United States or United Arab Emirates ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"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 entreaties, went to see Chaudet, and requested that he would cease to debauch her son.
"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.
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 wrath. "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.
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 wrath. "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.
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.
He flung the clay he no longer needed violently into a tub, and said to his model, "That will do for to-day." Agathe raised her eyes and saw, in a corner of the atelier where her glance had not before penetrated, a nude woman sitting on a stool, the sight of whom drove her away horrified. "You are not to have the little Bridau here any more," said Chaudet to his pupils, "it annoys his mother."
"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."
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.
"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.
"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 surmounted so well. At the end of ten minutes the sweat stood in drops on Joseph's forehead.
Word Of The Day