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

Husband,  With His Air Of Serene Unconsciousness,  Thought Fit To

Introduce Her To Him,  For The Twentieth Time,  Perhaps.

'Eh! It's My Wife,  Old Fellow. Shake Hands Together.'

Thereupon,  Both Very Grave,  Like People Of Society Who Are Forced

Somewhat Over-Promptly Into Familiarity,  Mathilde And Mahoudeau Shook

Hands. Only,  As Soon As The Latter Had Got Rid Of The Job And Had

Found Gagniere In A Corner Of The Drawing-Room,  They Both Began

Sneering And Recalling,  In Terrible Language,  All The Abominations Of

Yore.

Dubuche Was Expected That Evening,  For He Had Formally Promised To

Come.

'Yes,' Explained Henriette,  'There Will Only Be Nine Of Us. Fagerolles

Wrote This Morning To Apologise; He Is Forced To Go To Some Official

Dinner,  But He Hopes To Escape,  And Will Join Us At About Eleven

O'clock.'

At That Moment,  However,  A Servant Came In With A Telegram. It Was

From Dubuche,  Who Wired: 'Impossible To Stir. Alice Has An Alarming

Cough.'

'Well,  We Shall Only Be Eight,  Then,' Resumed Henriette,  With The

Somewhat Peevish Resignation Of A Hostess Disappointed By Her Guests.

And The Servant Having Opened The Dining-Room Door And Announced That

Dinner Was Ready,  She Added:

'We Are All Here. Claude,  Offer Me Your Arm.'

Sandoz Took Mathilde's,  Jory Charged Himself With Christine,  While

Mahoudeau And Gagniere Brought Up The Rear,  Still Joking Coarsely

About What They Called The Beautiful Herbalist's Padding.

The Dining-Room Which They Now Entered Was Very Spacious,  And The

Light Was Gaily Bright After The Subdued Illumination Of The

Drawing-Room. The Walls,  Covered With Specimens Of Old Earthenware,

Displayed A Gay Medley Of Colours,  Reminding One Of Cheap Coloured

Prints. Two Sideboards,  One Laden With Glass And The Other With Silver

Plate,  Sparkled Like Jewellers' Show-Cases. And In The Centre Of The

Room,  Under The Big Hanging Lamp Girt Round With Tapers,  The Table

Glistened Like A _Catafalque_ With The Whiteness Of Its Cloth,  Laid In

Perfect Style,  With Decorated Plates,  Cut-Glass Decanters White With

Water Or Ruddy With Wine,  And Symmetrical Side-Dishes,  All Set Out

Around The Centre-Piece,  A Silver Basket Full Of Purple Roses.

They Sat Down,  Henriette Between Claude And Mahoudeau,  Sandoz With

Mathilde And Christine Beside Him,  Jory And Gagniere At Either End;

And The Servant Had Barely Finished Serving The Soup,  When Madame Jory

Made A Most Unfortunate Remark. Wishing To Show Herself Amiable,  And

Not Having Heard Her Husband's Apologies,  She Said To The Master Of

The House:

'Well,  Were You Pleased With The Article In This Morning's Number?

Edouard Personally Revised The Proofs With The Greatest Care!'

On Hearing This,  Jory Became Very Much Confused And Stammered:

'No,  No! You Are Mistaken! It Was A Very Bad Article Indeed,  And You

Know Very Well That It Was "Passed" The Other Evening While I Was

Away.'

By The Silent Embarrassment Which Ensued She Guessed Her Blunder. But

She Made Matters Still Worse,  For,  Giving Her Husband A Sharp Glance,

She Retorted In A Very Loud Voice,  So As To Crush Him,  As It Were,  And

Disengage Her Own Responsibility:

'Another Of Your Lies! I Repeat What You Told Me. I Won't Allow You To

Make Me Ridiculous,  Do You Hear?'

This Threw A Chill Over The Beginning Of The Dinner. Henriette

Recommended The _Kilkis_,  But Christine Alone Found Them Very Nice.

When The Grilled Mullet Appeared,  Sandoz,  Who Was Amused By Jory's

Embarrassment,  Gaily Reminded Him Of A Lunch They Had Had Together At

Marseilles In The Old Days. Ah! Marseilles,  The Only City Where People

Know How To Eat!

Claude,  Who For A Little While Had Been Absorbed In Thought,  Now

Seemed To Awaken From A Dream,  And Without Any Transition He Asked:

'Is It Decided? Have They Selected The Artists For The New Decorations

Of The Hotel De Ville?'

'No,' Said Mahoudeau,  'They Are Going To Do So. I Sha'n't Get

Anything,  For I Don't Know Anybody. Fagerolles Himself Is Very

Anxious. If He Isn't Here To-Night,  It's Because Matters Are Not Going

Smoothly. Ah! He Has Had His Bite At The Cherry; All That Painting For

Millions Is Cracking To Bits!'

There Was A Laugh,  Expressive Of Spite Finally Satisfied,  And Even

Gagniere At The Other End Of The Table Joined In The Sneering. Then

They Eased Their Feelings In Malicious Words,  And Rejoiced Over The

Sudden Fall Of Prices Which Had Thrown The World Of 'Young Masters'

Into Consternation. It Was Inevitable,  The Predicted Time Was Coming,

The Exaggerated Rise Was About To Finish In A Catastrophe. Since The

Amateurs Had Been Panic-Stricken,  Seized With Consternation Like That

Of Speculators When A 'Slump' Sweeps Over A Stock Exchange,  Prices

Were Giving Way Day By Day,  And Nothing More Was Sold. It Was A Sight

To See The Famous Naudet Amid The Rout; He Had Held Out At First,  He

Had Invented 'The Dodge Of The Yankee'--The Unique Picture Hidden Deep

In Some Gallery,  In Solitude Like An Idol--The Picture Of Which He

Would Not Name The Price,  Being Contemptuously Certain That He Could

Never Find A Man Rich Enough To Purchase It,  But Which He Finally Sold

For Two Or Three Hundred Thousand Francs To Some Pig-Dealer Of

Chicago,  Who Felt Glorious At Carrying Off The Most Expensive Canvas

Of The Year. But Those Fine Strokes Of Business Were Not To Be Renewed

At Present,  And Naudet,  Whose Expenditure Had Increased With His

Gains,  Drawn On And Swallowed Up In The Mad Craze Which Was His Own

Work,  Could Now Hear His Regal Mansion Crumbling Beneath Him,  And Was

Reduced To Defend It Against The Assault Of Creditors.

'Won't You Take Some More Mushrooms,  Mahoudeau?' Obligingly

Interrupted Henriette.

The Servant Was Now Handing Round The Undercut. They Ate,  And Emptied

The Decanters; But Their Bitterness Was So Great That The Best Things

Were Offered Without Being Tasted,  Which Distressed The Master And

Mistress Of The House.

'Mushrooms,  Eh?' The Sculptor Ended By Repeating. 'No,  Thanks.' And He

Added: 'The Funny Part Of It All Is,  That Naudet Is Suing Fagerolles.

Oh,  Quite So! He's Going To Distrain On Him. Ah! It Makes Me Laugh! We

Shall See A Pretty Scouring In The Avenue De Villiers Among All Those

Petty Painters With Mansions Of Their Own. House Property Will Go For

Nothing Next Spring! Well,  Naudet,  Who Had Compelled Fagerolles To

Build A House,  And Who Furnished It For Him As He Would Have Furnished

A Place For A Hussy,  Wanted To Get Hold Of His Nick-Nacks And Hangings

Again. But Fagerolles Had Borrowed Money On Them,  So It Seems. You Can

Imagine The State Of Affairs; The Dealer Accuses The Artist Of Having

Spoilt His Game By Exhibiting With The Vanity Of A Giddy Fool; While

The Painter Replies That He Doesn't Mean To Be Robbed Any Longer; And

They'll End By Devouring Each Other--At Least,  I Hope So.'

Gagniere Raised His Voice,  The Gentle But Inexorable Voice Of A

Dreamer Just Awakened.

'Fagerolles Is Done For. Besides,  He Never Had Any Success.'

The Others Protested. Well,  What About The Hundred Thousand Francs'

Worth Of Pictures He Had Sold A Year,  And His Medals And His Cross Of

The Legion Of Honour? But Gagniere,  Still Obstinate,  Smiled With A

Mysterious Air,  As If Facts Could Not Prevail Against His Inner

Conviction. He Wagged His Head And,  Full Of Disdain,  Replied:

'Let Me Be! He Never Knew Anything About Chiaroscuro.'

Jory Was About To Defend The Talent Of Fagerolles,  Whom He Considered

To Be His Own Creation,  When Henriette Solicited A Little Attention

For The _Raviolis_. There Was A Short Slackening Of The Quarrel Amid

The Crystalline Clinking Of The Glasses And The Light Clatter Of The

Forks. The Table,  Laid With Such Fine Symmetry,  Was Already In

Confusion,  And Seemed To Sparkle Still More Amid The Ardent Fire Of

The Quarrel. And Sandoz,  Growing Anxious,  Felt Astonished. What Was

The Matter With Them All That They Attacked Fagerolles So Harshly?

Hadn't They All Begun Together,  And Were They Not All To Reach The

Goal In The Same Victory? For The First Time,  A Feeling Of Uneasiness

Disturbed His Dream Of Eternity,  That Delight In His Thursdays,  Which

He Had Pictured Following One Upon Another,  All Alike,  All Of Them

Happy Ones,  Into The Far Distance Of The Future. But The Feeling Was

As Yet Only Skin Deep,  And He Laughingly Exclaimed:

'Husband Your Strength,  Claude,  Here Are The Hazel-Hens. Eh! Claude,

Where Are You?'

Since Silence Had Prevailed,  Claude Had Relapsed Into His Dream,

Gazing About Him Vacantly,  And Taking A Second Help Of _Raviolis_

Without Knowing What He Was About; Christine,  Who Said Nothing,  But

Sat There Looking Sad And Charming,  Did Not Take Her Eyes Off Him. He

Started When Sandoz Spoke,  And Chose A Leg From Amid The Bits Of

Hazel-Hen Now Being Served,  The Strong Fumes Of Which Filled The Room

With A Resinous Smell.

'Do You Smell That?' Exclaimed Sandoz,  Amused; 'One Would Think One

Were Swallowing All The Forests Of Russia.'

But Claude Returned To The Matter Which Worried Him.

'Then You Say That Fagerolles Will Be Entrusted With The Paintings For

The Municipal Council's Assembly Room?'

And This Remark Sufficed; Mahoudeau And Gagniere,  Set On The Track,  At

Once Started Off Again. Ah! A Nice Wishy-Washy Smearing It Would Be If

That Assembly Room Were Allotted To Him; And He Was Doing Plenty Of

Dirty Things To Get It. He,  Who Had Formerly Pretended To Spit On

Orders For Work,  Like A Great Artist Surrounded By Amateurs,  Was

Basely Cringing To The Officials,  Now That His Pictures No Longer

Sold. Could Anything More Despicable Be Imagined Than A Painter

Soliciting A Functionary,  Bowing And Scraping,  Showing All Kinds Of

Cowardice And Making All Kinds Of Concessions? It Was Shameful That

Art Should Be Dependent Upon A Minister's Idiotic Good Pleasure!

Fagerolles,  At That Official Dinner He Had Gone To,  Was No Doubt

Conscientiously Licking The Boots Of Some Chief Clerk,  Some Idiot Who

Was Only Fit To Be Made A Guy Of.

'Well,' Said Jory,  'He Effects His Purpose,  And He's Quite Right.

_You_ Won't Pay His Debts.'

'Debts? Have I Any Debts,  I Who Have Always Starved?' Answered

Mahoudeau In A Roughly Arrogant Tone. 'Ought A Fellow To Build Himself

A Palace And Spend Money On Creatures Like That Irma Becot,  Who's

Ruining Fagerolles?'

At This Jory Grew Angry,  While The Others Jested,  And Irma's Name Went

Flying Over The Table. But Mathilde,  Who Had So Far Remained Reserved

And Silent By Way Of Making A Show Of Good Breeding,  Became Intensely

Indignant. 'Oh! Gentlemen,  Oh! Gentlemen,' She Exclaimed,  'To Talk

Before _Us_ About That Creature. No,  Not That Creature,  I Implore You!