CHAPTER VI.
The Device of Giraldo the Painter.
When the twenty-first birthday of the Princess Osra approached, herbrother King Rudolf, desiring to make her a present, summoned from hishome at Verona, in Italy, a painter of very high fame, by name Giraldo,and commanded him to paint a portrait of the Princess, to be herbrother's gift to her. This command Giraldo carried out, the Princessgiving him every opportunity of studying her features and grudging notime that was spent by her in front of his easel; and the picture, whenfinished, being pronounced to be as faithful as beautiful the reputationof Giraldo was greatly enhanced by the painting of it. Thus it followedthat in many cases, when foreign Princes had heard the widespreadpraises of Osra's beauty, they sent orders to Giraldo to execute forthem, and despatch with all speed, miniatures or other portraits of thePrincess, that they might judge for themselves whether she were in truthas lovely as report said; and they sent Giraldo large sums of money inrecompense, adding not seldom some further donation on the express termand condition that Giraldo should observe absolute fidelity in hisrepresentation and not permit himself the least flattery. For somedesired themselves to court her, and others intended their sons to askher hand, if the evidence of Giraldo's portraits satisfied their hopes.So Giraldo, although but two or three years above thirty, grew in bothfame and wealth, and was very often indebted to the Princess for thefavour of a visit to his house, that he might again correct his memoryof her face.
Now what several Princes had done before, it chanced that the King ofGlottenberg also did; and Giraldo, to all appearance much pleased,accepted the command, and prayed the Princess to visit him; for, hesaid, this picture was to be larger and more elaborate than the rest,and therefore needed more study of her. So the Princess went many times,and the portrait destined for the King of Glottenberg (who was said tobe seeking a suitable alliance for his eldest son) grew before her eyesinto the most perfect and beautiful presentment of her which the skillof Giraldo had ever accomplished, surpassing even that first picturewhich he had painted by King Rudolf's command. The King made no doubtthat, so soon as the picture had reached the Court of Glottenberg, anembassy would come from there to demand the hand of his sister for theCrown Prince, a proposal which he would have received with much pleasureand gratification.
"I do not think," said Osra, tossing her head, "that any such embassywill come, sire. For four or five pictures have been already painted bySignor Giraldo in like manner, but no embassies have come. It seems thatmy poor features do not find approval in the Courts of Europe."
Her tone, it must be confessed, was full of contempt. For the PrincessOsra knew that she was beautiful, as indeed all beautiful ladies are, bythe benevolence of heaven, permitted to know. How much greater mischiefmight they work, if such knowledge were denied them!
"That's true enough," cried Rudolf. "And I do not understand the meaningof it. But it will not be so at Glottenberg. For my good brother theKing has eyes in his head, and his son sees no less well. I met them onmy travels, and I can speak to it. Most certainly an embassy will comefrom Glottenberg before we are a month older!"
Yet, strange to say, the same thing followed on the despatch of theportrait (which Giraldo sent by a certain trusty messenger, whom he wasaccustomed to employ) as had happened before; no embassy came, and theKing of Glottenberg excused himself from paying a visit to Strelsau,which he and his son had promised on the invitation of King Rudolf.Therefore Rudolf was very vexed, and Osra also, thinking herselfscorned, was very sore at heart, although she bore herself more proudlythan before. But, being very greatly disturbed in her mind concerningher beauty, she went herself again to Giraldo and charged him to painther once more.
"This picture," she said, "is for my own eyes, and mine alone.Therefore, signor, paint it faithfully, and spare me not. For if a womanbe ugly, it is well she should know it, and it seems that nobody in thekingdom will tell me the truth, although I get hints enough of it fromabroad." And she frowned and flushed and was very sadly out of temper,as any beautiful lady would most naturally be in such a case.
Giraldo bowed very low, seeking to hide the sudden red that dyed hischeek, and to conceal the great joy which the command of the Princessgave him. For by reason of having painted the Princess so often, ofhaving studied her face so curiously, and of having spent so much timein her company, listening to her conversation, and enjoying her wit andgrace, this hapless young man had become so deeply and desperately herlover, that he no longer cared to use his brush in the service of anyother lady or lord, but stayed at Strelsau solely that he might againand again depict the face that he loved; and, save when she sat beforehim, he seemed now unable to ply his art at all, and had he not receivedso many commands for pictures of her, he would have sat all day longidle, thinking of her; which, indeed, was what he did in the intervalsbetween his labour on her portraits. But she, not imagining suchpresumption and folly on his part, thought that he was glad merelybecause she would pay him well; so she promised him more and more, if hewould but paint her faithfully. And he gave her his word that he wouldpaint her in every respect most faithfully.
"I desire to know," said she, "what I am in truth like; for my mirrorsays one thing, and the King of Glottenberg----"
But here she stopped, remembering that such matters were not fit forGiraldo's ears. Yet he must have understood, for a strange, cunning,exultant smile came on his lips as he turned away and set himself to mixthe colours on his palette. Thus he began this last picture and thePrincess came every day and stayed long, so that Giraldo might be ableto render her likeness in every most minute respect with perfectfidelity.
"For," she thought resentfully, "either I have no eyes, or they havenone in Glottenberg."
When she had been visiting Giraldo thus for hard on a month, and thepicture was nearly finished, and was at once the most lovely and themost faithful of all that Giraldo had painted, it chanced that letterscame to the King from a nobleman of France who was well known to him,and had known the Princess well also, the Marquis de Merosailles. Andthe Marquis wrote to the King in the greatest indignation and scorn,upbraiding the King and saying:
"What is this, sire? Do you keep a madman at your Court, and call him apainter? I have been at Glottenberg; and when I spoke there, as it is myhumble duty and true delight to speak everywhere, of the incomparablebeauty of your Majesty's sister the Princess Osra, the King, his son,and all the company, did nothing but laugh. I fought three duels withgentlemen of the Court on this account, and two of them I, heavenhelping me, wounded, and one, by some devil's trick, wounded me. Afterthis, the matter coming to the King's ear, he sent for me, and excusedthe laughter by showing me a picture done by a rascal called Giraldo atyour Court, the picture was named after your Majesty's most matchlesssister; but, as I am a true son of the Church, it was like the devil'sdaughter, and, on my honour and conscience, it squinted mostvillainously. I pray you, sire, find out the meaning of this thing; andreceive most humble duty and homage from your devoted servant, and,since your graciousness so wills it, most obliged and obedient friend,Henri Marquis de Merosailles. I kiss the hand of the Princess."
When King Rudolf had read this letter, he grew very thoughtful, and,unknown to Giraldo, he sent and caught the messenger whom Giraldo waswont to entrust with the pictures, and who carried the picture of whichM. de Merosailles wrote to Glottenberg; and the King interrogated themessenger most closely, but got nothing from him, save that he himselfnever beheld the pictures which he carried, but received them mostcarefully packed from Giraldo, and so delivered them without undoing thecoverings, and then by Giraldo's strict orders returned at once, and didnot wait until the recipient had inspected the picture. So that thefellow did not know anything about the picture that had gone toGlottenberg, except that it was certainly the same as Giraldo hadentrusted to his hands. But the King was not satisfied, and, learningthat his sister was at that moment at Giraldo's house, being paintedafresh by him, he called hal
f-a-dozen of his gentlemen, and set out onhorseback for the place where Giraldo lived in the street that runs fromthe Cathedral towards the western gate of Strelsau. To this day thehouse stands there.
The Princess sat and Giraldo painted. Behind the Princess was a window,looking on to the street, and behind Giraldo was a second door, whichled into an inner room. On Giraldo's easel stood the nearly finishedpicture; Giraldo's eyes were alight both with love and with triumph, ashe turned from the Princess to the picture, and from the picture to thePrincess again; and she, seeing something of his admiration, said with ablush:
"Is it indeed faithful, signor?" For it seemed even to herself amarvellously lovely picture.
"No, madame," answered he. "For my imperfect hand cannot be faithful toperfection."
"I pray you, do not flatter me. Have you indeed shewn every fault of myface?"
"If there be a fault in your face, madame, there it is also in mypicture," said Giraldo.
The Princess was silent for a moment, then she said:
"It is better, is it not, than the picture you painted for the King ofGlottenberg?"
Giraldo painted a stroke or two before he answered carelessly:
"Indeed, madame, it is more faithful than that which the King ofGlottenberg has."
"Then less beautiful?" asked Osra with a petulant smile.
"Nay, I do not say that; not less beautiful," he answered.
"Perhaps he would like this one better, and give me his in exchange; forI never saw his after it was finished. I think I will ask the King towrite to him."
Giraldo had turned round suddenly as the Princess made this suggestion;she had spoken half in sport, half in continuing chagrin at theblindness shewn by the Court of Glottenberg. Now he stood staring at herwith wide-open alarmed eyes; and he dropped his brushes on to the floor.
"What ails you, signor?" she cried. "I did but suggest exchanging thepictures."
He tried to regain his composure, as he stooped to pick up his brushes.
"The King of Glottenberg's picture is the best for him to have," said hesullenly. "This one, madame, I painted for you yourself, and for youalone."
"I pay the price and can do what I will with the picture," returned thePrincess haughtily. "If I desire, I will give it to the King ofGlottenberg."
Giraldo had now turned very pale, and, forgetful of the picture, stoodgazing fixedly at the Princess. For he could no longer hold down insecrecy and silence the passion that possessed him, but it was declaredin his eyes and in the trembling of his limbs; so that the Princess rosefrom her chair and shrank away from him in alarm, regretting that shehad dismissed her ladies, in order to be less restrained in talk withthe painter; and she tried to cry out, that they might hear her wherethey were in an adjoining room, but her cry froze on her lips at thesight of Giraldo's passion. And he cried in a hoarse whisper:
"He shall not have the picture, he shall not have it!" As he spoke hemoved nearer to the Princess, who still shrank away from him, being nowin very great alarm, and thinking that surely he had run mad. Yet shelooked at him, and, looking, saw whence his madness came; and she feltpity for him, and held out her clasped hands towards him, saying in avery soft voice, and with eyes that grew sad and tender:
"Ah, signor, signor, am I always to have lovers, and never a friend?"
At this the unfortunate painter was overcome, and dropping his headbetween his hands he gave a deep half-stifled sob, and then he cried:
"God's curse on me, for having slandered the beauty that I love!" Andthen he sobbed again.
But the Princess wondered greatly what he meant by his strange cry, andturned her eyes again on him in bewildered questioning; saying, as shepointed to the picture:
"There is no slander here, signor, unless too much praise be slander."
Giraldo made her no answer in words, but, springing towards her, caughther by the wrist, and drew her across the room to the door behind hiseasel. With feverish haste he unlocked it and passed through. ThePrincess, although now free from his grip, followed him in a strangefascination. Giraldo drew the door close behind him; and at that momentthe Princess gave a cry, half a scream, half laughter. For facing hershe saw, each on its easel, three, four, five, six pictures of herself,each beautiful and painted most lovingly; and the last of the six wasthe picture that had been painted by order of the King of Glottenberg.For she knew it by the attire, although the face had not been finishedwhen she had last seen it. A sudden enlightenment pierced her mind, andshe knew that Giraldo had not sent the pictures for which she had sat tohim, but kept them himself, and sent others to his patrons. This strangeconviction found its sure confirmation in a seventh easel which stoodapart from the rest, on the other side of the room; for it supportedwhat was in all respects a copy of the portrait on which Giraldo was nowengaged, save that by cunning touches he had imparted to the face analien and fearful aspect; for here, although the features had theirshape and perfect grace, yet it was the face of a devil that looked outof the canvas, a face that a man would not have gazing at him from thewall on to the bed where he sought to sleep.
But when Giraldo saw her eyes fixed on this picture, he cried:
"That is for you--the other is mine. Are they not your features? TheKing of Glottenberg should not have even your features. But you shallhave them, and if a devil looks out through such a fair mask, is it notso with all fair women that lead men to destruction? There is your truepicture, Princess Osra!" And he flung himself on a couch with a mad cryof rage, and then a groan of despair.
The Princess Osra looked at him, and at the beautiful pictures, and thenat the picture that was like her and yet like a devil. First she pitiedthe painter, and then marvelled at the wonderful mad skill, which sotransformed her without drawing a line that could be called untrue. Thusthinking, she stood for a while, grave and puzzled. But then the humourstruck her, as it struck her House always in great things and in small;it seemed to her most ludicrous that the pictures should all be restinghere in Giraldo's house, while the Princes who had commanded portraitsof her had received nothing but distorted parodies of her face, to theend that they might be disgusted and, abandoning the alliance they hadprojected, leave her still at Strelsau, to be painted times out ofnumber and most fruitlessly by this mad painter. And these thoughtsgaining the mastery over the others, in spite of the sad plight ofunhappy Signor Giraldo, her lips curved into a bow, her eyes gleamed indancing merriment, and a moment later she broke into a glad gleefullaugh, that rose and rippled, and fell to soft delighted murmurings. Asshe looked again at the picture that was like her and also like a devil,her mirth grew and grew at the ingenuity of the work and the mockingdevilry so cunningly made out of her face. Small wonder was it to hernow that the embassies had not come.
The Princess Osra thus stood laughing, and presently Signor Giraldolooked up. When he had listened and looked for a few moments, his wildmood caught the infection from her, so that, springing to his feet, healso began to laugh loudly, like a man who cannot restrain hisamusement, but is carried away by it beyond all bounds and restraints.Thus Giraldo laughed loudly, long, and fiercely; for there was madnessin his laugh. And the Princess heard the madness; even while she stilllaughed, her eyes opened in wonder; alarm came on her face, her merrylaugh quivered, trembled, choked in her throat, and at last died awayinto dumbness; yet her lips hung apart frozen in the shape of laughter,while no laughter came. But as her laugh thus ended in mute horror, hisgrew louder yet and wilder, and its peal rang through the room, as hegasped between his spasms of horrid mirth, "You, you, you!" and pointedat the picture which he had touched to devilishness. But she shrankaway, and stood crouched against the wall; for she knew now that he wasmad, but did not know to what his fury might next lead him. Then hecaught up a knife that lay on the sill of the window, and, now smilingas though in grim quiet amusement, strode across to the row of pictures,and reached up to them, knife in hand. But Osra suddenly sprang forward,crying:
"Do not hurt them."
"Thes
e?" he asked, turning to her with a sneer. "These? I'll destroythem all, for they are no longer beautiful to me, but that one only isbeautiful, because it is true." And he wrenched his arm away from thedetaining hand she had laid upon it. Falling back in terror, she watchedhim cutting and slashing each of the pictures, until the face wasutterly destroyed. And she feared that when he had finished with thepictures, he would turn upon her; therefore she flung herself on thecouch, hiding her face for fear of some horrible fate; she murmured lowto herself, "Not my face, O God, not my face!" and she pressed her facedown into the cushions of the couch, while he, muttering and grumblingto himself, cut the pictures into strips and ribbons, and strewed thefragments at his feet on the floor. This done, he turned to the devil'sface that he loved, and poured out to it, as though it had been a cruelidol he worshipped, a flood of wild passionate reproachful words, thatOsra shivered to hear, and the purport of which she dared tell none,though for all her prayers she could not herself forget one of them.
At last he came to her again, and plucked her roughly and rudely fromthe couch where she lay, and dragged her behind him back to the dooragain and through it; and they stood together in front of the lastpicture, whose paint was still wet from his hand. The painted facesmiled down on the trembling pale girl with its smile of careless serenedignity, so that now even to herself it seemed hardly to be her picture.For it was the true presentment of a King's daughter, and she no betterthan a helpless frightened girl. It seemed to reproach her; and suddenlyshe drew herself to her height, and turned on Giraldo, saying: "Youshall not touch it."
She stept forward, so that she stood between him and the picture,raising her hand, and forbidding him to approach it with his knife. Andnow the picture seemed more to be hers, although while it smiled shefrowned.
But at this moment there came through the window that opened on thestreet the clatter of horses' hoofs. At the sound Giraldo arrested themotion that he had already made to fling himself on the Princess;whether to kill her, or only to thrust her away from in front of thepicture she did not know. Running to the window, he looked out, andcalled in seeming glee: "It is the King come to see my pictures!" And helooked proud and happy. Going to the door of the room, he flung it open,and stood there waiting for the King and the gentlemen who attended theKing. They were not long in coming, for Rudolf was full of anger,impatience, and curiosity, and ran swiftly up the staircase. Hisgentlemen pressed into the room behind him, and Giraldo drew back,keeping his face to the King and bowing again and again. But the Kingand the rest saw the knife in his hand; and ragged strips of paintedcanvas hung here and there on his clothes, while the Princess, pale andproud, stood guarding the picture on the easel. The King, in spite ofhis wonder, was not turned from the purpose which had brought him to thepainter's house, but with a quick step darted up to Giraldo and thrustthe letter of the Marquis de Merosailles into his hand, bidding him in asharp peremptory tone to read it and give what explanation he could ofthe contents. Giraldo fell to reading it, while the King turned to hissister in order to ask her why she seemed agitated, and stood soobstinately in front of her own picture; but at that instant one of thegentlemen, whose name was Ladislas, gave a cry of surprise; for he hadlooked through the door into the inner room, and seen the havoc anddestruction that Giraldo had made, and also the strange and terriblepicture which alone had escaped the knife. The King, wondering, followedLadislas to the threshold of the inner room and passed it, while hisgentlemen, full of curiosity, crowded close on his heels after him.
The Princess Osra, thinking herself safe, found her anger and terrorpass away as her mirth had passed before. Now she felt in her heart thatpity which borders on tenderness, and which she could never refuse to aman who loved her, let the folly of his love and of the extravagancesinto which it drove him be as great as it would. Turning towardsGiraldo, she saw him fretting his puckered brow with his hand, andvainly seeking to compel his disordered brain to understand M. deMerosailles' letter. So she was very sorry for him, and, knowing thesudden hot temper to which the careless King was subject, she glidedswiftly across to the painter, and whispered: "Escape and hide. Hide fora few days. He will be furious now, but he will soon forget. Don't waitnow, but escape, signor. Some harm will happen to you here;" and in hereager pleading with him she laid her hand on his arm, and looked up inhis face with imploring eyes. But he looked at her with dazed vacantstare, muttering, "I cannot read the letter;" then a wistful smile cameon his face, and he thrust the letter towards her, saying: "Madame, willyou read it for me?" And at that moment they heard the King swear anangry oath; for he had seen the mad picture of his sister.
"No, no, not now," whispered Osra, beseeching Giraldo. "Not now, signor.Listen, the King is angry! Escape now, and we will read the letterafterwards." She was as earnest as though she had loved him and werepraying him to save himself for the sake of her love.
Giraldo looked into her softened eyes; suddenly giving a little cry, asif a great joy had come to him unexpectedly and contrary to alllikelihood, he dropped M. de Merosailles' letter, and sprang to wherehis brushes lay on the floor; seizing them and his palette, he gaveanother swift glance at the Princess, and then, turning to the picture,began to paint with marvellous dexterity and deftness and with thesudden confidence of a man inspired to the work. As he worked, his browgrew smoother, the tension of his strained face relaxed, happinessdawned in his eyes, and a smile broke on his lips; and Osra watched himwith a tender sorrowful gaze. Still he painted, and he was painting whenthe King burst in from the other room in a great rage, carrying hissword drawn in his hand; for he had sworn by Our Lady and St. Peter tokill the rogue who had done the Princess such wrong and so slandered herbeauty. And his gentlemen came in with him, all very ready to seeGiraldo killed, but each eager that the King should leave the task tohim. Yet when they entered and saw Giraldo painting as though he wererapt by some ecstasy and had forgotten all that had passed, nay, eventheir very presence, they paused in unwilling and constrainedhesitation. Osra raised her hand to bid them stay still where they were,and not interfere with Giraldo's painting. For now she desired above allthings on earth that he should be left to finish his task. For hethought that he had read more than pity and more than tenderness inOsra's eyes; he had seemed to see love there, and thus he had cried outin joy, and thus he was now painting as never had even he, for all hisskill, painted before. His unerring hand, moving lightly to and fro,imparted the sweetness of his delusive vision to the canvas, so that theeyes of the portrait glowed with wonderful and beautiful love andgentleness. Presently Giraldo began to sing very softly to himself asweet happy old song, that peasants sang to peasant girls in the fieldsoutside his native Verona on summer evenings. His head was thrown backin triumph and exultation as he sang and worked, tasting the luxury oflove, and glorying in the tribute that his genius paid to her whom heloved. Thus came a moment of great joy to the soul of Giraldo thepainter; for a man's love and a man's work are, when they seem toprosper, of all things the sweetest, and their union in one his life'sconsummation.
It was done. He laid down the brush, and drew back a step, looking atwhat he had done. The Princess came softly and slowly, as thoughattracted against her will, and she stood by him; for she saw that thispicture was now, beyond all compare, the most perfect and beautiful ofall that he or any other man had painted of her; and she loved him forthus glorifying her. But, before many moments had gone by, a suddenstart and shiver ran through Giraldo's body. The spell of his entrancedecstasy broke; his eyes fell from the masterpiece that he had made, andwandered to those who stood about him--to the gentlemen who did not knowwhether to wonder or to laugh, to the angry face of the King and thenaked sword in his hand, at last to Osra, whose eyes were still on thepicture. His exultation vanished, and with it went, as it seemed tothem, his madness. Reason dawned for a moment in his eyes, but wasquenched in an instant by shame and despair. For he knew that all therehad seen that other picture and knew now what he had done; and suddenlywith a stifled cry he flung himself
full length on the floor at Osra'sfeet.
"Let us wait," said she gently. "He will be himself again soon."
But the King was too angry to listen.
"He has made us fools before half Europe," he cried angrily, "and heshall not live to talk of it. And you--have you seen the pictureyonder?"
"Yes, I have seen it," said she. "But he does not now think that picturelike me, but this one." And she turned to the gentlemen, and desiredthem to raise Giraldo and lay him on a couch, and they obeyed. Then sheknelt by his head; and, after a while he opened his eyes, seeming soundof sense in everything except that he believed she loved him, so that hebegan to whisper to her as lovers whisper to their loves, very tenderlyand low. And the King, with his gentlemen, stood a little way off. Butthe Princess said nothing to Giraldo, neither refusing his love, nor yetsaying what was false; yet she suffered him to talk to her, and to reachup his hand and gently touch a lock of hair that strayed on herforehead. And he, sighing in utter happiness and contentment, closed hiseyes again, and lay back very quietly on the couch.
"Let us go," said she rising. "I will send a physician." And she badeone of the gentlemen lock the inner room, and give her the key, and sheand the King and they all then departed, and sent his servants to tendGiraldo; and Osra caused the King's physician also to be summoned. ButGiraldo did no more than linger some few days alive; for the most ofthem he was in a high fever, his brain being wild; and he raved aboutthe Princess, sometimes railing at her, sometimes praising her; yet onceor twice he awoke, calm and happy as he had been when she knelt by him,and having for his only delusion the thought that she still knelt thereand was breathing words of love into his ear. And in this last mercifulerror, in respect of which the physicians humoured him, one day a weeklater, he passed away and was at peace.
Then the Princess came, attended by one gentleman in whom she placedconfidence, and she destroyed the evil picture that Giraldo had painted,and having caused a fire to be made, burnt up the pieces of it, and allthe ruins of the pictures that Giraldo had destroyed. But that on whichhe had last worked so happily, and with such a triumph of art, shecarried with her to the palace; and presently she caused copies to bemade of it, and sent one to each of the Princes by whom Giraldo had beencommanded to paint her picture, and with it the money he had received,the whole of which was found untouched in a cabinet in his house. Butthe picture itself she hung in her own chamber, and would often look atit, feeling great sorrow for the fate of Giraldo the painter.
Yet King Rudolf could not be prevailed upon to pity the young man,saying that for his part he should have to be mad before the love of awoman should drive him mad; and he cursed Giraldo for an insolent knave,declaring that he did well to die of his own accord. And because M. deMerosailles had gallantly defended his sister's beauty in three duels,he sent him by the hand of a high officer his Order of the Red Rose,which M. de Merosailles wore with great pride at the Court ofVersailles.
But when the copies of the last picture reached the Courts to which theywere addressed, together with the money and a brief history of Giraldo'smad doings, the Princes turned their thoughts again to the matter of thealliance, and several embassies set out for Strelsau; so that PrincessOsra said, with a smile that was half-sad, half-amused, and verywhimsical:
"I am much troubled by reason of the loss of Signor Giraldo my painter."