Part 26 (1/2)
”I have traveled much,” remarked the countess to her companion, ”and I have never seen anything that could equal--not in magnificence, for any millionaire can purchase magnificence with his money--but the marvelous taste which has presided over the construction of this place. It is a veritable musee of splendors--allow me to pause and admire the superb paintings of this ceiling.”
”After the admiration of the work comes the reward to the author; does it not, madame?” returned Florestan with a smile. ”One word from your lips, countess, will make the artist, who painted this ceiling, the happiest and proudest man in the universe,” he concluded, with a wave of the hand toward one of the most ill.u.s.trious masters of the modern school.
”A thousand thanks for procuring me such good fortune,” replied the countess, advancing toward the artist.
”My dear friend,” said Florestan, ”the Countess Zomaloff wishes to express to you all her admiration for your work.”
”Not my admiration only, but my grat.i.tude also,” rejoined the young woman graciously. ”The exquisite pleasure given by such a master-piece, is a debt contracted toward its creator.”
”However precious and flattering such praises may be to me,” returned the artist, with a modesty marked by good taste, ”I can only accept a share of it. Pray allow me to place myself _hors de cause_, I can then express myself more freely. For instance, let us take the painting of the concert gallery, which you will admire by and by; they are due to our Raphael--M. Ingres. Well, this monumental work, which in the future will furnish art pilgrims as much cause of admiration as the most beautiful frescoes of Rome, Pisa, or Florence, would perhaps never have existed were it not for my excellent friend Saint-Herem. Was it not he who gave our French Raphael the subject of one of his immortal pages? Truly, madame, in these days of vulgar luxuries and brutal magnificences, is it not a phenomenon to meet a _Medicis_, as in the brightest epoch of Italian republics?”
”You are right,” said the countess, enthusiastically, ”and history is just in ill.u.s.trating--”
”Forgive the interruption, countess,” laughed Florestan, ”but I am as modest as my ill.u.s.trious friend; and for fear your admiration should be thrown away on an unworthy object, I shall point out the veritable _Medici_--This is he.”
As he spoke, he designated the portrait above the chimney.
”What a pensive, austere face!” exclaimed the countess, gazing at the painting with a feeling of mingled surprise and curiosity. Then, as her eyes fell on the inscription below, she added with increased astonishment:
”Saint-Ramon?--Who is he?”
”A saint of my own, madame,” laughed Florestan. ”He was my uncle; and although I am not yet a pope, I have taken the liberty to canonize this admirable man in recognition of his long martyrdom during life and the miracles he accomplished after his death.”
”His long martyrdom and his miracles!” echoed the countess. ”You must be jesting, monsieur?”
”Not at all, madame. My uncle Ramon endured the most atrocious privations during his long life, for he was pitilessly and sublimely avaricious--this was his martyrdom. At his death, I inherited his enormous wealth and conceived this prodigious work of art--these are his miracles. I have sanctified his memory by grat.i.tude--this is his canonization. As you see, it is a veritable legend taken from the _Lives of the Saints_.”
Struck by the originality of the young man, Madame Zomaloff remained silent for a moment, absorbed in deep meditation; while the duke, who until then had loitered some distance behind, approached them.
”My dear Florestan,” he said, ”I have been very eager to address you a really odd question since my arrival. Who are all these people? I recognize a few eminent artists, here and there, and a renowned architect, but none of the rest. The princess and myself have vainly searched the key to the enigma. They are all quiet and reserved, and the young girls appear very modest, while a few are really pretty; but I am anxious to learn to what cla.s.s of society they belong!”
”Since M. de Riancourt has the courage to ask you so indiscreet a question,” broke in the countess, ”I shall admit that I share his curiosity.”
”You have no doubt remarked,” said Florestan, with a smile, ”that the persons a.s.sembled here this evening do not belong to what we call the aristocracy--”
”True, indeed.”
”Yet, madame, a few moments ago you were happy to meet the great artist who designed the dome you so much admired, were you not?”
”Indeed, the meeting caused me great pleasure, I a.s.sure you.”
”I believe you also approve me for inviting him, as well as many of his colleagues, to the inauguration of their united work?”
”The invitation certainly seemed almost a duty on your part, monsieur.”
”Well, madame, this duty, inspired by grat.i.tude, I have fulfilled toward all who have contributed to the construction of this house, from the greatest artist to the most humble workman. All are here with their families, to enjoy the splendors they have created. Is it not just that the skillful and obscure man who chiseled the golden cup should moisten his lips in it, once, at least, in his life?”
”What!” cried the duke in stupefaction, ”these are carpenters, gilders, blacksmiths, paper-hangers, ebonists, masons!--even masons! Why, it is absurd, impossible, incredible!”
”My dear duke, do you know the habits of the bees?” queried Florestan.