"Angevin! Yes, that must be his name," said another young rogue, the usual companion of Francisco's follies; "you know how that exasperates them."
"Oh! as to that," replied Francisco, "we have all our nicknames: am I not the Madcap, and Berr the Phœnix? But listen! I'll tell you what we must do;" and hereupon these two giddy brains began whispering in a corner. José hazarded a few words in favour of the provincial; but he was only laughed at, and was at last obliged to end by joining in their mirth, though he determined, nevertheless, to exert his influence to the utmost at the proper time, in order to save the new pupil from too much annoyance.
Many of the provincial towns had then, and still have, academies of painting, destined for the artistic education of children in humble circumstances; and the pupil who displayed the greatest amount of talent was sent to Paris, to continue his studies under a better master than could generally be obtained in a small town, the expenses of those studies being defrayed by the establishment which elected him. The youth, from whom Francisco and his mischievous companions expected so much diversion, had been chosen by the professors of the Academy of Angers as the most promising of its pupils. This, however, was not saying much; and it did not unfrequently happen, that those who occupied the first rank in the Departmental Schools, were, on entering those of Paris, immediately placed in the lowest; still, however, fortunate that the principles inculcated by their professors were not those of the time of Jouvenet and Boucher. The young student had, unhappily, been directed by an old master—an admirer of that age of absurdity and bad taste. He made his pupils copy figures in red chalk, portraits in pastel, and showed them with pride his prize picture—for he, too, had been to Rome. But we may judge of the merits of his rivals, and of the advantage he derived from his journey, when we learn that this picture, regarded by him thirty years afterwards as his best production, represented Cleobis and Biton; and that the Grecian characters wore Roman armour, and draperies of gauze and silk. To crown his misfortune, the poor candidate, small, ill-made, and more than plainly attired, not so much in conformity with the fashions of his province as with the length of his purse, presented an appearance not altogether unlike the caricature sketched by Francisco upon the wall; and it may, therefore, be easily imagined, that these young satirists did not lose so favourable an opportunity of exercising their humour.
Scarcely had the young man entered, than he was received with noisy acclamations; and two of the pupils, eagerly pressing forward to receive him, overwhelmed him with ironical and outré compliments.
"Sir!" they exclaimed, "your reputation has preceded you; the admiration of your native city was insufficient for such distinguished merit. You are about to receive the homage of Paris, while you have ours already...."
"The name of the Angevin is already celebrated," added another; "and it will be handed down to posterity like that of Josepin."
"But, gentlemen," said the unfortunate victim,—speaking as if all the A's and E's had circumflex accents over them, according to the agreeable custom of his province,—"Gentlemen, I am not called the Angevin. My father's, as well as my own name, is Valentin lâ Grimâudière."[3]
This name, and especially the tone in which it was pronounced, a kind of sing-song, difficult of imitation to those unacquainted with the fair province of Anjou, excited fresh bursts of laughter; and Francisco again taking the word, "You must be aware, Sir," he said, gravely, and at the same time endeavouring to imitate the accent of the stranger, "that the great painters are rarely known by their true names. Thus we speak of Dominichino and Guercino, instead of Dominico Zampieri, and Barbieri da Cento. Assuredly then it is not surprising that you should be called the Angevin."
"But, gentlemen," replied the simple youth, "you are indeed too good; I do not deserve...."