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CHAPTER III

It  causes  us  so  agreeable  a  sensation  to  occupy  ourselves  with  what  we  can

only  half  do,  that  no  person  ought  to  find  fault  with  the  dilettante,  when  he  is

spending his time over an art which he can never learn; nor blame the artist if he

chooses to pass out over the border of his own art, and amuse himself in some

neighboring field. With such complacency of feeling we regard the preparation

of  the  Architect  for  painting  the  chapel.  The  colors  were  got  ready,  the

measurements  taken,  the  cartoons  designed.  He  had  made  no  attempt  at

originality,  but  kept  close  to  his  outlines;  his  only  care  was  to  make  a  proper

distribution  of  the  sitting  and  floating  figures,  so  as  tastefully  to  ornament  his

space with them.

The  scaffoldings  were  erected.  The  work  went  forward;  and  as  soon  as

anything had been done on which the eye could rest, he could have no objection

to Charlotte and Ottilie coming to see how he was getting on.

The  life-like  faces  of  the  angels,  their  robes  waving  against  the  blue  sky-

ground, delighted the eye, while their still and holy air calmed and composed the

spirit, and produced the most delicate effect.

The ladies ascended the scaffolding to him, and Ottilie had scarcely observed

how  easily  and  regularly  the  work  was  being  done  when  the  power  which  had

been  fostered  in  her  by  her  early  education  at  once  appeared  to  develop.  She

took  a  brush,  and  with  a  few  words  of  direction,  painted  a  richly  folding  robe,

with as much delicacy as skill.

Charlotte, who was always glad when Ottilie would occupy or amuse herself

with anything, left them both in the chapel, and went to follow the train of her

own  thoughts,  and  work  her  way  for  herself  through  her  cares  and  anxieties

which she was unable to communicate to a creature.

When ordinary men allow themselves to be worked up by common every-day

difficulties  into  fever-fits  of  passion,  we  can  give  them  nothing  but  a

compassionate  smile.  But  we  look  with  a  kind  of  awe  on  a  spirit  in  which  the

seed  of  a  great  destiny  has  been  sown,  which  must  abide  the  unfolding  of  the

germ, and neither dare nor can do anything to precipitate either the good or the

ill, either the happiness or the misery, which is to arise out of it.

Edward had sent an answer by Charlotte’s messenger, who had come to him

in  his  solitude.  It  was  written  with  kindness  and  interest,  but  it  was  rather

composed  and  serious  than  warm  and  affectionate.  He  had  vanished  almost

immediately after, and Charlotte could learn no news about him; till at last she

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accidentally  found  his  name  in  the  newspaper,  where  he  was  mentioned  with

honor  among  those  who  had  most  distinguished  themselves  in  a  late  important

engagement. She now understood the method which he had taken; she perceived

that he had escaped from great danger; only she was convinced at the same time

that he would seek out greater; and it was all too clear to her that in every sense

he would hardly be withheld from any extremity.

She  had  to  bear  about  this  perpetual  anxiety  in  her  thoughts,  and  turn  which

way she would, there was no light in which she could look at it that would give

her comfort.

Ottilie, never dreaming of anything of this, had taken to the work in the chapel

with the greatest interest, and she had easily obtained Charlotte’s permission to

go on with it regularly. So now all went swiftly forward, and the azure heaven

was soon peopled with worthy inhabitants. By continual practice both Ottilie and

the  Architect  had  gained  more  freedom  with  the  last  figures;  they  became

perceptibly  better.  The  faces,  too,  which  had  been  all  left  to  the  Architect  to

paint, showed by degrees a very singular peculiarly. They began all of them to

resemble Ottilie. The neighborhood of the beautiful girl had made so strong an

impression  on  the  soul  of  the  young  man,  who  had  no  variety  of  faces

preconceived in his mind, that by degrees, on the way from the eye to the hand,

nothing  was  lost,  and  both  worked  in  exact  harmony  together.  Enough;  one  of

the  last  faces  succeeded  perfectly;  so  that  it  seemed  as  if  Ottilie  herself  was

looking down out of the spaces of the sky.

They had finished with the arching of the ceiling. The walls they proposed to

leave plain, and only to cover them over with a bright brown color. The delicate

pillars  and  the  quaintly  molded  ornaments  were  to  be  distinguished  from  them

by a dark shade. But as in such things one thing ever leads on to another, they

determined at least on having festoons of flowers and fruit, which should, as it

were,  unite  heaven  and  earth.  Here  Ottilie  was  in  her  element.  The  gardens

provided the most perfect patterns; and although the wreaths were as rich as they

could make them, it was all finished sooner than they had supposed possible.

It was still looking rough and disorderly. The scaffolding poles had been run

together,  the  planks  thrown  one  on  the  top  of  the  other;  the  uneven  pavement

was yet more disfigured by the parti-colored stains of the paint which had been

spilt over it.

The  Architect  begged  that  the  ladies  would  give  him  a  week  to  himself,  and

during that time would not enter the chapel; at the end of it, one fine evening, he

came  to  them,  and  begged  them  both  to  go  and  see  it.  He  did  not  wish  to

accompany them, he said, and at once took his leave.

“Whatever surprise he may have designed for us,” said Charlotte, as soon as

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he was gone, “I cannot myself just now go down there. You can go by yourself,

and tell me all about it. No doubt he has been doing something which we shall

like.  I  will  enjoy  it  first  in  your  description,  and  afterwards  it  will  be  the  more

charming in the reality.”

Ottilie,  who  knew  well  that  in  many  cases  Charlotte  took  care  to  avoid

everything  which  could  produce  emotion,  and  particularly  disliked  to  be

surprised,  set  off  down  the  walk  by  herself  and  looked  round  involuntarily  for

the Architect, who, however, was nowhere to be seen and must have concealed

himself somewhere. She walked into the church, which she found open. This had

been finished before; it had been cleaned up, and service had been performed in

it. She went on to the chapel door; its heavy mass, all overlaid with iron, yielded

easily to her touch, and she found an unexpected sight in a familiar spot.

A  solemn,  beautiful  light  streamed  in  through  the  one  tall  window.  It  was

filled  with  stained  glass,  gracefully  put  together.  The  entire  chapel  had  thus

received a strange tone, and a peculiar genius was thrown over it. The beauty of

the  vaulted  ceiling  and  the  walls  was  set  off  by  the  elegance  of  the  pavement,

which was composed of peculiarly shaped tiles, fastened together with gypsum,

and  forming  exquisite  patterns  as  they  lay.  This  and  the  colored  glass  for  the

windows  the  Architect  had  prepared  without  their  knowledge,  and  a  short  time

was sufficient to have it put in its place.

Seats  had  been  provided  as  well.  Among  the  relics  of  the  old  church  some

finely  carved  chancel  chairs  had  been  discovered,  which  now  were  standing

about at convenient places along the walls.

The  parts  which  she  knew  so  well  now  meeting  her  as  an  unfamiliar  whole,

delighted Ottilie. She stood still, walked up and down, looked and looked again;

at last she seated herself in one of the chairs, and it seemed, as she gazed up and

down, as if she was, and yet was not — as if she felt and did not feel — as if all

this would vanish from before her, and she would vanish from herself; and it was

only when the sun left the window, on which before it had been shining full, that

she awoke to possession of herself and hastened back to the castle.

She  did  not  hide  from  herself  the  strange  epoch  at  which  this  surprise  had

occurred  to  her.  It  was  the  evening  of  Edward’s  birthday.  Very  differently  she

had hoped to keep it. How was not every thing to be dressed out for this festival

and  now  all  the  splendor  of  the  autumn  flowers  remained  ungathered!  Those

sunflowers  still  turned  their  faces  to  the  sky;  those  asters  still  looked  out  with

quiet,  modest  eye;  and  whatever  of  them  all  had  been  wound  into  wreaths  had

served as patterns for the decorating a spot which, if it was not to remain a mere

artist’s fancy, was only adapted as a general mausoleum.

And  then  she  had  to  remember  the  impetuous  eagerness  with  which  Edward

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had  kept  her  birthday-feast.  She.  thought  of  the  newly  erected  lodge,  under  the

roof of which they had promised themselves so much enjoyment. The fireworks

flashed and hissed again before her eyes and ears; the more lonely she was, the

more keenly her imagination brought it all before her. But she felt herself only

the more alone. She no longer leant upon his arm, and she had no hope ever any

more to rest herself upon it.