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

Woman.

Then Christine Opened The Door And Walked Into The Studio. An

Invincible Revolt,  The Anger Of A Wife Buffeted At Home,  Impelled Her

Forward. Yes,  He Was With That Other,  He Was Painting Her Like A

Visionary,  Whom Wild Craving For Truth Had Brought To The Madness Of

The Unreal; And Those Limbs Were Being Gilded Like The Columns Of A

Tabernacle,  That Trunk Was Becoming A Star,  Shimmering With Yellow And

Red,  Splendid And Unnatural. Such Strange Nudity--Like Unto A

Monstrance Gleaming With Precious Stones And Intended For Religious

Adoration--Brought Her Anger To A Climax. She Had Suffered Too Much,

She Would Not Tolerate It.

And Yet At First She Simply Showed Herself Despairing And

Supplicating. It Was But The Mother Remonstrating With Her Big Mad Boy

Of An Artist That Spoke.

'What Are You Doing There,  Claude? Is It Reasonable,  Claude,  To Have

Such Ideas? Come To Bed,  I Beg Of You,  Don't Stay On Those Steps Where

You Will Catch Your Death Of Cold!'

He Did Not Answer; He Stooped Again To Take Some More Paint On His

Brush,  And Made The Figure Flash With Two Bright Strokes Of Vermilion.

'Listen To Me,  Claude,  In Pity Come To Me--You Know That I Love You

--You See How Anxious You Have Made Me. Come,  Oh! Come,  If You Don't

Want Me To Die Of Cold And Waiting For You.'

With His Face Haggard,  He Did Not Look At Her; But While He Bedecked A

Part Of The Figure With Carmine,  He Grumbled In A Husky Voice:

'Just Leave Me Alone,  Will You? I'm Working.'

Christine Remained Silent For A Moment. She Was Drawing Herself Erect,

Her Eyes Began To Gleam With Fire,  Rebellion Inflated Her Gentle,

Charming Form. Then She Burst Forth,  With The Growl Of A Slave Driven

To Extremities.

'Well,  No,  I Won't Leave You Alone! I've Had Enough Of It. I'll Tell

You What's Stifling Me,  What Has Been Killing Me Ever Since I Have

Known You. Ah! That Painting,  Yes,  Your Painting,  She's The Murderess

Who Has Poisoned My Life! I Had A Presentiment Of It On The First Day;

Your Painting Frightened Me As If It Were A Monster. I Found It

Abominable,  Execrable; But Then,  One's Cowardly,  I Loved You Too Much

Not To Like It Also; I Ended By Growing Accustomed To It! But Later

On,  How I Suffered!--How It Tortured Me! For Ten Years I Don't

Recollect Having Spent A Day Without Shedding Tears. No,  Leave Me! I

Am Easing My Mind,  I Must Speak Out,  Since I Have Found Strength

Enough To Do So. For Ten Years I Have Been Abandoned And Crushed Every

Day. Ah! To Be Nothing More To You,  To Feel Myself Cast More And More

On One Side,  To Fall To The Rank Of A Servant; And To See That Other

One,  That Thief,  Place Herself Between You And Me And Clutch Hold Of

You And Triumph And Insult Me! For Dare,  Yes,  Dare To Say That She

Hasn't Taken Possession Of You,  Limb By Limb,  Glided Into Your Brain,

Your Heart,  Your Flesh,  Everywhere! She Holds You Like A Vice,  She

Feeds On You; In Fact,  She's Your Wife,  Not I. She's The Only One You

Care For! Ah! The Cursed Wretch,  The Hussy!'

Claude Was Now Listening To Her,  In His Astonishment At That Dolorous

Outburst; And Being But Half Roused From His Exasperated Creative

Dream,  He Did Not As Yet Very Well Understand Why She Was Talking To

Him Like That. And At Sight Of His Stupor,  The Shuddering Of A Man

Surprised In A Debauch,  She Flew Into A Still Greater Passion; She

Mounted The Steps,  Tore The Candlestick From His Hand,  And In Her Turn

Flashed The Light In Front Of The Picture.

'Just Look!' She Cried,  'Just Tell Me How You Have Improved Matters?

It's Hideous,  It's Lamentable And Grotesque; You'll End By Seeing So

Yourself. Come,  Isn't It Ugly,  Isn't It Idiotic? You See Very Well

That You Are Conquered,  So Why Should You Persist Any Longer? There Is

No Sense In It,  That's What Upsets Me. If You Can't Be A Great

Painter,  Life,  At Least,  Remains To Us. Ah! Life,  Life!'

She Had Placed The Candle On The Platform Of The Steps,  And As He Had

Gone Down,  Staggering,  She Sprang Off To Join Him,  And They Both Found

Themselves Below,  He Crouching On The Last Step,  And She Pressing His

Inert,  Dangling Hands With All Her Strength.

'Come,  There's Life! Drive Your Nightmare Away,  And Let Us Live,  Live

Together. Isn't It Too Stupid,  To Be We Two Together,  To Be Growing

Old Already,  And To Torture Ourselves,  And Fail In Every Attempt To

Find Happiness? Oh! The Grave Will Take Us Soon Enough,  Never Fear.

Let's Try To Live,  And Love One Another. Remember Bennecourt! Listen

To My Dream. I Should Like To Be Able To Take You Away To-Morrow. We

Would Go Far From This Cursed Paris,  We Would Find A Quiet Spot

Somewhere,  And You Would See How Pleasant I Would Make Your Life; How

Nice It Would Be To Forget Everything Together! Of A Morning There Are

Strolls In The Sunlight,  The Breakfast Which Smells Nice,  The Idle

Afternoon,  The Evening Spent Side By Side Under The Lamp! And No More

Worrying About Chimeras,  Nothing But The Delight Of Living! Doesn't It

Suffice That I Love You,  That I Adore You,  That I Am Willing To Be

Your Servant,  Your Slave,  To Exist Solely For Your Pleasures? Do You

Hear,  I Love You,  I Love You? There Is Nothing Else,  And That Is

Enough--I Love You!'

He Had Freed His Hands,  And Making A Gesture Of Refusal,  He Said,  In A

Gloomy Voice:

'No,  It Is Not Enough! I _Won't_ Go Away With You,  I _Won't_ Be Happy,

I _Will Paint_!'

'And I Shall Die Of It,  Eh? And You Will Die Of It,  And We Shall End

By Leaving All Our Blood And All Our Tears In It! There's Nothing

Beyond Art,  That Is The Fierce Almighty God Who Strikes Us With His

Thunder,  And Whom You Honour! He May Crush Us,  Since He Is The Master

And You Will Still Bless His Name!'

'Yes,  I Belong To That God,  He May Do What He Pleases With Me. I

Should Die If I No Longer Painted,  And I Prefer To Paint And Die Of

It. Besides,  My Will Is Nothing In The Matter. Nothing Exists Beyond

Art; Let The World Burst!'

She Drew Herself Up In A Fresh Spurt Of Anger. Her Voice Became Harsh

And Passionate Again.

'But I--I Am Alive,  And The Women You Love Are Lifeless! Oh! Don't Say

No! I Know Very Well That All Those Painted Women Of Yours Are The

Only Ones You Care About! Before I Was Yours I Had Already Perceived

It. Then,  For A Short Time You Appeared To Love Me. It Was At That

Period You Told Me All That Nonsense About Your Fondness For Your

Creations. You Held Such Shadows In Pity When You Were With Me; But It

Didn't Last. You Returned To Them,  Oh! Like A Maniac Returns To His

Mania. I,  Though Living,  No Longer Existed For You; It Was They,  The

Visions,  Who Again Became The Only Realities Of Your Life. What I Then

Endured You Never Knew,  For You Are Wonderfully Ignorant Of Women. I

Have Lived By Your Side Without Your Ever Understanding Me. Yes,  I Was

Jealous Of Those Painted Creatures. When I Posed To You,  Only One Idea

Lent Me The Courage That I Needed. I Wanted To Fight Them,  I Hoped To

Win You Back; But You Granted Me Nothing,  Not Even A Kiss On My

Shoulder! Oh,  God! How Ashamed I Sometimes Felt! What Grief I Had To

Force Back At Finding Myself Thus Disdained And Thus Betrayed!'

She Continued Boldly,  She Spoke Out Freely--She,  So Strangely

Compounded Of Passion And Modesty. And She Was Not Mistaken In Her

Jealousy When She Accused His Art Of Being Responsible For His Neglect

Of Herself. At The Bottom Of It All,  There Was The Theory Which He Had

Repeated A Hundred Times In Her Presence: Genius Should Be Chaste,  An

Artist's Only Spouse Should Be His Work.

'You Repulse Me,' She Concluded Violently; 'You Draw Back From Me As

If I Displeased You! And You Love What? A Nothing,  A Mere Semblance,  A

Little Dust,  Some Colour Spread Upon A Canvas! But,  Once More,  Look At

Her,  Look At Your Woman Up Yonder! See What A Monster You Have Made Of

Her In Your Madness! Are There Any Women Like That? Have Any Women

Golden Limbs,  And Flowers On Their Bodies? Wake Up,  Open Your Eyes,

Return To Life Again!'

Claude,  Obeying The Imperious Gesture With Which She Pointed To The

Picture,  Had Now Risen And Was Looking. The Candle,  Which Had Remained

Upon The Platform Of The Steps,  Illumined The Nude Woman Like A Taper

In Front Of An Altar,  Whilst The Whole Room Around Remained Plunged In

Darkness. He Was At Length Awakening From His Dream,  And The Woman

Thus Seen From Below,  At A Distance Of A Few Paces,  Filled Him With

Stupefaction. Who Had Just Painted That Idol Of Some Unknown Religion?

Who Had Wrought Her Of Metals,  Marbles,  And Gems? Was It He Who Had

Unconsciously Created That Symbol Of Insatiable Passion,  That Unhuman

Presentment Of Flesh,  Which Had Become Transformed Into Gold And

Diamonds Under His Fingers,  In His Vain Effort To Make It Live? He

Gasped And Felt Afraid Of His Work,  Trembling At The Thought Of That

Sudden Plunge Into The Infinite,  And Understanding At Last That It Had

Become Impossible For Him Even To Depict Reality,  Despite His Long

Effort To Conquer And Remould It,  Making It Yet More Real With His

Human Hands.

'You See! You See!' Christine Repeated,  Victoriously. And He,  In A

Very Low Voice,  Stammered:

'Oh! What Have I Done? Is It Impossible To Create,  Then? Haven't Our

Hands The Power To Create Beings?'

She Felt That He Was Giving Way,  And She Caught Him In Her Arms:

'But Why All This Folly?--Why Think Of Anyone But Me--I Who Love You?

You Took Me For Your Model,  But What Was The Use,  Say? Are Those

Paintings Of Yours Worth Me? They Are Frightful,  They Are As Stiff,  As

Cold As Corpses. But I Am Alive,  And I Love You!'

She Seemed To Be At That Moment The Very Incarnation