately Arrived In Paris

With A Lover,  Who Had Abandoned Her; Perhaps She Was Some Young Woman

Of The Middle Classes Led Into Bad Company By A Female Friend,  And Not

Daring To Go Home To Her Relatives; Or Else There Was Some Still More

Intricate Drama Beneath It All; Something Horrible,  Inexplicable,  The

Truth Of Which He Would Never Fathom. All These Hypotheses Increased

His Perplexity. Meanwhile,  He Went On Sketching Her Face,  Studying It

With Care. The Whole Of The Upper Part,  The Clear Forehead,  As Smooth

As A Polished Mirror,  The Small Nose,  With Its Delicately Chiselled

And Nervous Nostrils,  Denoted Great Kindliness And Gentleness. One

Divined The Sweet Smile Of The Eyes Beneath The Closed Lids; A Smile

That Would Light Up The Whole Of The Features. Unfortunately,  The

Lower Part Of The Face Marred That Expression Of Sweetness; The Jaw

Was Prominent,  And The Lips,  Rather Too Full,  Showed Almost Blood-Like

Over The Strong White Teeth. There Was Here,  Like A Flash Of Passion,

Something That Spoke Of Awakening Womanhood,  Still Unconscious Of

Itself Amidst Those Other Traits Of Childlike Softness.

But Suddenly A Shiver Rippled Over The Girl's Satiny Skin. Perhaps She

Had Felt The Weight Of That Gaze Thus Mentally Dissecting Her. She

Opened Her Eyes Very Wide And Uttered A Cry.

'Ah! Great Heavens!'

Sudden Terror Paralysed Her At The Sight Of That Strange Room,  And

That Young Man Crouching In His Shirt-Sleeves In Front Of Her And

Devouring Her With His Eyes. Flushing Hotly,  She Impulsively Pulled Up

The Counterpane.

'Well,  What's The Matter?' Cried Claude,  Angrily,  His Crayon Suspended

In Mid-Air; 'What Wasp Has Stung You Now?'

He,  Whose Knowledge Of Womankind Was Largely Limited To Professional

Models,  Was At A Loss To Understand The Girl's Action.

She Neither Spoke Nor Stirred,  But Remained With The Counterpane

Tightly Wrapped Round Her Throat,  Her Body Almost Doubled Up,  And

Scarcely Showing An Outline Beneath Her Coverings.

'I Won't Eat You,  Will I?' Urged Claude. 'Come,  Just Lie As You Were,

There's A Good Girl.'

Again She Blushed To Her Very Ears. At Last She Stammered,  'Oh,  No,

Monsieur,  No--Pray!'

But He Began To Lose His Temper Altogether. One Of The Angry Fits To

Which He Was Subject Was Coming Upon Him. He Thought Her Obstinacy

Stupid. And As In Response To His Urgent Requests She Only Began To

Sob,  He Quite Lost His Head In Despair Before His Sketch,  Thinking

That He Would Never Be Able To Finish It,  And Would Thus Lose A

Capital Study For His Picture.

'Well,  You Won't,  Eh? But It's Idiotic. What Do You Take Me For? Have

I Annoyed You At All? You Know I Haven't. Besides,  Listen,  It Is Very

Unkind Of You To Refuse Me This Service,  Because,  After All,  I

Sheltered You--I Gave Up My Bed To You.'

She Only Continued To Cry,  With Her Head Buried In The Pillow.

'I Assure You That I Am Very Much In Want Of This Sketch,  Else I

Wouldn't Worry You.'

He Grew Surprised At The Girl's Abundant Tears,  And Ashamed At Having

Been So Rough With Her,  So He Held His Tongue At Last,  Feeling

Embarrassed,  And Wishing Too That She Might Have Time To Recover A

Bit. Then He Began Again,  In A Very Gentle Tone:

'Well,  As It Annoys You,  Let's Say No More About It. But If You Only

Knew. I've Got A Figure In My Picture Yonder Which Doesn't Make

Head-Way At All,  And You Were Just In The Very Note. As For Me,  When

It's A Question Of Painting,  I'd Kill Father And Mother,  You Know.

Well,  You'll Excuse Me,  Won't You? And If You'd Like Me To Be Very

Nice,  You'd Just Give Me A Few Minutes More. No,  No; Keep Quiet As You

Are; I Only Want The Head--Nothing But The Head. If I Could Finish

That,  It Would Be All Right. Really Now,  Be Kind; Put Your Arm As It

Was Before,  And I Shall Be Very Grateful To You--Grateful All My Life

Long.'

It Was He Who Was Entreating Now,  Pitifully Waving His Crayon Amid The

Emotion Of His Artistic Craving. Besides,  He Had Not Stirred,  But

Remained Crouching On His Low Chair,  At A Distance From The Bed. At

Last She Risked The Ordeal,  And Uncovered Her Tranquillised Face. What

Else Could She Do? She Was At His Mercy,  And He Looked So Wretchedly

Unhappy.

Nevertheless,  She Still Hesitated,  She Felt Some Last Scruples. But

Eventually,  Without Saying A Word,  She Slowly Brought Her Bare Arm

From Beneath The Coverings,  And Again Slipped It Under Her Head,

Taking Care,  However,  To Keep The Counterpane Tightly Round Her

Throat.

'Ah! How Kind You Are! I'll Make Haste,  You Will Be Free In A Minute.'

He Bent Over His Drawing,  And Only Looked At Her Now And Then With The

Glance Of A Painter Who Simply Regards The Woman Before Him As A

Model. At First She Became Pink Again; The Consciousness That She Was

Showing Her Bare Arm--Which She Would Have Shown In A Ball-Room

Without Thinking At All About It--Filled Her With Confusion.

Nevertheless,  The Young Man Seemed So Reasonable That She Became

Reassured. The Blush Left Her Cheeks,  And Her Lips Parted In A Vague

Confiding Smile. And From Between Her Half-Opened Eyelids She Began To

Study Him. How He Had Frightened Her The Previous Night With His Thick

Brown Beard,  His Large Head,  And His Impulsive Gestures. And Yet He

Was Not Ugly; She Even Detected Great Tenderness In The Depths Of His

Brown Eyes,  While His Nose Altogether Surprised Her. It Was A

Finely-Cut Woman's Nose,  Almost Lost Amidst The Bristling Hair On His

Lips. He Shook Slightly With A Nervous Anxiety Which Made His Crayon

Seem A Living Thing In His Slender Hand,  And Which Touched Her Though

She Knew Not Why. She Felt Sure He Was Not Bad-Natured,  His Rough,

Surly Ways Arose From Bashfulness. She Did Not Decipher All This Very

Clearly,  But She Divined It,  And Began To Put Herself At Her Ease,  As

If She Were With A Friend.

Nevertheless,  The Studio Continued To Frighten Her A Little. She Cast

Sidelong Glances Around It,  Astonished At So Much Disorder And

Carelessness. Before The Stove The Cinders Of The Previous Winter

Still Lay In A Heap. Besides The Bed,  The Small Washstand,  And The

Couch,  There Was No Other Furniture Than An Old Dilapidated Oaken

Wardrobe And A Large Deal Table,  Littered With Brushes,  Colours,  Dirty

Plates,  And A Spirit Lamp,  Atop Of Which Was A Saucepan,  With Shreds

Of Vermicelli Sticking To Its Sides. Some Rush-Bottomed Chairs,  Their

Seats The Worse For Wear,  Were Scattered About Beside Spavined Easels.

Near The Couch The Candlestick Used On The Previous Night Stood On The

Floor,  Which Looked As If It Had Not Been Swept For Fully A Month.

There Was Only The Cuckoo Clock,  A Huge One,  With A Dial Illuminated

With Crimson Flowers,  That Looked Clean And Bright,  Ticking Sonorously

All The While. But What Especially Frightened Her Were Some Sketches

In Oils That Hung Frameless From The Walls,  A Serried Array Of

Sketches Reaching To The Floor,  Where They Mingled With Heaps Of

Canvases Thrown About Anyhow. She Had Never Seen Such Terrible

Painting,  So Coarse,  So Glaring,  Showing A Violence Of Colour,  That

Jarred Upon Her Nerves Like A Carter's Oath Heard On The Doorstep Of

An Inn. She Cast Her Eyes Down For A Moment,  And Then Became Attracted

By A Picture,  The Back Of Which Was Turned To Her. It Was The Large

Canvas At Which The Painter Was Working,  And Which He Pushed Against

The Wall Every Night,  The Better To Judge It On The Morrow In The

Surprise Of The First Glance. What Could It Be,  That One,  She

Wondered,  Since He Dared Not Even Show It? And,  Meantime,  Through The

Vast Room,  A Sheet Of Burning Sunlight,  Falling Straight From The

Window Panes,  Unchecked By Any Blind,  Spread With The Flow Of Molten

Gold Over All The Broken-Down Furniture,  Whose Devil-May-Care

Shabbiness It Threw Into Bold Relief.

Claude Began To Feel The Silence Oppressive; He Wanted To Say

Something,  No Matter What,  First,  In Order To Be Polite,  And More

Especially To Divert Her Attention From Her Pose. But Cudgel His Brain

As He Would,  He Could Only Think Of Asking: 'Pray,  What Is Your Name?'

She Opened Her Eyes,  Which She Had Closed,  As If She Were Feeling

Sleepy.

'Christine,' She Said.

At Which He Seemed Surprised. Neither Had He Told Her His Name. Since

The Night Before They Had Been Together,  Side By Side,  Without Knowing

One Another.

'My Name Is Claude.'

And,  Having Looked At Her Just At That Moment,  He Saw Her Burst Into A

Pretty Laugh. It Was The Sudden,  Merry Peal Of A Big Girl,  Still

Scarcely More Than A Hoyden. She Considered This Tardy Exchange Of

Names Rather Droll. Then Something Else Amused Her.

'How Funny--Claude,  Christine--They Begin With The Same Letter.'

They Both Became Silent Once More. He Was Blinking At His Work,

Growing Absorbed In It,  And At A Loss How To Continue The

Conversation. He Fancied That She Was Beginning To Feel Tired And

Uncomfortable,  And In His Fear Lest She Should Stir,  He Remarked At

Random,  Merely To Occupy Her Thoughts,  'It Feels Rather Warm.'

This Time She Checked Her Laughter,  Her Natural Gaiety That Revived

And Burst Forth In Spite Of Herself Ever Since She Had Felt Easier In

Mind. Truth To Tell,  The Heat Was Indeed So Oppressive That It Seemed

To Her As If She Were In A