the nabob-第20章

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〃Till　Wednesday；　monsieur〃

〃De　GeryPaul　de　Gery。〃

And　they　separated；　both　delighted；　fascinated；　the　one　by　the　apparition　of　this　unexpected　saviour；　the　other　by　the　adorable　picture　of　which　he　had　only　a　glimpse；　all　those　young　girls　grouped　round　the　table　covered　with　books；　exercise…books；　and　skeins　of　wool；　with　an　air　of　purity；　of　industrious　honesty。　This　was　a　new　Paris　for　Paul　de　Gery；　a　courageous；　home…like　Paris；　very　different　from　that　which　he　already　knew；　a　Paris　of　which　the　writers　of　stories　in　the　newspapers　and　the　reporters　never　speak；　and　which　recalled　to　him　his　own　country　home；　with　an　additional　charm；　that　charm　which　the　struggle　and　tumult　around　lend　to　the　tranquil；　secured　refuge。



FELICIA　RUYS

〃And　your　son；　Jenkins。　What　are　you　doing　with　him？　Why　does　one　never　see　him　now　at　your　house？　He　seemed　a　nice　fellow。〃

As　she　spoke　in　that　tone　of　disdainful　bluntness　which　she　almost　always　used　when　speaking　to　the　Irishman；　Felicia　was　at　work　on　the　bust　of　the　Nabob　which　she　had　just　commenced；　posing　her　model；　laying　down　and　taking　up　the　boasting…tool；　quickly　wiping　her　fingers　with　the　little　sponge；　while　the　light　and　peace　of　a　fine　Sunday　afternoon　fell　on　the　top…light　of　the　studio。　Felicia　〃received〃　every　Sunday；　if　to　receive　were　to　leave　her　door　open　to　allow　people　to　come　in；　go　out；　sit　down　for　a　moment；　without　stirring　from　her　work　or　even　interrupting　the　course　of　a　discussion　to　welcome　the　new　arrivals。　They　were　artists；　with　refined　heads　and　luxuriant　beards；　here　and　there　you　might　see　among　them　white…haired　friends　of　Ruys；　her　father；　then　there　were　society　men；　bankers；　stock…brokers；　and　a　few　young　men　about　town；　come　to　see　the　handsome　girl　rather　than　her　sculpture；　in　order　to　be　able　to　say　at　the　club　in　the　evening；　〃I　was　at　Felicia's　to…day。〃　Among　them　was　Paul　de　Gery；　silent；　absorbed　in　an　admiration　which　each　day　sunk　into　his　heart　a　little　more　deeply；　trying　to　understand　the　beautiful　sphinx　draped　in　purple　cashmere　and　ecru　lace；　who　worked　away　bravely　amid　her　clay；　a　burnisher's　apron　reaching　nearly　to　her　neck；　allowing　her　small；　proud　head　to　emerge　with　those　transparent　tones；　those　gleams　of　veiled　radiance　of　which　the　sense；　the　inspiration　bring　the　blood　to　the　cheek　as　they　pass。　Paul　always　remembered　what　had　been　said　of　her　in　his　presence；　endeavoured　to　form　an　opinion　for　himself；　doubted；　worried　himself；　and　was　charmed；　vowing　to　himself　each　time　that　he　would　come　no　more　and　never　missing　a　Sunday。　A　little　woman　with　gray；　powdered　hair　was　always　there　in　the　same　place；　her　pink　face　like　a　pastel　somewhat　worn　by　years；　who；　in　the　discrete　light　of　a　recess；　smiled　sweetly；　with　her　hands　lying　idly　on　her　knees；　motionless　as　a　fakir。　Jenkins；　amiable；　with　his　open　face；　his　black　eyes；　and　his　apostolical　manner；　moved　on　from　one　group　to　another；　liked　and　known　by　all。　He　did　not　miss；　either；　one　of　Felicia's　days；　and；　indeed；　he　showed　his　patience　in　this；　all　the　snubs　of　his　hostess　both　as　artist　and　pretty　woman　being　reserved　for　him　alone。　Without　appearing　to　notice　them；　with　ever　the　same　smiling；　indulgent　serenity；　he　continued　to　pay　his　visits　to　the　daughter　of　his　old　Ruys；　of　the　man　whom　he　had　so　loved　and　tended　to　his　last　moments。

This　time；　however；　the　question　which　Felicia　had　just　addressed　to　him　respecting　his　son　appeared　extremely　disagreeable　to　him；　and　it　was　with　a　frown　and　a　real　expression　of　annoyance　that　he　replied：　〃Ma　foi！　I　know　no　more　than　yourself　what　he　is　doing。　He　has　quite　deserted　us。　He　was　bored　at　home。　He　cares　only　for　his　Bohemia。〃

Felicia　gave　a　jump　that　made　them　all　start；　and　with　flashing　eyes　and　nostrils　that　quivered；　said：

〃That　is　too　absurd。　Ah；　now；　come；　Jenkins。　What　do　you　mean　by　Bohemia？　A　charming　word；　by…the…bye；　and　one　that　ought　to　recall　long　days　of　wandering　in　the　sun；　halts　in　woody　nooks；　all　the　freshness　of　fruits　gathered　by　the　open　road。　But　since　you　have　made　a　reproach　of　the　name；　to　whom　do　you　apply　it？　To　a　few　poor　devils　with　long　hair；　in　love　with　liberty　in　rags；　who　starve　to　death　in　a　fifth…floor　garret；　or　seek　rhymes　under　tiles　through　which　the　rain　filters；　to　those　madmen；　growing　more　and　more　rare；　who；　from　horror　of　the　customary；　the　traditional；　the　stupidity　of　life；　have　put　their　feet　together　and　made　a　jump　into　freedom？　Come；　that　is　too　old　a　story。　It　is　the　Bohemia　of　Murger；　with　the　workhouse　at　the　end；　terror　of　children；　boon　of　parents；　Red　Riding…Hood　eaten　by　the　wolf。　It　was　worn　out　a　long　time　ago；　that　story。　Nowadays；　you　know　well　that　artists　are　the　most　regular　people　in　their　habits　on　earth；　that　they　earn　money；　pay　their　debts；　and　contrive　to　look　like　the　first　man　you　may　meet　on　the　street。　The　true　Bohemians　exist；　however；　they　are　the　backbone　of　our　society；　but　it　is　in　your　own　world　especially　that　they　are　to　be　found。　/Parbleu！/　They　bear　no　external　stamp　and　nobody　distrusts　them；　but；　so　far　as　uncertainty；　want　of　substantial　foundation　in　their　lives　is　concerned；　they　have　nothing　to　wish　for　from　those　whom　they　call　so　disdainfully　'irregulars。'　Ah！　if　we　knew　how　much　turpitude；　what　fantastic　or　abominable　stories；　a　black　evening…coat；　the　most　correct　of　your　hideous　modern　garments；　can　mask。　Why；　see；　Jenkins；　the　other　evening　at　your　house　I　was　amusing　myself　by　counting　them　all　these　society　adventurers〃

The　little　old　lady；　pink　and　powdered；　put　in　gently　from　her　place：

〃Felicia；　take　care！〃

But　she　continued；　without　listening：

〃What　do　you　call　Monpavon；　doctor？　And　Bois　l'Hery？　And　de　Mora　himself？　And〃　She　was　going　to　say　〃and　the　Nabob？〃　but　stopped　herself。

〃And　how　many　others！　Oh；　truly；　you　may　well　speak　of　Bohemia　with　contempt。　But　your　fashionable　doctor's　clientele；　oh　sublime　Jenkins；　consists　of　that　very　thing　alone。　The　Bohemia　of　commerce；　of　finance；　of　politics；　unclassed　people；　shady　people　of　all　castes；　and　the　higher　one　ascends　the　more　you　find　of　them；　because　rank　gives　impunity　and　wealth　can　pay　for　rude　silence。〃

She　spoke　with　a　hard　tone；　greatly　excited；　with　lip　curled　by　a　savage　disdain。　The　doctor　forced　a　laugh　and　assumed　a　light；　condescending　tone；　repeating：　〃Ah；　feather…brain；　feather…brain！〃　And　his　glance；　anxious　and　beseeching；　sought　the　Nabob；　as　though　to　demand　his　pardon　for　all　these　paradoxical　impertinences。

But　Jansoulet；　far　from　appearing　vexed；　was　so　proud　of　posing　to　this　handsome　artist；　so　appreciative　of　the　honour　that　was　being　done　him；　that　he　nodded　his　head　approvingly。

〃She　is　right；　Jenkins；〃　said　he　at　last；　〃she　is　right。　It　is　we　who　are　the　true　Bohemia。　Take　me；　for　example；　take　Hemerlingue；　two　of　the　men　who　handle　the　most　money　in　Paris。　When　I　think　of　the　point　from　which　we　started；　of　all　the　trades　through　which　we　have　made　our　way。　Hemerlingue；　once　keeper　of　a　regimental　canteen。　I；　who　have　carried　sacks　of　wheat　in　the　docks　of　Marseilles　for　my　living。　And　the　strokes　of　luck　by　which　our　fortunes　have　been　built　upas　all　fortunes；　moreover；　in　these　times　are　built　up。　Go　to　the　Bourse　between　three　and　five。　But；　pardon；　mademoiselle；　see；　through　my　absurd　habit　of　gesticulating　when　I　speak；　I　have　lost　the　pose。　Come；　is　this　right？〃

〃It　is　useless；〃　said　Felicia。　A　true　daughter　of　an　artist；　of　a　genial　and　dissolute　artist；　thoroughly　in　the　romantic　tradition；　as　was　Sebastien　Ruys。　She　had　never　known　her　mother。　She　was　the　fruit　of　one　of　those　transient　loves　which　used　to　enter　suddenly　into　the　bachelor　life　of　the　sculptor　like　swallows　into　a　dovecote　of　which　the　door　is　always　open；　and　who　leave　it　again　because　no　nest　can　be　built　there。

This　time；　the　lady；　ere　she　flew　away；　had　left　to　the　great　artist；　then　about　forty　years　of　age；　a　beautiful　child　whom　he　had　brought　up；　and　who　became　the　joy　and　the　passion　of　his　life。　Until　she　was　thirteen；　Felicia　had　lived　in　her　father's　house；　introducing　a　childish　and　tender　note　into　that　studio　full　of　idlers；　models；　and　huge　greyhounds　lying　at　full　length　on　the　couches。　There　was　a　corner　reserved　for　her；　for　her　attempts　at　sculpture；　a　whole　miniature　equipment；　a　tripod；　wax；　etc。；　and　old　Ruys　would　cry　to　those　who　entered：

〃Don't　go　there。　Don't　move　anything。　That　is　the　little　one's　corner。〃

So　it　came　about　that　at　ten　years　old　she　scarcely　knew　how　to　read　and　could　handle　the　boasting…tool　with　marvellous　skill。　Ruys　would　have　liked　to　keep　always　with　him　this　child　whom　he　never　felt　to　be　in　the　way；　a　member　of　the　great　brotherhood　from　her　earliest　years。　But　it　was　pitiful　to　see　the　little　girl　amid　the　free　behaviour　of　the　frequenters　of　the　house；　the　constant　going　and　coming　of　the　models；　the　discussions　of　an　art；　so　to　speak；　entirely　physical；　and　even　at　the　noisy　Sunday　dinner…parties；　sitting　among　five　or　six　women；　to　all　of　whom　her　father　spoke　familiarly。　There　were　actresses；　dancers　or　singers；　who；　after　dinner；　would　settle　themselves　down　to　smoke　with　their　elbows　on　the　table　absorbed　in　the　indecent　stories　so　keenly　relished　by　their　host。　Fortunately；　childhood　is　protected　by　a　resisting　candour；　by　an　enamel　over　which　all　impurities　glide。　Felicia　became　noisy；　turbulent；　ill…behaved；　but　without　being　touched　by　all　that　passed　over　her　little　soul　so　near　to　earth。

Every　year；　in　the　summer；　she　used　to　go　to　stay　for　a　few　days　with　her　godmother；　Constance　Crenmitz；　the　elder　Crenmitz；　whom　all　Europe　had　called　for　so　long　〃the　famous　dancer；〃　and　who　lived　in　peaceful　retirement　at　Fontainebleau。

The　arrival　of　the　〃little　demon〃　used　to　bring　into　the　life　of　the　old　dancer　an　element　of　disturbance　from　which　she　had　afterward　all　the　year　to　recover。　The　frights　which　the　child　caused　her　by　her　daring　in　climbing；　in　jumping；　in　riding；　all　the　passionate　transports　of　her　wild　nature　made　this　visit　for　her　at　once　delicious　and　terrible；　delicious　for　she　adored　Felicia；　the　one　family　tie　that　remained　to　this　poor　old　salamander　in　retirement　after　thirty　years　of　fluttering　in　the　glare　of　the　footlights；　terrible；　for　the　demon　used　to　upset　without　pity　the　dancer's　house；　decorated；　carefully　ordered；　perfumed；　like　her　dressing…room　at　the　opera；　and　adorned　with　a　museum　of　souvenirs　dated　from　every　stage　in　the　world。

Constance　Crenmitz　was　the　one　feminine　element　in　Felicia's　childhood。　Futile；　limited　in　mind；　she　had　at　least　a　coquettish　taste；　agile　fingers　that　knew　how　to　sew；　to　embroider；　to　arrange　things；　to　leave　in　every　corner　of　the　room　their　dainty　and　individual　trace。　She　alone　undertook　to　train　up　the　wild　young　plant；　and　to　awaken　with　discretion　the　woman　in　this　strange　being　on　whom　cloaks；　furs；　everything　elegant　devised　by　fashion；　seemed　to　take　odd　folds　or　look　curiously　awkward。

It　was　the　dancer　againin　what　neglect　must　she　not　have　lived；　this　little　Ruyswho；　triumphing　over　the　paternal　selfishness；　insisted　upon　a　necessary　separation；　when　Felicia　was　twelve　or　thirteen　years　old；　and　she　took　also　the　responsibility　of　finding　a　suitable　school；　a　sch