The Nabob, Volume 2 | Page 8

admire or disparage one another, exchange
contemptuous, disdainful or inquisitive glances, which suddenly
become fixed as some celebrity passes, the illustrious critic, for
instance, whom we seem to see at this moment, serene and majestic, his
powerful face framed in long hair, making the circuit of the exhibits of
sculpture, followed by half a score of young disciples who hang
breathlessly upon his kindly dicta. Although the sound of voices is lost
in that immense vessel, which is resonant only under the two arched
doorways of entrance and exit, faces assume extraordinary intensity
there, a character of energy and animation especially noticeable in the
vast, dark recess of the restaurant, overflowing with a gesticulating
multitude, the light hats of the women and the waiters' white aprons
standing out in bold relief against the background of dark clothing, and
in the broad aisle in the centre, where the swarm of promenaders en
vignette forms a striking contrast to the immobility of the statues, the
unconscious palpitation with which their chalky whiteness and their
glorified attitudes are encompassed.
There are gigantic wings spread for flight, a sphere upheld by four
allegorical figures, whose attitude, as if they were twirling their burden,
suggests a vague waltz measure, a marvel of equilibrium which
perfectly produces the illusion of the earth's revolution; and there are
arms raised as a signal, bodies of heroic size, containing an allegory, a
symbol that brings death and immortality upon them, gives them to
history, to legend, to the ideal world of the museums which nations
visit from curiosity or admiration.
Although Felicia's bronze group had not the proportions of those

productions, its exceptional merit had procured for it the honor of a
position at one of the points of intersection of the aisles in the centre,
from which the public was standing respectfully aloof at that moment,
staring over the shoulders of the line of attendants and police officers at
the Bey of Tunis and his suite, a group of long burnous, falling in
sculptural folds, which made them seem like living statues confronting
the dead ones. The bey, who had been in Paris for a few days, the lion
of all the first nights, had expressed a desire to see the opening of the
Salon. He was "an enlightened prince, a friend of the arts," who
possessed a gallery of amazing Turkish pictures on the Bardo, and
chromo-lithographic reproductions of all the battles of the First Empire.
The great Arabian hound had caught his eye as soon as he entered the
hall of sculpture. It was the slougui to the life, the genuine slender,
nervous slougui of his country, the companion of all his hunts. He
laughed in his black beard, felt the animal's loins, patted his muscles,
seemed to be trying to rouse him, while, with dilated nostrils,
protruding teeth, every limb outstretched and indefatigable in its
strength and elasticity, the aristocratic beast, the beast of prey, ardent in
love and in the chase, drunk with his twofold drunkenness, his eyes
fixed on his victim, seemed to be already tasting the delights of his
victory, with the end of his tongue hanging from his mouth, as he
sharpened his teeth with a ferocious laugh. If you looked only at him,
you said to yourself: "He has him!" But a glance at the fox reassured
you at once. Under his lustrous, velvety coat, catlike, with his body
almost touching the ground, skimming along without effort, you felt
that he was in truth a wizard, and his fine head with its pointed ears,
which he turned toward the hound as he ran, had an ironical expression
of security which clearly indicated the gift he had received from the
gods.
While an inspector of the Beaux-Arts, who had hurried to the spot, with
his uniform all awry, and bald to the middle of his back, explained to
Mohammed the apologue of "The Dog and the Fox," as told in the
catalogue, with this moral: "Suppose that they meet," and the note:
"The property of the Duc de Mora," the bulky Hemerlingue, puffing
and perspiring beside his Highness, had great difficulty in persuading
him that that masterly production was the work of the lovely equestrian

they had met in the Bois the day before. How could a woman with a
woman's weak hands so soften the hard bronze and give it the
appearance of flesh? Of all the marvels of Paris that one caused the bey
the most profound amazement. So he asked the official if there was
nothing else of the same artist's to see.
"Yes, indeed, Monseigneur, another chef-d'oeuvre. If your Highness
will come this way I will take you to it."
The bey moved on with his suite. They were all fine specimens of their
race, beautifully chiselled features and