"
Joseph, with the good faith of his thirteen years, stood motionless
for five minutes, all the pupils gazing solemnly at him.
"There! you are moving," cried one.
"Steady, steady, confound you!" cried another.
"The Emperor Napoleon stood a whole month as you see him there," said
a third, pointing to the fine statue by Chaudet, which was in the
room.
That statue, which represents the Emperor standing with the Imperial
sceptre in his hand, was torn down in 1814 from the column it
surmounted so well.
At the end of ten minutes the sweat stood in drops on Joseph's
forehead. At that moment a bald-headed little man, pale and sickly in
appearance, entered the atelier, where respectful silence reigned at
once.
"What you are about, you urchins?" he exclaimed, as he looked at the
youthful martyr.
"That is a good little fellow, who is posing," said the tall pupil who
had placed Joseph.
"Are you not ashamed to torture a poor child in that way?" said
Chaudet, lowering Joseph's arms. "How long have you been standing
there?" he asked the boy, giving him a friendly little pat on the
cheek.
"A quarter of an hour."
"What brought you here?"
"I want to be an artist."
"Where do you belong? where do you come from?"
"From mamma's house."
"Oh! mamma!" cried the pupils.
"Silence at the easels!" cried Chaudet. "Who is your mamma?"
"She is Madame Bridau. My papa, who is dead, was a friend of the
Emperor; and if you will teach me to draw, the Emperor will pay all
you ask for it.
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