What you have to show is the power of woman. Samson is a secondary consideration. He is the corpse of dead strength. It is Delilah--passion--that ruins everything. How far more beautiful is that /replica/--That is what you call it, I think--" She skilfully interpolated, as Claude Vignon and Stidmann came up to them on hearing her talk of sculpture--"how far more beautiful than the Greek myth is that /replica/ of Hercules at Omphale's feet.--Did Greece copy Judaea, or did Judaea borrow the symbolism from Greece?"
"There, madame, you raise an important question--that of the date of the various writings in the Bible. The great and immortal Spinoza--most foolishly ranked as an atheist, whereas he gave mathematical proof of the existence of God--asserts that the Book of Genesis and all the political history of the Bible are of the time of Moses, and he demonstrates the interpolated passages by philological evidence.
And he was thrice stabbed as he went into the synagogue."
"I had no idea I was so learned," said Valerie, annoyed at this interruption to her /tete-a-tete/.
"Women know everything by instinct," replied Claude Vignon.
"Well, then, you promise me?" she said to Steinbock, taking his hand with the timidity of a girl in love.
"You are indeed a happy man, my dear fellow," cried Stidmann, "if madame asks a favor of you!"
"What is it?" asked Claude Vignon.
"A small bronze group," replied Steinbock, "Delilah cutting off Samson's hair."
"It is difficult," remarked Vignon. "A bed----"
"On the contrary, it is exceedingly easy," replied Valerie, smiling.
"Ah ha! teach us sculpture!" said Stidmann.
"You should take madame for your subject," replied Vignon, with a keen glance at Valerie.
"Well," she went on, "this is my notion of the composition. Samson on waking finds he has no hair, like many a dandy with a false top-knot.
The hero is sitting on the bed, so you need only show the foot of it, covered with hangings and drapery. There he is, like Marius among the ruins of Carthage, his arms folded, his head shaven--Napoleon at Saint-Helena--what you will! Delilah is on her knees, a good deal like Canova's Magdalen. When a hussy has ruined her man, she adores him. As I see it, the Jewess was afraid of Samson in his strength and terrors, but she must have loved him when she saw him a child again. So Delilah is bewailing her sin, she would like to give her lover his hair again.
She hardly dares to look at him; but she does look, with a smile, for she reads forgiveness in Samson's weakness. Such a group as this, and one of the ferocious Judith, would epitomize woman. Virtue cuts off your head; vice only cuts off your hair. Take care of your wigs, gentlemen!"
And she left the artists quite overpowered, to sing her praises in concert with the critic.
"It is impossible to be more bewitching!" cried Stidmann.
"Oh! she is the most intelligent and desirable woman I have ever met," said Claude Vignon. "Such a combination of beauty and cleverness is so rare."
"And if you who had the honor of being intimate with Camille Maupin can pronounce such a verdict," replied Stidmann, "what are we to think?"
"If you will make your Delilah a portrait of Valerie, my dear Count," said Crevel, who had risen for a moment from the card-table, and who had heard what had been said, "I will give you a thousand crowns for an example--yes, by the Powers! I will shell out to the tune of a thousand crowns!"
"Shell out! What does that mean?" asked Beauvisage of Claude Vignon.
"Madame must do me the honor to sit for it then," said Steinbock to Crevel. "Ask her--"
At this moment Valerie herself brought Steinbock a cup of tea. This was more than a compliment, it was a favor. There is a complete language in the manner in which a woman does this little civility; but women are fully aware of the fact, and it is a curious thing to study their movements, their manner, their look, tone, and accent when they perform this apparently simple act of politeness.--From the question, "Do you take tea?"--"Will you have some tea?"--"A cup of tea?" coldly asked, and followed by instructions to the nymph of the urn to bring it, to the eloquent poem of the odalisque coming from the tea-table, cup in hand, towards the pasha of her heart, presenting it submissively, offering it in an insinuating voice, with a look full of intoxicating promises, a physiologist could deduce the whole scale of feminine emotion, from aversion or indifference to Phaedra's declaration to Hippolytus. Women can make it, at will, contemptuous to the verge of insult, or humble to the expression of Oriental servility.
And Valerie was more than woman; she was the serpent made woman; she crowned her diabolical work by going up to Steinbock, a cup of tea in her hand.
"I will drink as many cups of tea as you will give me," said the artist, murmuring in her ear as he rose, and touching her fingers with his, "to have them given to me thus!"
"What were you saying about sitting?" said she, without betraying that this declaration, so frantically desired, had gone straight to her heart.
"Old Crevel promises me a thousand crowns for a copy of your group."
"He! a thousand crowns for a bronze group?"
"Yes--if you will sit for Delilah," said Steinbock.
"He will not be there to see, I hope!" replied she. "The group would be worth more than all his fortune, for Delilah's costume is rather un-dressy."
Just as Crevel loved to strike an attitude, every woman has a victorious gesture, a studied movement, which she knows must win admiration. You may see in a drawing-room how one spends all her time looking down at her tucker or pulling up the shoulder-piece of her gown, how another makes play with the brightness of her eyes by glancing up at the cornice. Madame Marneffe's triumph, however, was not face to face like that of other women. She turned sharply round to return to Lisbeth at the tea-table. This ballet-dancer's pirouette, whisking her skirts, by which she had overthrown Hulot, now fascinated Steinbock.
