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

Supported Her Breast.

'Well,  You Don't Like Her?' He Asked,  Looking Annoyed.

'Oh,  Yes,  I Do! I Think You Are Right To Tone Things Down A Bit,

Seeing That You Feel Like That. You'll Have A Great Success With This.

Yes,  It's Evident It Will Please People Very Much.'

Mahoudeau,  Whom Such Praises Would Once Have Thrown Into

Consternation,  Seemed Delighted. He Explained That He Wished To

Conquer Public Opinion Without Relinquishing A Tithe Of His

Convictions.

'Ah! Dash It! It Takes A Weight Off My Mind To Find You Pleased,' Said

He,  'For I Should Have Destroyed It If You Had Told Me To Do So,  I

Give You My Word! Another Fortnight's Work,  And I'll Sell My Skin To

No Matter Whom In Order To Pay The Moulder. I Say,  I Shall Have A Fine

Show At The Salon,  Perhaps Get A Medal.'

He Laughed,  Waved His Arms About,  And Then,  Breaking Off:

'As We Are Not In A Hurry,  Sit Down A Bit. I Want To Get The Wraps

Quite Thawed.'

The Stove,  Which Was Becoming Red Hot,  Diffused Great Heat. The

Figure,  Placed Close By,  Seemed To Revive Under The Warm Air That Now

Crept Up Her From Her Shins To Her Neck. And The Two Friends,  Who Had

Sat Down,  Continued Looking The Statue Full In The Face,  Chatting

About It And Noting Each Detail. The Sculptor Especially Grew Excited

In His Delight,  And Indulged In Caressing Gestures.

All At Once,  However,  Claude Fancied He Was The Victim Of Some

Hallucination. To Him The Figure Seemed To Be Moving; A Quiver Like

The Ripple Of A Wavelet Crossed Her Stomach,  And Her Left Hip Became

Straightened,  As If The Right Leg Were About To Step Out.

'Have You Noticed The Smooth Surface Just About The Loins?' Mahoudeau

Went On,  Without Noticing Anything. 'Ah,  My Boy,  I Took Great Pains

Over That!'

But By Degrees The Whole Statue Was Becoming Animated. The Loins

Swayed And The Bosom Swelled,  As With A Deep Sigh,  Between The Parted

Arms. And Suddenly The Head Drooped,  The Thighs Bent,  And The Figure

Came Forward Like A Living Being,  With All The Wild Anguish,  The

Grief-Inspired Spring Of A Woman Who Is Flinging Herself Down.

Claude At Last Understood Things,  When Mahoudeau Uttered A Terrible

Cry. 'By Heavens,  She's Breaking To Pieces!--She Is Coming Down!'

The Clay,  In Thawing,  Had Snapped The Weak Wooden Trusses. There Came

A Cracking Noise,  As If Bones Indeed Were Splitting; And Mahoudeau,

With The Same Passionate Gesture With Which He Had Caressed The Figure

From Afar,  Working Himself Into A Fever,  Opened Both Arms,  At The Risk

Of Being Killed By The Fall. For A Moment The Bathing Girl Swayed To

And Fro,  And Then With One Crash Came Down On Her Face,  Broken In

Twain At The Ankles,  And Leaving Her Feet Sticking To The Boards.

Claude Had Jumped Up To Hold His Friend Back.

'Dash It! You'll Be Smashed!' He Cried.

But Dreading To See Her Finish Herself Off On The Floor,  Mahoudeau

Remained With Hands Outstretched. And The Girl Seemed To Fling Herself

On His Neck. He Caught Her In His Arms,  Winding Them Tightly Around

Her. Her Bosom Was Flattened Against His Shoulder And Her Thighs Beat

Against His Own,  While Her Decapitated Head Rolled Upon The Floor. The

Shock Was So Violent That Mahoudeau Was Carried Off His Legs And

Thrown Over,  As Far Back As The Wall; And There,  Without Relaxing His

Hold On The Girl's Trunk,  He Remained As If Stunned Lying Beside Her.

'Ah! Confound It!' Repeated Claude,  Furiously,  Believing That His

Friend Was Dead.

With Great Difficulty Mahoudeau Rose To His Knees,  And Burst Into

Violent Sobs. He Had Only Damaged His Face In The Fall. Some Blood

Dribbled Down One Of His Cheeks,  Mingling With His Tears.

'Ah! Curse Poverty!' He Said. 'It's Enough To Make A Fellow Drown

Himself Not To Be Able To Buy A Couple Of Rods! And There She Is,

There She Is!'

His Sobs Grew Louder; They Became An Agonising Wail; The Painful

Shrieking Of A Lover Before The Mutilated Corpse Of His Affections.

With Unsteady Hands He Touched The Limbs Lying In Confusion Around

Him; The Head,  The Torso,  The Arms That Had Snapped In Twain; Above

Aught Else The Bosom,  Now Caved In. That Bosom,  Flattened,  As If It

Had Been Operated Upon For Some Terrible Disease,  Suffocated Him,  And

He Unceasingly Returned To It,  Probing The Sore,  Trying To Find The

Gash By Which Life Had Fled,  While His Tears,  Mingled With Blood,

Flowed Freely,  And Stained The Statue's Gaping Wounds With Red.

'Do Help Me!' He Gasped. 'One Can't Leave Her Like This.'

Claude Was Overcome Also,  And His Own Eyes Grew Moist From A Feeling

Of Artistic Brotherliness. He Hastened To His Comrade's Aide,  But The

Sculptor,  After Claiming His Assistance,  Persisted In Picking Up The

Remains By Himself,  As If Dreading The Rough Handling Of Anybody Else.

He Slowly Crawled About On His Knees,  Took Up The Fragments One By

One,  And Put Them Together On A Board. The Figure Soon Lay There In

Its Entirety,  As If It Had Been One Of Those Girls Who,  Committing

Suicide From Love,  Throw Themselves From Some Monument And Are

Shattered By Their Fall,  And Put Together Again,  Looking Both

Grotesque And Lamentable,  To Be Carried To The Morgue. Mahoudeau,

Seated On The Floor Before His Statue,  Did Not Take His Eyes From It,

But Became Absorbed In Heart-Rending Contemplation. However,  His Sobs

Subsided,  And At Last He Said With A Long-Drawn Sigh: 'I Shall Have To

Model Her Lying Down! There's No Other Way! Ah,  My Poor Old Woman,  I

Had Such Trouble To Set Her On Her Legs,  And I Thought Her So Grand

Like That!'

But All At Once Claude Grew Uneasy. What About His Wedding? Mahoudeau

Must Change His Clothes. As He Had No Other Frock-Coat Than The One He

Was Wearing,  He Was Obliged To Make A Jacket Do. Then,  The Figure

Having Been Covered With Linen Wraps Once More,  Like A Corpse Over

Which A Sheet Has Been Pulled,  They Both Started Off At A Run. The

Stove Was Roaring Away,  The Thaw Filled The Whole Studio With Water,

And Slush Streamed From The Old Dust-Begrimed Plaster Casts.

When They Reached The Rue De Douai There Was No One There Except

Little Jacques,  In Charge Of The Doorkeeper. Christine,  Tired Of

Waiting,  Had Just Started Off With The Three Others,  Thinking That

There Had Been Some Mistake--That Claude Might Have Told Her That He

Would Go Straight To The Mayor's Offices With Mahoudeau. The Pair Fell

Into A Sharp Trot,  But Only Overtook Christine And Their Comrades In

The Rue Drouot In Front Of The Municipal Edifice. They All Went

Upstairs Together,  And As They Were Late They Met With A Very Cool

Reception From The Usher On Duty. The Wedding Was Got Over In A Few

Minutes,  In A Perfectly Empty Room. The Mayor Mumbled On,  And The

Bride And Bridegroom Curtly Uttered The Binding 'Yes,' While Their

Witnesses Were Marvelling At The Bad Taste Of The Appointments Of The

Apartment. Once Outside,  Claude Took Christine's Arm Again,  And That

Was All.

It Was Pleasant Walking In The Clear Frosty Weather. Thus The Party

Quietly Went Back On Foot,  Climbing The Rue Des Martyrs To Reach The

Restaurant On The Boulevard De Clichy. A Small Private Room Had Been

Engaged; The Lunch Was A Very Friendly Affair,  And Not A Word Was Said

About The Simple Formality That Had Just Been Gone Through; Other

Subjects Were Spoken Of All The While,  As At One Of Their Customary

Gatherings.

It Was Thus That Christine,  Who In Reality Was Very Affected Despite

Her Pretended Indifference,  Heard Her Husband And His Friends Excite

Themselves For Three Mortal Hours About Mahoudeau's Unfortunate

Statue. Since The Others Had Been Made Acquainted With The Story,  They

Kept Harping On Every Particular Of It. Sandoz Thought The Whole Thing

Very Wonderful; Jory And Gagniere Discussed The Strength Of Stays And

Trusses; The Former Mainly Concerned About The Monetary Loss Involved,

And The Other Demonstrating With A Chair That The Statue Might Have

Been Kept Up. As For Mahoudeau,  Still Very Shaky And Growing Dazed; He

Complained Of A Stiffness Which He Had Not Felt Before; His Limbs

Began To Hurt Him,  He Had Strained His Muscles And Bruised His Skin As

If He Had Been Caught In The Embrace Of A Stone Siren. Christine

Washed The Scratch On His Cheek,  Which Had Begun To Bleed Again,  And

It Seemed To Her As If The Mutilated Bathing Girl Had Sat Down To

Table With Them,  As If She Alone Was Of Any Importance That Day; For

She Alone Seemed To Interest Claude,  Whose Narrative,  Repeated A Score

Of Times,  Was Full Of Endless Particulars About The Emotion He Had

Felt On Seeing That Bosom And Those Hips Of Clay Shattered At His

Feet.

However,  At Dessert There Came A Diversion,  For Gagniere All At Once

Remarked To Jory:

'By The Way,  I Saw You With Mathilde The Day Before Yesterday. Yes,

Yes,  In The Rue Dauphine.'

Jory,  Who Had Turned Very Red,  Tried To Deny It; 'Oh,  A Mere

Accidental Meeting--Honour Bright!' He Stammered. 'I Don't Know Where

She Hangs Out,  Or I Would Tell You.'

'What! Is It You Who Are Hiding Her?' Exclaimed Mahoudeau. 'Well,

Nobody Wants To See Her Again!'

The Truth Was That Jory,  Throwing To The Winds All His Habits Of

Prudence And Parsimony,  Was Now Secretly Providing For Mathilde. She

Had Gained An Ascendency Over Him By His Vices.

They Still Lingered At Table,  And Night Was Falling When