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

To Bed Jacques Did Not Even Open His Eyes.

It Was Only At This Period That The Idea Of Marrying Christine Came To

Claude. Though Yielding To The Advice Of Sandoz,  Who Expressed His

Surprise At The Prolongation Of An Irregular Situation Which No

Circumstances Justified,  He More Particularly Gave Way To A Feeling Of

Pity,  To A Desire To Show Himself Kind To His Mistress,  And To Win

Forgiveness For His Delinquencies. He Had Seen Her So Sad Of Late,  So

Uneasy With Respect To The Future,  That He Did Not Know How To Revive

Her Spirits. He Himself Was Growing Soured,  And Relapsing Into His

Former Fits Of Anger,  Treating Her,  At Times,  Like A Servant,  To Whom

One Flings A Week's Notice. Being His Lawful Wife,  She Would,  No

Doubt,  Feel Herself More In Her Rightful Home,  And Would Suffer Less

From His Rough Behaviour. She Herself,  For That Matter,  Had Never

Again Spoken Of Marriage. She Seemed To Care Nothing For Earthly

Things,  But Entirely Reposed Upon Him; However,  He Understood Well

Enough That It Grieved Her That She Was Not Able To Visit At Sandoz's.

Besides,  They No Longer Lived Amid The Freedom And Solitude Of The

Country; They Were In Paris,  With Its Thousand And One Petty Spites,

Everything That Is Calculated To Wound A Woman In An Irregular

Position. In Reality,  He Had Nothing Against Marriage Save His Old

Prejudices,  Those Of An Artist Who Takes Life As He Lists. Since He

Was Never To Leave Her,  Why Not Afford Her That Pleasure? And,  In

Fact,  When He Spoke To Her About It,  She Gave A Loud Cry And Threw Her

Arms Round His Neck,  Surprised At Experiencing Such Great Emotion.

During A Whole Week It Made Her Feel Thoroughly Happy. But Her Joy

Subsided Long Before The Ceremony.

Moreover,  Claude Did Not Hurry Over Any Of The Formalities,  And They

Had To Wait A Long While For The Necessary Papers. He Continued

Getting The Sketches For His Picture Together,  And She,  Like Himself,

Did Not Seem In The Least Impatient. What Was The Good? It Would

Assuredly Make No Difference In Their Life. They Had Decided To Be

Married Merely At The Municipal Offices,  Not In View Of Displaying Any

Contempt For Religion,  But To Get The Affair Over Quickly And Simply.

That Would Suffice. The Question Of Witnesses Embarrassed Them For A

Moment. As She Was Absolutely Unacquainted With Anybody,  He Selected

Sandoz And Mahoudeau To Act For Her. For A Moment He Had Thought Of

Replacing The Latter By Dubuche,  But He Never Saw The Architect Now,

And He Feared To Compromise Him. He,  Claude,  Would Be Content With

Jory And Gagniere. In That Way The Affair Would Pass Off Among

Friends,  And Nobody Would Talk Of It.

Several Weeks Had Gone By; They Were In December,  And The Weather

Proved Terribly Cold. On The Day Before The Wedding,  Although They

Barely Had Thirty-Five Francs Left Them,  They Agreed That They Could

Not Send Their Witnesses Away With A Mere Shake Of The Hand; And,

Rather Than Have A Lot Of Trouble In The Studio,  They Decided To Offer

Them Lunch At A Small Restaurant On The Boulevard De Clichy,  After

Which They Would All Go Home.

In The Morning,  While Christine Was Tacking A Collar To A Grey Linsey

Gown Which,  With The Coquetry Of Woman,  She Had Made For The Occasion,

It Occurred To Claude,  Who Was Already Wearing His Frock-Coat And

Kicking His Heels Impatiently,  To Go And Fetch Mahoudeau,  For The

Latter,  He Asserted,  Was Quite Capable Of Forgetting All About The

Appointment. Since Autumn,  The Sculptor Had Been Living At Montmartre,

In A Small Studio In The Rue Des Tilleuls. He Had Moved Thither In

Consequence Of A Series Of Affairs That Had Quite Upset Him. First Of

All,  He Had Been Turned Out Of The Fruiterer's Shop In The Rue Du

Cherche-Midi For Not Paying His Rent; Then Had Come A Definite Rupture

With Chaine,  Who,  Despairing Of Being Able To Live By His Brush,  Had

Rushed Into Commercial Enterprise,  Betaking Himself To All The Fairs

Around Paris As The Manager Of A Kind Of 'Fortune's Wheel' Belonging

To A Widow; While Last Of All Had Come The Sudden Flight Of Mathilde,

Her Herbalist's Business Sold Up,  And She Herself Disappearing,  It

Seemed,  With Some Mysterious Admirer. At Present Mahoudeau Lived All

By Himself In Greater Misery Than Ever,  Only Eating When He Secured A

Job At Scraping Some Architectural Ornaments,  Or Preparing Work For

Some More Prosperous Fellow-Sculptor.

'I Am Going To Fetch Him,  Do You Hear?' Claude Repeated To Christine.

'We Still Have A Couple Of Hours Before Us. And,  If The Others Come,

Make Them Wait. We'll Go To The Municipal Offices All Together.'

Once Outside,  Claude Hurried Along In The Nipping Cold Which Loaded

His Moustache With Icicles. Mahoudeau's Studio Was At The End Of A

Conglomeration Of Tenements--'Rents,' So To Say--And He Had To Cross A

Number Of Small Gardens,  White With Rime,  And Showing The Bleak,  Stiff

Melancholy Of Cemeteries. He Could Distinguish His Friend's Place From

Afar On Account Of The Colossal Plaster Statue Of The 'Vintaging

Girl,' The Once Successful Exhibit Of The Salon,  For Which There Had

Not Been Sufficient Space In The Narrow Ground-Floor Studio. Thus It

Was Rotting Out In The Open Like So Much Rubbish Shot From A Cart,  A

Lamentable Spectacle,  Weather-Bitten,  Riddled By The Rain's Big,  Grimy

Tears. The Key Was In The Door,  So Claude Went In.

'Hallo! Have You Come To Fetch Me?' Said Mahoudeau,  In Surprise. 'I've

Only Got My Hat To Put On. But Wait A Bit,  I Was Asking Myself Whether

It Wouldn't Be Better To Light A Little Fire. I Am Uneasy About My

Woman There.'

Some Water In A Bucket Was Ice-Bound. So Cold Was The Studio That It

Froze Inside As Hard As It Did Out Of Doors,  For,  Having Been

Penniless For A Whole Week,  Mahoudeau Had Gingerly Eked Out The Little

Coal Remaining To Him,  Only Lighting The Stove For An Hour Or Two Of A

Morning. His Studio Was A Kind Of Tragic Cavern,  Compared With Which

The Shop Of Former Days Evoked Reminiscences Of Snug Comfort,  Such Was

The Tomb-Like Chill That Fell On One's Shoulders From The Creviced

Ceiling And The Bare Walls. In The Various Corners Some Statues,  Of

Less Bulky Dimensions Than The 'Vintaging Girl,' Plaster Figures Which

Had Been Modelled With Passion And Exhibited,  And Which Had Then Come

Back For Want Of Buyers,  Seemed To Be Shivering With Their Noses

Turned To The Wall,  Forming A Melancholy Row Of Cripples,  Some Already

Badly Damaged,  Showing Mere Stumps Of Arms,  And All Dust-Begrimed And

Clay-Bespattered. Under The Eyes Of Their Artist Creator,  Who Had

Given Them His Heart's Blood,  Those Wretched Nudities Dragged Out

Years Of Agony. At First,  No Doubt,  They Were Preserved With Jealous

Care,  Despite The Lack Of Room,  But Then They Lapsed Into The

Grotesque Honor Of All Lifeless Things,  Until A Day Came When,  Taking

Up A Mallet,  He Himself Finished Them Off,  Breaking Them Into Mere

Lumps Of Plaster,  So As To Be Rid Of Them.

'You Say We Have Got Two Hours,  Eh?' Resumed Mahoudeau. 'Well,  I'll

Just Light A Bit Of Fire; It Will Be The Wiser Perhaps.'

Then,  While Lighting The Stove,  He Began Bewailing His Fate In An

Angry Voice. What A Dog's Life A Sculptor's Was! The Most Bungling

Stonemason Was Better Off. A Figure Which The Government Bought For

Three Thousand Francs Cost Well Nigh Two Thousand,  What With Its

Model,  Clay,  Marble Or Bronze,  All Sorts Of Expenses,  Indeed,  And For

All That It Remained Buried In Some Official Cellar On The Pretext

That There Was No Room For It Elsewhere. The Niches Of The Public

Buildings Remained Empty,  Pedestals Were Awaiting Statues In The

Public Gardens. No Matter,  There Was Never Any Room! And There Were No

Possible Commissions From Private People; At Best One Received An

Order For A Few Busts,  And At Very Rare Intervals One For A Memorial

Statue,  Subscribed For By The Public And Hurriedly Executed At Reduced

Terms. Sculpture Was The Noblest Of Arts,  The Most Manly,  Yes,  But The

One Which Led The Most Surely To Death By Starvation!

'Is Your Machine Progressing?' Asked Claude.

'Without This Confounded Cold,  It Would Be Finished,' Answered

Mahoudeau. 'I'll Show It You.'

He Rose From His Knees After Listening To The Snorting Of The Stove.

In The Middle Of The Studio,  On A Packing-Case,  Strengthened By

Cross-Pieces,  Stood A Statue Swathed Is Linen Wraps Which Were Quite

Rigid,  Hard Frozen,  Draping The Figure With The Whiteness Of A Shroud.

This Statue Embodied Mahoudeau's Old Dream,  Unrealised Until Now From

Lack Of Means--It Was An Upright Figure Of That Bathing Girl Of Whom

More Than A Dozen Small Models Had Been Knocking About His Place For

Years. In A Moment Of Impatient Revolt He Himself Had Manufactured

Trusses And Stays Out Of Broom-Handles,  Dispensing With The Necessary

Iron Work In The Hope That The Wood Would Prove Sufficiently Solid.

From Time To Time He Shook The Figure To Try It,  But As Yet It Had Not

Budged.

'The Devil!' He Muttered; 'Some Warmth Will Do Her Good. These Wraps

Seem Glued To Her--They Form Quite A Breastplate.'

The Linen Was Crackling Between His Fingers,  And Splinters Of Ice Were

Breaking Off. He Was Obliged To Wait Until The Heat Produced A Slight

Thaw,  And Then With Great Care He Stripped The Figure,  Baring The Head

First,  Then The Bosom,  And Then The Hips,  Well Pleased At Finding

Everything Intact,  And Smiling Like A Lover At A Woman Fondly Adored.

'Well,  What Do You Think Of It?'

Claude,  Who Had Only Previously Seen A Little Rough Model Of The

Statue,  Nodded His Head,  In Order That He Might Not Have To Answer

Immediately. Decidedly,  That Good Fellow Mahoudeau Was Turning

Traitor,  And Drifting Towards Gracefulness,  In Spite Of Himself,  For

Pretty Things Ever Sprang From Under His Big Fingers,  Former

Stonecutter Though He Was. Since His Colossal 'Vintaging Girl,' He Had

Gone On Reducing And Reducing The Proportions Of His Figures Without

Appearing To Be Aware Of It Himself,  Always Ready To Stick Out

Ferociously For The Gigantic,  Which Agreed With His Temperament,  But

Yielding To The Partiality Of His Eyes For Sweetness And Gracefulness.

And Indeed Real Nature Broke At Last Through Inflated Ambition.

Exaggerated Still,  His 'Bathing Girl' Was Already Possessed Of Great

Charm,