Punctually at eight o'clock Rosenbusch made his appearance at Felix's
lodgings. He was arrayed with a gorgeousness such as he only assumed on
the most extraordinary occasions. It is true, picturesque lights played
in the folds of his violet velvet jacket, indicative of the extreme age
of its material; but those who knew that this garment, as was
authentically proved by the records, was cut from the robe of state
worn by an historical Countess of Tilly, regarded it with reverence,
especially as it was exceedingly becoming to its present red-cheeked
wearer. About his neck he had wound a spotlessly white cambric necktie,
tied in a delicate knot. His white waistcoat was, to be sure, a little
yellowed, and his black trousers were a little shiny in places; but
when he entered his friend's room with an elastic step, carrying his
tall, antiquated cylinder hat under his arm, and swinging a pair of
tolerably white kid gloves in one hand, he cut, upon the whole, such an
excellent figure that Felix felt called upon to say something
flattering concerning his toilet.
"One must maintain the honor of his station, and prove to the world
that the tailor ought to learn from the artist, and not the reverse,"
replied the painter, with great solemnity, stopping before the glass
and endeavoring to give a bolder wave to his cropped hair.
"Now you," he continued, "haven't by any means got rid of the baron
yet. Take my word for it, clothes really do make the man. One is a very
different kind of fellow in his shirt-sleeves or in a blouse, than in
one of the elegant, pinched-up monkey-jackets of the latest style.
Doesn't every one of us play a _role_? Now just ask Elfinger whether
the true spirit of the _role_ doesn't lie in the costume of the actor.
I, for example, in a coat that any Tom or Dick could wear, should feel
myself so lowered to their level that I shouldn't want to take a brush
in my hand. But dressed as I am, even in my company toilet, I can shout
_anch' io_ as lustily as far greater people. But you show no signs of
getting ready. What do you say to making a sensation by coming late?"
Felix had had time to relapse once more into his melancholy mood. He
answered that he had had disagreeable news from home, and was in no
humor for going into company. Rosenbusch must excuse him; besides, it
would make no difference to the countess whether an unknown beginner--
"What!" cried the battle-painter, "you are going to leave me to go
alone to the enchanted garden of this Armida, while all the time I have
been counting on you to save me in case of necessity! Jansen is sure to
come late in any case, even if he decides to go at all. No, my dear
fellow, you know I expend such unheard-of courage on canvas, that not
much remains to me for the _salon_. So, back to back, shoulder to
shoulder, with a friend and companion-in-arms, or I will crawl into the
first violon-cello-case I come to, and bring disgrace upon the Paradise
Club."
He forced Felix, who half laughed and half protested, to make his
toilet, and then dragged him out with him, holding tightly to his arm
even after they were in the street, as though he still feared that he
might try to give him the slip. At heart Felix was glad to be forced.
He was secretly ashamed of his fear to enter, even on a day when she
was absent, the house where his old sweetheart was living; but now all
the depression which had weighed upon him ever since he found out she
was in the city left him in the company of his merry friend, and the
latter's account of his latest adventures as rejected suitor and happy
lover put him in the most cheerful humor. He rallied the artist upon
his flighty heart, which, instead of dreading the fire like a burned
child, wanted to singe itself in this new flame; all of which
Rosenbusch received with a quiet sigh.
"The fact is," he said, "a countess like this is not so very dangerous.
It goes without saying, that in all intercourse with her one must
respect certain limits when one is a poor fool of a painter who has to
let himself be snubbed even by a glove-maker. But if, on the other
hand, a female demon like this should really take it into her head to
elope with one of my sort to Italy or Siberia, let us say--well, she
will know what she is about; and in the mean time we can let things go
as Heaven wills."
Amid talk of this sort they had reached the hotel, in the first story
of which a row of lighted windows had already shown them where the
female autocrat of all the arts was holding her court. Felix pulled his
hat down lower over his forehead, and sprang up the stairs so rapidly
that Rosenbusch was left behind breathless.
"You are an extraordinary fellow!" he cried, laughing, after he had
overtaken him at the top. "It takes a good deal of diplomacy to get you
started, but once started, you can't get there soon enough."
Felix made no reply, for just then a servant opened a side-door and
they entered a spacious _salon_, which resounded with the last notes of
one of Chopin's nocturnes, with which the hostess herself had opened
the _soiree_.
A rather mixed company was grouped about the piano, mostly young people
with long hair and pale faces, of the music-of-the-future sort; mingled
with these a few diplomatists, officers, journalists, and people
without any other profession than that of knowing everybody and being
introduced everywhere. The professor of aesthetics advanced to meet the
new arrivals with a sort of host-like cordiality, and shook hands with
them. He wore an old-fashioned blue dress-coat with gold buttons, a
yellow pique waistcoat, white summer trousers, and a stiff, black
cravat, that compelled him to keep his chin perpetually thrown up.
Stephanopulos emerged from the crowd of enthusiastic courtiers in order
to welcome the guests, which he too did as if he felt himself quite at
home. But now the dense circle divided, and the countess herself swept
up to the new-comers.
She had made an exceedingly becoming toilet--a dark dress of light
material, that left bare her shoulders, which were still youthful in
appearance; and a Venetian point-lace veil, thrown with studied
carelessness about her head, and fastened on one side by a fresh,
dark-red rose. The dead white of her cheeks looked more blooming than
usual in the warm light of the candles, and her keen, piercing eyes and
white teeth vied with one another in brilliancy.
"I am so glad you have kept your word," she exclaimed to the young men,
giving one of her soft little hands to each of them. "I hope, too, your
talented friend and master will also find his way here; and you shall
not regret having come. To be sure, I told you beforehand you must be
contented with what your ears would let you enjoy. Still, your eyes
sha'n't go away quite unsatisfied. Come, I will show you something
beautiful."
She took Felix's arm, and, talking rapidly all the time, led him to the
other end of the _salon_. In a corner, on a semicircular sofa, sat
several mothers and duennas, and in the chairs on either side perhaps a
half dozen young girls, all belonging to the stage or the music-school,
engaged in earnest conversation with some young musicians about the
latest opera and the last concert. A little to one side of them a group
of elderly gentlemen could be seen gathered about a slight, youthful
figure, who sat near a little flower-stand, and who appeared to be
listening in rather an absent way to a white-haired little man, who was
giving a long disquisition on Bach's Passion-Music. Her back was turned
toward the side from which the countess approached with Felix. Now,
upon hearing the hostess's voice, she turned with much dignity.
"Allow me, _ma toute belle_, to introduce to you Baron von Weiblingen
and Herr Rosenbusch," said the countess. "The gentlemen are artists,
dear Irene; Herr Rosenbusch is a painter and musician.--You have
brought your flute, haven't you?"
The painter exhausted himself in assurances of his inability to produce
his sounds of Nature, as he called them, for any ears but his own; but
the countess had already turned to Felix again.
"Did I say too much?" she whispered, loud enough for the Fraeulein to
hear her. "Isn't she charming? But your silence says enough. Happy
youth! For a woman's ears there is no sweeter music than such silence,
when she herself is the cause of it. I leave you to your enchantment;
_bonne chance!_"
She tapped his arm lightly with her black fan, nodded slyly to the
beautiful girl, and disappeared once more in the crowd about the piano.
The old gentleman, a musical amateur of the old school whom the
countess hoped to convert to the new movement, had withdrawn upon the
approach of the young men. Rosenbusch took advantage of the moment to
make his bows as gracefully as possible, and to open the conversation
by asking how the gracious Fraeulein liked Munich. Then, upon turning
round to give Felix a chance to say something, he discovered to his
great surprise that the latter had withdrawn into one of the window
niches, from which he vanished a few minutes after. "What devil has got
into our young baron?" thought Rosenbusch. It seemed to him out of all
propriety to abruptly turn one's back on a charming young lady.
However, he determined to take advantage of this opportunity to show
himself in a still more favorable light, for the Fraeulein pleased him.
She was very simply dressed, which fact, however, only served to
contrast her advantageously with the others, with their silks and showy
ornaments. The excursion that was to have lasted several days had been
shortened, for the old countess had been seized with an attack of
neuralgia, and Irene had scarcely reached home when she was taken
possession of by her fellow-lodger for this, as the latter had assured
her, entirely improvised _soiree_, for which there was no need to make
any great toilet. Her uncle had fled to a gentlemen's club. It was
impossible for her to refuse the invitation.
In truth, it was a matter of perfect indifference to her into what
company she went. What did she care for any strange faces since the one
which was dearest to her had become a stranger? And she had not had the
faintest suspicion that she should meet him here.
And now she stood opposite him, and the only look that was exchanged
between them showed her that he had come into her presence not less
unexpectedly.
A violin concerto, which, to Rosenbusch's great disgust, interrupted
him in an eloquent description of the pleasant summer weather in the
Bavarian mountains, gave her time to collect her thoughts and to
recover herself so far, at least, as not to betray by her manner the
emotions that were at strife within her. But what would come next--what
she ought to do--was no clearer to her now, when the last tones of the
violins were dying away, than in the first few minutes.
"My friend the baron has suddenly disappeared," Rosenbusch now began
again. "You must have got a curious impression of him; for, upon my
word, he stood before you like a painted Turk, as they say here in
Munich. I'll eat my head if I can understand why he suddenly became
such a stick. He is generally a devilish jolly fellow, and not at all
bashful in the presence of ladies."
"He is--your friend?" she asked, in an almost inaudible voice.
"We have known each other for several weeks, and you know, until one
has eaten salt with a man--in the mean time, I imagine I think more of
him than he does of your humble servant."
"Your friend--is also an artist?"
"Most certainly, Fraeulein. He has devoted himself to sculpture under
the instruction of his old friend, the celebrated Jansen. How he
suddenly came to do it, no one knows. Don't you, too, think he looks
more like a cavalier? At all events there is something so romantic,
interesting, and Lord Byronish about him that I should not wonder at
all if he found tremendous favor with the women. I beg pardon, if I
have expressed myself too freely."
He grew red and plucked at his cuffs. She appeared to take no offense
at his forcible style, but merely asked again, in the most indifferent
tone:
"You think he has no talent?"
"How much talent he has, God only knows," replied his friend candidly.
"But one thing is certain, a gigantic courage and a devilish deal of
perseverance are required of one who ventures to take up with sculpture
nowadays. You wouldn't believe, Fraeulein, how difficult it is--in this
profession of all others--to find the means with which to mount to
the source, in this strait-laced civilization of ours, with its
conventional prejudices. The days when three goddesses did not
think it improper to get a certificate of their beauty from a royal
goatherd--I beg a thousand pardons, I always do wax warm when I think
of our wretched art-condition, and then I blurt out whatever comes into
my head. This much is certain: if my friend has allowed himself to be
induced merely by his love of beauty to become an artist, instead of
living on his estates, he will find he has reckoned without his host
even here in Munich. There are charming girls here, to be sure;--seen
on the street as they sweep by in their coquettish costumes, with their
little hats and chignons, one might almost be tempted to sell one's
soul to the devil out of pure delight--but when one comes to examine
them by a stronger light--"
The Fraeulein all at once seemed to discover that her presence was
imperatively required opposite, where the music pupils were sitting.
She rose hastily, bowed coldly to the astonished artist, and approached
one of the young ladies with the question whether she too did not find
it very warm.
Rosenbusch gazed upon her with open mouth. A suspicion dawned in his
innocent brain that perhaps his conversation had appeared rather too
free-and-easy to this young lady. He could not understand this, and
laid it to the score of her North German education. He had talked in a
similar way with his countrywomen at balls, without arousing any
special displeasure. Now he slunk pensively away from the flower-stand,
just as a promising amateur began to perform one of Bach's preludes.
Slipping quietly along, and keeping close to the wall, he succeeded in
reaching the adjoining room, which was dimly lighted, without
attracting attention. A lady's-maid had been making tea there. The
national samovar was still singing on the little table, as though
secretly accompanying the playing outside. But in the doorway stood
Felix, his gaze, piercing through all the crowd and confusion, fixed
upon one particular spot.
He started as the battle-painter's hand was laid softly on his
shoulder, and scowled angrily. Rosenbusch thought he did not wish to be
disturbed while listening to the music, and kept as still as a mouse as
long as the prelude lasted. He himself did not care for Bach. He was,
as he expressed it, too "cyclopean" for him. He preferred something
melting or merry. So he spent the time in looking about the room, and
was astonished to see on an easel near the window, in a sufficiently
good light to attract attention, that cartoon of the Bride of Corinth
which had brought so little honor to Stephanopulos in "Paradise." The
burned corner had not yet been repaired, so that the singular picture
made a still more weird impression among its elegant surroundings.
How came it here? Who could have brought it to the countess? Could it
be that the young sinner himself had lent a helping hand in getting it
for her? His name stood in the corner that had been spared by the fire.
It was possible that the honest finder, whom Rosenbusch caught _in
flagranti_ that night in the "Paradise" garden, had returned it to the
artist; that the countess had seen it in his studio, and thought that
it would be piquant to exhibit a drawing in her house which had been
condemned by the male critics on account of its lack of modesty. Oh,
these countesses!--these Russians!
The door leading to a third room was also standing open--to no less
a sanctum than the sleeping-chamber of the lady of the house. A
hanging-lamp was suspended within, whose light streamed through a
rose-colored shade, casting its dreamy rays upon the furniture, and
upon the bed hung with embroidered muslin. Near the bed, in an
arm-chair, a woman's figure reclined, motionless, so that it could only
be discerned with difficulty by a person outside. But Rosenbusch, who
was to-day in one of his reckless moods, had already advanced several
steps into the sanctum, when he suddenly saw two piercing eyes fixed
upon him. He felt as if he had encountered the glowing eyes of a cat in
the dark. Confusedly stammering an apology, he bowed to the silent
unknown, and hastily beat a retreat into the front room.
In the mean while the playing had come to an end, and the _salon_
resounded once more with a confusion of voices in all tongues and
dialects; but still Felix stood there, solitary and unapproachable, as
if no one among all who surrounded him knew how to speak his language.
"You don't seem inclined to be particularly gallant," he now heard the
cheerful voice of the battle-painter remark; "or was it merely because
you didn't want to cut me out that you refrained from engaging in any
further conversation with that splendid Fraeulein? If you had looked
closer at her, you would hardly have been capable of such rather
insulting magnanimity toward my poor self. A perfectly splendid girl, I
assure you; very exclusive, intellectual and amiable; and without
wanting to flatter myself, I really believe I didn't give her a bad
impression of the Munich artists. If I were not so wholly engaged
already--But, by-the-way, have you seen what is standing over there, on
the easel? That Stephanopulos!--just look at him over there, half
sprawling over the piano--how he follows the countess with his eyes,
all the while, with a face like an _Ecce Homo_ of Mount Athos! A
devilish queer kind of fellow!"
"Did she inquire about me?" interrupted Felix, suddenly starting out of
his brooding. He passed his hand over his forehead, on which the cold
perspiration had started, and drew a long breath. Just at that moment
Irene's slender figure glided out of the _salon_ in spite of the
countess's earnest attempts to detain her.
"Inquire after you?" repeated the artist. "Of course she did. Such a
dumb cavalier, who immediately vanishes into obscurity, couldn't help
exciting a woman's curiosity."
"And what--what did you say about me?" eagerly inquired Felix.
"I excused you as well as I could, saying that you were generally much
more gallant toward ladies."
"Thank you. You are really very kind, Rosenbusch. And she--what did she
say to that?"
"Why, what could she say? She didn't appear to feel in the least
offended. Very likely she thought her beauty had rather struck you
dumb--no woman is offended at that. Don't tell me I don't understand
women! And then I talked to her about sculpture--But, upon my word,
here comes Jansen. I must go and say good-evening to him."