His Masterpiece, Emile Zola [read ebook pdf .TXT] 📗
- Author: Emile Zola
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On His Knees And Began To Sketch With An Air Of Perfect Happiness. All
Else Vanished Amidst Artistic Surprise And Enthusiasm. No Thought Of
Sex Came To Him. It Was All A Mere Question Of Chaste Outlines,
Splendid Flesh Tints, Well-Set Muscles. Face To Face With Nature, An
Uneasy Mistrust Of His Powers Made Him Feel Small; So, Squaring His
Elbows, He Became Very Attentive And Respectful. This Lasted For About
A Quarter Of An Hour, During Which He Paused Every Now And Then,
Blinking At The Figure Before Him. As He Was Afraid, However, That She
Might Change Her Position, He Speedily Set To Work Again, Holding His
Breath, Lest He Should Awaken Her.
And Yet, While Steadily Applying Himself To His Work, Vague Fancies
Again Assailed His Mind. Who Could She Be? Assuredly No Mere Hussy.
But Why Had She Told Him Such An Unbelievable Tale? Thereupon He Began
To Imagine Other Stories. Perhaps She Had But Lately Arrived In Paris
With A Lover, Who Had Abandoned Her; Perhaps She Was Some Young Woman
Of The Middle Classes Led Into Bad Company By A Female Friend, And Not
Daring To Go Home To Her Relatives; Or Else There Was Some Still More
Intricate Drama Beneath It All; Something Horrible, Inexplicable, The
Truth Of Which He Would Never Fathom. All These Hypotheses Increased
His Perplexity. Meanwhile, He Went On Sketching Her Face, Studying It
With Care. The Whole Of The Upper Part, The Clear Forehead, As Smooth
As A Polished Mirror, The Small Nose, With Its Delicately Chiselled
And Nervous Nostrils, Denoted Great Kindliness And Gentleness. One
Divined The Sweet Smile Of The Eyes Beneath The Closed Lids; A Smile
That Would Light Up The Whole Of The Features. Unfortunately, The
Lower Part Of The Face Marred That Expression Of Sweetness; The Jaw
Was Prominent, And The Lips, Rather Too Full, Showed Almost Blood-Like
Over The Strong White Teeth. There Was Here, Like A Flash Of Passion,
Something That Spoke Of Awakening Womanhood, Still Unconscious Of
Itself Amidst Those Other Traits Of Childlike Softness.
But Suddenly A Shiver Rippled Over The Girl's Satiny Skin. Perhaps She
Had Felt The Weight Of That Gaze Thus Mentally Dissecting Her. She
Opened Her Eyes Very Wide And Uttered A Cry.
'Ah! Great Heavens!'
Part 1 Pg 12
Sudden Terror Paralysed Her At The Sight Of That Strange Room, And
That Young Man Crouching In His Shirt-Sleeves In Front Of Her And
Devouring Her With His Eyes. Flushing Hotly, She Impulsively Pulled Up
The Counterpane.
'Well, What's The Matter?' Cried Claude, Angrily, His Crayon Suspended
In Mid-Air; 'What Wasp Has Stung You Now?'
He, Whose Knowledge Of Womankind Was Largely Limited To Professional
Models, Was At A Loss To Understand The Girl's Action.
She Neither Spoke Nor Stirred, But Remained With The Counterpane
Tightly Wrapped Round Her Throat, Her Body Almost Doubled Up, And
Scarcely Showing An Outline Beneath Her Coverings.
'I Won't Eat You, Will I?' Urged Claude. 'Come, Just Lie As You Were,
There's A Good Girl.'
Again She Blushed To Her Very Ears. At Last She Stammered, 'Oh, No,
Monsieur, No--Pray!'
But He Began To Lose His Temper Altogether. One Of The Angry Fits To
Which He Was Subject Was Coming Upon Him. He Thought Her Obstinacy
Stupid. And As In Response To His Urgent Requests She Only Began To
Sob, He Quite Lost His Head In Despair Before His Sketch, Thinking
That He Would Never Be Able To Finish It, And Would Thus Lose A
Capital Study For His Picture.
'Well, You Won't, Eh? But It's Idiotic. What Do You Take Me For? Have
I Annoyed You At All? You Know I Haven't. Besides, Listen, It Is Very
Unkind Of You To Refuse Me This Service, Because, After All, I
Sheltered You--I Gave Up My Bed To You.'
She Only Continued To Cry, With Her Head Buried In The Pillow.
'I Assure You That I Am Very Much In Want Of This Sketch, Else I
Wouldn't Worry You.'
He Grew Surprised At The Girl's Abundant Tears, And Ashamed At Having
Been So Rough With Her, So He Held His Tongue At Last, Feeling
Embarrassed, And Wishing Too That She Might Have Time To Recover A
Bit. Then He Began Again, In A Very Gentle Tone:
'Well, As It Annoys You, Let's Say No More About It. But If You Only
Knew. I've Got A Figure In My Picture Yonder Which Doesn't Make
Head-Way At All, And You Were Just In The Very Note. As For Me, When
It's A Question Of Painting, I'd Kill Father And Mother, You Know.
Well, You'll Excuse Me, Won't You? And If You'd Like Me To Be Very
Nice, You'd Just Give Me A Few Minutes More. No, No; Keep Quiet As You
Are; I Only Want The Head--Nothing But The Head. If I Could Finish
That, It Would Be All Right. Really Now, Be Kind; Put Your Arm As It
Was Before, And I Shall Be Very Grateful To You--Grateful All My Life
Long.'
It Was He Who Was Entreating Now, Pitifully Waving His Crayon Amid The
Emotion Of His Artistic Craving. Besides, He Had Not Stirred, But
Remained Crouching On His Low Chair, At A Distance From The Bed. At
Part 1 Pg 13Last She Risked The Ordeal, And Uncovered Her Tranquillised Face. What
Else Could She Do? She Was At His Mercy, And He Looked So Wretchedly
Unhappy.
Nevertheless, She Still Hesitated, She Felt Some Last Scruples. But
Eventually, Without Saying A Word, She Slowly Brought Her Bare Arm
From Beneath The Coverings, And Again Slipped It Under Her Head,
Taking Care, However, To Keep The Counterpane Tightly Round Her
Throat.
'Ah! How Kind You Are! I'll Make Haste, You Will Be Free In A Minute.'
He Bent Over His Drawing, And Only Looked At Her Now And Then With The
Glance Of A Painter Who Simply Regards The Woman Before Him As A
Model. At First She Became Pink Again; The Consciousness That She Was
Showing Her Bare Arm--Which She Would Have Shown In A Ball-Room
Without Thinking At All About It--Filled Her With Confusion.
Nevertheless, The Young Man Seemed So Reasonable That She Became
Reassured. The Blush Left Her Cheeks, And Her Lips Parted In A Vague
Confiding Smile. And From Between Her Half-Opened Eyelids She Began To
Study Him. How He Had Frightened Her The Previous Night With His Thick
Brown Beard, His Large Head, And His Impulsive Gestures. And Yet He
Was Not Ugly; She Even Detected Great Tenderness In The Depths Of His
Brown Eyes, While His Nose Altogether Surprised Her. It Was A
Finely-Cut Woman's Nose, Almost Lost Amidst The Bristling Hair On His
Lips. He Shook Slightly With A Nervous Anxiety Which Made His Crayon
Seem A Living Thing In His Slender Hand, And Which Touched Her Though
She Knew Not Why. She Felt Sure He Was Not Bad-Natured, His Rough,
Surly Ways Arose From Bashfulness. She Did Not Decipher All This Very
Clearly, But She Divined It, And Began To Put Herself At Her Ease, As
If She Were With A Friend.
Nevertheless, The Studio Continued To Frighten Her A Little. She Cast
Sidelong Glances Around It, Astonished At So Much Disorder And
Carelessness. Before The Stove The Cinders Of The Previous Winter
Still Lay In A Heap. Besides The Bed, The Small Washstand, And The
Couch, There Was No Other Furniture Than An Old Dilapidated Oaken
Wardrobe And A Large Deal Table, Littered With Brushes, Colours, Dirty
Plates, And A Spirit Lamp, Atop Of Which Was A Saucepan, With Shreds
Of Vermicelli Sticking To Its Sides. Some Rush-Bottomed Chairs, Their
Seats The Worse For Wear, Were Scattered About Beside Spavined Easels.
Near The Couch The Candlestick Used On The Previous Night Stood On The
Floor, Which Looked As If It Had Not Been Swept For Fully A Month.
There Was Only The Cuckoo Clock, A Huge One, With A Dial Illuminated
With Crimson Flowers, That Looked Clean And Bright, Ticking Sonorously
All The While. But What Especially Frightened Her Were Some Sketches
In Oils That Hung Frameless From The Walls, A Serried Array Of
Sketches Reaching To The Floor, Where They Mingled With Heaps Of
Canvases Thrown About Anyhow. She Had Never Seen Such Terrible
Painting, So Coarse, So Glaring, Showing A Violence Of Colour, That
Jarred Upon Her Nerves Like A Carter's Oath Heard On The Doorstep Of
An Inn. She Cast Her Eyes Down For A Moment, And Then Became Attracted
By A Picture, The Back Of Which Was Turned To Her. It Was The Large
Canvas At Which The Painter Was Working, And Which He Pushed Against
The Wall Every Night, The Better To Judge It On The Morrow In The
Surprise Of The First Glance. What Could It Be, That One, She
Wondered, Since He Dared Not Even Show It? And, Meantime, Through The
Vast Room, A Sheet Of Burning Sunlight, Falling Straight From The
Part 1 Pg 14Window Panes, Unchecked By Any Blind, Spread With The Flow Of Molten
Gold Over All The Broken-Down Furniture, Whose Devil-May-Care
Shabbiness It Threw Into Bold Relief.
Claude Began To Feel The Silence Oppressive; He Wanted To Say
Something, No Matter What, First, In Order To Be Polite, And More
Especially To Divert Her Attention From Her Pose. But Cudgel His Brain
As He Would, He Could Only Think Of Asking: 'Pray, What Is Your Name?'
She Opened Her Eyes, Which She Had Closed, As If She Were Feeling
Sleepy.
'Christine,' She Said.
At Which He Seemed Surprised. Neither Had He Told Her His Name. Since
The Night Before They Had Been Together, Side By Side, Without Knowing
One Another.
'My Name Is Claude.'
And, Having Looked At Her Just At That Moment, He Saw Her Burst Into A
Pretty Laugh. It Was The Sudden, Merry Peal Of A Big Girl, Still
Scarcely More Than A Hoyden. She Considered This Tardy Exchange Of
Names Rather Droll. Then Something Else Amused Her.
'How Funny--Claude, Christine--They Begin With The Same Letter.'
They Both Became Silent Once More. He Was Blinking At His Work,
Growing Absorbed In It, And At A Loss How To Continue The
Conversation. He Fancied That She Was Beginning To Feel Tired And
Uncomfortable, And In His Fear Lest She Should Stir, He Remarked At
Random, Merely To Occupy Her Thoughts, 'It Feels Rather Warm.'
This Time She Checked Her Laughter, Her Natural Gaiety That Revived
And Burst Forth In Spite Of Herself Ever Since She Had Felt Easier In
Mind. Truth To Tell, The Heat Was Indeed So Oppressive That It Seemed
To Her As If She Were In A
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