His Masterpiece

th an instinctive yet involuntary impulse, the artist slipped the sketch of Christine's head, by the aid of which

' he exclaime

dark, with a round and determined head, a square nose, and gentle

wered, 'in order to give you a long sittin

and he added almost immediately: 'Hallo! you hav

to the left, stretched a dark glade with a small luminous speck in the far distance. On the grass, amidst all the summer vegetation, lay a nude woman with one arm supporting her head, and though her eyes were closed she smiled amidst the golden shower that fell around her. In the background, two other women, one fair, and the other dark, wrestled playfully, setting l

doz, at last; 'but, dash it, there

e. 'I've lots of time from now till the Salon. One can get through a deal of work

istine's head, and buoyed up by one of those flashes of hope whence he so often

' he shouted. 'As you'

eman in the foreground. In four or five Sundays, the only day of the week on which he was free, the figur

nce you were working when I came in. Just g

fasted. Look at the saucepan. Besides, you can see there's a crus

s brushes, saying, as he did so, 'Dubuche is

out five

ner directly he comes. Are you ready? The hand mor

ry morning received a letter from Plassans, the little Provencal town where he and the artist had known each other when they were wearing out their first pairs of trousers on the eighth form of th

meet. Hence they gladly accepted the offer of an elderly and well-to-do townsman to send the lad to school and keep him with him. It was the generous freak of an eccentric amateur of painting, who had been struck by the little figures that the urchin had often daubed. And thus for seven years Claude had remained in the South, at first boarding at the college, and afterwards living with his

The Dram Shop'(

ho had taken refuge in France in consequence of some political disturbances in which he had been mixed up, had started, near Plassans, a paper mill with new machinery of his own invention. When he had died, heart-broken by the petty local jealousy that had sought to hamper him in every way, his widow had found herself in so involved a position, and burdened with so many tangled law suits, that the whole of her remaining means were swallowed up. She was a native of Burgundy. Yielding to her hatred of the Provencals, and laying at their door even the slow paralysis from

silence that hung upon the room. 'This position isn't at

lveteen jacket, laying on the colour with thick strokes, However, stepping bac

diot Lalubie's cupboard? And how frightened Lalubie was when, before going to his desk, he opened the cupboard

that brute of a Pouillaud. You know that in his letter this morning he tells me of Lalubie's forthcoming marriage. The old hack is marryin

ude went on painting with growing feverishness, while Pierre, still turned toward

th its atmosphere constantly poisoned by the fumes of dish-water; the dormitory of the little ones, famous for its horrors, the linen room, and the infirmary, full of gentle sisters, nuns in black gowns who looked so sweet beneath their white coifs. What a to-do there had been when Sister Angela, she whose Madonna

onderful nose betrayed his presence behind every door, when he went eavesdropping; and there were all the teachers, each befouled with some insulting nickname: the severe 'Rhadamantus,' who had never been seen to smile; 'Filth,' who by the constant rubbing of his head had left his mark on the wall behind every professional seat he occupied; 'Thou-hast-deceived-me-Adele,' the professor of physics, at whom ten generations of schoolboys had taunti

ea of roasting some cockchafers in his desk to see whether they were good to eat, as people said they were. So terrible had been the stench, so dense the smoke that poured from the desk, that the usher had rushed to the water pitcher, under the impression that the place was on fire. And then their marauding expeditions; the pillaging of onion beds while they were out walking; the stones thrown at windows, the correct thing being to make the breakage resemble a well-known geographical map. Also the Greek exercises, written beforehand in large characters on the blackboard, so that every dunce might easily read them though the master remained unaware of it; the wooden seats of the courtyard sawn off and c

om ear to ear, his brush suspended in mid-air. 'That brute of a Pouill

idiotic. He is just finishing his law studies, and he will inherit his father's practice as a solicitor. You ought

added, 'You see, old boy, we have been

shortest holidays were eagerly seized upon to tramp for miles and miles; and, getting bolder as they grew up, they finished by scouring the whole of the country-side, by making journeys that sometimes lasted for days. They slept where they could, in the cleft of a rock, on some threshing-floor, still burning hot, where the straw

d up to their ears, and watching the hiding-places of the eels for hours at a stretch. That constant contact of water beneath a burning sun prolonged their childhood, as it were, and lent them the joyous laughter of truant urchins, though they were almost young men, when of an evening they returned to the town amidst the still oppressive heat of a summer sunset. Later on they became very fond of shooting, but shooting such as is carried on in a region devoid of game, where they had to trudge a score of miles to pick off half a dozen pettychaps, or fig-peckers; wonderful expeditions, whence they returned with their bags empty, or with a mere bat, which they had managed to bring down while discharging their guns at the outskirts of the town. Their eyes moistened at the recollection of those happy days; the

ating their voices when repeating the speeches of the heroes, and reducing them to the merest whisper when they replied as queens and love-sick maidens. On such days the sparrows were left in peace. In that remote province, amidst the sleepy stupidity of that small town, they had thus lived on from the age of fourteen, full of enthusiasm, devoured by a passion for literature and art. The magnificent scenarios devised by Victor Hugo, the gigantic phantasies which fought therein amidst a ceaseless cross-fire of antithesis, had at first transported them into the fulness of epic glory; gesticulating, watching the sun decline behind some ruins, seeing life pass

indstone crushing the brain, filled them with indignation, called forth their protestations. They preferred to scale the neighbouring hills in search of some unknown solitary spot, where they declaimed verses even amidst drenching showers, without dreaming of shelter in their very hatred of town-life. They had even planned an encampment on the banks of the Viorne, where they were to live like savages, happy with constant bathing, and the company of five or six books, which would amply suffice for their wants. Even womankind was to be strictly banished from that camp. Being very timid and awkward in the presence of the gentler sex, they pretended to the asceticism of superior intellects. For two years Claude had been in love with a 'prentice hat-trimmer, whom every evening he had followed

d Viorne was almost running dry beneath the span of an old dust-bepowdered bridge, without a bit of green, nothing save a few bushes, dying for want of moisture. Farther on, the mountain gorge of the Infernets showed its yawning chasm amidst tumbled rocks, struck down by lightning, a huge chaos, a wild desert, rolling stony billows as far as the eye could reach. Then came all sorts of well remembered nooks: the valley of Repentance, narrow and shady, a refreshing oasis amid calcined f

oz, turning towards one

bered from the very bottom of Jaumegarde with Dubuche? The rock was as smooth as your hand, and we had to cling to it with our nails, so that at

let on rosemary sticks, and, as mine took fire, you exasperated

umed his work, gravely concluding, 'That's all over,

e long walks of old. On certain Sunday mornings they had started on foot from the Fontainebleau gate, had scoured the copses of Verrieres, gone as far as the Bievre, crossed the woods of Meudon and Belle

d his full liberty; but the latter days of each month were terrible enough, especially if he had to share the fag-end of his allowance. Luckily he was beginning to sell a little; disposing of tiny canvases, at the rate of ten and twelve francs a-piece, to Papa Malgras, a wary picture dealer. After all, he preferred starvation to turning his art into mere commerce by manufacturing portraits of tradesmen and their wives; concocting conventional religious pictures or daubing blinds for restaurants or sign-boards for accoucheuses. When first he had returned

'The Fat and the Thin

rs of which Cla

minutes' rest, talking meanwhile about many things. Claude felt condescendingly good-tempered. When his work went smoothly he brightened up and became talkative; he, who painted with his teeth set

ctures, it's more serious than if it had passed before all the hanging committees on earth. You know my picture of the markets, with the two urchins tumbling about on a heap of vegetables? Well, I've scratched it all out, it didn't come right. I fo

sation, French artis

ly call their prod

machin

h of Plassans in one of the galleries of the Museum! Then, in Paris, hadn't the celebrated Berthou, the painter of 'Nero in the Circus'-Berthou, whose lessons he had attended for six long months-told him a score of times that he would never be able to do anything? How he now regretted those six months wasted in idiotic efforts, absurd

hool of Arts, all that tobacco-juice painting, cooked up according to certain given recipes? The day would come when one carrot, originally rendered, would lead to a revolution. It was because of this that he now contented himself with going to the Boutin studio, a free studio, kept by a former model, in the Rue de la Huchette. When he had paid his twenty francs he was put in f

pers can build up a torso like that one over yonder, he

re some other admirable bits, a girl's feet exquisite in their delicate truthfulness, and a woman's trunk with quivering satin-like skin. In his rare moments of content he felt pro

he continued lashing himself into excitement with

ey understand him, swallow that drawing of his. After him there are only two worth speaking of, Delacroix and Courbet. The others are only numskulls. Oh, that old romantic lion, the carriage of him! He was a decorator who knew how to make the colours blaze. And what a grasp he had! He would have covered every wall in Paris if they had let him; his palette boiled, and boiled over. I know very well that it was only so much phantasmagoria. Never mind, I like it for all that, as it was needed to set the School on fire. Then

dge of the effect of his picture, becoming absorbe

antic scenes are foundering and splitting, that Courbet's black painting already reeks of the mustiness of a studio which the sun never penetrates. You understand me, don't you? We, perhaps, want the sun, the open air,

e formulas of the future that were rising within him. Deep silence came w

his position. His back was still turned, and he said

e beasts of the field as well as mankind; in short, a kind of immense ark. And not in the order indicated by manuals of philosophy, or according to the idiotic hierarchy on which we pride ourselves, but according to the full current of life; a world in which we should be nothing more than an accident, in which the passing cur, even the stones of the roads, would complete and explain us. In sum, the grand whole, without low or hig

nfused ideas throbbed in his brain. At first, smitten with the thought of undertaking something herculean, he had planned a genesis of the universe, in three phases or parts; the creation narrated according to science; mankind supervening at the appointed hour and playing its part in the chain of beings and events; then the f

strong muscles will be wanted, for there will be no lack of subjects. Life such as it runs about the streets, the life of the rich and the poor, in the market places, on the race-courses, on the boulevards, in the populous alleys; and every trade being plied, and every passion portrayed in

utually, they went mad with dreams of glory; and there was such a burst of youth, such a passion for work about their plans, that t

oughed in. His hand, more advanced than the rest, furnished a pretty fresh patch of flesh colour amid the grass, and the dark coat stood out so vigorously that the little silhouettes in the background, the two little women wrestling in the sunlight, seemed to have retreated further

e you going to call

replied Claude,

r, who, in spite of himself, was sometimes temp

that doesn't su

a man are reposing in a forest in the sunlight. Does not that s

, do what I will. And then the hand, that's Courbet's manner. Everyone of us dabs his brush into the romantic sauce now and the

Sundays the man in the jacket would be all there. He had enough of him for the present. Both began to joke, for, as a rule, Claude almost killed his models, only letting them go when they were fainting, half dead with fatigue. He himself now very nigh dropped, his legs bending under him, and his sto

mself, with his arms upraised. 'Let's go and ha

h both his friends, and stopped before the picture, looking nonplussed. In reality that harum-scarum style of painting upset him, such was the even balance of his nature, such his reverence as

oesn't it suit you?' asked

it's very well

ut. What is it t

ressed, and the women are not. People ha

cisely the same way? Hadn't all Paris and all the painters and tourists of the world seen them? And besides, if

s, Dubuche repeated quietly: 'The public won't unders

exasperated. 'They are making a famous idiot of you a

ed himself by belabouring the painters of the School. Certainly his friends were right in one respect, the School painters were real idiots. But as for the architects, that was a differ

, 'the moment you apolog

an in the velveteen jacket the figure of the recumbent woman seemed to be fading away.

you c

the hurry? Just let me set thi

oy him: 'You do wrong to worry yourself like that, old man. Yes, you are knocked up, a

m to despair in the midst of his delight at having terminated a successful sitting. Had he done right, after all, in making the velveteen jacket so prominent, and would he not afterwards fail to secure the brilliancy which he wished the female figure to show? Rather than rem

che, 'where did you get

ting, he who usually told them everything, brusquely lied, prompted by

t is?' repeate

at all-a

u would give me her address. Not for myself, but for a sculptor I kno

their cards in that way, in awkward, childish handwriting. Zoe Piedefer, 7 Rue Campagne-Premiere, a big brunette, who was getting rather too stout, had scrawl

got the address?'

I don't know and don't care. You're a nuisance, w

knowing nod, and they then began to chaff. They begged Claude's pardon; the moment he wanted to keep the young person for his persona

a couple of idiots you are!' he exclaimed, 'If you only knew what fools you a

nce more scratching out the woman's head, drew it anew and began to paint it in, follo

e repeated. 'I will rough in the shoulders to b

member of the Institute, whose chief architectural performance, the church of St. Mathieu, was a cross between a pastry-cook's mould and a clock in the so-called First Empire style. A good sort of fellow, after all, was this Dequersonniere whom Dubuche chaffed, while inwardly sharing his reverence for the old classical formulas. However, but for his fellow-pupils, the young man would not have learnt much at the studio in the Rue du Four, for the master only paid a running visit to the place some three times a week. A set of ferocious brutes, were those comrades of his, who had made his life jolly hard in the beginning, but who, at least, had taught him how to prepare a surface, outline, and wash in a plan. And how often had he had to content himself with a cup of chocolate and a roll for dejeuner in order to pay

high upon the cushions, and s

s. And every month there is a competitive examination in architecture, sometimes a simple sketch, at others a complete design. There's no time for pleasure if a fellow wishes to

efore yesterday I discovered an architect who works for a large contractor. You can have no idea of such an ignoramus of an architect-a downright numskull, incapable even of tracing a plan. He gives me t

a rapid fortune-Sandoz did not even trouble to listen to him. He had opened the little window, and seated himself on

sday? All the other fellows will be ther

om Plassans and others met in Paris-revolutionaries to a

o, I think not,'

go to a dance at

to get hold of a

ldn't be such

palm, and then, suddenly raising his voice-'I al

retty well done for, Pouillaud.

wn there. He writes rationally enough. I always said he'd show us a thing o

de stopped him. The latter had not opened his lips since he had so ob

ld no longer produce anything clear or life-like; the woman's breast was growing pasty with heavy colouring; that flesh which, in his fancy, ought to have glowed, was simply becoming grimy; he could not even succeed in getting a correct focus. What on earth was the matter with his brain that he heard it bursting asunder, as it were, amidst his vain efforts? Was he losing his sight that he was no longer able to see correctly? Were his hands no longer his own that they refused to obey him? And thus he we

t want to worry you, but it's half-past six, and we

he emptied some more tubes on it, and, in a voic

picture, whilst his friends remained anxious at this attack, which they did not know

t's Papa

ce. He was wrapped in a very dirty old green coat, that made him look like an untidy cabman. In a husky voice, he exclaime

way embarrassed the new comer, who, standing erect on his sturdy legs and feeling quite at home, carefully examined the new picture with his

, he began to stroll round the studio,

ested still, but whose future fame his flaming, drunkard's nose sniffed from afar. Added to this he was a ferocious hand at bargaining, and displayed all the cunning of a savage in his efforts to secure, for a song, the pictures that he coveted. True, he himself was satis

ought, there was a great deal of talent and sentiment of life about that big crazy fellow Claude, who wasted his time in painting huge stretches of canvas which no one would buy. The girl's pretty legs, the admirably painted woman's trunk, filled the dealer wi

you brought back with you from the South. It's

thing when I turn round. I can't go on like that, honour bright; I shall have to go into liquidation, and I shall end my days in the hospital. You know me, eh? my heart is bigger than my pocket, and there's nothing I lik

about to do something rash: 'Well, it sha'n't be said that I cam

nervously. He dryly answered, without

sold me the others ten francs a-piece-and to-da

the picture-dealer, who, giving tit for tat, all at once dropped the formal 'you' to assume the glib 'thou,' denied his talent, overwhelmed him with invective, and taxed him with ingratitude. Meanw

take care to get it back; I'll deduct it from something else of thine, as I live. Fift

agic in his capacious green coat. Had it dropped into a special pocket, or was it reposin

ack. 'Just listen, Lantier,' he said, in the honeyest of tones; 'I want a lobster painted. You really owe me that much after fleecing me. I'll bring

mself became gay. Those confounded painters, they did themselves no good, they simply starved. What would have become of the lazy begg

lf anew before the large canvas, with his wonted smile of mingled derision and

fell to his side, stiff, as if pinioned there by some occult force. In the intense melancholy silence tha

for,' he gasped. 'That b

aken by feverish excitement. And now the sun was setting, shadows began to darken the studio, which in the gloaming assumed a most melancholy aspect. When the light went down

the gentleness of brotherly compas

l see more clearly into it

He stood rooted to the spot, deaf to the

spot. All at once, however, he made up his mind, shaken the while as by a big sob. He clutched firmly hold of his broadest palette-knife, and, with one deep, slow sweep, he obliterated the woman's head and bosom. It was veritable murder, a pounding away of human flesh; the whole disappeared in a murky, muddy mash

great clatter, and Claude followed them, fleeing his work, in