From the windows of Madame Bridau’s new abode15, a glance could penetrate16 the depths of those melancholy17 barred cages. To the north, the view was shut in by the dome18 of the Institute; looking up the street, the only distraction19 to the eye was a file of hackney-coaches, which stood at the upper end of the rue Mazarin. After a while, the widow put boxes of earth in front of her windows, and cultivated those aerial gardens that police regulations forbid, though their vegetable products purify the atmosphere. The house, which backed up against another fronting on the rue de Seine, was necessarily shallow, and the staircase wound round upon itself. The third floor was the last. Three windows to three rooms, namely, a dining-room, a small salon20, and a chamber21 on one side of the landing; on the other, a little kitchen, and two single rooms; above, an immense garret without partitions. Madame Bridau chose this lodging22 for three reasons: economy, for it cost only four hundred francs a year, so that she took a lease of it for nine years; proximity23 to her sons’ school, the Imperial Lyceum being at a short distance; thirdly, because it was in the quarter to which she was used.
The inside of the appartement was in keeping with the general look of the house. The dining-room, hung with a yellow paper covered with little green flowers, and floored with tiles that were not glazed24, contained nothing that was not strictly25 necessary — namely, a table, two sideboards, and six chairs, brought from the other appartement. The salon was adorned26 with an Aubusson carpet given to Bridau when the ministry27 of the interior was refurnished. To the furniture of this room the widow added one of those commonplace mahogany sofas with the Egyptian heads that Jacob Desmalter manufactured by the gross in 1806, covering them with a silken green stuff bearing a design of white geometric circles. Above this piece of furniture hung a portrait of Bridau, done in pastel by the hand of an amateur, which at once attracted the eye. Though art might have something to say against it, no one could fail to recognize the firmness of the noble and obscure citizen upon that brow. The serenity28 of the eyes, gentle, yet proud, was well given; the sagacious mind, to which the prudent29 lips bore testimony30, the frank smile, the atmosphere of the man of whom the Emperor had said, “Justum et tenacem,” had all been caught, if not with talent, at least with fidelity31. Studying that face, an observer could see that the man had done his duty. His countenance32 bore signs of the incorruptibility which we attribute to several men who served the Republic. On the opposite wall, over a card-table, flashed a picture of the Emperor in brilliant colors, done by Vernet; Napoleon was riding rapidly, attended by his escort.
Agathe had bestowed33 upon herself two large birdcages; one filled with canaries, the other with Java sparrows. She had given herself up to this juvenile34 fancy since the loss of her husband, irreparable to her, as, in fact, it was to many others. By the end of three months, her widowed chamber had become what it was destined35 to remain until the appointed day when she left it forever — a litter of confusion which words are powerless to describe. Cats were domiciled on the sofa. The canaries, occasionally let loose, left their commas on the furniture. The poor dear woman scattered36 little heaps of millet37 and bits of chickweed about the room, and put tidbits for the cats in broken saucers. Garments lay everywhere. The room breathed of the provinces and of constancy. Everything that once belonged to Bridau was scrupulously38 preserved. Even the implements39 in his desk received the care which the widow of a paladin might have bestowed upon her husband’s armor. One slight detail here will serve to bring the tender devotion of this woman before the reader’s mind. She had wrapped up a pen and sealed the package, on which she wrote these words, “Last pen used by my dear husband.” The cup from which he drank his last draught40 was on the fireplace; caps and false hair were tossed, at a later period, over the glass globes which covered these precious relics41. After Bridau’s death not a trace of coquetry, not even a woman’s ordinary care of her person, was left in the young widow of thirty-five. Parted from the only man she had ever known, esteemed42, and loved, from one who had never caused her the slightest unhappiness, she was no longer conscious of her womanhood; all things were as nothing to her; she no longer even thought of her dress. Nothing was ever more simply done or more complete than this laying down of conjugal43 happiness and personal charm. Some human beings obtain through love the power of transferring their self — their I— to the being of another; and when death takes that other, no life of their own is possible for them.
Agathe, who now lived only for her children, was infinitely44 sad at the thought of the privations this financial ruin would bring upon them. From the time of her removal to the rue Mazarin a shade of melancholy came upon her face, which made it very touching45. She hoped a little in the Emperor; but the Emperor at that time could do no more than he was already doing; he was giving three hundred francs a year to each child from his privy46 purse, besides the scholarships.
As for the brilliant Descoings, she occupied an appartement on the second floor similar to that of her niece above her. She had made Madame Bridau an assignment of three thousand francs out of her annuity47. Roguin, the notary48, attended to this in Madame Bridau’s interest; but it would take seven years of such slow repayment49 to make good the loss. The Descoings, thus reduced to an income of twelve hundred francs, lived with her niece in a small way. These excellent but timid creatures employed a woman-of-all-work for the morning hours only. Madame Descoings, who liked to cook, prepared the dinner. In the evenings a few old friends, persons employed at the ministry who owed their places to Bridau, came for a game of cards with the two widows. Madame Descoings still cherished her trey, which she declared was obstinate50 about turning up. She expected, by one grand stroke, to repay the enforced loan she had made upon her niece. She was fonder of the little Bridaus than she was of her grandson Bixiou — partly from a sense of the wrong she had done them, partly because she felt the kindness of her niece, who, under her worst deprivations51, never uttered a word of reproach. So Philippe and Joseph were cossetted, and the old gambler in the Imperial Lottery52 of France (like others who have a vice53 or a weakness to atone54 for) cooked them nice little dinners with plenty of sweets. Later on, Philippe and Joseph could extract from her pocket, with the utmost facility, small sums of money, which the younger used for pencils, paper, charcoal55 and prints, the elder to buy tennis-shoes, marbles, twine56, and pocket-knives. Madame Descoings’s passion forced her to be content with fifty francs a month for her domestic expenses, so as to gamble with the rest.
On the other hand, Madame Bridau, motherly love, kept her expenses down to the same sum. By way of penance57 for her former over-confidence, she heroically cut off her own little enjoyments58. As with other timid souls of limited intelligence, one shock to her feelings rousing her distrust led her to exaggerate a defect in her character until it assumed the consistency59 of a virtue60. The Emperor, she said to herself, might forget them; he might die in battle; her pension, at any rate, ceased with her life. She shuddered61 at the risk her children ran of being left alone in the world without means. Quite incapable62 of understanding Roguin when he explained to her that in seven years Madame Descoings’s assignment would replace the money she had sold out of the Funds, she persisted in trusting neither the notary nor her aunt, nor even the government; she believed in nothing but herself and the privations she was practising. By laying aside three thousand francs every year from her pension, she would have thirty thousand francs at the end of ten years; which would give fifteen hundred a year to her children. At thirty-six, she might expect to live twenty years longer; and if she kept to the same system of economy she might leave to each child enough for the bare necessaries of life.
Thus the two widows passed from hollow opulence63 to voluntary poverty, — one under the pressure of a vice, the other through the promptings of the purest virtue. None of these petty details are useless in teaching the lesson which ought to be learned from this present history, drawn64 as it is from the most commonplace interests of life, but whose bearings are, it may be, only the more widespread. The view from the windows into the student dens; the tumult65 of the rapins below; the necessity of looking up at the sky to escape the miserable66 sights of the damp angle of the street; the presence of that portrait, full of soul and grandeur67 despite the workmanship of an amateur painter; the sight of the rich colors, now old and harmonious68, in that calm and placid69 home; the preference of the mother for her eldest70 child; her opposition71 to the tastes of the younger; in short, the whole body of facts and circumstances which make the preamble72 of this history are perhaps the generating causes to which we owe Joseph Bridau, one of the greatest painters of the modern French school of art.
Philippe, the elder of the two sons, was strikingly like his mother. Though a blond lad, with blue eyes, he had the daring look which is readily taken for intrepidity73 and courage. Old Claparon, who entered the ministry of the interior at the same time as Bridau, and was one of the faithful friends who played whist every night with the two widows, used to say of Philippe two or three times a month, giving him a tap on the cheek, “Here’s a young rascal74 who’ll stand to his guns!” The boy, thus stimulated75, naturally and out of bravado76, assumed a resolute77 manner. That turn once given to his character, he became very adroit78 at all bodily exercises; his fights at the Lyceum taught him the endurance and contempt for pain which lays the foundation of military valor79. He also acquired, very naturally, a distaste for study; public education being unable to solve the difficult problem of developing “pari passu” the body and the mind.
Agathe believed that the purely80 physical resemblance which Philippe bore to her carried with it a moral likeness81; and she confidently expected him to show at a future day her own delicacy82 of feeling, heightened by the vigor83 of manhood. Philippe was fifteen years old when his mother moved into the melancholy appartement in the rue Mazarin; and the winning ways of a lad of that age went far to confirm the maternal84 beliefs. Joseph, three years younger, was like his father, but only on the defective85 side. In the first place, his thick black hair was always in disorder86, no matter what pains were taken with it; while Philippe’s, notwithstanding his vivacity87, was invariably neat. Then, by some mysterious fatality88, Joseph could not keep his clothes clean; dress him in new clothes, and he immediately made them look like old ones. The elder, on the other hand, took care of his things out of mere89 vanity. Unconsciously, the mother acquired a habit of scolding Joseph and holding up his brother as an example to him. Agathe did not treat the two children alike; when she went to fetch them from school, the thought in her mind as to Joseph always was, “What sort of state shall I find him in?” These trifles drove her heart into the gulf90 of maternal preference.
No one among the very ordinary persons who made the society of the two widows — neither old Du Bruel nor old Claparon, nor Desroches the father, nor even the Abbe Loraux, Agathe’s confessor — noticed Joseph’s faculty91 for observation. Absorbed in the line of his own tastes, the future colorist paid no attention to anything that concerned himself. During his childhood this disposition92 was so like torpor93 that his father grew uneasy about him. The remarkable94 size of the head and the width of the brow roused a fear that the child might be liable to water on the brain. His distressful95 face, whose originality96 was thought ugliness by those who had no eye for the moral value of a countenance, wore rather a sullen97 expression during his childhood. The features, which developed later in life, were pinched, and the close attention the child paid to what went on about him still further contracted them. Philippe flattered his mother’s vanity, but Joseph won no compliments. Philippe sparkled with the clever sayings and lively answers that lead parents to believe their boys will turn out remarkable men; Joseph was taciturn, and a dreamer. The mother hoped great things of Philippe, and expected nothing of Joseph.
Joseph’s predilection98 for art was developed by a very commonplace incident. During the Easter holidays of 1812, as he was coming home from a walk in the Tuileries with his brother and Madame Descoings, he saw a pupil drawing a caricature of some professor on the wall of the Institute, and stopped short with admiration99 at the charcoal sketch100, which was full of satire101. The next day the child stood at the window watching the pupils as they entered the building by the door on the rue Mazarin; then he ran downstairs and slipped furtively102 into the long courtyard of the Institute, full of statues, busts103, half-finished marbles, plasters, and baked clays; at all of which he gazed feverishly104, for his instinct was awakened105, and his vocation106 stirred within him. He entered a room on the ground-floor, the door of which was half open; and there he saw a dozen young men drawing from a statue, who at once began to make fun of him.
“Hi! little one,” cried the first to see him, taking the crumbs107 of his bread and scattering108 them at the child.
“Whose child is he?”
“Goodness, how ugly!”
For a quarter of an hour Joseph stood still and bore the brunt of much teasing in the atelier of the great sculptor, Chaudet. But after laughing at him for a time, the pupils were struck with his persistency109 and with the expression of his face. They asked him what he wanted. Joseph answered that he wished to know how to draw; thereupon they all encouraged him. Won by such friendliness110, the child told them he was Madame Bridau’s son.
“Oh! if you are Madame Bridau’s son,” they cried, from all parts of the room, “you will certainly be a great man. Long live the son of Madame Bridau! Is your mother pretty? If you are a sample of her, she must be stylish111!”
“Ha! you want to be an artist?” said the eldest pupil, coming up to Joseph, “but don’t you know that that requires pluck; you’ll have to bear all sorts of trials — yes, trials — enough to break your legs and arms and soul and body. All the fellows you see here have gone through regular ordeals112. That one, for instance, he went seven days without eating! Let me see, now, if you can be an artist.”
He took one of the child’s arms and stretched it straight up in the air; then he placed the other arm as if Joseph were in the act of delivering a blow with his fist.
“Now that’s what we call the telegraph trial,” said the pupil. “If you can stand like that, without lowering or changing the position of your arms for a quarter of an hour, then you’ll have proved yourself a plucky113 one.”
“Courage, little one, courage!” cried all the rest. “You must suffer if you want to be an artist.”
Joseph, with the good faith of his thirteen years, stood motionless for five minutes, all the pupils gazing solemnly at him.
“There! you are moving,” cried one.
“Steady, steady, confound you!” cried another.
“The Emperor Napoleon stood a whole month as you see him there,” said a third, pointing to the fine statue by Chaudet, which was in the room.
That statue, which represents the Emperor standing with the Imperial sceptre in his hand, was torn down in 1814 from the column it surmounted114 so well.
At the end of ten minutes the sweat stood in drops on Joseph’s forehead. At that moment a bald-headed little man, pale and sickly in appearance, entered the atelier, where respectful silence reigned115 at once.
“What you are about, you urchins116?” he exclaimed, as he looked at the youthful martyr117.
“That is a good little fellow, who is posing,” said the tall pupil who had placed Joseph.
“Are you not ashamed to torture a poor child in that way?” said Chaudet, lowering Joseph’s arms. “How long have you been standing there?” he asked the boy, giving him a friendly little pat on the cheek.
“A quarter of an hour.”
“What brought you here?”
“I want to be an artist.”
“Where do you belong? where do you come from?”
“From mamma’s house.”
“Oh! mamma!” cried the pupils.
“Silence at the easels!” cried Chaudet. “Who is your mamma?”
“She is Madame Bridau. My papa, who is dead, was a friend of the Emperor; and if you will teach me to draw, the Emperor will pay all you ask for it.”
“His father was head of a department at the ministry of the Interior,” exclaimed Chaudet, struck by a recollection. “So you want to be an artist, at your age?”
“Yes, monsieur.”
“Well, come here just as much as you like; we’ll amuse you. Give him a board, and paper, and chalks, and let him alone. You are to know, you young scamps, that his father did me a service. Here, Corde-a-puits, go and get some cakes and sugar-plums,” he said to the pupil who had tortured Joseph, giving him some small change. “We’ll see if you are to be artist by the way you gobble up the dainties,” added the sculptor, chucking Joseph under the chin.
Then he went round examining the pupils’ works, followed by the child, who looked and listened, and tried to understand him. The sweets were brought, Chaudet, himself, the child, and the whole studio all had their teeth in them; and Joseph was petted quite as much as he had been teased. The whole scene, in which the rough play and real heart of artists were revealed, and which the boy instinctively118 understood, made a great impression on his mind. The apparition119 of the sculptor, — for whom the Emperor’s protection opened a way to future glory, closed soon after by his premature120 death — was like a vision to little Joseph. The child said nothing to his mother about this adventure, but he spent two hours every Sunday and every Thursday in Chaudet’s atelier. From that time forth, Madame Descoings, who humored the fancies of the two cherubim, kept Joseph supplied with pencils and red chalks, prints and drawing-paper. At school, the future colorist sketched121 his masters, drew his comrades, charcoaled122 the dormitories, and showed surprising assiduity in the drawing-class. Lemire, the drawing-master, struck not only with the lad’s inclination123 but also with his actual progress, came to tell Madame Bridau of her son’s faculty. Agathe, like a true provincial124, who knows as little of art as she knows much of housekeeping, was terrified. When Lemire left her, she burst into tears.
“Ah!” she cried, when Madame Descoings went to ask what was the matter. “What is to become of me! Joseph, whom I meant to make a government clerk, whose career was all marked out for him at the ministry of the interior, where, protected by his father’s memory, he might have risen to be chief of a division before he was twenty-five, he, my boy, he wants to be a painter — a vagabond! I always knew that child would give me nothing but trouble.”
Madame Descoings confessed that for several months past she had encouraged Joseph’s passion, aiding and abetting125 his Sunday and Thursday visits to the Institute. At the Salon, to which she had taken him, the little fellow had shown an interest in the pictures, which was, she declared, nothing short of miraculous126.
“If he understands painting at thirteen, my dear,” she said, “your Joseph will be a man of genius.”
“Yes; and see what genius did for his father — killed him with overwork at forty!”
At the close of autumn, just as Joseph was entering his fourteenth year, Agathe, contrary to Madame Descoings’s entreaties127, went to see Chaudet, and requested that he would cease to debauch128 her son. She found the sculptor in a blue smock, modelling his last statue; he received the widow of the man who formerly129 had served him at a critical moment, rather roughly; but, already at death’s door, he was struggling with passionate130 ardor131 to do in a few hours work he could hardly have accomplished132 in several months. As Madame Bridau entered, he had just found an effect long sought for, and was handling his tools and clay with spasmodic jerks and movements that seemed to the ignorant Agathe like those of a maniac133. At any other time Chaudet would have laughed; but now, as he heard the mother bewailing the destiny he had opened to her child, abusing art, and insisting that Joseph should no longer be allowed to enter the atelier, he burst into a holy wrath134.
“I was under obligations to your deceased husband, I wished to help his son, to watch his first steps in the noblest of all careers,” he cried. “Yes, madame, learn, if you do not know it, that a great artist is a king, and more than a king; he is happier, he is independent, he lives as he likes, he reigns135 in the world of fancy. Your son has a glorious future before him. Faculties136 like his are rare; they are only disclosed at his age in such beings as the Giottos, Raphaels, Titians, Rubens, Murillos — for, in my opinion, he will make a better painter than sculptor. God of heaven! if I had such a son, I should be as happy as the Emperor is to have given himself the King of Rome. Well, you are mistress of your child’s fate. Go your own way, madame; make him a fool, a miserable quill-driver, tie him to a desk, and you’ve murdered him! But I hope, in spite if all your efforts, that he will stay an artist. A true vocation is stronger than all the obstacles that can be opposed to it. Vocation! why the very word means a call; ay, the election of God himself! You will make your child unhappy, that’s all.” He flung the clay he no longer needed violently into a tub, and said to his model, “That will do for today.”
Agathe raised her eyes and saw, in a corner of the atelier where her glance had not before penetrated137, a nude138 woman sitting on a stool, the sight of whom drove her away horrified139.
“You are not to have the little Bridau here any more,” said Chaudet to his pupils, “it annoys his mother.”
“Eugh!” they all cried, as Agathe closed the door.
No sooner did the students of sculpture and painting find out that Madame Bridau did not wish her son to be an artist, than their whole happiness centred on getting Joseph among them. In spite of a promise not to go to the Institute which his mother exacted from him, the child often slipped into Regnauld the painter’s studio, where he was encouraged to daub canvas. When the widow complained that the bargain was not kept, Chaudet’s pupils assured her that Regnauld was not Chaudet, and they hadn’t the bringing up of her son, with other impertinences; and the atrocious young scamps composed a song with a hundred and thirty-seven couplets on Madame Bridau.
On the evening of that sad day Agathe refused to play at cards, and sat on her sofa plunged140 in such grief that the tears stood in her handsome eyes.
“What is the matter, Madame Bridau?” asked old Claparon.
“She thinks her boy will have to beg his bread because he has got the bump of painting,” said Madame Descoings; “but, for my part, I am not the least uneasy about the future of my step-son, little Bixiou, who has a passion for drawing. Men are born to get on.”
“You are right,” said the hard and severe Desroches, who, in spite of his talents, had never himself got on in the position of assistant-head of a department. “Happily I have only one son; otherwise, with my eighteen hundred francs a year, and a wife who makes barely twelve hundred out of her stamped-paper office, I don’t know what would become of me. I have just placed my boy as under-clerk to a lawyer; he gets twenty-five francs a month and his breakfast. I give him as much more, and he dines and sleeps at home. That’s all he gets; he must manage for himself, but he’ll make his way. I keep the fellow harder at work than if he were at school, and some day he will be a barrister. When I give him money to go to the theatre, he is as happy as a king and kisses me. Oh, I keep a tight hand on him, and he renders me an account of all he spends. You are too good to your children, Madame Bridau; if your son wants to go through hardships and privations, let him; they’ll make a man of him.”
“As for my boy,” said Du Bruel, a former chief of a division, who had just retired141 on a pension, “he is only sixteen; his mother dotes on him; but I shouldn’t listen to his choosing a profession at his age, — a mere fancy, a notion that may pass off. In my opinion, boys should be guided and controlled.”
“Ah, monsieur! you are rich, you are a man, and you have but one son,” said Agathe.
“Faith!” said Claparon, “children do tyrannize over us — over our hearts, I mean. Mine makes me furious; he has nearly ruined me, and now I won’t have anything to do with him — it’s a sort of independence. Well, he is the happier for it, and so am I. That fellow was partly the cause of his mother’s death. He chose to be a commercial traveller; and the trade just suited him, for he was no sooner in the house than he wanted to be out of it; he couldn’t keep in one place, and he wouldn’t learn anything. All I ask of God is that I may die before he dishonors my name. Those who have no children lose many pleasures, but they escape great sufferings.”
“And these men are fathers!” thought Agathe, weeping anew.
“What I am trying to show you, my dear Madame Bridau, is that you had better let your boy be a painter; if not, you will only waste your time.”
“If you were able to coerce142 him,” said the sour Desroches, “I should advise you to oppose his tastes; but weak as I see you are, you had better let him daub if he likes.”
“Console yourself, Agathe,” said Madame Descoings, “Joseph will turn out a great man.”
After this discussion, which was like all discussions, the widow’s friends united in giving her one and the same advice; which advice did not in the least relieve her anxieties. They advised her to let Joseph follow his bent143.
“If he doesn’t turn out a genius,” said Du Bruel, who always tried to please Agathe, “you can then get him into some government office.”
When Madame Descoings accompanied the old clerks to the door she assured them, at the head of the stairs, that they were “Grecian sages144.”
“Madame Bridau ought to be glad her son is willing to do anything,” said Claparon.
“Besides,” said Desroches, “if God preserves the Emperor, Joseph will always be looked after. Why should she worry?”
“She is timid about everything that concerns her children,” answered Madame Descoings. “Well, my good girl,” she said, returning to Agathe, “you see they are unanimous; why are you still crying?”
“If it was Philippe, I should have no anxiety. But you don’t know what goes on in that atelier; they have naked women!”
“I hope they keep good fires,” said Madame Descoings.
A few days after this, the disasters of the retreat from Moscow became known. Napoleon returned to Paris to organize fresh troops, and to ask further sacrifices from the country. The poor mother was then plunged into very different anxieties. Philippe, who was tired of school, wanted to serve under the Emperor; he saw a review at the Tuileries, — the last Napoleon ever held — and he became infatuated with the idea of a soldier’s life. In those days military splendor145, the show of uniforms, the authority of epaulets, offered irresistible146 seductions to a certain style of youth. Philippe thought he had the same vocation for the army that his brother Joseph showed for art. Without his mother’s knowledge, he wrote a petition to the Emperor, which read as follows:—
Sire — I am the son of your Bridau; eighteen years of age, five feet six inches; I have good legs, a good constitution, and wish to be one of your soldiers. I ask you to let me enter the army, etc.
Within twenty-four hours, the Emperor had sent Philippe to the Imperial Lyceum at Saint–Cyr, and six months later, in November, 1813, he appointed him sub-lieutenant147 in a regiment148 of cavalry149. Philippe spent the greater part of that winter in cantonments, but as soon as he knew how to ride a horse he was dispatched to the front, and went eagerly. During the campaign in France he was made a lieutenant, after an affair at the outposts where his bravery had saved his colonel’s life. The Emperor named him captain at the battle of La Fere–Champenoise, and took him on his staff. Inspired by such promotion150, Philippe won the cross at Montereau. He witnessed Napoleon’s farewell at Fontainebleau, raved151 at the sight, and refused to serve the Bourbons. When he returned to his mother, in July, 1814, he found her ruined.
Joseph’s scholarship was withdrawn152 after the holidays, and Madame Bridau, whose pension came from the Emperor’s privy purse, vainly entreated153 that it might be inscribed154 on the rolls of the ministry of the interior. Joseph, more of a painter than ever, was delighted with the turn of events, and entreated his mother to let him go to Monsieur Regnauld, promising155 to earn his own living. He declared he was quite sufficiently156 advanced in the second class to get on without rhetoric157. Philippe, a captain at nineteen and decorated, who had, moreover, served the Emperor as an aide-decamp in two battles, flattered the mother’s vanity immensely. Coarse, blustering158, and without real merit beyond the vulgar bravery of a cavalry officer, he was to her mind a man of genius; whereas Joseph, puny159 and sickly, with unkempt hair and absent mind, seeking peace, loving quiet, and dreaming of an artist’s glory, would only bring her, she thought, worries and anxieties.
The winter of 1814–1815 was a lucky one for Joseph. Secretly encouraged by Madame Descoings and Bixiou, a pupil of Gros, he went to work in the celebrated160 atelier of that painter, whence a vast variety of talent issued in its day, and there he formed the closest intimacy161 with Schinner. The return from Elba came; Captain Bridau joined the Emperor at Lyons, accompanied him to the Tuileries, and was appointed to the command of a squadron in the dragoons of the Guard. After the battle of Waterloo — in which he was slightly wounded, and where he won the cross of an officer of the Legion of honor — he happened to be near Marshal Davoust at Saint–Denis, and was not with the army of the Loire. In consequence of this, and through Davoust’s intercession, his cross and his rank were secured to him, but he was placed on half-pay.
Joseph, anxious about his future, studied all through this period with an ardor which several times made him ill in the midst of these tumultuous events.
“It is the smell of the paints,” Agathe said to Madame Descoings. “He ought to give up a business so injurious to his health.”
However, all Agathe’s anxieties were at this time for her son the lieutenant-colonel. When she saw him again in 1816, reduced from the salary of nine thousand francs (paid to a commander in the dragoons of the Imperial Guard) to a half-pay of three hundred francs a month, she fitted up her attic162 rooms for him, and spent her savings163 in doing so. Philippe was one of the faithful Bonapartes of the cafe Lemblin, that constitutional Boeotia; he acquired the habits, manners, style, and life of a half-pay officer; indeed, like any other young man of twenty-one, he exaggerated them, vowed164 in good earnest a mortal enmity to the Bourbons, never reported himself at the War department, and even refused opportunities which were offered to him for employment in the infantry165 with his rank of lieutenant-colonel. In his mother’s eyes, Philippe seemed in all this to be displaying a noble character.
“The father himself could have done no more,” she said.
Philippe’s half-pay sufficed him; he cost nothing at home, whereas all Joseph’s expenses were paid by the two widows. From that moment, Agathe’s preference for Philippe was openly shown. Up to that time it had been secret; but the persecution166 of this faithful servant of the Emperor, the recollection of the wound received by her cherished son, his courage in adversity, which, voluntary though it were, seemed to her a glorious adversity, drew forth all Agathe’s tenderness. The one sentence, “He is unfortunate,” explained and justified167 everything. Joseph himself — with the innate168 simplicity169 which superabounds in the artist-soul in its opening years, and who was, moreover, brought up to admire his big brother — so far from being hurt by the preference of their mother, encouraged it by sharing her worship of the hero who had carried Napoleon’s orders on two battlefields, and was wounded at Waterloo. How could he doubt the superiority of the grand brother, whom he had beheld170 in the green and gold uniform of the dragoons of the Guard, commanding his squadron on the Champ de Mars?
Agathe, notwithstanding this preference, was an excellent mother. She loved Joseph, though not blindly; she simply was unable to understand him. Joseph adored his mother; Philippe let his mother adore him. Towards her, the dragoon softened171 his military brutality172; but he never concealed174 the contempt he felt for Joseph — expressing it, however, in a friendly way. When he looked at his brother, weak and sickly as he was at seventeen years of age, shrunken with determined175 toil176, and over-weighted with his powerful head, he nicknamed him “Cub.” Philippe’s patronizing manners would have wounded any one less carelessly indifferent than the artist, who had, moreover, a firm belief in the goodness of heart which soldiers hid, he thought, beneath a brutal173 exterior177. Joseph did not yet know, poor boy, that soldiers of genius are as gentle and courteous178 in manner as other superior men in any walk of life. All genius is alike, wherever found.
“Poor boy!” said Philippe to his mother, “we mustn’t plague him; let him do as he likes.”
To his mother’s eyes the colonel’s contempt was a mark of fraternal affection.
“Philippe will always love and protect his brother,” she thought to herself.
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1
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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2
rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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3
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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4
cardinal
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| n.(天主教的)红衣主教；adj.首要的，基本的 | |
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5
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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6
dens
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| n.牙齿，齿状部分；兽窝( den的名词复数 )；窝点；休息室；书斋 | |
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7
ferocious
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| adj.凶猛的，残暴的，极度的，十分强烈的 | |
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8
tyro
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| n.初学者；生手 | |
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9
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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10
transformation
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| n.变化；改造；转变 | |
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11
uproar
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| n.骚动，喧嚣，鼎沸 | |
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12
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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13
sculptor
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| n.雕刻家，雕刻家 | |
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14
cantata
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| n.清唱剧，大合唱 | |
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15
abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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16
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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17
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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18
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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19
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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20
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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21
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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22
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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23
proximity
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| n.接近，邻近 | |
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24
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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25
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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26
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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27
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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28
serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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29
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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30
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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31
fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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32
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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33
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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34
juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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35
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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36
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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37
millet
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| n.小米，谷子 | |
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38
scrupulously
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| adv.一丝不苟地；小心翼翼地，多顾虑地 | |
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39
implements
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| n.工具( implement的名词复数 )；家具；手段；[法律]履行（契约等）v.实现( implement的第三人称单数 )；执行；贯彻；使生效 | |
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40
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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41
relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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42
esteemed
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| adj.受人尊敬的v.尊敬( esteem的过去式和过去分词 )；敬重；认为；以为 | |
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43
conjugal
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| adj.婚姻的，婚姻性的 | |
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44
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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45
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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46
privy
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| adj.私用的；隐密的 | |
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47
annuity
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| n.年金；养老金 | |
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48
notary
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| n.公证人，公证员 | |
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49
repayment
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| n.偿还，偿还款；报酬 | |
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50
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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51
deprivations
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| 剥夺( deprivation的名词复数 )； 被夺去； 缺乏； 匮乏 | |
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52
lottery
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| n.抽彩；碰运气的事，难于算计的事 | |
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53
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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54
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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55
charcoal
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| n.炭，木炭，生物炭 | |
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56
twine
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| v.搓，织，编饰；（使）缠绕 | |
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57
penance
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| n.（赎罪的）惩罪 | |
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58
enjoyments
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| 愉快( enjoyment的名词复数 )； 令人愉快的事物； 享有； 享受 | |
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59
consistency
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| n.一贯性，前后一致，稳定性；(液体的)浓度 | |
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60
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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61
shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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62
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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63
opulence
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| n.财富，富裕 | |
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64
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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65
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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66
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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67
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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68
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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69
placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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70
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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71
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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72
preamble
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| n.前言；序文 | |
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73
intrepidity
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| n.大胆，刚勇；大胆的行为 | |
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74
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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75
stimulated
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| a.刺激的 | |
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76
bravado
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| n.虚张声势，故作勇敢，逞能 | |
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77
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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78
adroit
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| adj.熟练的，灵巧的 | |
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79
valor
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| n.勇气，英勇 | |
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80
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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81
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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82
delicacy
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| n.精致，细微，微妙，精良；美味，佳肴 | |
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83
vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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84
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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85
defective
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| adj.有毛病的，有问题的，有瑕疵的 | |
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86
disorder
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| n.紊乱，混乱；骚动，骚乱；疾病，失调 | |
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87
vivacity
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| n.快活，活泼，精神充沛 | |
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88
fatality
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| n.不幸，灾祸，天命 | |
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89
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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91
faculty
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| n.才能；学院，系；(学院或系的)全体教学人员 | |
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92
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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93
torpor
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| n.迟钝；麻木；（动物的）冬眠 | |
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94
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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distressful
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| adj.苦难重重的，不幸的，使苦恼的 | |
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96
originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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97
sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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98
predilection
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| n.偏好 | |
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99
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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100
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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101
satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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102
furtively
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| adv. 偷偷地, 暗中地 | |
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103
busts
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| 半身雕塑像( bust的名词复数 )； 妇女的胸部； 胸围； 突击搜捕 | |
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104
feverishly
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| adv. 兴奋地 | |
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105
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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106
vocation
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| n.职业，行业 | |
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107
crumbs
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| int. (表示惊讶)哎呀 n. 碎屑 名词crumb的复数形式 | |
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108
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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109
persistency
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| n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
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110
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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111
stylish
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| adj.流行的，时髦的；漂亮的，气派的 | |
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112
ordeals
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| n.严峻的考验，苦难的经历( ordeal的名词复数 ) | |
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113
plucky
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| adj.勇敢的 | |
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114
surmounted
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| 战胜( surmount的过去式和过去分词 )； 克服（困难）； 居于…之上； 在…顶上 | |
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115
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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116
urchins
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| n.顽童( urchin的名词复数 )；淘气鬼；猬；海胆 | |
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117
martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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118
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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119
apparition
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| n.幽灵，神奇的现象 | |
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120
premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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121
sketched
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| v.草拟（sketch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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122
charcoaled
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| vt.用木炭画（charcoal的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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provincial
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| adj.省的，地方的；n．外省人，乡下人 | |
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125
abetting
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| v.教唆（犯罪）( abet的现在分词 )；煽动；怂恿；支持 | |
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126
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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127
entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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128
debauch
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| v.使堕落，放纵 | |
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129
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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130
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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131
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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132
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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133
maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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134
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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135
reigns
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| n.君主的统治( reign的名词复数 )；君主统治时期；任期；当政期 | |
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136
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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137
penetrated
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| adj. 击穿的，鞭辟入里的 动词penetrate的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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138
nude
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| adj.裸体的；n.裸体者，裸体艺术品 | |
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139
horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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140
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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141
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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142
coerce
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| v.强迫，压制 | |
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143
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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144
sages
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| n.圣人( sage的名词复数 )；智者；哲人；鼠尾草（可用作调料） | |
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145
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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148
regiment
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| n.团，多数，管理；v.组织，编成团，统制 | |
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149
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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150
promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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151
raved
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| v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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152
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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153
entreated
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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154
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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155
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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156
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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157
rhetoric
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| n.修辞学，浮夸之言语 | |
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158
blustering
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| adj.狂风大作的，狂暴的v.外强中干的威吓( bluster的现在分词 )；咆哮；（风）呼啸；狂吹 | |
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159
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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160
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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161
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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163
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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164
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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165
infantry
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| n.[总称]步兵(部队) | |
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166
persecution
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| n. 迫害,烦扰 | |
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167
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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168
innate
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| adj.天生的，固有的，天赋的 | |
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169
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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170
beheld
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| v.看，注视( behold的过去式和过去分词 )；瞧；看呀；（叙述中用于引出某人意外的出现）哎哟 | |
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171
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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172
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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173
brutal
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| adj.残忍的，野蛮的，不讲理的 | |
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174
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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175
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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176
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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177
exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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178
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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