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Updated: May 3, 2025
"Neither, probably, will you have heard of Simon Downige. He was born at Cottarsport, in Massachusetts, about eighteen forty; and, after in the support of his hatred of any slavery he fought through the Civil War, he came home and found that his town stifled him.
In the middle of the festive period that connected Christmas with the new year Arnaud turned animatedly from his breakfast scanning of the news. "It seems," he told her, "that a big rumpus has developed in Hesperia over the Pleydon statue the present Downige omnipotence, never friendly with our old gentleman, has condemned its bronze founder. You know what I mean.
The life-size version of his Simon Downige was again under way it had been torn down, Linda knew, more than once and he was in a fever of composition. Nor was this, she decided with Arnaud, his only oppression: the Asiatic fever clung to him with disquieting persistence. Pleydon himself admitted he had a degree or two in the evening.
Linda, who expected to see Pleydon's statue of Simon Downige finished immediately in a national recognition of its splendor, was disappointed by his explanation that, probably, it would not be ready for casting within two years. He intended to model it again, life-size, before he was ready for the heroic.
He rose and stood over her, towering and portentous against the curtained light. "I don't pretend to guess. I'm a creative artist Simon Downige at Cottarsport I have you. If it's God so much the better." What principally swept over Linda was the knowledge that his possession of her must keep them always apart. The reality, all realities, were veils to Pleydon.
The talk then shifted to the pictorial sources of the heroic Simon Downige before them, and Linda declared, "Dodge, you have never made a head of me. How very unflattering!" "You're an affair for a painter," he replied; "Goya or Alfred Stevens.
But, after a great deal of hesitation, and a description from the sculptor of what he thought excellently appropriate for such magnificence, they accepted my study. The present Downige, really though I understand there is another pretentious branch in Hesperia bullied them into it.
Yes, he would succeed, but, after all, what would his success be worth placed, that was, against Vigne's radiant happiness, Bailey Sandby's quiet eyes and the quality of his return home each evening? Her thoughts came back to Pleydon she had before her a New York paper describing the ceremony of unveiling his Simon Downige at Hesperia.
The blackly printed sensational headline that immediately established her fear sank vivid and entire into her brain: an anonymous inflamed mob in Hesperia had pulled down and destroyed Pleydon's statue. Their act was described as a tribute to the liberality of the present Downige family in the light of its objection to the monument.
No more, you understand; he hadn't a personal fanatical belief to exploit and attract the hysteria of women and insufficient men. He was not a pathological messiah; but only Simon Downige, an individual who couldn't comfortably breathe the lies and injustice and hypocrisy of the ordinary community. No doubt he was unbalanced his sensitiveness to a universal condition would prove that.
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