"Forgiven, so long as you are a faithful and obedient servant," replied the count, in a severe tone—"forgiven, so long as I can count upon your submission; but forget, that I shall never do. And at the slightest mistake, the least resistance to my commands, I shall remember what a cheat and good-for-nothing you are, and take back my forgiveness. You have the three thousand ducats, but you have not yet given a receipt for them. Sit you down there at my table and write the receipt. I will dictate it to you myself."
Like an obedient slave Gabriel Nietzel slunk to the table, sank down before it, took the pen which the count handed him, and placed it on the paper put before him.
"Write," ordered the count, and with loud voice he dictated: "I, Gabriel Nietzel, painter by profession, hereby affirm that I have this day received from his excellency the Stadtholder in the Mark, Count Schwarzenberg, the sum of three thousand ducats in ready money. This money is the price paid for a painting by Titiano Vecellio, representing the goddess of beauty with a Cupid, who presents Venus her looking-glass. I bought this picture at Cremona for two thousand ducats, and I vow and swear upon my conscience and by all that I hold sacred that this painting, which I have sold to the count for an original painting, is actually an original painting by Titiano Vecellio's own hand."
"Now, master, why do you hesitate? Why do you not write?"
"Oh, sir, have some pity upon me!" groaned the painter. "I can not write that. I can not swear that it is an original by all I hold sacred."
"Why, what does it signify?" laughed the count; "paper is lenient. The advantage to me is only that I can by means of this receipt prove to connoisseurs and picture lovers that I have bought an original painting from you. For the rest, if you will not write, why then, very good. I shall have you arrested on the spot, inform the Electress of what a deceiver you are, have the three thousand ducats forthwith taken away again, and keep you in prison until the suit is made out against you; then you shall be hung conformably with law and usage."
"Mercy, your excellency, mercy!" gasped Nietzel. "I am writing even now!"
And with trembling hands he completed the receipt, and, on the count's further command, subscribed his name.
Schwarzenberg read it over attentively. "This is a document, my dear painter," he said, smiling, "that may some day bring you to the gallows, for, only see, I have other confirmatory evidence."
From a casket on his table he drew forth a roll of parchment, to which were attached two great seals, hanging by silken strings, and while he unrolled it he beckoned the painter to come near. "See," he said, "this is a testimonial which I have had made out for me at Venice by the Duke di Grimani, affirming that Titian's Venus is his property, and that you spent three months in his palace painting a copy of the original. You see well, dear court-painter Nietzel, that you are completely in my hands, and that I can have you strung up at any time, for the Stadtholder makes short work of cheats and perjurers, and sends them off to the gallows, where they belong! Now say, master, will you to the gallows or will you live in honor and joy as the Electress's court painter and my secret pensioner, my open foe? I give you free choice. Make your own unbiased decision."