A Face Illumined | Page 5

of us and
the orchestra on the other, we are certain to kill a couple of hours that
will die like swans."
"You mention the cigar-stand first."
"Why not? Smoke is more real than empty sound."
"Are you not equally empty, Ik, save after dinner? How have the
preceding hours of this long day been killed?"

"Like boas. They have enfolded me with a weary weight."
"The snakes in your comparison are larger than your pun, and the pun,
rather than yourself, suggests a constrictor's squeeze."
"Come, you are only abusing me to gain time, and you may gain too
much. My horses have more mettle than their master, and may carry off
my trap and groom to parts unknown, while you are wasting paint and
words. You are like the animals at the Park, that are good-natured only
after they are fed. So shut up your old paint shop, and come along; we
will shorten our ride and lengthen our dinner."
With mutual chaffing and laughter the young men at last went down to
where a liveried coachman and a pair of handsome bays were in
waiting. Taking the high front seat and gathering up the reins, Ik
Stanton, with his friend Harold Van Berg at his side, bowled away
towards the Park at a rapid pace.
Harold Van Berg was, in truth, something of a paradox. He was an
artist, and yet was rich; he had inherited large wealth, and yet had
formed habits of careful industry. The majority of his young
acquaintances, who had been launched from homes like his own, were
known only as sons of their fathers, and degenerate sons at that. Van
Berg was already winning a place among men on the ground of what he
was and could do himself.
It were hard to say which was the stronger motive, his ambition or the
love of his art; but it seemed certain that between the two, such talent
as he had been endowed with would be developed quite thoroughly.
And he did possess decided talent, if not genius. But his artistic gift
accorded with his character, and was controlled by judgement, correct
taste, and intellectuality rather than by strong and erratic impulses. His
aims were definite and decided rather than vague and diffusive; but his
standards were so high that, thus far, he had scarcely attempted more
than studies that were like the musician's scales by which he seeks to
acquire a skill in touch that shall enable him to render justly the works
of the great composers.

His family had praised his work unstintedly, and honestly thought it
wonderful; he had also been deluged with that kind of flattery which
relaxes the rules of criticism in favor of the wealthy. Thus it was not
strange that the young fellow, at one time, believed that he was born to
greatness by a kindly decree of fate. But as his horizon widened he was
taught better. His mind, fortunately, grew faster than his vanity, and as
he compared his crude but promising work with that of mature genius,
he was not stricken with that most helpless phase of blindness--the
inability to see the superiority of others to one's self. Every day,
therefore, of study and observation was now chastening Harold Van
Berg and preparing him to build his future success on the solid ground
of positive merit as compared with that of other and gifted artists.
Van Berg's taste and talent led him to select, as his specialty, the human
form and countenance, and he chiefly delighted in those faces which
were expressive of some striking or subtle characteristic of the
indwelling mind. He would never be content to paint surfaces correctly,
giving to features merely their exact proportions. Whether the face
were historical, ideal, or a portrait, the controlling trait or traits of the
spirit within must shine through, or else he regarded the picture as
scarcely half finished.
A more sincere idolator than Van Berg, in his worship of beauty, never
existed; but it was the beauty of a complete man or a complete woman.
Even in his early youth he had not been so sensuous as to be captivated
by that opaque fragment of a woman--an attractive form devoid of a
mind. Indeed with the exception of a few boyish follies, his art had
been his mistress thus far, and it was beginning to absorb both heart
and brain.
With what a quiet pulse--with what a complacent sense of security we
often meet those seemingly trivial events which may change the whole
character of our lives! The ride had been taken, the dinner enjoyed, and
the two friends were seated in the large cool hallway off the concert
garden, where they could smoke without offence. The unrivalled leader,
Thomas, had just lifted his