His Masterpiece by Emile Zola (most inspirational books of all time txt) 📕
- Author: Emile Zola
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Unable To Disguise Some Hesitation When They Found Themselves Under
The Gaze Of The Ardent, Dilated Eyes With Which He Implored Them--Eyes
In Which One Could Read The Hidden Fear Of Decline. They Knew Current
Rumours Well Enough; They Agreed With The Opinion That Since His
'Village Wedding' The Painter Had Produced Nothing Equal To That
Famous Picture. Indeed, After Maintaining Something Of That Standard
Of Excellence In A Few Works, He Was Now Gliding Into A More
Scientific, Drier Manner. Brightness Of Colour Was Vanishing; Each
Work Seemed To Show A Decline. However, These Were Things Not To Be
Said; So Claude, When He Had Recovered His Composure, Exclaimed:
'You Never Painted Anything So Powerful!'
Bongrand Looked At Him Again, Straight In The Eyes. Then He Turned To
His Work, In Which He Became Absorbed, Making A Movement With His
Herculean Arms, As If He Were Breaking Every Bone Of Them To Lift That
Little Canvas Which Was So Very Light. And He Muttered To Himself:
'Confound It! How Heavy It Is! Never Mind, I'll Die At It Rather Than
Show A Falling-Off.'
He Took Up His Palette And Grew Calm At The First Stroke Of The Brush,
While Bending His Manly Shoulders And Broad Neck, About Which One
Noticed Traces Of Peasant Build Remaining Amid The Bourgeois
Refinement Contributed By The Crossing Of Classes Of Which He Was The
Outcome.
Silence Had Ensued, But Jory, His Eyes Still Fixed On The Picture,
Asked:
'Is It Sold?'
Bongrand Replied Leisurely, Like The Artist Who Works When He Likes
Without Care Of Profit:
'No; I Feel Paralysed When I've A Dealer At My Back.' And, Without
Pausing In His Work, He Went On Talking, Growing Waggish.
'Ah! People Are Beginning To Make A Trade Of Painting Now. Really And
Truly I Have Never Seen Such A Thing Before, Old As I Am Getting. For
Instance, You, Mr. Amiable Journalist, What A Quantity Of Flowers You
Fling To The Young Ones In That Article In Which You Mentioned Me!
There Were Two Or Three Youngsters Spoken Of Who Were Simply Geniuses,
Nothing Less.'
Part 7 Pg 134Jory Burst Out Laughing.
'Well, When A Fellow Has A Paper, He Must Make Use Of It. Besides, The
Public Likes To Have Great Men Discovered For It.'
'No Doubt, Public Stupidity Is Boundless, And I Am Quite Willing That
You Should Trade On It. Only I Remember The First Starts That We Old
Fellows Had. Dash It! We Were Not Spoiled Like That, I Can Tell You.
We Had Ten Years' Labour And Struggle Before Us Ere We Could Impose On
People A Picture The Size Of Your Hand; Whereas Nowadays The First
Hobbledehoy Who Can Stick A Figure On Its Legs Makes All The Trumpets
Of Publicity Blare. And What Kind Of Publicity Is It? A Hullabaloo
From One End Of France To The Other, Sudden Reputations That Shoot Up
Of A Night, And Burst Upon One Like Thunderbolts, Amid The Gaping Of
The Throng. And I Say Nothing Of The Works Themselves, Those Works
Announced With Salvoes Of Artillery, Awaited Amid A Delirium Of
Impatience, Maddening Paris For A Week, And Then Falling Into
Everlasting Oblivion!'
'This Is An Indictment Against Journalism,' Said Jory, Who Had
Stretched Himself On The Couch And Lighted Another Cigar. 'There Is A
Great Deal To Be Said For And Against It, But Devil A Bit, A Man Must
Keep Pace With The Times.'
Bongrand Shook His Head, And Then Started Off Again, Amid A Tremendous
Burst Of Mirth:
'No! No! One Can No Longer Throw Off The Merest Daub Without Being
Hailed As A Young "Master." Well, If You Only Knew How Your Young
Masters Amuse Me!'
But As If These Words Had Led To Some Other Ideas, He Cooled Down, And
Turned Towards Claude To Ask This Question: 'By The Way, Have You Seen
Fagerolles' Picture?'
'Yes,' Said The Young Fellow, Quietly.
They Both Remained Looking At Each Other: A Restless Smile Had Risen
To Their Lips, And Bongrand Eventually Added:
'There's A Fellow Who Pillages You Right And Left.'
Jory, Becoming Embarrassed, Had Lowered His Eyes, Asking Himself
Whether He Should Defend Fagerolles. He, No Doubt, Concluded That It
Would Be Profitable To Do So, For He Began To Praise The Picture Of
The Actress In Her Dressing-Room, An Engraving Of Which Was Then
Attracting A Great Deal Of Notice In The Print-Shops. Was Not The
Subject A Really Modern One? Was It Not Well Painted, In The Bright
Clear Tone Of The New School? A Little More Vigour Might, Perhaps,
Have Been Desirable; But Every One Ought To Be Left To His Own
Temperament. And Besides, Refinement And Charm Were Not So Common By
Any Means, Nowadays.
Bending Over His Canvas, Bongrand, Who, As A Rule, Had Nothing But
Paternal Praise For The Young Ones, Shook And Made A Visible Effort To
Avoid An Outburst. The Explosion Took Place, However, In Spite Of
Himself.
Part 7 Pg 135'Just Shut Up, Eh? About Your Fagerolles! Do You Think Us Greater
Fools Than We Really Are? There! You See The Great Painter Here
Present. Yes; I Mean The Young Gentleman In Front Of You. Well, The
Whole Trick Consists In Pilfering His Originality, And Dishing It Up
With The Wishy-Washy Sauce Of The School Of Arts! Quite So! You Select
A Modern Subject, And You Paint In The Clear Bright Style, Only You
Adhere To Correctly Commonplace Drawing, To All The Habitual Pleasing
Style Of Composition--In Short, To The Formula Which Is Taught Over
Yonder For The Pleasure Of The Middle-Classes. And You Souse All That
With Deftness, That Execrable Deftness Of The Fingers Which Would Just
As Well Carve Cocoanuts, The Flowing, Pleasant Deftness That Begets
Success, And Which Ought To Be Punished With Penal Servitude, Do You
Hear?'
He Brandished His Palette And Brushes Aloft, In His Clenched Fists.
'You Are Severe,' Said Claude, Feeling Embarrassed. 'Fagerolles Shows
Delicacy In His Work.'
'I Have Been Told,' Muttered Jory, Mildly, 'That He Has Just Signed A
Very Profitable Agreement With Naudet.'
That Name, Thrown Haphazard Into The Conversation, Had The Effect Of
Once More Soothing Bongrand, Who Repeated, Shrugging His Shoulders:
'Ah! Naudet--Ah! Naudet.'
And He Greatly Amused The Young Fellows By Telling Them About Naudet,
With Whom He Was Well Acquainted. He Was A Dealer, Who, For Some Few
Years, Had Been Revolutionising The Picture Trade. There Was Nothing
Of The Old Fashion About His Style--The Greasy Coat And Keen Taste Of
Papa Malgras, The Watching For The Pictures Of Beginners, Bought At
Ten Francs, To Be Resold At Fifteen, All The Little Humdrum Comedy Of
The Connoisseur, Turning Up His Nose At A Coveted Canvas In Order To
Depreciate It, Worshipping Painting In His Inmost Heart, And Earning A
Meagre Living By Quickly And Prudently Turning Over His Petty Capital.
No, No; The Famous Naudet Had The Appearance Of A Nobleman, With A
Fancy-Pattern Jacket, A Diamond Pin In His Scarf, And Patent-Leather
Boots; He Was Well Pomaded And Brushed, And Lived In Fine Style, With
A Livery-Stable Carriage By The Month, A Stall At The Opera, And His
Particular Table At Bignon's. And He Showed Himself Wherever It Was
The Correct Thing To Be Seen. For The Rest, He Was A Speculator, A
Stock Exchange Gambler, Not Caring One Single Rap About Art. But He
Unfailingly Scented Success, He Guessed What Artist Ought To Be
Properly Started, Not The One Who Seemed Likely To Develop The Genius
Of A Great Painter, Furnishing Food For Discussion, But The One Whose
Deceptive Talent, Set Off By A Pretended Display Of Audacity, Would
Command A Premium In The Market. And That Was The Way In Which He
Revolutionised That Market, Giving The Amateur Of Taste The Cold
Shoulder, And Only Treating With The Moneyed Amateur, Who Knew Nothing
About Art, But Who Bought A Picture As He Might Buy A Share At The
Stock Exchange, Either From Vanity Or With The Hope That It Would Rise
In Value.
At This Stage Of The Conversation Bongrand, Very Jocular By Nature,
And With A Good Deal Of The Mummer About Him, Began To Enact The
Scene. Enter Naudet In Fagerolles' Studio.
Part 7 Pg 136'"You've Real Genius, My Dear Fellow. Your Last Picture Is Sold, Then?
For How Much?"
'"For Five Hundred Francs."
'"But You Must Be Mad; It Was Worth Twelve Hundred. And This One Which
You Have By You--How Much?"
'"Well, My Faith, I Don't Know. Suppose We Say Twelve Hundred?"
'"What Are You Talking About? Twelve Hundred Francs! You Don't
Understand Me, Then, My Boy; It's Worth Two Thousand. I Take It At Two
Thousand. And From This Day Forward You Must Work For No One But
Myself--For Me, Naudet. Good-Bye, Good-Bye, My Dear Fellow; Don't
Overwork Yourself--Your Fortune Is Made. I Have Taken It In Hand."
Wherewith He Goes Off, Taking The Picture With Him In His Carriage. He
Trots It Round Among His Amateurs, Among Whom He Has Spread The Rumour
That He Has Just Discovered An Extraordinary Painter. One Of The
Amateurs Bites At Last, And Asks The Price.
"'Five Thousand."
'"What, Five Thousand Francs For The Picture Of A Man Whose Name
Hasn't The Least Notoriety? Are You Playing The Fool With Me?"
'"Look Here, I'll Make You A Proposal; I'll Sell It You For Five
Thousand Francs, And I'll Sign An Agreement To Take It Back In A
Twelvemonth At Six Thousand, If You No Longer Care For It."
Of Course The Amateur Is Tempted. What Does He Risk After All? In
Reality It's A Good Speculation, And So He Buys. After That Naudet
Loses No Time, But Disposes In A Similar Manner Of Nine Or Ten
Paintings By The Same Man During The Course Of The Year. Vanity Gets
Mingled With The Hope Of Gain, The Prices Go Up, The Pictures Get
Regularly Quoted, So That When Naudet Returns To See His Amateur, The
Latter, Instead Of Returning The Picture, Buys Another One For Eight
Thousand Francs. And The Prices Continue To Go Up, And Painting
Degenerates Into Something Shady, A Kind Of Gold Mine Situated On The
Heights Of Montmartre, Promoted By A Number Of Bankers, And Around
Which There Is A Constant Battle Of Bank-Notes.'
Claude Was Growing Indignant, But Jory Thought It All Very Clever,
When There Came A Knock At The Door. Bongrand, Who Went To Open It,
Uttered A Cry Of Surprise.
'Naudet, As I Live! We Were Just Talking About You.'
Naudet, Very Correctly Dressed, Without A Speck Of Mud On Him, Despite
The Horrible Weather, Bowed And Came In With The Reverential
Politeness Of
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