We became acquainted in a rather singular manner. I had just finished a
study, which appeared to me to display play brain power; and so it must,
as it was sold for ten thousand francs, fifteen years later. It was as
simple, however, as that two and two make four, and had nothing to do
with academic rules. The whole of the right side of my canvas
represented a rock, an enormous rock, covered with sea-wrack, brown,
yellow, and red, across which the sun poured like a stream of oil. The
light, without which one could see the stars concealed in the back
ground, fell upon the stone, and gilded it as if by fire. That was all.
A first stupid attempt at dealing with light, burning rays, the sublime.
On the left was the sea, not the blue sea, the slate-colored sea, but a
jade of a sea, as greenish, milky and thick as the overcast sky.
I was so pleased with my work that I danced from sheer delight as I
carried it back to the inn. I had wished that the whole world could have
seen it at one and the same moment. I can remember that I showed it to a
cow, which was browsing by the wayside, exclaiming at the same time:
"Look at that, my old beauty, you shall not often see its like again."
When I had reached the front of the house, I immediately called out to
Mother Lecacheur, shouting with all my might:
"Ohè! Ohè! my mistress, come here and look at this."
The rustic advanced and regarded my work with her stupid eyes which
distinguished nothing, and which did not even recognize whether the
picture was the representation of an ox or a house.
Miss Harriet returned to the house, and she passed in rear of me just at
the moment when, holding out my canvas at arm's length, I was exhibiting
it to the female innkeeper. The demoniac could not help but see it, for
I took care to exhibit the thing in such a way that it could not escape
her notice. She stopped abruptly and stood motionless, stupefied. It was
her rock which was depicted, the one which she climbed to dream away her
time undisturbed.
She uttered a British "Aoh," which was at once so accentuated and so
flattering, that I turned round to her, smiling, and said:
"This is my last work, Mademoiselle."
She murmured ecstatically, comically and tenderly:
"Oh! Monsieur, you must understand what it is to have a palpitation."
I colored up, of course, and was more excited by that compliment than if
it had come from a queen. I was seduced, conquered, vanquished. I could
have embraced her; upon my honor.
I took a seat at the table beside her, as I had always done. For the
first time, she spoke, drawling out in a loud voice:
"Oh! I love nature so much."
I offered her some bread, some water, some wine. She now accepted these
with the vacant smile of a mummy. I then began to converse with her
about the scenery.
After the meal, we rose from the table together and we walked leisurely
across the court; then, being attracted by the fiery glow which the
setting sun cast over the surface of the sea, I opened the outside gate
which opened in the direction of the Falaise, and we walked on side by
side, as satisfied as any two persons could be, who have just learned to
understand and penetrate each other's motives and feelings.
It was a muggy, relaxing evening, one of those enjoyable evenings, which
impart happiness to mind and body alike. All is joy, all is charm. The
luscious and balmy air, loaded with the perfumes of herbs, the perfumes
of grass-wrack, which caresses the odor of the wild flowers, caresses
the potato with its marine flavor, caresses the soul with a penetrating
sweetness. We were going to the brink of the abyss, which overlooked
the vast sea, and which rolled past us at the distance of less than a
hundred meters.
And we drank with open mouth and expanded chest that fresh breath which
came from the ocean and which glided slowly over the skin, salted by its
long contact with the waves.
Wrapped up in her square shawl, inspired by the balmy air and with teeth
firmly set, the English woman gazed fixedly at the great sun ball, as it
descended towards the sea. Soon its rim touched the waters, just in rear
of a ship which appeared on the horizon, until, by degrees, it was
swallowed up by the ocean. It was seen to plunge, diminish, and finally
to disappear.
Miss Harriet contemplated with a passionate regard the last glimmer of
the flaming orb of day.
She muttered: "Aoh! I loved ... I loved ..." I saw a tear start in her
eye. She continued: "I wish I were a little bird, so that I could mount
up into the firmament."
She remained standing as I had often before seen her, perched on the
river's banks, her face as red as her purple shawl. I should have liked
to have sketched her in my album. It would have been an ecstatic
caricature.