Read Claude & Camille: A Novel of Monet for Free Online

want to be a doctor? The professors in medical school hardly know my face except for the look of panic on it just before examinations. I only agreed to attend so I could come to Paris and study art. My family keeps me on a small allowance to rein me in, though they’re wealthy.”
    The lantern flickered, and the wind blew. Frédéric sat quietly with his knees drawn up, his voice low and words stumbling from the wine. “I’ll be … wealthy one day when I’m old or married. I’m engaged. I have a little time to live before I get shut up forever and become a Bazille.”
    A N HOUR OR SO before dawn, a tree branch banged against the window, leaves rustling. Claude sat up. On the cot across from him, he made out the shadow of Frédéric Bazille still sleeping, long bare feet hanging over the edge.
    The wind was pressing at the window, and somewhere a shutter swung and knocked. “Frédéric,” he whispered, shaking his friend. “Frédéric, wake up! Storm’s coming. Come on, get dressed. We’ll watch it over the sea.”
    He threw Frédéric’s trousers at him. In the dark, they banged into things and sent the water pitcher crashing. He hushed Frédéric and led him by the hand out of the house and across the garden to the stable, which housed old Mirabelle. The docile mare nuzzled him. Claude saddled her quickly and jumped up. “Come behind me,” he whispered. “Dépêchez-vous , Bazille! Hurry!” He felt pulled by the wind.
    Frédéric jumped behind him, throwing his arm around Claude’s chest. He whispered, “This is crazy, you know.”
    “I don’t care and neither do you! If they’re going to shoot me in some war, I might as well go now in my own way. Besides, it will be all right. I haven’t died yet.”
    Claude pressed forward, whispering in a seductive voice, “Mirabelle!” He thought she shifted a little, turning her old dignified brown face as if to say, “You’re crazy, my young master! Tu es fou! ” They turned down the road, he kicking her gently to go forward. The wind whipped them, smelling of salt, blowing away his hat. The mare trotted fast now, her face down, the road rough, bouncing the riders. Claude and his friend heard the sea and slid down, tying the mare’s reins to a thick tree branch.
    They ran across the road and climbed down the wet, slippery rocks, holding the lantern, balancing in the fierce wind, shouting and laughing. The wind was full of cold, salty seawater. Claude grabbed Frédéric’s arm and shouted, “Look!”
    Dawn emerged from the sea with a streak of dark gray light blended with blue. Clouds pushed up from the darkness of the deep, hardly able to separate themselves from the heaving water that staggered toward the shore.
    Frédéric ran in the face of the wind and Claude ran after him until they came to the water’s edge and the waves hit them. Their wool trousers clung to their legs. Now for a moment sky and sea were one. A sudden wave knocked Frédéric off his feet. He fell to his side, clothes and beard drenched. Claude shoved him and they fell together with the tide dragging at them, shells and stones on their back, rolling over and shouting.
    Cold salty water filled Claude’s mouth; he spat.
    Above him, lightning split the sky in two until it seemed clouds and sky would fall on them and rise again, pulling him and Frédéric into them and melding them with the dark sea.
    H ANNAH WAS ALREADY awake when they returned, shivering, to the house. They poured coffee in the kitchen, drawing their chairs as close to the fire as possible to dry themselves, laughing and eating bread and butter. The storm pelted the window. Under the noise of the thunder they heard footsteps and looked up to see Claude’s father in his dressing gown.
    Adolphe Monet poured his own coffee with hot milk, and sat down opposite them. He rubbed the side of his nose with his finger and said slowly, “I’ve come to a decision, Claude. When your aunt returned last night and you were both in