# The Pictures/II

In unspeakable anger Edward returned home. He went furiously in, banged all the doors violently after him, and hastened through the great rooms to a little back parlour, where, in the twilight, sat old Eulenböck, with a glass of generous wine by his side, waiting for his coming.
— Here! cried Edward, thou old wry-nosed, wine-burnt scoundrel, is thy daub again; sell it to the soap-boiler up the street, and let him melt it down into his vat, if the painting does not suit him.
— A pity that for my good little picture, said the old painter, pouring himself out another glass with perfect coolness. Thou art warm, darling; so the old man would have nothing to say to the bargain?
— Rogue! cried Edward, flinging the picture violently away; and on thy account I am become a rogue myself! Affronted, insulted! Oh, and how ashamed of myself, my face and neck all of a glow from top to bottom, that for thy sake I should have permitted myself such a lie!
— It's no lie at all, manikin, said the painter, as he unwrapped the picture; it is as genuine a Salvator Rosa as I ever painted. Thou hast never seen me at work upon it, and therefore canst not know who the author is. Thou hast no dexterity, my little simpleton; I ought not to have trusted thee with the business.
— I will be a man of honour! cried Edward, striking the table with his fist; I will become a steady man, and be once more respected by others and myself. I will become quite another creature, I will enter on a new course of life!
— Why put thyself out of temper? said the old man, renewing his draught. I will not hinder thee; I shall rejoice to see the day. I have always, thou knowest, warned thee and lectured thee; I tried too to accustom thee to work; I wanted to initiate thee in the process of restoration, to teach thee to prepare varnishes, to grind colours, in short, I have left no stone unturned for thy benefit.
— Dog of a fellow! cried Edward, was I to become thy journeyman, thy colour-grinder? But in truth I sunk to-day deeper still, when I let myself be used as a knave's knave!
— What derogatory expressions the lad makes use of! said the painter, sniggering in his glass. Were I to take such things to heart, here had we forthwith tilting or bitter feud. But he means well for all his warmth; the youngster has something noble in his character; only as a picture-dealer, to be sure, he is good for nothing.
Edward laid his head on the table, from which the painter hastily wiped a slop of wine away, that the youth might not dip his sleeve in it.
— The dear good Salvator, he then said thoughtfully, is supposed himself not to have led the best of lives; they even charge him with having been a bandit. When Rembrandt gave himself out for dead in his life-time, in order to raise the price of his works, he did not quite adhere to truth neither, though he died in reality some years afterwards, and so had only miscalculated a little. Suppose then, I, in all love and humility, paint a little piece like this, and gently and gradually identify myself in fancy with the old master, and all his delightful peculiarities, so that I feel as if the spirit of the dear departed guided my hand and pencil, and the thing is then finished, and affectionately winks to me its gratitude, for having executed another piece of the old virtuoso, who after all could not do every thing himself, nor live for ever, and I now, especially after a glass of wine, inspecting it with more profound attention, convince myself in right earnest that it actually is a production of the old master, and so hand it over to another lover of his, and desire only a fair recompense for my pains, in having let my hand be guided and my own genius suppressed for the time, to the detriment of my own reputation as an artist:—Is this then an offence, my darling, that cries to Heaven, to sacrifice myself in this child-like simplicity?
He raised the recumbent head, but changed his grin of good-humour into a gravity equally distorted, on seeing the cheeks of the youth full of tears, which were gushing out of his eyes in a hot incessant stream.
— Oh, my lost youth! sobbed Edward; oh, ye golden days, ye weeks, and years! how sinfully have I squandered you away, as though there lay not in your hours the germ of virtue, of honour, and of happiness; as though this precious treasure of time were ever to be redeemed. Like a glass of stale water have I poured forth my life and the essence of my heart. Oh! what a state of being might have opened on me, what happiness for myself and others, had not an evil genius blinded my eyes! Trees of blessing were growing and spreading a shade around me and over me, in which a friend, a wife, and the afflicted, might have found help, comfort, home, and peace; and I, in giddy wantonness, have laid the axe to this grove, and must now endure frost, storm, and heat!
Eulenböck did not know what sort of face to make, still less what to say; for in this mood, with such sentiments, he had never seen his young friend before. At last he was glad to escape observation, and to be able snugly to empty his bottle.
— Thou art bent then on becoming virtuous, my son? he began at last; Good again. Verily few men are so inclined to virtue as myself, for it requires a keen eye to know even what virtue is. To act the niggard, and force people to lie in the face of God and man, is certainly none. But whoever has the true talent that way is sure to find it. If I help a sensible man to a good Salvator or Julio Romano of my own hand, and he is pleased with it, I have at all events done a better action than if I were to sell a blockhead a genuine Raphael, of which the dolt does not know the value, and at the bottom of his heart would take more delight in a tricksy Vanderwerft. My great Julio Romano I must sell in person, since thou hast neither the gift nor the luck for this kind of adventure.
— These wretched sophistries, said Edward, can operate on me no longer; that time is gone by, and thou hast only to take care they do not detect thee; for with the uninitiated indeed the attempt may succeed, but not with judges such as old Walther.
— Let me alone, my little darling, said the old painter; the judges are precisely the best to cheat, and with a raw novice I should not even wish to try the experiment. Oh! that good old dear Walther, that sharp little man! Didst thou not see that fine Höllenbreughel that hangs on the third pillar between the sketch of Rubens and the portrait by Vandyke? That is mine. I went to the little man with the picture. Have you a mind to buy a fine piece? What! cried he, such mad freaks, such fooleries? That is not in my line; however, let us see. Well, in general I do not take in such absurdities; but as in this picture there is rather more grace and design than one commonly meets with in these vagaries, I will for once in a way make an exception. In short he kept it, and shows it to people to display his comprehensive taste.
— But wilt thou, said Edward, never turn honest man? It is surely high time.
— My young doctor, cried the old man, I have been one long. Thou dost not understand the thing, nor art thou with all the warmth of thy outset yet at the goal. When thou hast reached the mark, and happily passed all rocks, bars, and beacons, then boldly beckon to me, and I perhaps may shape my course after thee. Till then let me alone.
— So then our career of life is parted! said Edward, viewing him again with a look of kindness; I have let slip much, but yet not all; I have still a part of my property, my house, remaining. Here I shall quarter myself plainly, and endeavour to procure a place as secretary or librarian to the prince who is expected here shortly, perhaps I may travel with him; perhaps elsewhere a fortunate chance—or if not, I confine myself to this spot, and seek employment in my native town.
— And when dost launch into this life of virtue? asked the old man with a grin.
— Immediately, said the youth; to-morrow, to-day, this hour.
— Nonsense! said the painter, shaking his grey head; for all good things a man must allow himself time, must make preparation, take his vantage run, close the old period with a solemn rite, and in like manner begin the new one. It was an admirable custom of our ancestors, in some districts, to celebrate the exequies of the carnival with a fit of pure genuine extravagance, to let their spirits once more run wild at the end of the holidays, and surfeit themselves with mirth, that they might afterwards indulge their devotion uninterruptedly, and without the slightest scruple of conscience. Let us observe that worshipful custom; I have a yearning, dost see, towards thee, my little pet; give us and thy mad humours once more a right choice carouse, a solemn farewell dithyrambic, that thou mayst live in our memories, especially in mine; let us be joyous over the best wine till late in the night; then thou turnest off to the right to virtue and discretion, and the rest of us stay on the left where we are.
— Guzzler! said Edward smiling, so long as thou findest but a pretext for getting drunk, all is well with thee. Let it be then on Twelfth Night.
— That is still four days off, sighed the old man, draining the last drop, and then silently retired.
__________