All the afternoon passed thus happily away in friendly talking and slow smoking along the wooded paths. The blackbirds were whistling; from time to time we discovered a flower in the open spaces, which showed that spring was surely coming; a wood anemone, with its milk-white petals, or a branch of mezereon, with its pink flowers opening before the leaves, and its Japanese appearance.
Jules stopped and gathered a stem of black helebore. “Ah, how beautiful!” he said. “How one would like to make a careful study of these leaves—so decorative, so finely cut—of dark green, almost brown, out of which comes this pale green stem, with its clusters of greenish flowers edged with pale rose-colour. What lovely forms, and what a variety of tender shades! This is what they ought to give as a copy to the children in the schools of design, instead of the eternal and wearisome Diana de Gabies!”
Sketch for Father Jacques
We did not return till evening, when there was a magnificent sunset, which crimsoned the smoky roofs of Réville, and made the light clouds scattered over the sky look like a strew of rose-leaves.
The next day was the last of my visit. We took leave after long embraces, making fine plans for returning to Damvillers for the September holiday, while the grandfather, shaking his hoary head, murmured sadly, “Who knows if you will find me here?” And Barbeau, and Golo, and Basse bounded and barked round the omnibus that took us away with tremendous noise.
I did not see Jules again till a month later, at the opening of the Salon, in front of L’Amour au Village, which had a full success. He was ill, and complained of pains in the loins more acute than formerly; then he suddenly disappeared mysteriously. The door of the atelier in Rue Legendre was closed, and visitors were told that the painter was gone into the country. We did not know till later that he had hidden himself, to undergo a sharp and painful treatment, and that, scarcely convalescent, he had gone to breathe the sea air in Brittany, at Concarneau. He spent his days there, in a boat, painting the sea, and forgetting his pains by the help of work.
When he came to see us again in October, he appeared to be recovered; but digestion was still a difficulty, and his habitual gaiety was, as it were, clouded over. His character was changed. There were no more of those trenchant affirmations of which his comrades sometimes complained; he was indulgent, and even affectionate, much more than was usual with him. He did not stay long in Paris, but hastened back to Damvillers, to get seriously to work again. He arrived in time to be present during his grandfather’s last moments. The old man departed loaded with years; but, though surely expected, his death was a painful blow to the survivors. “The house,” he wrote, “is empty more than one could believe. Only a few days ago, at any moment, a door would open and the grandfather appeared, without motive, without object, without speaking or being spoken to; but the sight of his kindly face was enough. One kissed him, and he went away, as before, without object, sitting down, going into the garden, coming back, and always with the same kind face. I remember now that he has been growing paler for some days…. No, you can have no idea how empty the house is. I cannot get accustomed to it. We often talk of him with my mother—with what pleasure! It is not that we weep for him with tears; we reason about it, and we appear resigned and courageous; but behind all that there is a sad feeling of want, of absolute loss. It is the touch one wants…. I have been ill with it, and am so still. I have not been able to work; to-day, for the first time, I went out to shoot larks; the weather was fine, the sun was shining, and the country beautiful. This did me good.”
Indeed, the health of the artist, far from improving, was becoming daily more uncertain. “It is the digestive tube,” said he, “that is out of order.” Nevertheless, he worked with his usual courage, overlooking his Concarneau studies, planning a new picture, and only stopping to go out shooting or to saunter through the woods.