His Masterpiece, Emile Zola [read ebook pdf .TXT] 📗
- Author: Emile Zola
Book online «His Masterpiece, Emile Zola [read ebook pdf .TXT] 📗». Author Emile Zola
Inside The Studio There Was A Shuffling Of Heavy Feet, A Rustling Of
Hands Groping In The Dark, A Clatter Of Things Being Tumbled About,
Accompanied By Stifled Objurgations. At Last The Doorway Was Lighted
Up.
'Come In, It's All Right Now.'
She Went In And Looked Around Her, Without Distinguishing Anything.
The Solitary Candle Burned Dim In That Garret, More Than Fifteen Feet
High, And Filled With A Confused Jumble Of Things Whose Big Shadows
Showed Fantastically On The Walls, Which Were Painted In Grey
Distemper. No, She Did Not Distinguish Anything. She Mechanically
Raised Her Eyes To The Large Studio-Window, Against Which The Rain Was
Beating With A Deafening Roll Like That Of A Drum, But At That Moment
Another Flash Of Lightning Illumined The Sky, Followed Almost
Immediately By A Thunder-Clap That Seemed To Split The Roof.
Dumb-Stricken, Pale As Death, She Dropped Upon A Chair.
'The Devil!' Muttered Claude, Who Also Was Rather Pale. 'That Clap
Wasn't Far Off. We Were Just In Time. It's Better Here Than In The
Streets, Isn't It?'
Then He Went Towards The Door, Closed It With A Bang And Turned The
Key, While She Watched Him With A Dazed Look.
'There, Now, We Are At Home.'
But It Was All Over. There Were Only A Few More Thunder-Claps In The
Distance, And The Rain Soon Ceased Altogether. Claude, Who Was Now
Growing Embarrassed, Had Examined The Girl, Askance. She Seemed By No
Means Bad Looking, And Assuredly She Was Young: Twenty At The Most.
This Scrutiny Had The Effect Of Making Him More Suspicious Of Her
Still, In Spite Of An Unconscious Feeling, A Vague Idea, That She Was
Not Altogether Deceiving Him. In Any Case, No Matter How Clever She
Might Be, She Was Mistaken If She Imagined She Had Caught Him. To
Prove This He Wilfully Exaggerated His Gruffness And Curtness Of
Manner.
Her Very Anguish At His Words And Demeanour Made Her Rise, And In Her
Turn She Examined Him, Though Without Daring To Look Him Straight In
The Face. And The Aspect Of That Bony Young Man, With His Angular
Joints And Wild Bearded Face, Increased Her Fears. With His Black Felt
Hat And His Old Brown Coat, Discoloured By Long Usage, He Looked Like
A Kind Of Brigand.
Directly He Told Her To Make Herself At Home And Go To Bed, For He
Placed His Bed At Her Disposal, She Shrinkingly Replied: 'Thank You;
I'll Do Very Well As I Am; I'll Not Undress.'
'But Your Clothes Are Dripping,' He Retorted. 'Come Now, Don't Make An
Idiot Of Yourself.'
And Thereupon He Began To Knock About The Chairs, And Flung Aside An
Old Screen, Behind Which She Noticed A Washstand And A Tiny Iron
Part 1 Pg 9Bedstead, From Which He Began To Remove The Coverlet.
'No, No, Monsieur, It Isn't Worth While; I Assure You That I Shall
Stay Here.'
At This, However, Claude Became Angry, Gesticulating And Shaking His
Fists.
'How Much More Of This Comedy Are We To Have?' Said He. 'As I Give You
My Bed, What Have You To Complain Of? You Need Not Pay Any Attention
To Me. I Shall Sleep On That Couch.'
He Strode Towards Her With A Threatening Look, And Thereupon, Beside
Herself With Fear, Thinking That He Was Going To Strike Her, She
Tremblingly Unfastened Her Hat. The Water Was Dripping From Her
Skirts. He Kept On Growling. Nevertheless, A Sudden Scruple Seemed To
Come To Him, For He Ended By Saying, Condescendingly:
'Perhaps You Don't Like To Sleep In My Sheets. I'll Change Them.'
He At Once Began Dragging Them From The Bed And Flinging Them On To
The Couch At The Other End Of The Studio. And Afterwards He Took A
Clean Pair From The Wardrobe And Began To Make The Bed With All The
Deftness Of A Bachelor Accustomed To That Kind Of Thing. He Carefully
Tucked In The Clothes On The Side Near The Wall, Shook The Pillows,
And Turned Back A Corner Of The Coverlet.
'There, That'll Do; Won't It?' Said He.
And As She Did Not Answer, But Remained Motionless, He Pushed Her
Behind The Screen. 'Good Heavens! What A Lot Of Fuss,' He Thought. And
After Spreading His Own Sheets On The Couch, And Hanging His Clothes
On An Easel, He Quickly Went To Bed Himself. When He Was On The Point
Of Blowing Out The Candle, However, He Reflected That If He Did So She
Would Have To Undress In The Dark, And So He Waited. At First He Had
Not Heard Her Stir; She Had No Doubt Remained Standing Against The
Iron Bedstead. But At Last He Detected A Slight Rustling, A Slow,
Faint Movement, As If Amidst Her Preparations She Also Were Listening,
Frightened Perchance By The Candle Which Was Still Alight. At Last,
After Several Minutes, The Spring Mattress Creaked, And Then All
Became Still.
'Are You Comfortable, Mademoiselle?' Now Asked Claude, In A Much More
Gentle Voice.
'Yes, Monsieur, Very Comfortable,' She Replied, In A Scarcely Audible
Voice, Which Still Quivered With Emotion.
'Very Well, Then. Good-Night.'
'Good-Night.'
He Blew Out The Candle, And The Silence Became More Intense. In Spite
Of His Fatigue, His Eyes Soon Opened Again, And Gazed Upward At The
Large Window Of The Studio. The Sky Had Become Very Clear Again, The
Stars Were Twinkling In The Sultry July Night, And, Despite The Storm,
The Heat Remained Oppressive. Claude Was Thinking About The Girl
--Agitated For A Moment By Contrary Feelings, Though At Last Contempt
Part 1 Pg 10Gained The Mastery. He Indeed Believed Himself To Be Very
Strong-Minded; He Imagined A Romance Concocted To Destroy His
Tranquillity, And He Gibed Contentedly At Having Frustrated It. His
Experience Of Women Was Very Slight, Nevertheless He Endeavoured To
Draw Certain Conclusions From The Story She Had Told Him, Struck As He
Was At Present By Certain Petty Details, And Feeling Perplexed. But
Why, After All, Should He Worry His Brain? What Did It Matter Whether
She Had Told Him The Truth Or A Lie? In The Morning She Would Go Off;
There Would Be An End To It All, And They Would Never See Each Other
Again. Thus Claude Lay Cogitating, And It Was Only Towards Daybreak,
When The Stars Began To Pale, That He Fell Asleep. As For The Girl
Behind The Screen, In Spite Of The Crushing Fatigue Of Her Journey,
She Continued Tossing About Uneasily, Oppressed By The Heaviness Of
The Atmosphere Beneath The Hot Zinc-Work Of The Roof; And Doubtless,
Too, She Was Rendered Nervous By The Strangeness Of Her Surroundings.
In The Morning, When Claude Awoke, His Eyes Kept Blinking. It Was Very
Late, And The Sunshine Streamed Through The Large Window. One Of His
Theories Was, That Young Landscape Painters Should Take Studios
Despised By The Academical Figure Painters--Studios Which The Sun
Flooded With Living Beams. Nevertheless He Felt Dazzled, And Fell Back
Again On His Couch. Why The Devil Had He Been Sleeping There? His
Eyes, Still Heavy With Sleep, Wandered Mechanically Round The Studio,
When, All At Once, Beside The Screen He Noticed A Heap Of Petticoats.
Then He At Once Remembered The Girl. He Began To Listen, And Heard A
Sound Of Long-Drawn, Regular Breathing, Like That Of A Child
Comfortably Asleep. Ah! So She Was Still Slumbering, And So Calmly,
That It Would Be A Pity To Disturb Her. He Felt Dazed And Somewhat
Annoyed At The Adventure, However, For It Would Spoil His Morning's
Work. He Got Angry At His Own Good Nature; It Would Be Better To Shake
Her, So That She Might Go At Once. Nevertheless He Put On His Trousers
And Slippers Softly, And Walked About On Tiptoes.
The Cuckoo Clock Struck Nine, And Claude Made A Gesture Of Annoyance.
Nothing Had Stirred; The Regular Breathing Continued. The Best Thing
To Do, He Thought, Would Be To Set To Work On His Large Picture; He
Would See To His Breakfast Later On, When He Was Able To Move About.
But, After All, He Could Not Make Up His Mind. He Who Lived Amid
Chronic Disorder Felt Worried By That Heap Of Petticoats Lying On The
Floor. Some Water Had Dripped From Them, But They Were Damp Still. And
So, While Grumbling In A Low Tone, He Ended By Picking Them Up One By
One And Spreading Them Over The Chairs In The Sunlight. Had One Ever
Seen The Like, Clothes Thrown About Anyhow? They Would Never Get Dry,
And She Would Never Go Off! He Turned All That Feminine Apparel Over
Very Awkwardly, Got Entangled With The Black Dress-Body, And Went On
All Fours To Pick Up The Stockings That Had Fallen Behind An Old
Canvas. They Were Balbriggan Stockings Of A Dark Grey, Long And Fine,
And He Examined Them, Before Hanging Them Up To Dry. The Water Oozing
From The Edge Of The Dress Had Soaked Them, So He Wrung And Stretched
Them With His Warm Hands, In Order That He Might Be Able To Send Her
Away The Quicker.
Since He Had Been On His Legs, Claude Had Felt Sorely Tempted To Push
Aside The Screen And To Take A Look At His Guest. This Self-Condemned
Curiosity Only Increased His Bad Temper. At Last, With His Habitual
Shrug Of The Shoulders, He Was Taking Up His Brushes, When He Heard
Some Words Stammered Amidst A Rustling Of Bed-Clothes. Then, However,
Soft Breathing Was Heard Again, And This Time He Yielded To The
Part 1 Pg 11Temptation, Dropping His Brushes, And Peeping From Behind The Screen.
The Sight That Met His Eyes Rooted Him To The Spot, So Fascinated That
He Muttered, 'Good Gracious! Good Gracious!'
The Girl, Amidst The Hot-House Heat That Came From The Window, Had
Thrown Back Her Coverlet, And, Overcome With The Fatigue Of A Restless
Night, Lay Steeped In A Flood Of Sunshine, Unconscious Of Everything.
In Her Feverish Slumbers A Shoulder Button Had Become Unfastened, And
A Sleeve Slipping Down Allowed Her Bosom To Be Seen, With Skin Which
Looked Almost Gilded And Soft Like Satin. Her Right Arm Rested Beneath
Her Neck, Her Head Was Thrown Back, And Her Black Unwound Tresses
Enwrapped Her Like A Dusky Cloak.
'Good Gracious! But She's A Beauty!' Muttered Claude Once More.
There, In Every Point, Was The Figure He Had Vainly Sought For His
Picture, And It Was Almost In The Right Pose. She Was Rather Spare,
Perhaps, But Then So Lithe And Fresh.
With A Light Step, Claude Ran To Take His Box Of Crayons, And A Large
Sheet Of Paper. Then, Squatting On A
Comments (0)