"The old prince nibbles at the bait. Kaulmann has brought him to the rehearsal of the new piece. Eveline sings and acts enchantingly; that is, when she is within four walls, and has only a few people for audience. If she acted like this on the stage she would be a celebrated actress in no time; but so soon as she comes before the footlights stage-fright seizes upon her, she trembles, forgets everything, stands there like a stick, and, worst of all, sings quite false. These rehearsals have been given on the pretext that the prince should have an opportunity of judging of her talent, so that he may influence those in power to give her an engagement at the opera. I know what their real object is. The prince is a real connoisseur in music, and he understands not alone art, but artists. He knows that there is a price set upon such black diamonds as sparkle in Eveline's eyes. There is the additional incentive that Prince Waldemar is desperately in love with this woman, and Prince Theobald, for certain reasons, will do anything to prevent her falling into his hands. He would even go the length of taking her himself sooner than such a misadventure should happen.
"A short time since Prince Waldemar met me, and offered me one hundred ducats for every leaf of the album in which are the portraits of Madame Kaulmann in her character costumes. You must know, of late, each day that we rehearse one of the monologues at the piano a photographer is present and takes the artist in her costume. Everything must be finished in the house, and not more than four pictures are allowed to be executed; one of these is for Prince Theobald, one is kept by herself, one she presents to me, and the fourth is for my friend Felix. The negative is then broken. I would not sell my photographs to Prince Waldemar, but I send them to you as they follow one another. Mamma does not like to see such pictures in my room."
Ivan received with each letter a photograph; each portrait represented Evila as a lovely creation in a most graceful pose. Arpad had not the least idea what a hell of different passions were raised in Ivan's breast as he looked at the beautiful image of the woman he had and still loved.
In the first portrait she was represented as "Loreley" the fairy, who, in the whirlpool of the Rhine, sings her magic song and combs her hair with a golden comb, while her left shoulder rises from the waves, which partially conceal her form. Her eyes gaze invitingly at the fisherman, whom she entices to his ruin. In the second photograph she appeared as "Cleopatra" at Tarsus, where she is displaying all her charms to seduce her conqueror and make him her slave; a rich portrait, in which the lascivious queen is represented laden with splendid dresses and jewels, while the expression of the beautiful face was an admirable mixture of pride, dignity, and weakness. The third photograph presented the sun-queen, "Atahualpa," the wife of the last Inca. Her look was haughty and sublime; the sublimity of the expression diverts attention from the uncovered arms, white as marble, round as an infant's, which are raised to heaven, offering as a sacrifice a human heart. Her face mirrored the coldness of heaven itself. The fourth, as the "Greek Slave"; she represented the tortured beauty, who in vain tries to break the chains of shame in which she is bound—a lovely marble statue, equal in conception to one by Thorwaldsen or Pradier. The fifth was the "Bacchante," from one of the Roman bas-reliefs, which represents the procession of Bacchus. A wild, bold, dissolute conception; showing accessories of surprising drapery, panther skins, cups, etc., an ideal debauch; limbs in wild movement. The sixth portrait was of a bride; a white lace dress, upon her head a white garland, her figure concealed by a white veil, on her face an expression of soft emotion at the approaching realization of her happiness, in her eyes tears, on her lips a tremulous smile. With what wonderful charm she stretches out her hand to receive the betrothal ring! The eighth portrayed a young woman who for the first time puts the matron's cap upon her head. Pride, shame, and conscious triumph are all in her face. She feels that the cap upon her head is a well-deserved crown—a crown for which she has sacrificed a garland.
Ivan contemplated this picture for a long time; his heart was full of the bitterness of disappointed love. His adopted son's present had been somewhat unfortunate.
The ninth photograph represented Evila as a "Bayadère," in the artistic dress of the Indian dancer, striking the tambourine over her head. Round her slight figure a shawl embroidered in gold was wound in careless folds, on her neck a chain of gold coins, her small feet bare, and strings of pearls up to the knee.
In the tenth portrait she appeared as "Claudia Laeta," the vestal virgin, at the moment when she is led to the stake because she has refused the solicitations of Caracalla; on her face an expression of horror, of virginal modesty. With one hand she tries to cover her head with her cloak to escape from the gaze of the multitude.
How is it possible for one woman to play so many parts? Arpad accompanied these pictures with diffuse explanations, which were so many arrows in the heart of Ivan. The result of all this posturing was, he said, becoming every day clearer.
"The prince is more and more fascinated; he is falling deeper and deeper into the net spread for him. After each rehearsal he declares that a real treasure has been concealed, which has been a loss to art that must be at once remedied."
But such treasures are very costly, especially when a man has reached the age of sixty-eight, close on seventy, and has a marriageable granddaughter; then it is necessary to look very closely into his check-book to see if it would be possible to provide for the grandchild and at the same time satisfy the caprices of a beautiful young woman.