Fragments Of An Autobiography Part 12

His figures were half life-size; the main group, somewhat to the right, was enveloped in the haze of a mysterious chiaroscuro. On the extreme left, at the entrance to the primitive dwelling, the figures of three children stood out dark against the bright sky, a beautiful silhouette and true to nature, for he had taken it from life, noting it during a halt in a peasant's cottage near Orleans. He knew the text tells us that none but the apostles and the child's father and mother were allowed to follow the Master; but children were children all the world over, he said, and they might well have disregarded the command.

The picture was destined to remain on the easel for a long while, for whilst devoting much of his time to it, Claude continued his studies with unabated energy, attending lectures, making a series of elaborate anatomical drawings, and I fear, generally burning the artistic candle at both ends.

But towards the close of the winter, the picture, being very far advanced, Claude showed it to some friends whose opinion he valued. They were evidently much struck by his rendering of the subject.

Some very eulogistic remarks must have reached l'oncle Auguste, for, on the strength of them, he resolved to visit the studio. He had hitherto not condescended to show any interest in his nephew's work, but, as others were speaking of it, he felt it desirable to be posted up to date.

It happened that when he called, Claude was out, but Rosa Bonheur Sinel was there, and at once took it upon herself to do the honours of the place and to expatiate on the beauties of the canvas.

"_I_ sat for the foot of the daughter," she said; "she is supposed to have pushed off the drapery. You see, my big toe is fine; it is quite apart from the one next to it; there is room for three pieces of twenty sous between them. Sit down this side, so you don't get the varnish; now if you look through your hand, like that, you will see a large earthenware thing in the background. That's a big water-bottle; it's what they used before they were Christians. It has _du style_, you know, and keeps the water cool. Next week we shall get the frame, then you will see it plainer; and look at the figures; they are just what is wanted, and the draperies; monsieur never uses the mannequin, that's what makes them so natural; that's just how people look when somebody gets risen from the dead."

And so she went on, a.s.sisting Uncle Auguste in arriving at a due appreciation of the picture, and giving him points he used afterwards for the enlightenment of his friends. Looking round the studio, he said, more to himself than to the young lady who had taken him in hand--

"What a garret! Never saw anything like it! Why, there isn't a creature comfort in the place. I must really send him up some"----

"That you should," broke in Miss Rosa; "I know what he wants."

"And what may that be, Miss Saucebox?" he asked.

"Goldfish in a bowl, and a net with a handle," she said. "Four goldfish."

"Bosh!" said the tanner; "fiddlesticks!"

But this remarkable young person knew her own mind and would not take "Fiddlesticks" for an answer, and before many minutes had elapsed, she was escorting l'oncle Auguste to a neighbouring shop, and superintending the purchase of a long-coveted bowl resplendent with gold-fish.

"They're just right," she said; "he will like something live, I know; he's tired of his models. They are all nowhere now, since he has had that girl, that daughter of Jairus. Oh yes, monsieur, I know all about it. She's a young person in Lyons, and he wants his father to send for her, and do I don't know what besides. But I don't want her here with her big staring eyes and her Sainte Nitouche airs."

L'oncle Auguste raised his eyebrows in a way peculiar to himself. Who was this girl in Lyons? How was it that a man of his importance in the family should be reduced to picking up his information in this stray fashion?

Rosa was quick to read his thoughts, and saw her opportunity. Tossing her head so energetically, that the last hairpin gave way and those obstreperous red locks of hers came tumbling over her eyes, she said--

"It's no business of mine. Besides, _I_ never speak of young ladies who write letters," and another shake of the locks emphasised her meaning.

That was all. It would have been _infra dig._ for _l'oncle_ to have cross-questioned her, so he said nothing, but his eyebrows went up a little higher, and remained there quite a while after the little female Iago had left the stage triumphantly minus hairpins, but plus goldfish.

I say stage advisedly, for Rosa was a consummate little actress, and as the pere Sinel of the Theatre Francais used to tell us, there was no doubt her talent was inherited from him.

The uncle went home in a reflective frame of mind. He could see no particular objection to some short-lived intrigue.

"A good-looking young fellow like Claude," he muttered to himself. "To be sure. We all know what's what--but that's not that, or his father would not know of it, or at least not be asked to bring her to Paris.

There must be something more serious at the bottom of this. _Pet.i.te guenon va!_ (You little she-monkey!)" and he growled as his thoughts reverted to Rosa; but being himself something of a bully, he rather appreciated her impudence. So when he later on related the gold-fish incident to some friends at his club, he wound up with his favourite phrase--

"Now mark my words, gentlemen" (he always insisted on having his words marked at the club), "mark my words, that girl will go far; and when she finds a comb to keep that crop of hair in order, she'll find a carriage and pair too."

As I have said before, the subject of matrimony, applied to his nephew, was of all others the one that the uncle was touchy about, and anything that threatened to delay or obstruct the ambitious plans he had formed for that nephew must be combated. He had more than once expounded the true principles of worldly wisdom to him, but had always been nonplussed by Claude's independent spirit and his ready wit, so he did not go straight off and make a scene; he must get at the truth though, but he must bide his time and watch his opportunity.

The facts of the case were simply these: There had been some question of finding Madeleine occupation in Paris, for it had become desirable that something should be done to give her the means of earning her own livelihood, and Miss Rosa, who had caught sc.r.a.ps of conversation between the father and son, had just put two and two together in her fanciful way, and had jumped to her own conclusions not complimentary to the Sainte Nitouche.

It so chanced that at the time Madeleine's future status was under consideration, I was able to visit Lyons, so I had at last an opportunity of seeing my friend's protegee. It had been arranged that I should meet her at the hospital in the econome's Office, and I was not a little anxious to see what she would be like. In the office I found Monsieur Tamia.s.se, a small man, seated at a disproportionately large table. I was struck, too, by the size of the fine old room, and somewhat overawed by its contents.

There was an air of systematic order and bureaucratic rule about it that did not fail to impress a frail Bohemian like myself; there were many books, boxes, and cases about, labelled, ticketed, and docketed, and I felt sure I was going to be placed in safe custody somewhere in a pigeon-hole, neatly linked to Claude, Madeleine, and the doctors. But Monsieur Tamia.s.se soon put me at my ease. He was a bright, genial little man, a first-cla.s.s econome, wearing a second-cla.s.s wig, and probably in receipt of a third-cla.s.s salary. I was Monsieur Dupont's amba.s.sador and plenipotentiary, and as such I was received with a warm welcome, and officially thanked for all that had been done for Madeleine. I could but return the compliment, for Monsieur Tamia.s.se had quite const.i.tuted himself her guardian, and had proved himself a most practical and useful friend, ever ready to smooth any little difficulties that came in her way. We soon got to the object of my visit, and talked over the next step to take in Madeleine's interest.

An extensive business in ecclesiastical embroideries is carried on in Lyons, and it had been suggested that she should enter an _atelier de broderie_. Claude had already expressed his approval, so nothing remained but to find a suitable opening for her. An excellent lady, who was at the head of such an atelier, was a personal friend of the econome's, and so all could be soon satisfactorily settled.

When our little consultation was at an end, Madeleine was called in. I was rather formally introduced to her, and to the Sister of Mercy who accompanied her; the latter one of those excellent Surs de Charite who devote their lives to the tending of the sick and helpless.

"You have been Madeleine's ministering angel, ma sur," I said--"I am sure we are deeply grateful to you. _N'est ce pas, mademoiselle?_" I added, turning to Madeleine.

"_Ah oui, monsieur_," she answered.

"And you are the good fairy who taught her to read and write," I went on, "and there again, I am sure we are very grateful to you. _N'est ce pas, mademoiselle?_"

"_Ah oui, monsieur_," she once more answered.

She was decidedly shy, and only raised her eyes for a moment, by way of seeing those three words safe on their way.

The eyes were the amethyst eyes of the picture. I had at once recognised those, but in all else I found Madeleine quite different to what I had expected. In fact, at this, our first meeting, I was rather disappointed. Instead of the delicate poetical creature I had always fancied her, I found a strong and hearty girl, with fresh red lips and rather sunburnt cheeks, but without a suspicion of Biblical halo encircling the several coils of brown hair that were loosely wound around her head.

She, I think, was disappointed too in me. Whether, in her mind's eye, she had also pictured me surrounded by some sort of halo or blazing glory, I do not know. It is as likely as not, for Claude had mentioned me in his letters to her, and he was never impartial in his judgment when speaking or writing of his friends. And wisely too, I think, for whom can a man look to for partiality, if not to a friend? David and Jonathan, I feel sure, were not unbia.s.sed in the estimate they formed of one another. But however pleasant it may be to find one's merits acknowledged and one's virtues extolled, it is decidedly a drawback when one is called upon to live up to the reputation that has preceded one.

The Madeleines and others will seek in vain for the halo, and undoubtedly be disappointed.

The good sister took her leave, and Monsieur Tamia.s.se left me to have a _tete-a-tete_ with Claude's _protegee_, whilst he at once wrote off to the lady embroideress who was to take charge of her. I had by this time quite realised that Madeleine and the daughter of Jairus were two very distinct persons, and that the former was none the less attractive for never having been called upon to cross and to re-cross the Styx. I had gone a step further, and looking at her with an artistic eye, I had even noticed that her eyelashes had considerably grown since the days when Claude drew the eyes _a la_ Gabriel Max.

So far I did not seem to have hit on a good conversational opening. To be sure, if Madeleine had been an English girl, I might have made a remark about the weather and had a fair start; as it was I went on at random and said--

"I am so glad you liked that book I sent you." (It was Grimm's "Fairy Tales.") "You did like it, didn't you?"

"Oh yes, monsieur; so much I can't tell you."

"But do try to tell me. I so want to know why you liked it."

"Who could help liking it? It's all about the fairies and fairyland."

"Yes, mademoiselle, that is quite a wonderful world to peep into."

"It _is_ wonderful. It's _my_ world. Things happen there just as they happen to me."

"Well, I hope it was only the good fairies you had to do with."

"I don't know that, but they protected me from the bad ones. And they wouldn't let the dragon devour me, but nursed and cured me, and taught me to pray to the Sainte Vierge."

Here her ologies were becoming somewhat mixed, for she had evidently not attempted to settle in her mind what of grat.i.tude to give unto Theos and what unto Mythos.

"It was one of the good ones, I suppose, that taught you to read and write?"

"Yes, that was Sister Louise whom you saw just now; she's as good a fairy as ever was. Ah, monsieur, you can't understand it, you can't realise what a wonderful thing it is to be able to read and write. You learnt it when you were a child and _couldn't_ know; but I was quite a big girl and had made my first communion when I began to learn those wonderful signs that you can say everything with--everything you can possibly think of--and that make it possible to read anything anybody in the whole world ever thought of."

"Well, I am quite glad you told me. Now I can report to Monsieur Dupont that you are both well and happy."