The difficulty of the work and the hardness of the Dalmatian granite, which the Princess insisted on having, had obliged Vedrine to take mallet and chisel himself and to work like an artisan under the tarpaulin at the cemetery. Now, at last, after much time and trouble, the canopy was up, 'and that young rascal, Astier, will get some credit from it,' added the sculptor with a smile in which was no touch of bitterness. Then he lifted up an old carpet hanging over a hole in the wall, which had once been a door, and led Freydet into the huge ruined hall which served him for a studio, roofed with planks and decorated with mats and hangings.

It looked with all its litter like a barn, or rather a yard under cover, for in a sun-lit corner climbed a fine fig-tree with its twining branches and elegant leaves, while close by was the bulk of a broken stove, garlanded with ivy and honeysuckle, so as to resemble an old well. Here he had been working for two years, summer and winter, in spite, of the fogs of the neighbouring river and the bitter cold winds, without a single sneeze (his own expression), having the healthful strength of the great artists of the Renaissance, as well as their large mould of countenance and fertile imagination. Now he was as weary of sculpture and architecture as if he had been writing a tragedy. The moment his statue was delivered and paid for, wouldn't he be off, nursery and all, for a journey up the Nile in a dahabeeah, and paint and paint from morning to night! While he spoke he moved away a stool and a bench, and led his friend up to a huge block in the rough. 'There's my warrior. Frankly now, what do you think of him?'

[Ill.u.s.tration: There's my warrior 092]

Freydet was somewhat startled and amazed at the colossal dimensions of the sleeping hero. The scale was magnified in proportion to the height of the canopy, and the roughness of the plaster exaggerated the anatomical emphasis characteristic of Vedrine. Rather than smooth away the force, he gives his work an unfinished earthy surface, as of something still in the rock. But as the spectator gazed and began to grasp, the huge form became distinct with that impressive and attractive power which is the essence of fine art.

'Splendid!' he exclaimed, with the tone of sincerity. The other winked his merry little eyes, and said:

'Not at first sight, eh? My style does not take till you are accustomed to it; and I do not feel sure of the Princess, when she comes to look at this ugly fellow.'

Paul Astier was to bring her in a few days, as soon as it had been rubbed down and smoothed and was ready to go to the foundry; and the sculptor looked forward to the visit with some uncertainty, knowing the taste of great ladies, as it is displayed in the stereotyped chatter, which at the Salon on five-shilling days runs up and down the picture-rooms, and breaks out round the sculpture. Oh, what hypocrisy it is! The only genuine thing about them is the spring costume, which they have provided to figure on this particular occasion.

'And altogether, old fellow,' continued Vedrine, as he drew his friend out of the studio, 'of all the affectations of Paris, of all the hypocrisies of society, the most shameless, the most amusing, is the pretended taste for art. It's enough to make you die of laughing; everyone performing a mummery, which imposes on n.o.body. And music, the same! You should just see them at the Pop!'

They went down a long arcaded pa.s.sage, full of the same odd vegetation, sown there by all the winds of heaven, breaking out in green from the hard-beaten ground, and peeping among the paintings on the shrivelled and smoke-blackened walls, Presently they came to the princ.i.p.al court, formerly gravelled, but now a field, in which were mingled wild gra.s.ses, plantain, pimpernel, groundsel, and myriads of tiny stems and heads.

In the middle, fenced off with boards, was a bed of artichokes, strawberries, and pumpkins, looking like the garden of some squatter at the edge of a virgin forest; and, to complete the illusion, beside it was a little building of brick.

'It's the bookbinder's garden, and that is his shop,' said Vedrine, pointing to a board over the half-open door, displaying in letters a foot long the inscription,

ALBIN f.a.gE,

Bookbinding in all its branches.

f.a.ge had been bookbinder to the Cour des Comptes and the Conseil d'Etat, and having obtained leave to keep his lodge, which had escaped the fire, was now, with the exception of the caretaker, the sole tenant of the building. 'Let us go in for a minute,' said Vedrine; 'you will find him a remarkable specimen.' He went nearer and called, 'f.a.ge! f.a.ge!' but the humble workshop was empty. In front of the window was the binder's table, on which, among a heap of parings, lay his shears. Under a press were some green ledgers capped with copper. Strange to remark, everything in the room--the sewing-press, the tressel-table, the empty chair in front of it, the shelves piled with books, and even the shaving-mirror hung upon the latch--was on a diminutive scale, adapted to the height and reach of a child of twelve years old. It might have been taken for the house of a dwarf, or of a bookbinder of Lilliput.

'He is a humpback,' whispered Vedrine to Frey-det, 'and a lady's man into the bargain, all scent and pomade.' A horrible smell like a hairdresser's shop, otto of roses and maca.s.sar, mingled with the stifling fumes, of glue. Vedrine called once more in the direction of the back of the shop where the bedroom was; then they left, Freydet chuckling at the idea of a humpbacked Lovelace.

'Perhaps he's at a tryst,' he said.

'You are pleased to laugh; but, my dear fellow, the humpback is on the best of terms with all the beauties of Paris, if one may believe the testimony of his bedroom walls, which are covered with photographs bearing the owners' names, and headed "To Albin," "To my dear little f.a.ge." There is never any lady to be seen here, but he sometimes comes and tells me about his fine octavo, or his pretty little duodecimo, as he calls his conquests, according to their height and size.'

'And he is ugly, you say?'

'A perfect monster.'

'And no money?'

'A poor little bookbinder and worker in cardboard, living on his work and his bit of a garden, but very intelligent and learned, with a marvellous memory. We shall probably find him wandering about in some corner of the building. He is a great dreamer is little f.a.ge, like all sentimentalists.--This way, but look where you step; there are some awkward places.'

They were going up a huge staircase, of which the lower steps still remained, as did the bal.u.s.trade, rusty, split, and in places twisted.

Then suddenly they turned off by a fragile wooden bridge, resting on the supports of the staircase, between high walls on which were dimly visible the remains of huge frescoes, cracked, decayed, and blackened with soot, the hind legs of a horse, a woman's torso undraped, with inscriptions almost illegible on panels that had lost their gilding, 'Meditation,' 'Silence,' 'Trade uniting the nations of the world.'

On the first floor a long gallery with a vaulted roof, as in the amphitheatre at Aries or Nimes, stretched away between smoke-stained walls, covered with huge fissures, remains of plaster and iron work, and tangled vegetation. At the entrance to this pa.s.sage was inscribed on the wall, 'Corridor des Huissiers.' On the next floor they found much the same thing, only that here, the roof having given way, the gallery was nothing but a long terrace of brambles climbing up to the undestroyed arcades and falling down in disordered waving festoons to the level of the courtyard. From this second floor could be seen the roofs of the neighbouring houses, the whitewashed walls of the barracks in the Rue de Poitiers, and the tall plane trees of the Padovani mansion, with the rooks' nests, abandoned till the winter, swinging in their top branches.

Below was the deserted court in full sunlight, with the little garden and tiny house of the bookbinder.

'Just look, old boy, there's a good lot of it here,' said Vedrine to his friend, pointing to the wild exuberant vegetation of every species which ran riot over the whole building. 'If Crocodilus saw all these weeds, what a rage he would be in!' Suddenly he started, and said, 'Well, I never!'

At this moment, near the bookbinder's house below, came into sight Astier-Rehu, recognisable by his long frock-coat of a metallic green and his large wide 'topper.' Most people in the neighbourhood knew this hat, which, set on the back of a grey curly head, distinguished, like a halo, the hierarch of erudition. It was Crocodilus himself!

He was talking earnestly to a man of very small stature, whose bare head shone with hair-oil, and whose tight-fitting, light-coloured coat showed in all its elegance the deformity of his back. Their words were not audible, but Astier seemed much excited. He brandished his stick and bent himself forward over the face of the little creature, who for his part was perfectly calm, and stood, as if his mind was made up, with his two large hands behind him folded under his hump.

'The cripple does work for the Inst.i.tute, does he?' said Freydet, who remembered now that his master had uttered the name of f.a.ge. Vedrine did not answer. He was watching the action of the two men, whose conversation at this moment suddenly stopped, the humpback going into his house with a gesture which seemed to say, 'As you please,' while Astier with angry strides made for the gate of the building towards the Rue de Lille, then paused, turned back to the shop, went in, and closed the door behind him.

'It's odd,' muttered the sculptor. 'Why did f.a.ge never tell me? What a mysterious little fellow it is! But I dare say they have the same taste for the "octavo" and the "duodecimo"!'

'For shame, Vedrine!'

The visit done, Freydet went slowly up the Quai d'Orsay, thinking about his book and his aspirations towards the Academie, which had received a severe shock from the home truths he had been hearing. How like the man is to the boy! How soon the character is in its essence complete! After an interval of twenty-five years, beneath the wrinkles and grey hairs and other changes, with which life disguises the outer man, the schoolfellows found each other just what they were when they sat together in cla.s.s: one wilful, high-spirited, rebellious; the other obedient and submissive, with a tendency to indolence, which had been fostered by his quiet country life. After all Vedrine was perhaps right.

Even if he was sure of succeeding, was the thing worth the trouble? He was particularly anxious about his invalid sister, who, while he went about canva.s.sing, must be left all alone at Clos-Jallanges. A few days'

absence had already made her feel nervous and low, and the morning's post had brought a miserable letter.

He was by this time pa.s.sing before the dragoon barracks; and his attention was caught by the appearance of the paupers, waiting on the other side of the street for the distribution of the remains of the soup. They had come long before for fear of missing their turn, and were seated on the benches or standing in a line against the parapet of the quay. Foul and grimy, with the hair and beard of human dogs, and dressed in the filthiest rags, they waited like a herd, neither moving nor speaking to each other, but peering into the great barrack-yard to catch the arrival of the porringers and the adjutant's signal to come up. It was horrible to see in the brilliant sunlight the silent row of savage eyes and hungry faces, fixed with the same animal look upon the wide-open gate.

'What are you doing there, my dear boy?' said a voice, and Astier-Rehu, in high spirits, took his pupil's arm. The poet pointed to the pathetic group on the opposite pavement. 'Ah, yes,' said the historian, 'Ah, yes.' He had in truth no eyes for anything outside books, nor any direct and personal perception of the facts of life. Indeed, from the way in which he took Freydet off, saying as he did so, 'You may as well go with me as far as the Inst.i.tute,' it was clear that he did not approve the habit of mooning in the streets when you ought to be better employed.

Leaning gently on his favourite's arm, he began to tell him of his rapturous delight at having chanced upon a most astonishing discovery, a letter about the Academie from the Empress Catherine to Diderot, just in time for his forthcoming address to the Grand-Duke. He meant to read the letter at the meeting and perhaps to present his Highness, in the name of the Society, with the original in the handwriting of his ancestress.

Baron Huchenard would burst with envy.

'And, by the way, about my Charles the Fifths, you know! It's absolutely false. Here is something to confute the old backbiter,' and he clapped with his thick short hand a heavy leather pocket-book. He was so happy that he tried to arouse an answering happiness in Freydet by leading the conversation to the topic of yesterday--his candidature for the first place in the Academie that should be vacant. It would be delightful when the master and the scholar sat together under the dome! 'And you will find how pleasant it is, and how comfortable. It cannot be imagined till you are there.' The moment of entrance, he seemed to say, put an end to the miseries of life. At that threshold they might beat in vain. You soared into a region of peace and light, above envy, above criticism, blessed for ever! All was won, and nothing left to desire. Ah, the Academie! Those who spoke ill of it spoke in ignorance, or in jealousy, because they could not get in. The apes, the dunces!

His strong voice rose till it made everyone turn as he went along the quay. Some recognised him and mentioned his name. The booksellers and the vendors of engravings and curiosities, standing at their stalls, and accustomed to see him go by at his regular hours, stepped back and bowed respectfully.

'Freydet, look at that,' said his master, pointing to the Palais Mazarin, to which they had now come. 'There it is! There's the Inst.i.tute as I saw it on the Didot books when I was a lad. I said to myself then, "I will get into that;" and I have got in. Now, my boy, it is your turn to use your will. Good luck to you.' He stepped briskly in at the gate to the left of the main building, and went on into a series of large paved courts, silent and majestic, his figure throwing a lengthening shadow upon the ground.

He disappeared; but Freydet was gazing still, struck motionless. And on his kindly round brown face and in his soft, full-orbed eyes was the same expression as had been on the visages of the human dogs who waited before the barracks for their soup. Henceforward, whenever he looked at the Inst.i.tute, that expression would always come over his face.

CHAPTER V.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A select reception, at the Padovani mansion 102]

It was the evening of a great dinner, to be followed by a select reception, at the Padovani mansion. The Grand-Duke Leopold was entertaining at the table of his 'respected friend,' as he called the d.u.c.h.ess, some members selected from the various departments of the Inst.i.tute, and so making his return to the five Academies for their courteous reception of him and for the complimentary harangue of the President. Diplomatic society was, as usual, well represented at the house of a lady whose husband had been Amba.s.sador; but the Inst.i.tute had the chief place, and the arrangement of the guests showed the object of the dinner. The Grand-Duke, seated opposite the hostess, had Madame Astier on his right, and on his left the Countess Foder, wife of the First Secretary of the Finnish Emba.s.sy, acting as Amba.s.sador. On the right of the d.u.c.h.ess sat Leonard Astier, and on her left Monsignor Adriani, the Papal Nuncio. Then came successively Baron Huchenard, representing the Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres; Mourad Bey, the Amba.s.sador of the Porte; Delpech the chemist, Member of the Academie des Sciences; the Belgian Minister; Landry the musician, of the Beaux-Arts; Danjou the dramatist, one of Picherals 'Players'; and, lastly, the Prince d'Athis, whose twofold claims to distinction as diplomatist and Member of the Academie des Sciences Morales et Politiques combined the characteristics of the two sets in the circle. At the ends of the table were the General acting as Aide-de-camp to His Highness, the young Count Adriani, nephew of the Nuncio, and Lavaux, whose presence was indispensable at every social gathering.

The feminine element was lacking in charm. The Countess Foder, red-haired, small, and lively, enveloped in lace to the tip of her little pointed nose, looked like a squirrel with a cold in its head.

Baroness Huchenard, a lady of no particular age and with a moustache, produced the effect of a very fat old gentleman in a low dress. Madame Astier, in a velvet dress partly open at the neck, a present from the d.u.c.h.ess, had sacrificed on the altar of friendship the pleasure she would have had in displaying her arms and shoulders, the remains of her beauty; and thanks to this delicate attention the d.u.c.h.ess Padovani looked as if she were the only woman at dinner. The d.u.c.h.ess is elegantly dressed, tall and fair, with a tiny head and fine eyes of a golden hazel colour--eyes whose shifting haughty glance, from under long dark brows almost meeting, shows their power of expressing kindness, affection, or anger. Her nose is short, her mouth emotional and sensitive, and her complexion has the brilliancy of a young woman's, owing to her custom of sleeping in the afternoon when she is going out in the evening or receiving friends at her own house. A long residence abroad at Vienna, St. Petersburg, and Constantinople, where as the wife of the French Amba.s.sador it had been her duty to set the fashion to French society, has left in her manners a certain air of superior information, which the ladies of Paris find it hard to forgive. She talks graciously to them as though they were foreigners, and explains things to them which they understand as well as she. In her house in the Rue de Poitiers the d.u.c.h.ess still acts as though representing Paris among the Kurds. It is the sole defect of this n.o.ble and splendid lady.

Though there were, so to speak, no women, no bright dresses showing arms and shoulders and breaking the monotony of black coats with a blaze of jewels and flowers, still the table was not without colour. There was the violet ca.s.sock of the Nuncio with his broad silk sash, the purple _Chechia_ of Mourad Bey, and the red tunic of the Papal Guard with its gold collar, blue embroideries, and gold braid on the breast, decorated also with the huge brilliant cross of the Legion of Honour, which the young Italian had received that very morning, the President thinking it proper to reward the successful delivery of the Cardinal's hat.

Scattered about, too, were ribbons green, blue, and red, and the silvery gleam and sparkling stars of decorations and orders.

Ten o'clock. The dinner is almost over, but not one of the flowers elaborately arranged round plates and dishes has been disturbed, there have been no raised voices or animated gestures. Yet the fare is excellent at the Padovani mansion, one of the few houses in Paris where they still have wine. The dinner betrays the presence in the house of an epicure, and the epicure is not the d.u.c.h.ess, who, like all leaders of French fashion, thinks the dinner good if she has on a becoming dress and the table is carefully and tastefully decorated. No; the epicure is the lady's humble servant, the Prince d'Athis, a man of cultivated palate and fastidious appet.i.te, spoilt by club cooking and not to be satisfied by silver plate or the sight of fine liveries and irreproachable white calves. It is for his sake that the fair Antonia admits among her occupations the care of the _menu_, it is for him that she provides highly seasoned dishes and fiery wines of Burgundy, which it must be admitted have not on this particular occasion dispelled the coldness of the guests.

At dessert there is the same deadness, stiffness, and restraint that marked the first course; hardly has a tinge of colour touched the ladies' cheeks or noses. It is a dinner of wax dolls, official,-magnificent, with the magnificence which comes chiefly of ample room, lofty ceilings, and seats placed so far apart as to preclude all friendly touching of chairs. A gloomy chilly underground feeling separates the guests, in spite of the soft breath of the June night floating in from the gardens through the half-open shutters and gently swelling the silk blinds. The conversation is distant and constrained, the lips scarcely move and have an unmeaning smile. Not a remark is real, not one makes its way to the mind of the hearer; they are as perfectly artificial as the sweetmeats among which they are dropped. The speeches, like the faces, are masked, and it is lucky they are, for if at this moment the mask were to be taken off, and the true thoughts disclosed, how dismayed the n.o.ble company would be!

The Grand-Duke, who has a broad pale face framed by extra-black trim round whiskers, just such a royal personage as you see in an ill.u.s.trated paper, is questioning Baron Huchenard with much interest about his recent book, and thinking to himself: 'Oh dear, how this learned gentleman does bore me with his primitive dwellings! How much better off I should be at _Roxelane_, where sweet little Dea is dancing in the ballet! The author of _Roxelane_ is here, I understand, but he is a middle-aged man, very ugly and very dull. And to think of the ankles of little Dea!'

The Nuncio, who has an intellectual face of the Roman type, large nose, thin lips, black eyes and sallow complexion, has leant on one side to listen to the history of the habitations of Man. He is looking at his nails, which shine like sh.e.l.ls, and is thinking: 'At the Emba.s.sy this morning I ate a delicious _misto fritto_ and I haven't got rid of it.