226
PARTISAN REVIEW
him the same height as he gave the neighboring Jean Parrottin and
the two canvases have the same dimensions. The result is that the
coffee table in the first is almost as large as the huge table in the
other and the ottoman would have come up to Parrottin's shoulder.
The eye instinctively makes a comparison between the two portraits:
my uneasiness had come from that.
At the moment I felt like laughing: 5 feet
Y4
inch!
If
I had
wanted to talk to Blevigne, I would have had to bend over or go
down on my knees. It no longer astonished me that he pointed his
nose so impetuously in the air: the destiny of men of this height is
always played out some inches above their heads.
The wonderful power of art! From this little man with the shrill
voice nothing passed into posterity but a menacing face, a superb
gesture and the bloodshot eyes of a bull. The student terrorized by
the Commune, the tiny, passionate member of the Chamber of Depu–
ties; these were the things death had taken. But thanks to Bordurin,
the President of the Order Club, the orator of
M oml Strength,
was
immortal.
"Oh! The poor kid!"
A stifled cry came from the woman: under the portrait of
Octave Blevigne, "son of the preceding," a pious hand had traced
these words:
"Died at Polytechnical School in 1904."
"He died! Like the Arondel boy. He looked intelligent. How
much grief it must have caused his mother! Besides they work too
hard in those big schools. Your brain
is
working even when you sleep.
I like these two-cornered hats, they're very stylish. Shakos, do you
call them?"
"No; the shakos are worn at Saint-Cyr."
I contemplated in turn the student who had died young. His
waxen complexion and conservative moustache would have been
enough to suggest the approach of death. Moreover, he had foreseen
his destiny: a certain resignation could be read in the clear eyes looking
into the distance. But at the same time he carried his head high; in
this uniform he represented the French Atmy.
Tu Marcellus eris! M anibut date Iilia plenis.
...
A cut rose, a dead polytech student: ·what can be sadder?
I followed leisurely the course of the long gallery, paying my
respects, without stopping, to the distinguished faces which sprang
out of the shadows: M. Bossoire, President of the Chamber of Com–
merce, M. Faby, President of the Administrative Council of the
