Forgive the liberty, but how could I resist? There is a certain charm in addressing you informally, in letting the syllables of your name roll off the tongue.. I hope you’ll grant me this little indulgence.
You see, I find myself once again drawn to my sketchbook. The muses (capricious creatures that they are) have returned to me at last, whispering inspiration with feverish urgency. I’ve taken up the study of the human form—the play of light across skin, the tension of muscle beneath stillness, the poetry of posture… you understand. Art demands honesty, you see. Vulnerability. The subject must be captured as they truly are: unadorned, unguarded, unmasked. Stripped of pretense, if not—well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. A man must nourish his creative impulses lest he wither, and I confess I’ve been rather parched.
And it is in this sacred pursuit that I, a humble student of beauty and brushwork, find myself in need of a model.
Oh, but do not blush, mon agneau! this is not some debauched fantasy. This is art! Republic-sanctioned, profoundly moral art. I would never reduce such a request to something vulgar—I, Fabre d’Églantine, have standards, even if they are... eccentric in shape. Art, after all, is sacred, is it not? And what higher calling could there be than to immortalize the image of virtue itself?
I understand, of course, if you require assurances—discretion, modesty, the covering of any windows that may cause undue distress. You may even keep your breeches on, if that pleases you (though from an artistic standpoint I might gently protest. Clothing is, I regret to say, something of an impediment to such work).
I merely ask—should you find yourself with a few hours of leisure (a rare and endangered beast, I know), might you indulge an old acquaintance by posing for a few—ah—studies? Artistic studies. Anatomical, intellectual, ideological studies of form and grace. For posterity, of course.
You would, in doing so, be contributing to the cultivation of republican art, to the elevation of the people’s aesthetic sensibilities, and, dare I say, to the spiritual health of your poor friend who so seldom receives inspiration of such... quality.
Think of it as a civic duty, ma colombe!
Although Robespierre would reply “Don't call me Maxime” in that laconic, jaded tone implying how used to this kind of situation he was, Fabre usually only complied with this demand for two minutes before falling back into this annoying habit. It was like living in an infinite time loop, so much so that he didn't even really mind anymore and kept repeating it out of habit, knowing that he was more likely to win the national lottery than have his request complied with.
The reason he let Fabre pollute his ears with his monologue was quite simple: he had recently given him a chance to redeem himself and prove his sincere and genuine attachment to the Republic. In the face of those who forced a policy of Terror as an unavoidable necessity, he advocated reconciliation and a second chance, on condition that people who beneficiated from this honored their commitments.
It was obvious to anyone who had bothered to open a history book, but Robespierre didn't actually enjoy sending people to the guillotine. The vain but monstrous efforts he made to try and save Camille's head bore witness to this.
Fabre talks a lot, but Maximilien has learned patience from living with Augustin, and he knows that when someone uses a lot of very complicated words to say very little with so many twists, it means they're about to ask him a favor. So he waits for his interlocutor to reach his goal. And, thinking in advance that it's going to be a request for a loan, as is often the case, he prepares a short, polite negative reply:
“If you plan to ask me for money, I don't-”
...oh apparently, it wasn't about money.
The discussion drifts on to art, more specifically painting. Maximilien is not surprised; he remembers the charming representations that were created to illustrate the Republican calendar. He nods to indicate that he is now listening attentively. He's not insensitive to art - he took a keen interest in the Louvre exposition project of 1793 and the setting up of departmental museums. Making the art of painting public and accessible to all citizens seemed to him a project worthy of being defended, in line with the ideals of Diderot who had sketched out the idea. Subsequently, David had begun to immortalize every important event in republican history with his masterful brush.
So yes, he does take the trouble to listen to whatever Fabre had to suggest, without faking it by uttering “mmh” every two minutes to pretend he's following the thread of the monologue. And just when he was beginning to feel hopeful, he's immediately disillusioned. He wants to take Maxime as a model, and draw him... unclothed, if possible. He blushes a little, both in embarrassment and surprise. But this wasn't the first time he was confronted with this kind of situation: David had already painted him like that, and fortunately, the sketches had never leaked into the hands of the public, because it wasn't just him: David had nude drawings of all the tiers-état deputies of the 1789 Estates General including Mirabeau. That would make him the most powerful man in France if he suddenly decided to blackmail them all with it.
“What kind of project would it be for exactly? 'Form and grace' is a little too vague.”
His prudent, hesitant attitude, devoid of any trace of anger, shows that he hasn't really said no yet. As much as he hated putting his own image forward, if these drawings were done privately for the sake of genuine and serious anatomical studies, and if Fabre explained to him in detail how he proceeded, perhaps he could learn something from painting and drawing. And if it was related to a project that would serve the Republic, it was even better. Maxime wasn't really a creative person, or at least he never found the time or opportunity to find out if he was any good at it, apart from poetry when he was younger. And he was curious.
“I accept on one condition. During the Festival of the Supreme Being, we will use fire effects for the revelation of the Statue of Wisdom. The effigies and the leaves that will be placed on it are supposed to catch fire but not the rest of the set up. The problem is I don't know if it will be enough to protect it. I need to test the efficiency of the leaves on someone willing to risk the burn.”
He stared at Fabre now, curious to see how far he was willing to go to get this painting from him.
“Strangely enough, no one volunteered yet.”
