Let us return from painters to paintings. The eleventh decorator had signed himself Ziégler. We did not reckon on him, but he had foreseen what might happen; one panel had been left blank and this was given to him on which to make a scene from La Esmeralda. Three days before the ball, everybody was at his post: Alfred Johannot was sketching his scene from Cinq-Mars; Tony Johannot, his Sire de Giac; Clément Boulanger, his Tour de Nesle; Louis Boulanger his Lucrèce Borgia; Jadin and Decamps worked in collaboration at their Debureau, Grandville at his Orchestre, Barye at his Tigres, Nanteuil at his door-panels, which were two medallions representing Hugo and Alfred de Vigny. Delacroix alone failed to answer to the appeal: they wanted to dispose of his panel, but I answered for him.
It was very diverting to see the start for this steeplechase between ten painters of equal merit. Each of them, without, apparently, watching his neighbour, followed with his eyes first the charcoal then the paint-brush. None of them—the Johannots in particular, being engravers and designers of vignettes and painters of easel pictures—were accustomed to the use of distemper. But the painters of large canvases soon got into the way of it. Among these, Louis and Clément Boulanger seemed as though they had never worked in any other medium. Jadin and Decamps discovered wonderful tones in this new method of execution, and declared they never wanted to paint in anything again but distemper. Ziégler took to it with some ease, Barye made belief that it was water-colour on a grand scale, but easier and more quickly done than water-colour on the small scale. Grandville drew with red chalk, charcoal and Spanish white chalk, and produced prodigious effects with these three crayons. We waited with curiosity for Delacroix, whose facility of execution has become proverbial. As I have said, only the two Johannots were behindhand. They knew they would not be finished if they did not work at night. Consequently, whilst others played, smoked and gossiped, both continued their day's work when night came, rejoicing in the tones given them by the light, and the superiority of lamplight to that of day, for painting intended to be seen by lamplight. They did not stop working till midnight, but they caught up with the others by so doing. Next day, when light broke, Alfred and Tony uttered cries of despair: by lamplight they had mistaken yellow for white and white for yellow, green for blue and blue for green. The two pictures looked like huge omelettes aux fines herbes. At this juncture Ciceri père came in. He had but to glance at the two pictures to guess what had happened.
"Bravo!" he said; "we have a green sky and yellow clouds! But that is a mere nothing!"
Indeed, it was more specially in the sky that the error had been committed. He took up the brushes and with broad, vigorous, powerful strokes he repainted the skies of both pictures in one minute: the one calm, serene and azure, leaving a glimpse of the splendours of Dante's paradise through the blue of the firmament; the other low, cloudy, charged with electricity, ready to burst forth into lightning flashes.
All the young painters learnt in an instant the secrets of decoration, which they had been hours groping after on the previous day. Nobody cared about working at night. Besides, thanks to the lesson given by Ciceri père, things were progressing with giant strides. There was no more news of Delacroix than if he had never existed. On the night of the second day I sent to him to ask if he remembered that the ball was fixed for the next day. He sent reply that I need not be anxious and he would come at breakfast-time next morning. Work began with the dawn next day. Most of the workers, moreover, had their task three-quarters finished. Clément Boulanger and Barye had done. Louis Boulanger had no more than three or four hours' work. Decamps was putting the last touches to his Debureau, and Jadin to his poppies and corn-flowers; Grandville was at work on his door tops, when, as he had promised, Delacroix arrived.
"Well, now, how are you getting on?" he asked.
"You see for yourself," said each worker, standing aside to let his work be seen.
"Oh, really! but you are doing miniature-work here! You should have told me: I would have come a month ago."
He went round all the four rooms, stopping before each panel and finding something pleasant to say to each of his confrères, thanks to the charming spirit with which he is endowed. Then, as they were going to breakfast, he breakfasted too.
"Well?" he asked, when breakfast was done, turning towards the empty panel.