“I would have you swear,” he said, “by all you hold sacred that you will never open this casket except on one condition; it is that you should so desire some earthly thing—wealth, fame, love—that you are willing to barter your eternal welfare to secure it.”
Something in the old man’s manner as well as his words aroused in Friedrich a feeling akin to fear. He took the required oath, mentally resolving that he would throw the mysterious casket in the river on the first opportunity.
“Now leave me instantly; I shall never see you again in this world and even I am not so fiendish as to wish to see you in my next—but hark ye, if you ever break the seal out of idle curiosity I will return from the grave to avenge myself on you.”
Startled by the old man’s vehemence, Friedrich hastened to his quarters and strove to sleep. But the strange event of the evening and thoughts of the morrow’s conflict, with its danger and perhaps death, drove slumber from his eyes. He tossed about his barrack until the long roll summoned his regiment to the field of battle. The fight raged fiercely and long, and toward evening Friedrich fell, seriously wounded.
It was many weeks before he was able to be on his feet again and finding himself totally unfitted by his wound for the profession of arms—and, in fact, for any active occupation—he sadly returned to his native town on the Rhine. Here it chanced there was an old portrait painter of some little renown who took a liking to the unfortunate young soldier and proposed that he study the art; and Friedrich applied himself with such diligence in his new vocation that before long he far excelled his master. Things went prosperously with him. His fame spread beyond the borders of his native town and came to the ears of many of the noble families of the vicinity. He had the good fortune to be patronized by some of these and he transferred the beauty of many a haughty dame and fair damsel to his canvas with unvarying success. Indeed, it is said that more than one of his fair clients looked languishingly at the young artist, whose skill and fame made much amends for humble birth.
But Friedrich boasted that he gazed upon the fairest of them unmoved. Ambitious and free-hearted, he thought himself impervious to the wiles of love—a frame of mind he declared indispensible to his art. His success brought him gold as well as fame and but one achievement was needed to complete his triumphs—the patronage of the Herwehes, the noblest and wealthiest of all the great families within leagues of the town. True, the baron and his son were away at present, engaged in the war that still distracted the land, but the lady and her daughter were at home in the magnificent castle which surmounted an eminence far above the Rhine, in full view against the sky from the window of the artist’s studio. The fact that the Herwehes withheld their countenance from him was a sore obstacle in the way of Friedrich’s ambitions; their influence extended to every class, and many lesser lights, professedly imitators of the noble family, followed their example even in trivial matters.
Great was the young artist’s satisfaction when one afternoon two ladies descended from a coach (bearing the Herwehe coat-of-arms) which paused in the street before his studio. Both were veiled, but Friedrich had no doubt that his visitors were the baroness and her daughter, whose patronage he so earnestly desired. When both were seated the elder woman, throwing aside her veil, revealed a face that had lost little of its youthful charm, and with a tone of haughty condescension said:
“I have seen some of your portraits, Master Reinmuth, and was pleased with them. I wish you, regardless of time and cost, to paint my daughter.”
By this time Friedrich had to some extent overcome his trepidation and with a profound courtesy replied,
“I shall be happy to serve you, My Lady, if you will be good enough to indicate the time and place for the sittings.”