The Story behind 'The Painter's Honeymoon'

Baron,

the weather is so nice. We can go for a walk.

The man did not respond when she spoke to him.

Alternatively, you can sit on the balcony to enjoy the spring sun. I'll bring you a blanket to make sure you won't feel cold.

The care with which she wrapped the blanket around the man's legs spoke volumes, but he did not answer.

I'll bring tea, she said, and it was as if her feet were floating over the carpet. She was as sweet, cheerful, and gracious as that girl from so long ago, the only woman he had ever loved, truly loved.

He sat on the balcony with his eyes closed and felt the warmth of the sun on his face. That's exactly what her touch had felt like when she caressed him. How long had it been?

Sir, here is your tea.

A gentle hand held his, the only hand she had held because he had always needed the right one to sketch. A lone tear rolled down his cheek and was dabbed in silence. In moments like these deeds were more important than the spoken word.

She understood that he was living in the past and that he had lost something very dear. She drank her tea quietly, while her hand still held his. Hers represented the present and the future, his the past. He struggled with the present and his future was something of the past.

Together they sat on the balcony. Both kept their eyes closed. She enjoyed the spring sun while he enjoyed the image of the shining face that he had cherished all his life and had incorporated into almost every painting he created.

It had been like a bolt from the blue when he saw her for the first time. She was not born in nobility, but more elegant than many ladies of rank. She smiled at the young man with the pencil in his hand as he stared at her and even asked what he was doing. Her interest was genuine, just like her love for him that could be read in her eyes, the mirrors of the soul.

Will you be my muse?

She had laughed and frolicked away like a butterfly in a flower meadow, fluttering from one flower to another eager to discover and loving everything that life has to offer.

His heart had rejoiced when she agreed to marriage and he had said yes with all his heart.

Behind his closed eyes, he saw the two of them again after the wedding night. She had a blush on her cheeks and was sitting close to the man she loved dearly. And while he tried to sketch his muse with the drawing board on his lap, a cold hand closed around her heart and squeezed life out of her. He hadn't noticed immediately, he had been too busy, and his artist's heart couldn't stop creating one work of art after another. If he only hadn't felt the urge to sketch.

Unlike his colleagues, his work was praised and he made a fortune and could afford a wealthy lifestyle because of it even without a stipend or title. He travelled around the world but nowhere found a woman like her, the love of his life, the cheerful soul, his muse who had only given colour to his life for a short time but he revived with every brushstroke.

'The Painter's Honeymoon' was the only evidence of the two of them. Like a sepia photo, it bore witness to a past, a man and woman of different ranks who had found each other and loved their companion for who s/he truly was.

He sighed and as the blanket slid off his lap, a smile appeared on the face that was thought to have lost its laughter.

Photo: painting "The Paimter's Honeymoon"

Public domain - mfa.org

19-2-2024