"Don't let your uncle put you out of conceit with Berlin," said he. "Let me tell you it is a charming place, and is getting more so every day. We have now got the only thing that was wanting--money, and when our pockets are full of money, you don't know all that we can do here in Berlin. Berlin is to be the capital of the world. Don't look so indignantly at me, Fräulein Ferdinanda. It is an old story for us, but Captain Schmidt is probably not in the secret yet, and we must warn him lest he should be utterly overpowered with astonishment when the sublime image of the monster is unveiled before him to-morrow, with its hundreds and thousands of heads, legs, and arms. What trouble we take over it. We feed the monster with our heart's blood. I am nothing but skin and bone as it is, and that reminds me that I have got another commission, Aunt Rikchen."
"Another monument in memory of our victories?" asked Aunt Rikchen eagerly.
"Of course! You must know, Captain Schmidt, that no small town exists, however insignificant, but must have its monument. And why not? The good people in Posemuckel are quite as proud of the six brave fellows whom they sent into the field, as we are of our six hundred or our six thousand, and are anxious to let posterity know how Tom, Dick, and Harry fought and conquered in so many battles and skirmishes, and that Fritz Haberstroh, widow Haberstroh's only son, was shot dead as a door-nail at Sedan for the honour and glory of the German Empire. And quite right and proper too, I think, and the fact that they always collect a few pounds less than will pay any living man to make anything for them, is not their fault."
"And how do you get over that difficulty?" asked Reinhold.
"He just puts a new head on an old statue, and the Victory of Germany is ready," said Uncle Ernst.
"I protest utterly against such atrocious calumny," cried the sculptor. "I tried the experiment only once, by taking away the venerable head of a Homer, who had stood for a long time in my studio, and changing him into a Germany; but it was only on account of those splendid folds, those really perfect folds, of which Hähmel in Dresden had spoken so very highly!"
"And the experiment failed?" asked Reinhold.
"Yes and no," answered Justus, rubbing his bald forehead. "No, because my Germany stands firmly fixed upon her sandstone pedestal in Posemuckel, and with the uplifted left hand holding a laurel wreath, blesses the German Fatherland and her faithful Posemucklers, while the right hand, heavily armed, sinks wearily by her side; but when the veil was drawn away, and the schoolboys sang 'Nun danket alle Gott,' then I still saw my venerable, dusty old Homer of blessed Dresden memory; the laurel wreath in the left hand became again a lyre, the sword in the right hand a Plektron. And I thanked heaven too, but it was because my fine classic folds were in Posemuckel, and not on the Dönhofsplatz here."
And the sharp red eyes of the sculptor twinkled, and every feature of his happy face that was not hidden by the rough beard sparkled with fun. Reinhold joined heartily in the laugh, as the last trace of discord vanished, and even Uncle Ernst looked from under his bushy eyebrows at the cheerful little man much after the fashion of a good-natured lion permitting a little dog to jump and bark round him.
"I wish, though, that your Germany was in the Dönhofsplatz," said he.
"Why?"
"An old and venerable trunk upon which some clever conjuror has placed a new head, which does not fit it--that seems to me a perfect picture of the new German unity, and it would be a very good thing if our compliant representatives could see it whichever way they turned."
Justus laughed heartily, as if Uncle Ernst had perpetrated the mildest of jokes.
"Listen to that," said he, turning to Reinhold.
"That is so like your uncle. His ruling passion is jealousy! He is jealous of the Almighty having made the beautiful world."
"For shame, Justus!" said Aunt Rikchen.
"And of a poor little earth-worm like myself, for every noble statue that leaves my studio. He feels that of course he could have done it so much better, and so far he is right. He is a born artist, a Michael Angelo--at least in imagination--a Michael Angelo without arms. And every stroke of the saw which cuts the marble into steps or such like contemptible articles goes through his heart, for each time he thinks, what might have been made or shaped out of this!"
"Do not talk such nonsense," said Uncle Ernst.
"It is the simple truth," cried Justus, still addressing Reinhold. "He has ideas in abundance, great ideas, sometimes not quite practical--somewhat Titanic, after the manner of Michael Angelo--but no matter. One can cut them down to one's own dwarf-like proportions and secretly laugh when he is brought face to face with the completed work, and shaking the Titanic head, murmurs, 'I had imagined something quite different. They have spoilt my idea again!'"
Uncle Ernst at this point did indeed shake his head, though not at all angrily, but with a somewhat grim enjoyment, such as Reinhold had not seen him express during the whole evening. "Can he be as susceptible to flattery as other tyrants?" thought Reinhold.
"And what is the new commission?" he asked.
"A most noble commission," answered Justus, swallowing his third cup of tea. "This time they really have got money--no end of money; that is to say, of course there will not be any over for me; it will all be spent in the actual cost of materials, unless your uncle will provide the marble, which, considering how he hates the whole business, there is very little chance of; but, at all events, the matter can be properly set going. I have been thinking it over on my way here from the committee, where it has all been pretty nearly settled."
"Well, tell us about it," said Uncle Ernst.
He had thrown himself back in his chair, and was puffing great clouds of smoke up to the ceiling from a cigar which he had just lighted. Reinhold had wished to abstain from smoking, out of respect to the ladies, but his uncle would not allow it, and said his womankind were accustomed to it. Justus, who did not smoke, was rolling little pellets of bread into a ball; he was evidently already at work.
"It is the old story, to begin with," said he; "three or four steps--we will say three--of sandstone, supporting a quadrangular pedestal of granite, upon which is a square box, upon which box finally stands Germany--Germany this time without any classic folds. The box is for the inscription--there are a lot of brave Fritzes and Johanns to be mentioned--laurel wreaths, badges, etc.; that is all easy enough. But the bas-reliefs on the pedestal--there is the difficulty. Siemering has done everything in that line that is to be done so well, and, besides, has so much more space than I have, that every one will say: 'Siemering, of course--this is all copied from him.' But it is no use thinking of that; if one has got to make a horse, he must have four legs; and if one has got to portray a campaign, there must be the march out at one end, and the return home at the other, and a fight in the middle, and patriotic ambulances; and not a line of that can be omitted. If you can't be original in your conception of the whole, you must be in detail; and as my originality entirely depends upon the merits of my models, this time I shall be wonderfully original, because my models will be wonderfully good. Departure of one of the Landwehr--for the whole thing must be popular--one of the Landwehr--Captain Schmidt."
"I?" exclaimed Reinhold, astonished.
"You and none other; I made up my mind to that an hour ago. Heaven has sent you to me, and the fact of your having been promoted from the ranks during the campaign will be very useful to me; you will know why presently. To continue. Aged father straining his son to his heart at the moment of departure." Justus lowered his voice, and glanced at the servant who had waited upon them and now left the room. "Of course old Grollman, with his queer old face, with its hundreds of wonderful wrinkles, will always be my model for the aged fathers. More of the Landwehr in the background, three or four of our workmen--fine handsome heads. Number two: Office of the District Relief Committee. Women bringing