THEHIDDENMASTERPIECE

THEHIDDENMASTERPIECE1THEHIDDENMASTERPIECEbyHONOREDEBALZACTranslatedByKatharinePrescottWormeleyTHEHIDDENMASTERPIECE2CHAPTERIOnacoldmorninginDecember,towardsthecloseoftheyear1612,ayoungman,whoseclothingbetrayedhispoverty,wasstandingbeforethedoorofahouseintheRuedesGrands-Augustine,inParis.Afterwalkingtoandfroforsometimewiththehesitationofaloverwhofearstoapproachhismistress,howevercomplyingshemaybe,heendedbycrossingthethresholdandaskingifMaitreFrancoisPorbuswerewithin.Attheaffirmativeanswerofanoldwomanwhowassweepingoutoneofthelowerroomstheyoungmanslowlymountedthestairway,stoppingfromtimetotimeandhesitating,likeanewlyfledgedcourierdoubtfulastowhatsortofreceptionthekingmightgranthim.Whenhereachedtheupperlandingofthespiralascent,hepausedamomentbeforelayingholdofagrotesqueknockerwhichornamentedthedooroftheatelierwherethefamouspainterofHenryIV.--neglectedbyMariedeMedicisforRubens--wasprobablyatwork.Theyoungmanfeltthestrongsensationwhichvibratesinthesoulofgreatartistswhen,intheflushofyouthandoftheirardorforart,theyapproachamanofgeniusoramasterpiece.Inallhumansentimentsthereare,asitwere,primevalflowersbredofnobleenthusiasms,whichdroopandfadefromyeartoyear,tilljoyisbutamemoryandgloryalie.Amidsuchfleetingemotionsnothingsoresemblesloveastheyoungpassionofanartistwhotastesthefirstdeliciousanguishofhisdestinedfameandwoe,--apassiondaringyettimid,fullofvagueconfidenceandsurediscouragement.Isthereaman,slenderinfortune,richinhisspring-timeofgenius,whosehearthasnotbeatenloudlyasheapproachedamasterofhisart?Iftherebe,thatmanwillforeverlacksomeheart-string,sometouch,Iknownotwhat,ofhisbrush,somefibreinhiscreations,somesentimentinhispoetry.Whenbraggarts,self-satisfiedandinlovewiththemselves,stepearlyintotheTHEHIDDENMASTERPIECE3famewhichbelongsrightlytotheirfutureachievements,theyaremenofgeniusonlyintheeyesoffools.Iftalentistobemeasuredbyyouthfulshyness,bythatindefinablemodestywhichmenborntogloryloseinthepracticeoftheirart,asaprettywomanloseshersamongtheartificesofcoquetry,thenthisunknownyoungmanmightclaimtobepossessedofgenuinemerit.Thehabitofsuccesslessensdoubt;andmodesty,perhaps,isdoubt.Worndownwithpovertyanddiscouragement,anddismayedatthismomentbyhisownpresumption,theyoungneophytemightnothavedaredtoenterthepresenceofthemastertowhomweoweouradmirableportraitofHenryIV.,ifchancehadnotthrownanunexpectedassistanceinhisway.Anoldmanmountedthespiralstairway.Theoddityofhisdress,themagnificenceofhislaceruffles,thesolidassuranceofhisdeliberatestep,ledtheyouthtoassumethatthisremarkablepersonagemustbethepatron,oratleasttheintimatefriend,ofthepainter.Hedrewbackintoacornerofthelandingandmaderoomforthenew-comer;lookingathimattentivelyandhopingtofindeitherthefrankgood-natureoftheartistictemperament,ortheserviceabledispositionofthosewhopromotethearts.Butonthecontraryhefanciedhesawsomethingdiabolicalintheexpressionoftheoldman'sface,--something,Iknownotwhat,whichhasthequalityofalluringtheartisticmind.Imagineabaldhead,thebrowfullandprominentandfallingwithdeepprojectionoveralittleflattenednoseturnedupattheendlikethenosesofRabelaisandSocrates;alaughing,wrinkledmouth;ashortchinboldlychiselledandgarnishedwithagraybeardcutintoapoint;sea-greeneyes,fadedperhapsbyage,butwhosepupils,contrastingwiththepearl-whiteballsonwhichtheyfloated,castattimesmagneticglancesofangerorenthusiasm.Thefaceinotherrespectswassingularlywitheredandwornbythewearinessofoldage,andstillmore,itwouldseem,bytheactionofthoughtswhichhadunderminedbothsoulandbody.Theeyeshadlosttheirlashes,andtheeyebrowswerescarcelytracedalongtheprojectingarcheswheretheybelonged.ImaginesuchaheaduponaleanTHEHIDDENMASTERPIECE4andfeeblebody,surrounditwithlaceofdazzlingwhitenessworkedinmesheslikeafish-slice,festoontheblackvelvetdoubletoftheoldmanwithaheavygoldchain,andyouwillhaveafaintideaoftheexteriorofthisstrangeindividual,towhoseappearancetheduskylightofthelandinglentfantasticcoloring.YoumighthavethoughtthatacanvasofRembrandtwithoutitsframehadwalkedsilentlyupthestairway,bringingwithitthedarkatmospherewhichwasthesign-manualofthegreatmaster.Theoldmancastalookupontheyouthwhichwasfullofsagacity;thenherappedthreetimesuponthedoor,andsaid,whenitwasopenedbyamaninfeeblehealth,apparentlyaboutfortyyearsofage,Good-morning,maitre.Porbusbowedrespectfully,andmadewayforhisguest,allowingtheyouthtopassinatthesametime,undertheimpressionthathecamewiththeoldman,andtakingnofurthernoticeofhim;allthelessperhapsbecausetheneophytestoodstillbeneaththespellwhichholdsaheaven-bornpainterasheseesforthefirsttimeanatelierfilledwiththematerialsandinstrumentsofhisart.Daylightcamefromacasementintheroofandfell,focussedasitwere,uponacanvaswhichrestedonaneaselinthemiddleoftheroom,andwhichbore,asyet,onlythreeorfourchalklines.Thelightthusconcentrateddidnotreachthedarkanglesofthevastatelier;butafewwanderingreflectionsgleamedthroughtherussetshadowsonthesilveredbreastplateofahorseman'scuirassofthefourteenthcenturyasithungfromthewall,orsentsharplinesoflightuponthecarvedandpolishedcorniceofadresserwhichheldspecimensofrarepotteryandporcelains,ortouchedwithspar