The ball was to be given in the palace and the adjoining winter garden.
The intendant now informed Irma of his plan, and was delighted to find
that she approved of it. At the end of the garden he intended to erect a
large fountain, ornamented with antique groups. In the foreground he
meant to have trees and shrubbery and various kinds of rocks, so that
none could approach too closely; and the background was to be a Grecian
landscape, painted in the grand style.
Irma promised to keep his secret. Suddenly she exclaimed, "We are all of
us no better than lackeys and kitchen-maids. We are kept busy stewing,
roasting, and cooking for weeks, in order to prepare a dish that may
please their Majesties."
The intendant made no reply.
"Do you remember," continued Irma, "how, when we were at the lake, we
spoke of the fact that man possessed the advantage of being able to
change his dress, and thus to alter his appearance? While yet a child,
masquerading was my greatest delight. The soul wings its flight in
callow infancy. A _bal costumé_ is indeed one of the noblest fruits of
culture. The love of coquetry which is innate with all of us displays
itself there undisguised."
The intendant took his leave. While walking away, his mind was filled
with his old thoughts about Irma.
"No," said he to himself, "such a woman would be a constant strain, and
would require one to be brilliant and intellectual all day long. She
would exhaust one," said he, almost aloud.
No one knew what character Irma intended to appear in, although many
supposed that it would be as "Victory," since it was well known that she
had stood for the model of the statue that surmounted the arsenal. They
were busy conjecturing how she could assume that character without
violating the social proprieties.
Irma spent much of her time in the atelier, and worked assiduously. She
was unable to escape a feeling of unrest, far greater than that she had
experienced years ago when looking forward to her first ball. She could
not reconcile herself to the idea of preparing for the _fête_ so long
beforehand, and would like to have had it take place in the very next
hour, so that something else might be taken up at once. The long delay
tried her patience. She almost envied those beings to whom the
preparation for pleasure affords the greatest part of the enjoyment.
Work alone calmed her unrest. She had something to do, and this
prevented the thoughts of the festival from engaging her mind during the
day. It was only in the evening that she would recompense herself for
the day's work, by giving full swing to her fancy.
The statue of Victory was still in the atelier and was almost finished.
High ladders were placed beside it. The artist was still chiseling at
the figure, and would now and then hurry down to observe the general
effect, and then hastily mount the ladder again in order to add a touch
here or there. Irma scarcely ventured to look up at this effigy of
herself in Grecian costume--transformed and yet herself. The idea of
being thus translated into the purest of art's forms filled her with a
tremor, half joy, half fear.
It was on a winter afternoon. Irma was working assiduously at a copy of
a bust of Theseus, for it was growing dark. Near her stood her
preceptor's marble bust of Doctor Gunther. All was silent; not a sound
was heard save now and then the picking or scratching of the chisel.
At that moment the master descended the ladder, and drawing a deep
breath, said:--
"There--that will do. One can never finish. I shall not put another
stroke to it. I am afraid that retouching would only injure it. It
is done."
In the master's words and manner, struggling effort and calm content
seemed mingled. He laid the chisel aside. Irma looked at him earnestly
and said:--
"You are a happy man; but I can imagine that you are still unsatisfied.
I don't believe that even Raphael or Michael Angelo was ever satisfied
with the work he had completed. The remnant of dissatisfaction which an
artist feels at the completion of a work is the germ of a new creation."
The master nodded his approval of her words. His eyes expressed his
thanks. He went to the water-tap and washed his hands. Then he placed
himself near Irma and looked at her, while telling her that in every
work an artist parts with a portion of his life; that the figure will
never again inspire the same feelings that it did while in the workshop.
Viewed from afar, and serving as an ornament, no regard would be had to
the care bestowed upon details. But the artist's great satisfaction in
his work is in having pleased himself; and yet no one can accurately
determine how, or to what extent, a conscientious working up of details
will influence the general effect.
While the master was speaking, the King was announced. Irma hurriedly
spread a damp cloth over her clay model.
The King entered. He was unattended, and begged Irma not to allow
herself to be disturbed in her work. Without looking up, she went on
with her modeling. The King was earnest in his praise of the
master's work.
"The grandeur that dwells in this figure will show posterity what our
days have beheld. I am proud of such contemporaries."
Irma felt that the words applied to her as well. Her heart throbbed. The
plaster which stood before her suddenly seemed to gaze at her with a
strange expression.
"I should like to compare the finished work with the first models," said
the king to the artist.
"I regret that the experimental models are in my small atelier. Does
your Majesty wish me to have them brought here?"
"If you will be good enough to do so."
The master left. The King and Irma were alone. With rapid steps the King
mounted the ladder, and exclaimed in a tremulous voice:--
"I ascend into heaven--I ascend to you. Irma, I kiss you, I kiss your
image, and may this kiss forever rest upon those lips, enduring beyond
all time. I kiss thee with the kiss of eternity." He stood aloft and
kissed the lips of the statue. Irma could not help looking up, and just
at that moment a slanting sunbeam fell on the King and on the face of
the marble figure, making it glow as if with life.
Irma felt as if wrapped in a fiery cloud, bearing her away into
eternity.
The King descended and placed himself beside her. His breathing was
short and quick. She did not dare to look up; she stood as silent and as
immovable as a statue. Then the King embraced her--and living lips
kissed each other.
Translation of S.A. Stern.