The Confidences Of An Academic Coat
by
That morning was the dawn of a glorious day for the sculptor Guillardin.
Elected on the previous day a member of the Institut, he was about to inaugurate before the five Academies gathered together in solemn concourse, his academic coat, a magnificent garment ornamented with green palm-leaves, resplendent in its new cloth and silken embroidery, colour of hope. The blessed coat, opened ready to slip on, lay spread on an arm-chair, and Guillardin contemplated it tenderly as he arranged the bow of his white tie.
“Above all no hurry,” thought the good fellow. “I have plenty of time.”
The fact is that in his feverish impatience he had dressed a couple of hours too soon; and the beautiful Madame Guillardin–always very slow over her dressing–had positively declared that on this day she would only be ready at the precise moment–not a minute earlier, do you hear!
Unfortunate Guillardin! What could he do to kill the time?
“Well, all the same, I will try on my coat,” he said, and gently as though he were handling tulle and lace, he lifted the precious frippery, and having donned it with infinite precaution, he placed himself in front of his looking-glass. Oh! what a charming picture the mirror disclosed to him! What an amiable little Academician, freshly hatched, happy, smiling, grizzled, and protuberant, with arms too short in proportion to his figure, which in the new sleeves acquired a stiff and automatic dignity!
Thoroughly satisfied with his appearance, Guillardin marched up and down, bowed as though entering the Academy, smiled to his colleagues of the fine arts, and assumed academical attitudes. Nevertheless, whatever pride one may feel at one’s personal appearance, it is impossible to remain two hours in full dress, before a looking-glass. At last our Academician felt somewhat fatigued, and fearful lest he should rumple his coat, made up his mind to take it off and lay it back very carefully on the arm-chair. Then seating himself opposite on the other side of the fireplace, with his legs stretched out and his two hands crossed over his dress waistcoat, he began to indulge in sweet dreams as he gazed at the green coat.
Like the traveller who, arrived at the end of his journey, likes to remember the dangers and difficulties that have beset his path, Guillardin retraced his life, year by year, from the day when he began to learn modelling in Jouffroy’s studio. Ah! the outset is hard in that confounded profession. He remembered the fireless winters, the sleepless nights, the endless walks in search of work, the desperate rage experienced at feeling so small, so lost, and unknown in the immense crowd that pushes, hustles, upsets, and crushes. And yet all alone, without patronage or money, he had managed to rise. By sheer talent, sir! And his head thrown back, and eyes half-shut, the worthy man kept repeating out loud to himself: “By sheer talent. Nothing but talent.”
A long burst of laughter, dry and creaky like an old man’s laugh, suddenly interrupted him. Slightly startled, Guillardin glanced around the room. He was alone, quite alone, tete-a-tete with his green coat, the ghost of an Academician solemnly spread out opposite him, on the other side of the fire. And still the insolent laugh rang on. Then as he looked at it more intently, the sculptor almost fancied that his coat was no longer in the place where he had put it, but really seated in the arm-chair, with tails turned up, and sleeves resting on the arms of the chair, the fronts puffed out with an appearance of life. Incredible as it may seem, it was this thing that was laughing. Yes, it was from this singular green coat that arose the uncontrollable fits of laughter by which it was agitated, shaken and convulsed, causing it to jerk its tails, throw itself back in the chair, and at moments place its two sleeves against its sides, as though to check this supernatural and inextinguishable excess of mirth. At the same time, a feeble voice, sly and mischievous, could be heard saying between two hiccups: “Oh dear, oh dear, how it hurts one to laugh like this! How it hurts one to laugh like this!” “Who the devil is there, for mercy’s sake?” asked the poor Academician with wide staring eyes.