Back to Valac the Demon, Part II.
21 Raphael breaks, a day of Ariel. Remind me to tell you about time some day. Yes, yes…with Estelle’s permission…of course.
When we left off last time, Valac had just entered the studio of Jacques-Louis David. David’s studio was particularly rich for the demon, as David seemed to attract the company of those whose moral definitions were, shall we say, flexible. During one of his visits to the studio, the Apokomistis discovered a young artist named Antoine-Jean Gros.
Gros was a talented painter in his right. Before his unfortunate encounter with Valac, Gros had studied with David, and he had also travelled to Genoa in order to perfect his craft with foreign masters. He’d had the fortune of being an acquaintance of Napoleon Bonaparte’s wife Josephine, and she’d recommended him to her husband as someone who might be able to provide a visual record of the French Republican victories on the battlefield.
Napoleon was indeed interested in commissioning an artist to document his campaigns, in the interests of spreading a fantastic and epic form of propaganda, and thus Gros was given an audition of sorts by Napoleon. The general invited the young artist to witness the Battle of Arcole, where the French Republican Army met the Austrians on the battlefield. Gros was inspired by Napoleon’s advance over the bridge, and filled with the stuff that artists kill for, he created a portrait meant to elicit awe in Bonaparte on the Bridge at Arcole.
Napoleon didn’t hate Gros’ representation of what he’d considered to be a great military victory, but he wasn’t wild about it, either. Napoleon felt that he should have looked still more handsome and more heroic than Gros’ skills could harness. Gros was crestfallen, for he felt that he had represented the general with a god-like bravado within his painting. (It is indeed difficult to satisfy a narcissist.) However, Napoleon had no other competent artist on hand to document his feats of glory, and so he kept Gros relatively near.
Knowing people in high places did nothing to improve Gros’ finances, however. He found himself broke and outside of the limelight that he felt his talents deserved, and so he went to David for help. Gros explained his plight, and as misfortune would have it, Valac happened to be posing as a model for the students and just within a demon’s earshot. Gros was particularly disappointed by the reception of his latest work in the Salon of 1803, and he ached for the riches and the immortality that was promised by the adoring crowds. Valac’s interest was piqued by Gros’ ambition, and he took the opportunity to satisfy the young artist’s deepest desires.
Within the last century or so, humans have come to count many things as fiction that, on the contrary, are fact, and the sale of one’s soul remains as one of the nastier means to an end. Demons rely upon the demonic pact with humans because it is one of the ways that they sustain their power. There is a measure of quid pro quo, for most demons are not entirely unreasonable usurers, so that the human who makes the pact does get to enjoy several years of fame or fortune or whatever their misguided heart desires. The pact itself is simple: it requires a verbal pledge and a single drop of human blood. (Valac typically prefers a few ounces at the very least, but he does make exceptions.)
Valac donned the appearance of an artist from a wealthier economic background. Gros left David’s studio, and Valac flagged him down, extending him an invitation to join the disguised demon for an evening of fine food and wine. Gros accepted the offer, as he was hungry and tired of stale, moldy bread. During the second course at dinner, Valac asked him, “You have worked your entire life to paint the truth, and it has gotten you nowhere. Have you considered what might happen if you paint a lie?”
Gros and Valac debated the point for a good portion of the evening. After a couple of bottles of wine had taken over Gros’ judgment, it was agreed that Valac would grant Gros eight years of fame and fortune, at the rate of twenty-four years of (misery) interest to be paid in full in thirty-two years’ time, or by the end of 1835. In his drunken stupor, Gros extracted a diseased molar from his mouth as his collateral to seal the deal.
(Dominus tecum, dear reader. Until next time…)