A few days after the wicked fairy's successful Thursday two fresh
pieces of news were circulated in Berlin: one was that Goswyn von Sydow
had fought another duel in his sister-in-law's behalf, and the other
stated that Countess Lenzdorff had given the fashionable artist Riedel
permission to paint her grand-daughter as "Heather Blossom." The truth
as to the duel was never fully discovered. Goswyn von Sydow certainly
appeared for a while with his arm in a sling, but, as he stoutly
maintained that he had sprained his wrist in a fall from his horse,
people were forced to be satisfied with this explanation. If some very
sharp-sighted men added that in certain cases it was a man's duty to
lie, no matter how strict might be his ideas of truth,--why, that was
their affair.
As for the portrait, it was true that the old Countess had acceded to
Riedel's request to be allowed to paint Erika as "Heather Blossom," of
course not in the artist's studio, but in the Countess Lenzdorff's
drawing-room, where Riedel worked away for a week, three hours daily,
seated before a large easel, with colour-boxes beside him.
The result of his well-meant efforts was a commonplace affair,
something between Ary Scheffer's Mignon and Gabriel Max's "Gretchen at
her Wheel."
Naturally the Countess Lenzdorff was in no wise charmed by this
picture, although in view of the ability of the artist in question she
had not expected anything better.
"A 'Book of Beauty' painter, that Riedel," she said of him: "he
flatters every one alike, and is blind to wrinkles, scars, and what he
calls defects of all kinds. Such fellows as he are sure to be a success
in the present day, when truth is at a discount. They never dissipate a
single illusion, and the world--the world of society--delights in
them."
She certainly took no pains not to dissipate illusions for the world to
which she belonged: on the contrary, she delighted to destroy them,
jeering _coram publico_ at the beautifying salve which the model
members of society as well as her favourite artists and literary men
plastered over every peculiarity of humanity, and which in life passes
for 'kindly criticism' and in art for 'idealistic conception.' She
spent her time in tearing down the rose-coloured curtains from the
windows of her acquaintances, and naturally her acquaintances did not
like it; they loved their rose-coloured curtains, which excluded the
pitiless garish daylight, admitting only a becoming twilight in which
all the sharp edges and dark stains of life faded into indistinctness.
The Countess's rage for broad daylight seemed cruel to her
acquaintances, while she in her turn called their love of twilight
cowardly and when she alluded to the fashionable world usually
designated it briefly as "Kapilavastu."
Erika asked her grandmother the meaning of this word. Upon which the
old lady shrugged her shoulders and replied, "Kapilavastu is the name
of the town in which Buddha grew up, the town where his parents hoped
to shield him forever from the sight of old age, death, and disease!"
Then, with a quiet laugh, she added, as if to herself, "Oh, what a
world it is!"
All her life long she had sneered at the 'world of fashion,' which did
not at all interfere with the fact that she would have greatly disliked
being aught but 'a great lady.'
When Riedel had completed his picture of "Heather Blossom" to his own
satisfaction, and enriched it with his valuable signature, he laid it
as a tribute at the feet of the Countess Lenzdorff, begging permission
to exhibit his masterpiece at Schulte's, 'unter den Linden.'
Permission was accorded him,--of course with the proviso that the name
of the model should be strictly concealed.
Whether the picture were the 'sentimental daub' which the old Countess
dubbed it, or the exquisite work of art which Riedel's numerous
admirers pronounced it, certain it is that it attracted a great deal of
attention,--so much, indeed, that the Countess Anna was one day seized
with a desire to witness for herself the effect produced by it upon a
gaping public.
It was a fair, sunshiny day in March when she walked to the end of the
Thiergarten with Erika, slowly followed by her carriage. It was a
pleasure to her to observe the undisguised admiration excited by her
grand-daughter. And the girl was worthy of it. Tall, distinguished in
air and bearing, faultlessly dressed in dark-gray cloth with a long boa
of blue-fox fur and a black hat and feathers, she walked with an air
and a bearing that a young queen might have envied.
"Every one looks after you, as if you were the Empress herself," said
her grandmother, with a laugh, as she espied a young officer of
dragoons, who with his hand at his cap saluted the grandmother but
looked at the grand-daughter.
"Goswyn! this is lucky," she exclaimed, beckoning to him. "We are on
our way to Schulte's to look at Erika's portrait. Will you come with
us?"
"If you will let me," he replied. "But you will probably not see the
portrait," he went on, smiling,--"only a great crowd of people. At
least that was almost all I could see the last time I was there."
"Oh, you have been there?" said the old Countess, with a merry twinkle
of her eye. "Then, of course, you do not care to go again."
"No, certainly not to see the picture; but you cannot get rid of me
now, Countess."
Beneath the lindens on one side of the way stood a crippled boy with a
huge hump, playing the accordion. The squeaking tones of the miserable
instrument were but little in harmony with the splendour of the
Thiergarten at this hour. A lady, as she passed the child, turned away
with a shudder, and tears started in the boy's eyes and rolled down his
pale, precocious face, as he retreated into still deeper shade.
Without interrupting what he was saying to the old Countess, Goswyn
gave the boy some money. On a sudden Countess Lenzdorff noticed that
Erika was not beside her. "Where is the child?" she exclaimed, looking
round. Erika had fallen behind to stroke the little cripple's thin
cheeks.
When she perceived that she was observed, she hastily left the child.
Her own cheeks were flushed, and there were tears in her eyes.
"Why, Erika!" her grandmother cried out, in dismay, "what are you
about?"
"I could not help it," the girl replied: "it was so hateful of that
woman to show the boy her disgust at the sight of him." She could
scarcely restrain her tears.
"But, Erika,"--her grandmother put her hand on the girl's arm, and
spoke very gently,--"you might catch some disease."
"And if I did," Erika murmured, still under the influence of strong
emotion, "I should not be half so wretched as that child. Why should I
have everything and he nothing?"
To this no reply could be made; even the Countess's talent for repartee
failed her, and the three walked on together silently. The Countess
Anna glanced towards Goswyn. Never before had she seen him so gravely
impressed; and on a sudden the despair that had possessed her in view
of the unjust arrangement of human affairs was converted into pride and
joy.
When they reached the picture-dealer's they found the portrait in an
inner room, surrounded, in fact, by quite a crowd of people, although
it was not great enough to satisfy the old Countess's pride: it could
hardly have been that, indeed. Still, she did not express her
disappointment in words, but ridiculed the assemblage.
The words 'Heather Blossom' were carved in the very effective frame of
the portrait, and on one side could be traced a coronet.
"A beggar-girl and a coronet! nothing could appeal more strongly to
these plebeians," the old lady exclaimed; and then she whispered to
Erika, "Thank God, no one could recognize you from that daub, or we
should have the whole rabble around us. What do you think of the
picture, Goswyn?"
"Miserable," Goswyn replied, with a frown. "Between ourselves, I cannot
understand your allowing the fellow to exhibit it."
"What could I do?" said the Countess, shrugging her shoulders: "he
talked of the effect it would produce upon people generally, and in
fact he seems to have been right. The Archduchess Geroldstein has
already ordered her portrait of him. I cannot understand it. To me
Riedel is absolutely uninteresting. If he has a really fine model he
seems to lose even the power to flatter, upon which his reputation is
chiefly based. Erika is ten times more beautiful than that picture."
This was Goswyn's opinion also, but he remained silent, asking himself
whether it could be that the absent old Countess had actually forgotten
her granddaughter's presence. Such, however, was not the case. It
simply had never occurred to her to regard Erika's beauty as a secret
to be confided to all the world except to the girl herself: she would
as soon have thought of concealing from her the amount of her yearly
income.
"I want you to look at a picture which has charmed me," Goswyn said,
after a pause, desirous to change the subject, and as he spoke he
pointed to a picture at sight of which the old lady uttered an
exclamation of admiration, while Erika gazed at it pale and mute.
The picture was called 'The Seeress,' and represented a peasant-girl
standing wan and rapt, her eyes gazing into the unseen, her hand
stretched out as if groping. On the right of the girl were a couple of
willows in the midst of the level landscape, their trunks rugged and
scarred and here and there tufted with wild flowers, while in the
background a little trickling stream was spanned by a huge stone
bridge, through the arches of which could be seen glimpses of a
miserable village half obscured by rising mists.
The Berlin public were too much spoiled by the mediocre artistic
euphemism of the day to have the taste to appreciate this masterpiece.
A couple of art critics passed it by with a shake of the head,
muttering, "Unripe fruit."
Countess Lenzdorff repeated the phrase as the wise-acres disappeared.
"Unripe fruit!--Quite right, but a most noble specimen. I only trust it
may ripen under favourable conditions. The thing is full of talent. 'A
Seeress.' Apparently a Jeanne d'Arc."
"Probably," said Goswyn. "It certainly is original in conception: there
is nothing conventional in it. What inspiration there is in the pale
face! what maidenly grace in the noble and yet almost emaciated figure!
It is a most attractive picture."
"The strange thing about it is that this Seeress in reality looks far
more like Erika than does Riedel's 'Heather Blossom,'" exclaimed the
old lady. "I must have this picture!"
"You are too late, Countess," rejoined Goswyn.
"Is it sold already? What was the price?"
"It was very reasonable,--a beginner's price," Goswyn replied, with a
slight blush.
The old Countess laughed: she had no objection that Goswyn, with his
limited means, should buy a picture just because it resembled her
grand-daughter.
Meanwhile, Erika was trembling in every limb. Who but _he_ could have
painted the picture?--who else had seen Luzano,--Luzano, and herself?
She felt proud of her _protege_. In the corner of the picture she read
'Lozoncyi.' It pleased her that he had so fine-sounding a foreign name.
"You shall find out for me where the young man lives," Countess
Lenzdorff cried, eagerly: "he must paint Erika for me while his prices
are still reasonable."
Goswyn cleared his throat. "Much as I admire this young artist," he
observed, "if I were you I would not have him paint Countess Erika."
"Why not?"
"Because he has another picture on exhibition here, to see which an
extra price of admission is asked."
"Indeed!" cried the old lady. "Is it so very bad?"
"The worst of it is the curtain that hides it from the public, and the
extra price paid to look at it," Goswyn replied, half laughing. "It
certainly is a powerful thing,--painted later than 'The Seeress,' and
under a different inspiration. If you would like to see it, let me play
the part of Countess Erika's chaperon for a few minutes: you go behind
that curtain."
The Countess Anna could not let such an opportunity slip. She was an
old woman; no one--not even the over-scrupulous Goswyn--could object to
her looking at the picture. So she blithely went her way.
Meanwhile, Erika had grown very pale. She felt as if some dear old
plaything, to which she had attached all sorts of pathetic memories,
had fallen into the mire! It was gone; let it lie there: she would not
stoop to pick it up and wipe it off.
Goswyn, who was observing her narrowly, could not understand the sudden
change in her face. He had often had occasion to notice the
sensitiveness of her moral nature, but to-day the key to the riddle was
lacking. What could it possibly matter to her whether or not an obscure
artist painted an improper picture?
He tried to begin a conversation with her, but had hardly done so when
Countess Lenzdorff returned, walking slowly, with her head held
haughtily erect, a sign with her of extreme indignation.
"You seem more shocked, Countess, than I expected you to be," Goswyn
remarked, as she appeared. "Do you think the picture so very bad?"
"Nonsense!" the old lady replied, impatiently. "It was not painted for
school-girls and boys: it did not shock me. It is not the picture that
has made me angry, but--whom do you think I found in the room with her
cousin Nimbsch and two or three other young men? Your sister-in-law
Dorothea! So young a woman had better not look at a picture before
which it is thought necessary to hang a curtain, but it is beyond a
jest when she takes a train of young men with her to see it. If one is
without principles,--good heavens! it is hard enough to hold on to
principles in this philosophic age, when one is puzzled to know upon
what to base them,--one ought at least to have some feeling of decency,
some aesthetic sentiment."