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

All The Hatred That Folks Had Against Them; His Pictures,  Of A

Softened,  Attenuated Style,  Were Held Up In Praise,  So As To Deal The

Death-Blow To Their Ever Obstinately Violent Works.

'Have You Read Vernier's Article?' Asked Jory Of Gagniere. 'Doesn't He

Say Exactly What I Said?'

For The Last Few Moments Gagniere Had Been Absorbed In Contemplating

His Glass,  The Wine In Which Cast A Ruddy Reflection On The White

Tablecloth. He Started:

'Eh,  What,  Vernier's Article?'

'Why,  Yes; In Fact,  All Those Articles Which Appear About Fagerolles.'

Gagniere In Amazement Turned To The Painter.

'What,  Are They Writing Articles About You? I Know Nothing About Them,

I Haven't Seen Them. Ah! They Are Writing Articles About You,  But

Whatever For?'

There Was A Mad Roar Of Laughter. Fagerolles Alone Grinned With An Ill

Grace,  For He Fancied Himself The Butt Of Some Spiteful Joke. But

Gagniere Spoke In Absolute Good Faith. He Felt Surprised At The

Success Of A Painter Who Did Not Even Observe The Laws Regulating The

Value Of Tints. Success For That Trickster! Never! For In That Case

What Would Become Of Conscientiousness?

This Boisterous Hilarity Enlivened The End Of The Dinner. They All

Left Off Eating,  Though The Mistress Of The House Still Insisted Upon

Filling Their Plates.

'My Dear,  Do Attend To Them,' She Kept Saying To Sandoz,  Who Had Grown

Greatly Excited Amidst The Din. 'Just Stretch Out Your Hand; The

Biscuits Are On The Side-Board.'

They All Declined Anything More,  And Rose Up. As The Rest Of The

Evening Was To Be Spent There,  Round The Table,  Drinking Tea,  They

Leaned Back Against The Walls And Continued Chatting While The Servant

Cleared Away. The Young Couple Assisted,  Henriette Putting The

Salt-Cellars In A Drawer,  And Sandoz Helping To Fold The Cloth.

'You Can Smoke,' Said Henriette. 'You Know That It Doesn't

Inconvenience Me In The Least.'

Fagerolles,  Who Had Drawn Claude Into The Window Recess,  Offered Him A

Cigar,  Which Was Declined.

'True,  I Forgot; You Don't Smoke. Ah! I Say,  I Must Go To See What You

Have Brought Back With You. Some Very Interesting Things,  No Doubt.

You Know What I Think Of Your Talent. You Are The Cleverest Of Us

All.'

He Showed Himself Very Humble,  Sincere At Heart,  And Allowing His

Admiration Of Former Days To Rise Once More To The Surface; Indeed,  He

For Ever Bore The Imprint Of Another's Genius,  Which He Admitted,

Despite The Complex Calculations Of His Cunning Mind. But His Humility

Was Mingled With A Certain Embarrassment Very Rare With Him--The

Concern He Felt At The Silence Which The Master Of His Youth Preserved

Respecting His Last Picture. At Last He Ventured To Ask,  With

Quivering Lips:

'Did You See My Actress At The Salon? Do You Like It? Tell Me

Candidly.'

Claude Hesitated For A Moment; Then,  Like The Good-Natured Fellow He

Was,  Said:

'Yes; There Are Some Very Good Bits In It.'

Fagerolles Already Repented Having Asked That Stupid Question,  And He

Ended By Altogether Floundering; He Tried To Excuse Himself For His

Plagiarisms And His Compromises. When With Great Difficulty He Had Got

Out Of The Mess,  Enraged With Himself For His Clumsiness,  He For A

Moment Became The Joker Of Yore Again,  Made Even Claude Laugh Till He

Cried,  And Amused Them All. At Last He Held Out His Hand To Take Leave

Of Henriette.

'What,  Going So Soon?'

'Alas! Yes,  Dear Madame. This Evening My Father Is Entertaining The

Head Of A Department At One Of The Ministries,  An Official Whom He's

Trying To Influence In View Of Obtaining A Decoration; And,  As I Am

One Of His Titles To That Distinction,  I Had To Promise That I Would

Look In.'

When He Was Gone,  Henriette,  Who Had Exchanged A Few Words In A Low

Voice With Sandoz,  Disappeared; And Her Light Footfall Was Heard On

The First Floor. Since Her Marriage It Was She Who Tended The Old,

Infirm Mother,  Absenting Herself In This Fashion Several Times During

The Evening,  Just As The Son Had Done Formerly.

Not One Of The Guests,  However,  Had Noticed Her Leave The Room.

Mahoudeau And Gagniere Were Now Talking About Fagerolles; Showing

Themselves Covertly Bitter,  Without Openly Attacking Him. As Yet They

Contented Themselves With Ironical Glances And Shrugs Of The

Shoulders--All The Silent Contempt Of Fellows Who Don't Wish To Slash

A Chum. Then They Fell Back On Claude; They Prostrated Themselves

Before Him,  Overwhelmed Him With The Hopes They Set In Him. Ah! It Was

High Time For Him To Come Back,  For He Alone,  With His Great Gifts,

His Vigorous Touch,  Could Become The Master,  The Recognised Chief.

Since The Salon Of The Rejected The 'School Of The Open Air' Had

Increased In Numbers; A Growing Influence Was Making Itself Felt; But

Unfortunately,  The Efforts Were Frittered Away; The New Recruits

Contented Themselves With Producing Sketches,  Impressions Thrown Off

With A Few Strokes Of The Brush; They Were Awaiting The Necessary Man

Of Genius,  The One Who Would Incarnate The New Formula In

Masterpieces. What A Position To Take! To Master The Multitude,  To

Open Up A Century,  To Create A New Art! Claude Listened To Them,  With

His Eyes Turned To The Floor And His Face Very Pale. Yes,  That Indeed

Was His Unavowed Dream,  The Ambition He Dared Not Confess To Himself.

Only,  With The Delight That The Flattery Caused Him,  There Was Mingled

A Strange Anguish,  A Dread Of The Future,  As He Heard Them Raising Him

To The Position Of Dictator,  As If He Had Already Triumphed.

'Don't,' He Exclaimed At Last; 'There Are Others As Good As Myself. I

Am Still Seeking My Real Line.'

Jory,  Who Felt Annoyed,  Was Smoking In Silence. Suddenly,  As The

Others Obstinately Kept At It,  He Could Not Refrain From Remarking:

'All This,  My Boys,  Is Because You Are Vexed At Fagerolles' Success.'

They Energetically Denied It; They Burst Out In Protestations.

Fagerolles,  The Young Master! What A Good Joke!

'Oh,  You Are Turning Your Back Upon Us,  We Know It,' Said Mahoudeau.

'There's No Fear Of Your Writing A Line About Us Nowadays.'

'Well,  My Dear Fellow,' Answered Jory,  Vexed,  'Everything I Write

About You Is Cut Out. You Make Yourselves Hated Everywhere. Ah! If I

Had A Paper Of My Own!'

Henriette Came Back,  And Sandoz's Eyes Having Sought Hers,  She

Answered Him With A Glance And The Same Affectionate,  Quiet Smile That

He Had Shown When Leaving His Mother's Room In Former Times. Then She

Summoned Them All. They Sat Down Again Round The Table While She Made

The Tea And Poured It Out. But The Gathering Grew Sad,  Benumbed,  As It

Were,  With Lassitude. Sandoz Vainly Tried A Diversion By Admitting

Bertrand,  The Big Dog,  Who Grovelled At Sight Of The Sugar-Basin,  And

Ended By Going To Sleep Near The Stove,  Where He Snored Like A Man.

Since The Discussion On Fagerolles There Had Been Intervals Of

Silence,  A Kind Of Bored Irritation,  Which Fell Heavily Upon Them

Amidst The Dense Tobacco Smoke. And,  In Fact,  Gagniere Felt So Out Of

Sorts That He Left The Table For A Moment To Seat Himself At The

Piano,  Murdering Some Passages From Wagner In A Subdued Key,  With The

Stiff Fingers Of An Amateur Who Tries His First Scale At Thirty.

Towards Eleven O'clock Dubuche,  Arriving At Last,  Contributed The

Finishing Touch To The General Frost. He Had Made His Escape From A

Ball To Fulfil What He Considered A Remaining Duty Towards His Old

Comrades; And His Dress-Coat,  His White Necktie,  His Fat,  Pale Face,

All Proclaimed His Vexation At Having Come,  The Importance He Attached

To The Sacrifice,  And The Fear He Felt Of Compromising His New

Position. He Avoided Mentioning His Wife,  So That He Might Not Have To

Bring Her To Sandoz's. When He Had Shaken Hands With Claude,  Without

Showing More Emotion Than If He Had Met Him The Day Before,  He

Declined A Cup Of Tea And Spoke Slowly--Puffing Out His Cheeks The

While--Of His Worry In Settling In A Brand-New House,  And Of The Work

That Had Overwhelmed Him Since He Had Attended To The Business Of His

Father-In-Law,  Who Was Building A Whole Street Near The Parc Monceau.

Then Claude Distinctly Felt That Something Had Snapped. Had Life Then

Already Carried Away The Evenings Of Former Days,  Those Evenings So

Fraternal In Their Very Violence,  When Nothing Had As Yet Separated

Them,  When Not One Of Them Had Thought Of Keeping His Part Of Glory To

Himself? Nowadays The Battle Was Beginning. Each Hungry One Was

Eagerly Biting. And A Fissure Was There,  A Scarcely Perceptible Crack

That Had Rent The Old,  Sworn Friendships,  And Some Day Would Make Them

Crumble Into A Thousand Pieces.

However,  Sandoz,  With His Craving For Perpetuity,  Had So Far Noticed

Nothing; He Still Beheld Them As They Had Been In The Rue D'enfer,  All

Arm In Arm,  Starting Off To Victory. Why Change What Was Well? Did Not

Happiness Consist In One Pleasure Selected From Among All,  And Then

Enjoyed For Ever Afterwards? And When,  An Hour Later,  The Others Made

Up Their Minds To Go Off,  Wearied By The Dull Egotism Of Dubuche,  Who

Had Not Left Off Talking About His Own Affairs; When They Had Dragged

Gagniere,  In A Trance,  Away From The Piano,  Sandoz,  Followed By His

Wife,  Absolutely Insisted,  Despite The Coldness Of The Night,  On

Accompanying Them All To The Gate At The End Of The Garden. He Shook

Hands All Round,  And Shouted After Them:

'Till Thursday,  Claude; Till Next Thursday,  All Of You,  Eh? Mind You

All Come!'

'Till Thursday!' Repeated Henriette,  Who Had Taken The Lantern And Was

Holding It Aloft So As To Light The Steps.

And,  Amid The Laughter,  Gagniere And Mahoudeau Replied,  Jokingly:

'Till Thursday,  Young Master! Good-Night,  Young Master!'

Once In The Rue Nollet,  Dubuche Immediately Hailed A Cab,  In Which He

Drove Away. The Other Four Walked Together As Far As The Outer

Boulevards,  Scarcely Exchanging A Word,  Looking Dazed,  As It Were,  At

Having Been In Each Other's Company So Long. At Last Jory Decamped,

Pretending That Some Proofs Were Waiting For Him At The Office Of His

Newspaper. Then Gagniere Mechanically Stopped Claude In Front Of The

Cafe Baudequin,  The Gas Of Which Was Still Blazing Away. Mahoudeau

Refused To Go In,  And Went Off Alone,  Sadly Ruminating,  Towards The

Rue Du Cherche-Midi.