Trilby | Page 9

again on his dumbstruck audience, and said: 'That is how I teach la betite Honorine to sing; that is how I teach Gecko to play; that is how I teach "il bel canto"! It was lost, the bel canto--but I found it, in a dream--I, and nobody else--I-- Svengali--I--I--I! But that is enough of music; let us play at something else--let us play at this!' he cried, jumping up and seizing a foil and bending it against the wall... 'Come along, Little Billee, and I will show you something more you don't know....'
So Little Billee took off coat and waistcoat, donned mask and glove and fencing-shoes, and they had an 'assault of arms,' as it is nobly called in French, and in which poor Little Billee came off very badly. The German Pole fenced wildly, but well.
Then it was the Laird's turn, and he came off badly too; so then Taffy took up the foil, and redeemed the honour of Great Britain, as became a British hussar and a Man of Blood. For Taffy, by long and assiduous practice in the best school in Paris (and also by virtue of his native aptitudes), was a match for any maitre d'armes in the whole French army, and Svengali got 'what for.'
And when it was time to give up play and settle down to work, others dropped in--French, English, Swiss, German, American, Greek; curtains were drawn and shutters opened; the studio was flooded with light--and the afternoon was healthily spent in athletic and gymnastic exercises till dinner-time.
But Little Billee, who had had enough of fencing and gymnastics for the day, amused himself by filling up with black and white and red- chalk strokes the outline of Trilby's foot on the wall, lest he should forget his fresh vision of it, which was still to him as the thing itself--an absolute reality, born of a mere glance, a mere chance--a happy caprice!
Durien came in and looked over his shoulder, and exclaimed: 'Tiens! le pied de Trilby! vous avez fait ca d'apres nature?'
'Nong:'
'De memoire, alors?'
'Wee!'
'Je vous en fais mon compliment! Vous avez eu la main heureuse. Je voudrais bien avoir fait ca, moi! C'est un petit chef-d'oeuvre que vous avez fait la--tout bonnement, mon cher! Mais vous elaborez trop. De grace, n'y touchez plus!'
And Little Billee was pleased, and touched it no more; for Durien was a great sculptor and sincerity itself.
And then--well, I happen to forget what sort of day this particular day turned into at about six of the clock.
If it was decently fine, the most of them went off to dine at the Restaurant de la Couronne, kept by the Pere Trin (in the Rue de Monsieur), who gave you of his best to eat and drink for twenty sols Parisis, or one franc in the com of the empire. Good distending soups, omelets that were only too savoury, lentils, red and white beans, meat so dressed and sauced and seasoned that you didn't know whether it was beef or mutton--flesh, fowl, or good red herring or even bad, for that matter--nor very greatly cared. And just the same lettuce, radishes, and cheese, of Gruyere or Brie as you got at the Trois Freres Provenceaux (but not the same butter!). And to wash it all down, generous wine in wooden brocs--that stained a lovely aesthetic blue everything it was spilled over.
And you hobnobbed with models, male and female, students of law and medicine, painters and sculptors, workmen and l'anchisseuses and grisettes, and found them very good company, and most improving to your French, if your French was of the usual British kind, and even to some of your manners, if these were very British indeed. And the evening was innocently wound up with billiards, cards, or dominoes at the Cafe du Luxembourg opposite; or at the Theatre du Luxembourg, in the Rue de Madame, to see funny farces with screamingly droll Englishmen in them; or, still better, at the Jardin Bullier (la Closerie des Lilas), to see the students dance the cancan, or try and dance it yourself, which is not so easy at it seems; or, best of all, at the Theatre de l'Odeon, to see some piece of the classical repertoire.
Or, if it were not only fine, but a Saturday afternoon into the bargain, the Laird would put on a necktie and a few other necessary things, and the three friends would walk arm-in-arm to Taffy's hotel in the Rue de Seine, and wait outside till he had made himself as presentable as the Laird, which did not take very long. And then (Little Billee was always presentable) they would, arm-in-arm, the huge Taffy in the middle, descend the Rue de Seine and cross a bridge to the Cite, and have a look in at the Morgue. Then back