The Pictures
— Have the goodness, Sir, in the meantime to step into the picture gallery, said the servant as he let young Edward in; my master will come to you directly.
With a heavy heart the young man entered.
— With what different feelings, thought he to himself, did I once pace through this room with my worthy father! It is the first instance of my descending to such a step as this, and it must be the last too. That it really must! And it is time for me to take a different view of myself and the world.
Setting down a covered picture against the wall he advanced farther into the room.
— How a man can have patience with these lifeless pictures, and exist in and for them alone! so he continued his silent meditations. Does not it seem as if these enthusiasts lose themselves in a realm of enchantment? For them art is the only window through which they catch a glimpse of nature and the world; they have no means of knowing either except as far as they compare them with their copies. And yet so it was that my father too dreamt his years away; whatever was foreign to his collection gave him no more concern than if it had fallen out at the pole. Strange how enthusiasm of every kind tends to confine our existence and all our feelings!
At the moment he raised his eye, and was almost dazzled or startled by a picture that hung in the upper region of the lofty saloon without the ornament of a frame. A girl's head with delicately tangled flaxen locks and a playful smile was peeping down, in a light undress, one shoulder partly bare, which looked full and glossy; in her long tapering fingers she held a fresh-blown rose close to her ruddy lips.
— Now really, cried Edward aloud, if this is a picture of Rubens, as it must be, that glorious man surpassed all other masters in such subjects! That lives! That breathes! How the fresh rose blooms against the still fresher lips! How softly and delicately do the hues of both play into one another, and yet so distinctly parted! And that polish of the rounded shoulder, the flaxen hair scattered over it in disorder! How is it possible that old Walther can hang his best piece so high up and without a frame, when all the other trash glitters in the most costly decorations?
He raised his eye again, and began to comprehend what a mighty art is painting, for the picture grew more and more instinct with life.
— No, those eyes! he said again to himself, entirely lost in gazing; how could pencil and colour produce any thing like that? Does not one see the bosom pant, the fingers and the round arm in motion?
And so it was indeed: for at the instant the lovely form raised itself, and with an expression of roguish playfulness flung down the rose, which flew against the young man's face, then drew back and shut the little window, which rung as it closed.
Startled and ashamed, Edward picked up the rose. He now clearly remembered the narrow passage above, which ran parallel to the saloon, and led to the upper rooms of the house: the other little windows were hung with pictures; this only had, to gain light, been left as it was, and the master of the house used often from this spot to survey the strangers who visited his gallery.
— Is it possible, said Edward, after he had called to mind all these circumstances, that little Sophia can in a space of four years have grown such a beauty?
Unconsciously and in strange distraction he pressed the rose to his lips, then leaned against the wall, his eyes fixed on the ground, and did not observe for some seconds that old Walther was standing by his side, till the latter, with a friendly slap on the shoulder, roused him from his reverie.
— Where were you, young man? said he joking; you look as if you had seen a vision.
— So I feel, said Edward; excuse me for troubling you with a visit.
— We ought not to be such strangers, my young friend, said the old man heartily; it is now upwards of four years since you have entered my house. Is it right that your father's friend, your former guardian, who certainly always meant well by you, though we had at that time some differences, should be so totally forgotten?
Edward blushed, and did not immediately know what to answer.
— I did not suppose that you would miss me, he stammered out at last, much—every thing might have been otherwise; but the errors of youth——
— Let us drop that subject, cried the old man gaily; what prevents us from renewing our former acquaintance and friendship? What brings you to me now?
Edward looked downwards, then cast a hasty transient glance at his old friend, still hesitated, and at last went with lingering step to the pillar where the picture was standing, and took it out of its cover.
— See here, said he, what I have found unexpectedly among the property left me by my father; a picture that was kept in a book-case which I had not opened for years. Judges tell me it is an excellent Salvator Rosa.
— So it is! exclaimed old Walther, with enthusiasm in his looks. Ay, that is a glorious prize! A happy chance to light upon it so unexpectedly. Yes, my dear departed friend had treasures in his house, and did not know himself all he was master of.
He set the picture in the right light, examined it with beaming eyes, went closer, then back again, pursued the outlines of the figures from a distance with the finger of a connoisseur, and then said:
— Will you part with it? Name your price, and if it be not too high the picture is mine.
In the meanwhile a stranger came up, who had been taking a drawing after a Julio Romano in another quarter of the gallery.
— A Salvator?" he asked with a somewhat sarcastic tone, which you have really found among the heir-looms of an inheritance?
— Certainly, said Edward, cavalierly surveying the stranger, whose plain frock and simple air gave him about the appearance of a travelling artist.
— You have then been yourself imposed on, answered the stranger in a haughty rough tone, if it be not your intention to impose on others; for this picture is evidently a pretty modern one, perhaps is quite new; at all events not above ten years old; an imitation of the master's manner good enough to deceive for a moment, but which on closer inspection soon betrays its baldness to a connoisseur.
— I cannot help feeling surprised at this presumption! exclaimed Edward, entirely losing his self-command. In the collection my father left behind him were none but good and original pictures; for he and Mr. Walther always passed for the best judges in the town. And what would you have? In the shop of our celebrated picture-dealer Erich there hangs the pendant to this Salvator, for which a traveller a few days ago offered a very large sum. Let them be compared together, and it will be seen that they are works of the same master, and fellows.
— So! said the stranger with a drawling tone, you know then or are acquainted with that Salvator too? It is to be sure by the same hand as this, that admits of no doubt. In this town originals by that master are scarce, and Messrs. Erich and Walther do not possess one; but I am familiar with the pencil of that great master, and give you my word that he never touched these pictures, but that they are productions of a modern who wants to impose upon amateurs by them.
— Your word! cried Edward colouring deeply; your word! I should think that mine might pass here for just as much, and more.
— Certainly not, said the Unknown; and I have moreover to regret that you allow your warmth to surprise and betray you so. You are privy then to the fabrication of this counterfeit, and know the imitator, who is not an unskilful one?
— Sir, cried Edward still more vehemently, you must make me satisfaction for this affront! These pretensions, these falsehoods which you vent so boldly, are signs of a detestable character.
Privy-counsellor Walther was in the greatest perplexity that this scene should take place at his house. He stood examining the picture, and had already convinced himself that it was a modern but capital imitation of the celebrated master, such as might deceive even an experienced eye. It pained him to the heart that young Edward should be entangled in this bad affair; but both the antagonists were so violently irritated, that all mediation had become impracticable.
— What is that you are saying, sir? cried the stranger, himself now raising his tone; you are beneath my anger, and I am glad that accident has led me to this gallery to protect a respectable collector from imposition.
Edward foamed with rage.
— That was not the intention, said the old gentleman, making an attempt at pacification.
— It was assuredly the intention, proceeded the stranger; it is an old stale trick, which it has not been thought worth while even to face with a new invention. I saw at the picture-dealer's that so-called Salvator; the owner thought it genuine, and was confirmed in his belief when a traveller, who by his dress seemed a man of high quality, offered a large price for the picture: he meant to call again on his return, and begged the dealer not to let the piece go out of his hands for a month at least. And who was this distinguished personage? The discarded valet of Count Alten of Vienna. Thus it is evident that the trick, whoever may have been the contriver, was played off against you, M. Walther, and your friend Erich.
Edward in the meanwhile had with trembling hands wrapped his picture in its cover again; he gnashed his teeth, stamped, and cried:
— The devil must play me this trick!
So saying he rushed out, and did not observe that the maiden was looking down again from above into the saloon, to which she had been drawn by the vociferation of the quarrellers.
— My worthy sir, said the old man, now addressing the stranger, you have distressed me; you have been loo hasty with the young man; he is heedless and extravagant, but I have never yet heard of his playing a foul trick.
— One must always be the first, said the stranger with cool bitterness; he has at all events paid to-day his scholar's fee, and will either reform or learn the necessity of managing his matters more prudently, and in no case losing his temper.
— He has certainly been imposed on himself, said Walther, or has really found the picture as he says; and his father, who was a great judge, laid it by for the very reason that it was not genuine.
— You wish to put the best face on the matter, Sir, said the stranger; but in that case the young man would not have been so indecently violent. Who is he, pray, after all?
— His father, so the old gentleman's story ran, was a rich man, who left behind him a large property; he had a passion for our art of an intensity of which few men certainly are capable. He devoted to it a great part of his fortune, and his collection might justly be called incomparable. In his attention to it however he neglected rather too much, it must be owned, the education of this his only son; hence on the old man's death the youth thought of nothing but spending his money in the company of parasites and low people, and keeping women and equipages. When he came of age he had enormous debts to pay to usurers and on bills, but he set his pride in increasing his extravagance; the pictures were sold, for he had no taste for them; I took them at fair prices. He has now, I believe, pretty nearly run through every thing except the house, which is a handsome one, though that too may perhaps be encumbered with debts; knowledge he has scarcely acquired any; employment is insupportable to him; and so one cannot help seeing with concern how he is advancing towards his ruin.
— The every-day history of numbers, observed the stranger, and the common course of a paltry vanity, that leads men gaily into the arms of dishonour.
— How have you been able to acquire so sure an eye? inquired the counsellor. I am astonished too at the style of your drawing after Julio Romano, since you say you are no artist.
— But I have long studied the art, answered the stranger; I have viewed with some diligence, and not without profit, the most important galleries in Europe; my eye is naturally keen and accurate, and has been improved and rendered sure by practice; so that I may flatter myself that I cannot easily be deceived, at all events on the subject of my favourites.
The stranger now took his leave, after having been forced to promise the collector to dine with him the next day, for the old gentleman had conceived a great respect for the traveller's accomplishments.
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