We often think that genius is all that is necessary to win fame and riches, and we are usually right as regards painting and literature; but it is different with music and sculpture.
When an earnest, talented sculptor is poor, his life is one long torture. His only income is what he occasionally receives for some small statuette, which the dealers condescend to buy—merely an aggravation, when, like Grenoble, one's imagination is teeming with grand statues, immortal works of art.
There are fanatics in art as well as in religion. His advanced, republican ideas made him the enemy of the reigning government, and, in spite of the solicitations of his friends who recognized his genius, no minister would give him an order. As a member of the Imperial Cabinet said to Claude one day, as he was arguing for Grenoble: "But, my dear Claude, do you not see that it is as much as we can do to reward our friends? You would not have us lavish money and commissions on our enemies!"
With the Republic came honor, fame and wealth to Grenoble. But it was too late. He had lived in poverty for so many years that he had become accustomed to it, and would not leave the little studio in Claude's house, to which he had become so attached. He repaid Claude's hospitality by presenting him from time to time with some noble statue, or an exquisite bronze; and he was always ready to give his friend sincere and valuable advice on any subject.
He advised Paul not to go to Italy or Spain on his wedding-trip. "There is no need to go so far away to find glorious scenery and grand cathedrals. Go to Bordeaux and, taking the south-eastern railroad, stop at Albi, with its magnificent cathedral, then at Montauban, one of the most picturesquely situated towns in the world; then at Toulouse, the former capital of southern France, full of grand, old palaces, half buried under piles of rubbish, and worthy of a long visit. As you come nearer the Mediterranean, stop at Carcassonne,—you will imagine you are living in the thirteenth century while you are there. Narbonne comes next, the old Roman colony; then Nismes, with its Roman amphitheatre; Montpellier, with its fine museums; and then you arrive, once more, at the beautiful shores of the Mediterranean."
This trip pleased both Paul and Odette, and accepting Grenoble's advice, they left for Bordeaux. Paul was in heaven. Odette was his wife! That glorious splendor of hair, those deep, dark eyes, that perfect form; all belonged to him, and he never tired of gazing at her. His love for her was complete. He loved her with his whole heart and his mind. And yet he sought to know her thoughts, to study the workings of her heart and imagination, for a worm was gnawing at his heart, one thought was tormenting him incessantly,—the thought of that other, of that man whom she had loved before! However, he believed she had forgotten him; she was so gentle, so loving and sweet. One night, while she was sleeping, he raised himself on his elbow to look at her by the pale light of the night-lamp. How infinitely lovely she looked as she lay there so quietly, and how inexpressibly sad it was that another had stolen into her heart before him! He gazed at that beautiful face in its frame of golden hair, her exquisite teeth shining between her moist lips. She opened her eyes under his burning gaze, and smiling sweetly, said, "You were looking at me asleep?" She could not help being pleased and touched at the adoration and humble worship that Paul lavished at her feet. She had been studying him since her marriage, and was astonished at the cultivation his mind had received. He could discuss painting, sculpture and poetry, as if he were himself a painter or a poet. He understood his chosen profession, law, as not one lawyer in a thousand does. His frank, beautiful eyes, and fine profile, made him remarkably handsome, and his goodness of heart was constantly being shown in numberless little instances. No poor person could apply to him in vain. Many a time had Odette surprised him in that simple, quiet charity that pleases most on high.
One evening, Paul sat down at the piano and sang in a charming, cultivated voice, a little Russian song.
Odette cried, "And are you a musician, too? You have every talent!"
"I have only one, and that is to love my wife."