And he was making for the door. But Bosswinkel held him fast, saying: "Wait till we see what happens." And, turning to the old Jew, he told him what Tussmann had said about him and the events of the previous night in the wineshop and in Alexander Place.

Mana.s.seh looked at Tussmann with a malignant grin, and said: "I don't know what the gentleman means. He came into the wineshop last night with Leonhard, the goldsmith (where I happened to be taking a gla.s.s of wine to refresh me after a quant.i.ty of hard work which had occupied me till nearly midnight). The gentleman drank rather more than was good for him: he couldn't keep on his legs, and went out to the street staggering."

"Don't you see," Bosswinkel said, "this is what comes of that terrible habit of liquoring up? You'll have to leave it off, I can a.s.sure you, if you're going to be my son-in-law."

Tussmann, overwhelmed by this unmerited reproof, sank down into a chair breathless, closed his eyes, and murmured something completely unintelligible in whimpering accents.

"Of course," said Bosswinkel, "dissipating all night, and now done up and wretched."

And, in spite of all his protestations, Tussmann had to submit to Bosswinkel's wrapping a white handkerchief about his head, and sending him home in a cab to Spandau Street.

"And what's _your_ news, Mana.s.seh?" the Commissionsrath inquired.

Mana.s.seh simpered most deferentially, and with much amiability, and said Mr. Bosswinkel would scarcely be prepared for the news he had to tell him, which was that that splendid young fellow, his nephew Benjamin Dummerl, worth close upon a million of money, had just been created a baron on account of his remarkable merits, was recently come back from Italy, and had fallen desperately in love with Miss Albertine, to whom he intended to offer his hand.

We see this young. Baron Dummerl continually in the theatres, where he swaggers in a box of the first tier, and oftener still at concerts of every description. So that we well know him to be tall, and as thin as a broom-handle; that in his dusky yellow face, overshadowed by jetty locks and whiskers, in his whole being, he is stamped with the most distinctive and unmistakeable characteristics of the Oriental race to which he belongs; that he dresses in the most extravagant style of the very latest English fashion, speaks several languages, all in the self-same tw.a.n.g (that of "our people"); sc.r.a.pes on a violin, hammers on the piano; is an art connoisseur without acknowledge of art, and would fain play the part of a literary Mecaenas; tries to be witty without wit, and _spirituel_ without _esprit_; is stupidly forward, noisy, and pushing. In short, to use the concise and descriptive expression of that numerous cla.s.s of individuals amongst whom his desire is to shove himself, an insufferable sn.o.b and boor. When we add to all this that he is avaricious and dirtily mean in everything that he does, it cannot be otherwise than that even those less elevated souls that fall down and worship wealth very soon leave him to himself.

When Mana.s.seh mentioned this nephew, the thought of that approximation to a million which "Benjie" possessed pa.s.sed through the Commissionsrath's mind; but along with that thought came the objection which, in his opinion, made the idea of him as a son-in-law impossible.

"My good Mana.s.seh, you are forgetting that your nephew belongs to the old religion, and that----"

"Ho!" cried Mana.s.seh, "what does _that_ matter? My nephew is in love with your daughter, and wants to make her happy. A drop or two of water more or less won't make much difference to him. He'll be the same man still. You just think the matter over, Herr Commissionsrath; I shall come back in a day or two with my little baron, and get your answer."

With which Mana.s.seh took his departure.

Bosswinkel began to think over the affair at once, but, spite of his boundless avarice and his utter absence of conscience or character, he could not endure the idea of Albertine's marrying that disgusting Benjamin, and in a sudden attack of rect.i.tude he determined that he would keep his word to Tussmann.

CHAPTER IV.

TREATS OF PORTRAITS, A GREEN FACE, JUMPING MICE, AND ISRAELITISH CURSES.

Albertine, soon after she made Edmund's acquaintance, came to the conclusion that the big oil portrait of her father which hung in her room was a horribly bad likeness of him, and dreadfully scratched into the bargain. She pointed out to her father that though it was so many years since the portrait was painted, he was really looking much younger, and better in every way, than the painter had represented him.

Also, she particularly disliked the gloomy, sulky expression of the face, the old-fashioned clothes, and a preposterous bunch of flowers which he was holding between his fingers in a delicate manner, displaying in so doing certain handsome diamond rings.

She talked so much, and so long, on this subject, that at last her father himself saw that the portrait was horrible, and couldn't understand how the painter had managed to turn out such a caricature of his well-looking person. And the more he thought the matter over and looked at the picture, the more he was convinced that it was an execrable daub. He determined to take it down, and stow it away in the lumber room.

Albertine said that was the best thing that could be done, but that, all the same, she was accustomed to see dear papa's picture in her room, that the bare s.p.a.ce on the wall would be such a blank to her that she should never feel comfortable; so that the only course was for dear papa to have _another_ portrait painted, by some painter who knew what he was about, and that _she_ could think of n.o.body but Edmund Lehsen, so celebrated for his admirable portraits.

"My dear," the Commissionsrath said, "you don't know what you're talking about. Those young painters are so full of conceit, they don't know where to turn themselves, don't care how much they ask for those bits of sc.u.mblings of theirs, won't think of anything under gold Fredericks."

But Albertine declared that Edmund Lehsen painted for the love of the thing much more than for money, and would be sure to charge very little. And she kept on at her father so a.s.siduously, that at last he agreed to go to Edmund Lehsen, and see what he would say about a portrait.

We can imagine the delight with which Edmund expressed his readiness to undertake the Commissionsrath's portrait; and his delight became rapture when he heard that it was Albertine who put the idea in her father's head. He saw, of course, that her notion was that this would give him opportunities of seeing her. So that it was a matter of course that when the Commissionsrath asked, rather anxiously, about the price, Edmund said that the honour of being admitted, for the sake of Art, to the house and society of a gentleman such as he, was more than sufficient remuneration for any little effort of his.

"Good Heavens! Can I believe my ears?" the Commissionsrath cried. "No money, dearest Mr. Lehsen? No gold Fredericks for your trouble? Not even the expense of your paints and canvas?"

Edmund laughingly said all that was too insignificant to be taken into account.

"But," Bosswinkel said, "I'm afraid you don't know that I'm thinking of having a three-quarters length life-size."

"It doesn't matter in the slightest," the painter answered.

The Commissionsrath pressed him warmly to his heart, and cried, while tears of joy rose to his eyes, "Oh, heavenly powers! Are there human souls of this degree of disinterestedness in this world which lieth in wickedness? First his cigars, and now this picture. Marvellous man!--or 'youth' I ought to say. Dear Mr. Lehsen, within your soul dwell those virtues, and that true German singleness of heart, which one reads of more than enough, but which are rare in these times of ours. But let me tell you, though I am a Commissionsrath, and dress in French fashions, I am quite of the same way of thinking as yourself. I can appreciate your large-mindedness, and am as unselfish, and as free with my money, as anybody in the land."

Crafty Miss Albertine had, of course, known exactly how Edmund would proceed with her father's commission, and her object was attained.

Bosswinkel overflowed with laudation of this grand young fellow, so entirely free from the least trace of that greediness which is such a hateful quality in a man. And he ended by saying that young people, especially the artistic, always have a turn for the romantic, and set great store by withered flowers and the ribbons which some beloved girl has worn, and go out of themselves altogether over any piece of work done by the hands of those divinities; so that Albertine had better knit a little purse for Edmund, and, if she saw no particular objection, even put into it a little lock of her bonny nut-brown hair, and thus get out of any little obligation they might be thought to be under to him. To do this she had his full permission, and he undertook to answer to Tussmann on the subject. Albertine, who was not yet taken into her father's confidence as to his projects, had not the remotest notion what Tussmann might have to say to the matter, and did not take the trouble to inquire.

That very evening Edmund had his painting gear taken to Bosswinkel's house, and the next morning he made his appearance there for the first sitting.

He begged the Commissionsrath to think of the very happiest moment of his life. For instance, when his dead wife first said she loved him, or when Albertine was born, or when he unexpectedly saw some dear friend whom he had thought to be lost to him; and to try and look as he had done _then_.

"Wait a moment, Mr. Lehsen," said Bosswinkel; "I know what to do. One day, about three months ago, I got a letter from Hamburg telling me I had drawn a big prize in the lottery. I ran to my daughter with the letter open in my hand. That was the happiest moment I ever had in all my life. Let's choose _that_ one; and, just to place the whole thing more vividly before your eyes--and mine--I'll go and get the letter, and be taken with it in my hand--just as I was when it came."

So Edmund had no help but to paint Bosswinkel accordingly; and he wouldn't be content, either, unless the writing on the letter was rendered legibly and distinctly, word for word, as follows:--

"Honoured Sir, "I have the honour to inform you----"

and so forth; moreover, the envelope had to be portrayed lying on a little table, so that the address on it, displaying all the Commissionsrath's official t.i.tles written out at full length, could be clearly read. The very postmark Edmund had to copy with the utmost minuteness.

For the rest, he made a portrait of a well-looking, good-tempered, handsomely-dressed man, who _did_ display, in some of the features of his face, a more or less distant resemblance to the Commissionsrath; so that n.o.body who read what was on the envelope could make any mistake as to whom the portrait was intended for.

The Commissionsrath was delighted with it. "There," he said; "there you see what a painter who knows his business can make of a more or less well-looking fellow, though he _may_ be getting a little on in years! I begin to understand now (I didn't before), a thing that the Professor in the Humanity Cla.s.s used to say, that a proper portrait ought to be a regular historical picture. Whenever I look at that one, I remember that delicious and happy moment when the news came of my prize in the lottery, and I understand the meaning of that smile on my face--that reflection of the happiness I felt within me then."

Before Albertine could carry out the plans which she had formed in her mind, her father took the initiative by begging Edmund to paint _her_, as well. Edmund begun this work at once; but he did not find it so easy to satisfy himself with her portrait as with her father's. He put in a most careful outline, and then rubbed it out again; outlined once more--carefully--begun to lay on some colour, and then threw the whole thing aside; commenced again; altered the pose. There was always either too much light in the room, or not enough. The Commissionsrath, who had always been present at those sittings at first, got tired presently, and betook himself elsewhere.

Upon this, Edmund came forenoon and afternoon, and if the picture did not make much progress, the love-affair made a great deal, and entwined itself more and more firmly. I have no doubt, dear reader, that your own experience has shown you that when one is in love, and wants to give to all the fond, longing words and wishes, which one has got to express, their due and proper effect, so that they may go to the listener's very heart, it is a matter of absolute necessity that one should take hold of the hand of the beloved object, press it, and kiss it; upon which, as by the operation of some sudden development of electrical force, lip goes into contact with lip; and the electricity (if that is what we are to call it), arrives at a condition of equilibrium by means of a fire-stream of sweetest kisses. Thus Edmund was very often obliged to stop painting, and not only that, but he had very frequently to get down from the scaffold upon which he and his easel were placed.

Thus it came about that, one forenoon, he was standing with Albertine at the window, where the white curtains were drawn, and (on the principle we have been explaining), in order to give more force to what he was saying to her, was holding her in his arms, and kissing her hand.

At this particular hour and moment, Mr. Tussmann, Clerk of the Privy Chancery, happened to be pa.s.sing Bosswinkel's house, with the 'Treatise on Diplomatic Ac.u.men,' and sundry tractates and pamphlets (in which the useful and the entertaining were combined in due measure) in his pockets. And although he was bounding along as fast as ever he could--according to his manner--because the clock was just on the very stroke of the hour at which he used always to enter his office, still he drew up for a moment, in order to cast a sentimental glance up at the window of his love.

There he saw, as in a cloud, Albertine with Edmund; and, although he could not make out anything at all distinctly, his heart throbbed, he knew not why. Some strange sense of anxious alarm impelled him to undertake things previously unattempted, undreamt of, namely, to go upstairs to Albertine's rooms, at this totally unprecedented hour of the day.

As he entered, Albertine was saying, quite distinctly:

"Oh, yes, Edmund! I must always--always love you!" And she pressed Edmund to her heart, whilst a whole battery of "restoration of electrical equilibrium" began to go off, rushing and sparkling.

The Clerk of the Privy Chancery walked mechanically forward into the room, and then stood, dumb and speechless, like a man in a cataleptic fit. In the height of their blissfulness the two lovers had not heard the elephantine tread of Tussmann's peculiar boot-like shoes, nor his opening of the door, nor his coming in, and striding into the middle of the room.

He now squeaked out, in his high falsetto:

"But--Miss Albertine Bosswinkel!----"

Edmund and Albertine fled apart like lightning--he to his easel, she to the chair where she was supposed to be sitting for her portrait.

Tussmann, after a short pause, during which he tried to get back his breath, resumed, saying--

"But, Miss Albertine Bosswinkel, what are you doing? What are you after? First of all, you go and waltz with this young gentleman (I haven't the honour of his acquaintance), in the Town-hall at twelve o'clock at night, in a way that made me, your husband that is to be, almost lose the faculties of seeing and hearing; and now--here--in broad daylight, behind those curtains--Oh! Good gracious!--is this a way for an engaged young lady to go on?"

"Who's an engaged young lady?" Albertine cried out, in immense indignation. "Whom are you talking about, Mr. Tussmann? Tell me, if you will be so kind."