And he fled to his bed-chamber as a vanquished lion retires into his cave, as the sulky Achilles withdrew into his tent. Now, in exchange for that concession made to his conscience when it said to him: "You are wrong!" let us show Delaroche's stubbornness when conscience said, "You are right!" Delaroche was not only a great painter, but, as you will see, he was still more a very fine and a very great character.
In 1835, Delaroche, who was commissioned to paint six pictures for the dome of the Madeleine, learnt that M. Ingres, who also had been commissioned to paint the dome, had drawn back from the immense task and retired. He ran off to M. Thiers, then Minister of the Interior.
"Monsieur le Ministre," he said to him, "M. Ingres is withdrawing; my work is bound up with his, I am at one with him concerning it; he discussed his plans with me, and I showed him my sketches; his task and mine were made to harmonise together. It may not be thus with his successor. May I ask who his successor is, in order that I may know whether we can work together as M. Ingres and I have worked together? In case you should not have any person in view, and should wish me to undertake the whole, I will do the dome for nothing, that is to say, you shall pay me the sum agreed upon for my six pictures and I will give you the dome into the bargain."
M. Thiers got up and assumed the attitude of Orosmane, and said as said Orosmane—
"Chrétien, te serais tu flatté,
D'effacer Orosmane en générosité."
The result of the conversation was that the Minister, after having said that there might not perhaps be any dome to paint, and that it was possible they might content themselves with a sculptured frieze, passed his word of honour to Delaroche—the word of honour which you knew, which I knew, which Rome and Spain knew!—that, if the dome of the Madeleine had to be painted, he, Delaroche, should paint it. Upon that assurance Delaroche departed joyously for Rome, carrying with him the hope of his life. That work was to be his life's work, his Sistine Chapel. He reached Rome; he shut himself up, as did Poussin, in a Camaldule monastery, copied monks' heads, made prodigious studies and admirable sketches—and the sketches of Delaroche are often worth more than his pictures—painted by day, designed by night and returned with huge quantities of material. On his return he learned that the dome was given to Ziégler! Even as I after the interdiction of Antony, he took a cab, forced his way to the presence of M. Thiers, found him in his private room, and stopped in front of his desk.
"Monsieur le Ministre, I do not come to claim the work you had promised me; I come to return you the twenty-five thousand francs you advanced me."
And, flinging down the bank-notes for that sum upon the Minister's desk, he bowed and went out.
This was dignified, noble and grand! But it was dismal. The unhappiness of Delaroche, let us rather say, his misanthropy, dates from that day.