Eyes Like the Sea: A Novel, Page 3

  CHAPTER II

  MY FIRST DISTINCTION--MY FIRST GRIEVANCE--THE DAMENWALZER--THE FRIGHTFULMONSTER--THE READJUSTED SCARF--THE SECOND NEEDLE-PRICK

  I am really most grateful to Monsieur Galifard. I have to thank him forthe first distinction I ever enjoyed in my life. This was thenever-to-be-forgotten circumstance that when my colleagues, the younghopefuls of the Academy of Jurisprudence at Kecskemet, gave a lawyers'ball, they unanimously chose me to be the _elotanczos_.[6] To this day Iam proud of that distinction; what must I have been then? On the heelsof this honour speedily came a second. The very same year, the HungarianAcademy of Sciences, on the occasion of the competition for the Telekiprize, honourably mentioned my tragedy, "The Jew Boy," and there wereeven two competent judges, Vorosmarty and Bajza,[7] who considered itworthy of the prize.... When, therefore, I returned to my native town,after an absence of three years, I found that a certain _renommee_ hadpreceded me. I had also very good reasons for returning home. The legalcurriculum in my time embraced four years. The third year was given tothe _patveria_, the fourth year to the _jurateria_.[8] Every respectableman goes through the patveria in his own country, but the _jurateria_ atBuda-Pest.

  [Footnote 6: The dancer who leads off the ball.]

  [Footnote 7: Two of the most eminent Hungarian poets.]

  [Footnote 8: Different branches of Hungarian law.]

  And I had something else to boast of, too. In my leisure hours I paintedportraits, miniatures in oil. So well did I hit off the Judge of Osziny(and he did not give me a sitting either) that every one recognised him;but a still greater sensation was caused by my portrait of the wife ofthe Procurator Fiscal, who passed for one of the prettiest women in thetown.

  And yet, despite all this, when in the following Shrovetide the LordLieutenant gave a ball to the county (they were something like LordLieutenants in those days), I was _not_ called upon to open the ball!Ungrateful fatherland!

  And who was it, pray, who caused me this bitter slight? A dandy, who didnot belong to our town at all; a certain Muki Bagotay, of whom the worldonly knew that he had been to Paris, and was a good match. In my rage Ihad resolved not to dance at the Lord Lieutenant's ball, although I hadreceived an invitation. Moreover, my indignation was increased by thecircumstance that rumour had already designated Bessy as thesemi-official partner of the opener of the ball.

  However, Nemesis overtook the pair of them.

  At this ball Bessy wore a frisure _a l'Anglaise_, which did not suit herface at all; and I rejoiced beforehand at the misadventure I clearlyforesaw, for I was certain that her flying dishevelled hair would catchin the buttons of her partner's dress-coat.

  As for Muki Bagotay himself, the first time we cast eyes upon him, myyoung brother and I immediately agreed that it was an absoluteimpertinence to be so handsome. Only a romance-writer has the right toproduce such perfect figures; they have no business to exist in reality.I comforted myself with the reflection that such a handsome fellow_must_ be a blockhead. I didn't know then that dulness was fashionable.Why, even _gold_ has a dull ring!

  But I was a very inexperienced youngster in those days. I had no down onmy face, I did not know how to smoke, I would not have drunk wine forworlds, and had never even looked a lady in the face.

  But, as I said before, Nemesis overtook them.

  The dance opened with a waltz. If _I_ had been master of the ceremonies,I should have started with a _kormagyar_.[9] Ah! that _kormagyar_. Thatis something like a dance. It requires enthusiasm to dance _that_, andyou want eight or sixteen couples to dance it properly, and allthirty-two dancers must dance it with histrionic precision, and that wasnot an easy thing to do, I can tell you. But, then, Bagotay was all forwaltzes. The "Pecsovics"![10]

  [Footnote 9: An old Hungarian round dance.]

  [Footnote 10: One who preferred foreign and especially Austrian customsto Hungarian.]

  But there's a Nemesis!

  It was the regular custom then for the band to play ten or twelve barsof each dance before it began, and then stop for a few moments so thatthe public might know whether the next dance was to be a polka,quadrille, or waltz. Muki Bagotay did not know this (what did he know,forsooth?), so when the band gave the usual signal, he took his partneron his arm and started off with her in a fine whirl, till the bandsuddenly stopped, and they found themselves high and dry at the otherend of the room with no music for their feet to dance to; so they had tosneak back shamefacedly to the place from whence they had started. Bessywas furious, and Muki was full of excuses; you would have taken them fora married couple of six months' standing. Serve them right!

  I did not watch them dance any more, but sat down in a corner andsketched caricatures on the back of my invitation card. Then I made myway to the buffet to drink almond-tea, and gathered round me two orthree _blase_ young men, like myself weary of existence. Let the gaycompany inside there try and amuse themselves without our assistance ifthey could!

  Suddenly some one tapped me on the shoulder with a fan, then Irecognised a voice; it was Bessy. "What," she said, "not content withflying from the dancing-room yourself, must you keep away other dancersalso! Come back, sir! A _Damenwalzer_ is beginning."

  For the privilege of a _Damenwalzer_ I capitulated unconditionally ofcourse. Having completed the turn round the room with my partner, I ledBessy back to her mother, and thanked her for the never-to-be-forgottendistinction. She had to be off again almost immediately, for the voiceof the master of the ceremonies announced a cotillon. The couples flewround with the velocity of will-o'-the-wisp. But her mother remainedwhere she was, and there was an empty chair beside her.

  "You are quite forgetting your old acquaintances," said she, breathingheavily (she was stout and suffered from asthma). "You don't troubleyour head about us now you have become a famous man."

  A famous man! What! then does _she_ also know that the Academy ofSciences honourably mentioned my tragedy? No, no! My other fame it wasthat had reached her--my pictorial successes.

  "We have seen the lovely portrait that you painted. Yes, it was MadameMuller to the life--just as she looked fifteen years ago. Why did younot rather paint her daughter, she is much prettier? But you don't likepainting girls, do you--you are afraid it is a losing game, eh?"

  The lady had certainly very peculiar expressions.

  Of course I could only reply that I was not a bit afraid, and that ifthey would let me, I should have the greatest pleasure in painting MissBessy.

  She was gracious enough to give her consent. The only thing was to fixwhen it should be. It could not be at once, as for some days after aball young ladies do not look their best. Then they had to get ready foranother dancing party, or were busy, and on Sundays they went to church.At last, however, after much calculation, a day was hunted up on whichBessy was free to sit to me.

  Then there was another question for consideration: was the portrait tobe painted on ivory with water-colours, or on linen with oils? "Ivory isbetter," I insinuated, "because one can always wipe off a portrait inwater-colours with a wet sponge whenever one likes."

  The lady remarked the self-reproach, and was gracious enough toneutralize it by a contradiction.

  "Then I declare for oils, for we wish to keep the picture for ever."

  I felt that I could have done anything for her.

  Meanwhile the cotillon had come to an end. Bessy returned to her mother,and the companion also resumed her place. The chair which I hadappropriated belonged to her, and resigning it to its lawful possessor,I would have withdrawn, but the lady considered it her duty to presentme to the ruling planet of the day, Muki Bagotay, who was escorting backhis partner. She immediately acquainted him with my artisticqualifications, and made it generally known that I was going in a fewdays to paint her daughter's portrait.

  On the afternoon of the day appointed I appeared at Bessy's house. I hadsent on beforehand my easel and my canvas by our servant. I found not asingle soul of a lackey either in the passage or the ante-chamber. I wasobliged to stand th
ere and wait till some one came to announce me, andin the meantime I could not help overhearing the conversation in theadjoining room.

  "You are a good-for-nothing rascal yourself--a shameful, impertinentfellow!"

  I recognised the voice of the mistress of the house.

  In reply came a protesting shriek.

  "Where is there a stick?" cried the lady.

  And at the same instant a hoarse voice replied: "Madame, vous etes unefriponne!"

  A pretty conversation truly. I had certainly arrived at the wrong time.

  Meanwhile the door opened, and the flunkey came in rubbing one of hishands with the other; he was evidently in pain.

  "Have you been beaten?" cried I, in amazement; to which he angrilyreplied: "No! I have been _bitten_."

  What, actually bitten the footman!

  "Would you kindly walk in, sir; they are waiting for you."

  The moment I entered the room this enigmatical state of things wasimmediately plain to me. The personage to whom her ladyship was metingout these offensive epithets, and who was returning her suchcontemptuous replies, was a grey parrot who had just bitten the lackeyin the finger and been chastised for this misdeed. The whole company wasin the utmost excitement. There was a large assembly both of ladies andgentlemen; amongst the latter my eye immediately caught sight of MukiBagotay. But the chief personage was the parrot. He was a grey-liveried,red-tailed, big-billed monster, and he stood in the middle of thetea-table in a threatening attitude. Somehow or other he had contrivedto open the door of his bronze cage, and in a twinkling he stood in themidst of the tea-things on the covered table. "Oh, I only hope he won'tget on my head!" cried a somewhat elderly lady, holding on to herchignon with both hands. Nobody dared to assume the offensive. Thefootman who had attempted to seize the fugitive had already been laid_hors de combat_ by the winged rebel, while the parlour-maid declaredthat she would not go near him if they gave her the whole house. Thelady of the house meanwhile was making little dabs at the bird with asmall Spanish cane, and calling it all sorts of abusive names; but thewarlike pet always grasped the end of the cane with its strong beak,while he repaid with interest the injurious epithets bestowed upon him.

  When I joined the company I was scarcely noticed and the lady of thehouse, in reply to my salutation, "I kiss your hand," said, "Youinfamous scoundrel!" though she immediately added, "I did not meanyou."--"You're one yourself," retorted the bird.

  "Come now, find a rhyme to that, Mr. Rhymster!" said Mr. Muki Bagotay.The wretch was apostrophizing me.--Rhymster, indeed!

  "Don't go near it!" cried Bessy; "he might bite your hand, and then youwould not be able to paint me."

  They'd terrify me, eh? It only needed that. I instantly went straightfor the bird. I would have done so had it been the double-headed Russianeagle itself. Was it divination which made me hit upon the proper wordto say to such a human-voiced monster? "Give me your head!" said I. Andat that word the terrible wretch bobbed down his head till he wasactually standing on his curved beak, while I scratched his head with myindex finger, which gratified him so much that he began to flutter hiswings.

  Then I hazarded a second command.

  "Give me your foot!"

  And then, to the general amazement, the parrot raised its formidablethree-pronged foot and clasped me tightly round the index finger withits claws; then it seized my thumb with its other foot, and allowed meto lift it from the table. Nor was that all. While I held it on my hand,just as the mediaeval huntsmen held their falcons, the parrot bent itshead over my hand and began to distribute kisses; but finally he wentthrough every variation of the kiss till it was a perfect scandal. Theladies laughed. "Who ever could have taught him?"

  "I got the bird during the lifetime of my late lamented husband,"explained the lady of the house, with some confusion.

  Finally, the conquered sphinx affectionately confided to me his name:"Little Koko! Darling Koko!" But I transferred Koko from my fist to hiscage, and put him on to the swinging ring, which he seized, and began toclimb upwards with his beak. He was a veritable triped! On settlingcomfortably in his ring, he made me a low bow, and cried with a naiveinflexion of voice--"Your humble servant!"

  "Positively marvellous!" gasped the lady-mother; "you ought really to bea tamer of animals!"

  "I mean to be."

  "Indeed! And what sort of beasts will you tame?"

  "Men!"

  Not one of them understood me.

  "Well, Mr. Poet," joked Muki Bagotay, "the ballad was a success; now letus see whether the picture also will be superlative."

  "How do you want to see it?"

  "So!" and with that he stuck his eye-glass into the corner of his nose.

  "Then you're just mistaken!" said I, "for when I paint a portrait nobodyis allowed in the room except myself and the sitter."

  The whole company was amazed. Every one fancied that it would have beena public exhibition, and so they had all congregated together to see howa person's eye, mouth and ear came out. A large round table had beenprepared for me, in order that a whole lot of them might sit around itwith their hands on their elbows, and give me general directions as Iwent along: That eye a bit higher! that ringlet a little lower! A littlemore red here, and a little more white there! However, I declaredplainly that I would not paint before a crowd; it was the rule inpainting, I said. When portraits were being painted, nobody must be inthe atelier but the painter and his model. Barabas,[11] too, always madethat a rule.

  [Footnote 11: Michael Barabas, a famous Hungarian painter, born atMarkosfalu in 1810.]

  My resolution produced an imposing effect on the company. It's a verynice thing when a man can do something which nobody else can! They hadto agree that Bessy and I should sit alone in a little side room, whichhad only one window, and the lower part of even this window had to becovered by a Spanish screen so as to get a proper light. And nobody wasto disturb us so long as the sitting lasted.

  The first sitting did not last long. In oil painting, the image shouldfirst of all be painted _under_, that is to say, with dull neutralcolours. In those days I had never heard of such a thing as a firstcoating; while it is in this stage the picture is not fit to be lookedat. It is absolutely hideous, and the better the likeness, the worse itlooks. I allowed nobody to look at it, not even Bessy. I locked up thefirst essay in my painter's knapsack; it was a miniature. At this stageit was quite sufficient if the _insetting_ had succeeded, with thefigure in profile, but the countenance quite _en face_; the shadowspiled up, but the background merely thrown out tentatively, and thefundamental colours of the dress just insinuated. Every one will seethat this last part is the hardest of all.

  The company was very much deceived in its expectations when it wasinformed that I had nothing to show it. Every one had expected that inan hour and a half I should have finished the eye or the mouth at anyrate; they now thought to themselves that nothing at all would come ofit.

  "Well, but will Bessy look pretty in this dress?" asked her mother.

  What could I do at such a question as this but look silly? As if I knewwhether Bessy had had a pretty dress on or not! All I knew was that Ihad had to use for it a little "English lake," some "Neapolitan yellow,""Venetian white," and just a scrinch of "burnt ochre."

  "I can tell you that it was a very tiresome amusement," said Bessy. "Theface a little more that way--Not so serious--Not so smiling--Don't sitso stiffly--Raise your finger--Don't move about so much.--And you'velaid so much licorice-juice on my portrait that they'll fancy I'm agipsy girl."

  I hastened to assure her that this was only laying the ground work, andthat on the morrow it would be a much merrier business.

  The next day I was there again after an early dinner. In the forenoon Iwas with my chief at the office. Thus before dinner I was a lawyer, andafter dinner I was artist, poet, and reciter.

  This time there was no company. The picture proceeded briskly, and themembers of the family were allowed to come in from time to time, one byone, and have a peep a
t it.

  I had now begun to study the face more in detail. It was an interestinghead. The face was almost heart-shaped, terminating below in a littlechin which was delicately divided by a single dimple. There werespiral-like lips of dazzling red enamel; a slightly _retrousse_ nose,with vibrating nostrils; round, rosy-red cheeks, with little beautyspots here and there, which I christened "black stars in the ruddydawning heavens!" Her densely thick hair curled naturally, and gleamedlike golden enamel, diminishing, after the manner of Phidias' idealVenus, the smoothest of foreheads, and fluttering the most roguish oflittle ringlets over the blue-veined temples. (How could I help learningby heart such minute details when every one of them passed beneath mybrush?) But what my brush could not possibly reproduce was hermarvellous pair of eyes. They drove me entirely to despair. I reallybelieve that even if I had been a true artist instead of a wretcheddilettante, I should never have been able to conjure forth theirsecrets. Just when I was thinking I had fixed them, her eyes wouldflash, and my whole work was thrown away. At last I had to be contentwith a dreamy expression, which pleased _me_, at any rate, best. Theinspecting family trio said that they had never seen such an expressionon Bessy's face; nevertheless they acknowledged, with one voice, that itwas a speaking likeness.

  The head was now ready, the dress was to remain till to-morrow.

  On that day there was a _preference_ party in town at the General's.Bessy's mother was an enthusiastic _preference_ player.... Consequentlyshe was not at home. The aunt alone remained as the guardian of maidens,and she used generally to take a nap in the afternoon, or play patience.I don't know who presided over Bessy's toilet on this occasion, perhapsnobody. That clean-cut, pale pink bodice on other days had given fullscope to her charming figure; but on this particular day it was moreinsinuating than ever. It seemed to me as if the frill of English tullehad crept considerably lower down the shoulder, nay, lower still.

  One cannot imagine a lovelier masterpiece of a creative hand than thatbust. And it is a painter's right, nay, his duty, not merely to look,but to observe. A dangerous privilege. My hand trembled, I seemed tofreeze, and yet beads of sweat stood out upon my forehead.... She, too,seemed to remark my agitation. A roguish flame sparkled in her eye. Shewas now not a bit like her yesterday's portrait. She seemed to beflouting me. And I was putting that treacherous frill of tulle to rightsin the picture, putting it where it _ought_ to have been. That is what Ireally call "_corriger la fortune_."

  At this sitting the face was completely finished, and the dress also waspainted. I thanked the fair self-sacrificing victim, and told her thatshe might now look at the picture; it was ready. The girl rose from herchair and peeped over my shoulder. She looked at the picture and laughedin my face.

  "Why, you've readjusted the frill of my dress, haven't you?" said she.

  "So you wore it like that purposely, eh?"

  "Then was there something you didn't want to see?"

  "There was something I didn't want other people to see."

  "Well, now, I've been looking at you for days and days, and I'veobserved something _on you_ which is very nasty, and which I don't likeat all."

  "I had no idea you gave me so much of your attention."

  "It is only a mere speck, no bigger than the eye of a bean."

  "What can it be?"

  "The wart on your right hand."

  And, indeed, on my right hand, just below the thumb, was a not veryornamental excrescence, which everybody could see when I was writing orpainting.

  "I cannot cut it out, because it is just above the artery. I showed itto a doctor, and he said it would be a rather dangerous operation."

  "What does the doctor know about it? I'll destroy it for you; it won'thurt you. I learned it at school from my school-fellows. I'll destroy itin a moment."

  "By incantations, eh?"

  "Oh, dear no! It will smart dreadfully. But if a girl can stand it, youcan."

  I consented.

  She lit a candle forthwith, and placed it on the table beside me. Thenshe produced a darning-needle from somewhere (I thought of the otherdarning-needle), took firm hold of it, shoved it right down to the veryroots of the wart, held up my hand, and placed the head of the needle inthe candle flame till it was heated to a white heat. And all the timeher wondrous eyes were opened round and wide, and looked straight intomy eyes with irises turned downwards. It is thus that the demons of hellmust look upon those whom they are roasting!

  "Does it hurt?" she hissed between her teeth. She appeared to be in astate of ecstatic delight.

  "It hurts, but it is not the needle."

  "Well, now you can take your wart away with you."

  Two days after, the calcined wart fell from my hand, leaving behind it alittle speck no bigger than a lentil; and that speck is there still, andis of a whiteness which contrasts strongly with the colour of the restof the hand. And every day I set to work writing, I must needs look atthis little white spot, and when I have looked at it long, it seems tome as if _her_ face were appearing before me in the midst of this tinycircle just as it looked then; and then that face runs through all itsvariations down to that last shape of all, which still startles me frommy slumbers.