He gazed stupidly at it; and meanwhile there floated before his mind's eye those delicate features, those shades, and airy tints which he had copied, and which his brush had annihilated.Engrossed with them, he put the portrait on one side and hunted up a head of Psyche which he had some time before thrown on canvas in a sketchy manner.It was a pretty little face, well painted, but entirely ideal, and having cold, regular features not lit up by life.For lack of occupation, he now began to tone it up, imparting to it all he had taken note of in his aristocratic sitter.Those features, shadows, tints, which he had noted, made their appearance here in the purified form in which they appear when the painter, after closely observing nature, subordinates himself to her, and produces a creation equal to her own.
Psyche began to live: and the scarcely dawning thought began, little by little, to clothe itself in a visible form.The type of face of the fashionable young lady was unconsciously transferred to Psyche, yet nevertheless she had an expression of her own which gave the picture claims to be considered in truth an original creation.Tchartkoff gave himself up entirely to his work.For several days he was engrossed by it alone, and the ladies surprised him at it on their arrival.He had not time to remove the picture from the easel.Both ladies uttered a cry of amazement, and clasped their hands.
"Lise, Lise! Ah, how like! Superb, superb! What a happy thought, too, to drape her in a Greek costume! Ah, what a surprise!"The artist could not see his way to disabuse the ladies of their error.Shamefacedly, with drooping head, he murmured, "This is Psyche.""In the character of Psyche? Charming!" said the mother, smiling, upon which the daughter smiled too."Confess, Lise, it pleases you to be painted in the character of Psyche better than any other way? What a sweet idea! But what treatment! It is Correggio himself.I must say that, although I had read and heard about you, I did not know you had so much talent.You positively must paint me too." Evidently the lady wanted to be portrayed as some kind of Psyche too.
"What am I to do with them?" thought the artist."If they will have it so, why, let Psyche pass for what they choose:" and added aloud, "Pray sit a little: I will touch it up here and there.""Ah! I am afraid you will...it is such a capital likeness now!"But the artist understood that the difficulty was with respect to the sallowness, and so he reassured them by saying that he only wished to give more brilliancy and expression to the eyes.In truth, he was ashamed, and wanted to impart a little more likeness to the original, lest any one should accuse him of actual barefaced flattery.And the features of the pale young girl at length appeared more closely in Psyche's countenance.
"Enough," said the mother, beginning to fear that the likeness might become too decided.The artist was remunerated in every way, with smiles, money, compliments, cordial pressures of the hand, invitations to dinner: in short, he received a thousand flattering rewards.
The portrait created a furore in the city.The lady exhibited it to her friends, and all admired the skill with which the artist had preserved the likeness, and at the same time conferred more beauty on the original.The last remark, of course, was prompted by a slight tinge of envy.The artist was suddenly overwhelmed with work.It seemed as if the whole city wanted to be painted by him.The door-bell rang incessantly.From one point of view, this might be considered advantageous, as presenting to him endless practice in variety and number of faces.But, unfortunately, they were all people who were hard to get along with, either busy, hurried people, or else belonging to the fashionable world, and consequently more occupied than any one else, and therefore impatient to the last degree.In all quarters, the demand was merely that the likeness should be good and quickly executed.The artist perceived that it was a ****** impossibility to finish his work; that it was necessary to exchange power of treatment for lightness and rapidity, to catch only the general expression, and not waste labour on delicate details.
Moreover, nearly all of his sitters made stipulations on various points.The ladies required that mind and character should be represented in their portraits; that all angles should be rounded, all unevenness smoothed away, and even removed entirely if possible; in short, that their faces should be such as to cause every one to stare at them with admiration, if not fall in love with them outright.When they sat to him, they sometimes assumed expressions which greatly amazed the artist; one tried to express melancholy; another, meditation; a third wanted to make her mouth appear small on any terms, and puckered it up to such an extent that it finally looked like a spot about as big as a pinhead.And in spite of all this, they demanded of him good likenesses and unconstrained naturalness.The men were no better: one insisted on being painted with an energetic, muscular turn to his head; another, with upturned, inspired eyes; a lieutenant of the guard demanded that Mars should be visible in his eyes; an official in the civil service drew himself up to his full height in order to have his uprightness expressed in his face, and that his hand might rest on a book bearing the words in plain characters, "He always stood up for the right."At first such demands threw the artist into a cold perspiration.
Finally he acquired the knack of it, and never troubled himself at all about it.He understood at a word how each wanted himself portrayed.
