The flames, p.30
The Flames, page 30
In the time she has known him, Egon has barely mentioned his father, other than to say he was a respected stationmaster who died after a long illness, and that he’d admired the man greatly, even if they hadn’t always seen eye to eye. Edith had come away with the impression that the two weren’t excessively close, and yet here he is now, fervently attached to honouring his father’s memory. Edith can’t help but wonder why it means so much to him.
The music booms around her, and the friends and family who’ve been able to make it turn to observe Edith, their eyes taking in every detail. She must get used to this, she supposes – the probing eyes of others – if she is to model for the artist, as she understands she will have to.
Some of the guests she has met only recently. Conscription has taken away many of Egon’s former classmates, and travel has been increasingly difficult as the war continues, so it has been impossible for them to return for a visit, however brief. Egon’s wealthy patrons and his distinguished friend Gustav Klimt – all older men – have remained in Vienna, however, and have come to show their support. At the very front, Edith can see Frau Schiele smoothing her skirts and Egon’s sister Melanie in an extravagant hat. Edith only became acquainted with them a few days ago, but both women had been welcoming, if gently staggered at the news that Egon had proposed marriage. Egon’s uncle Leopold, beaming at her from a pew, told her they were delighted that Egon had finally come to his senses and chosen such a charming and respectable young lady.
Edith concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other. Up ahead is the artist, the man she had secretly set her heart on and whose affections she is astounded to have won. But who is he really, this man who she must know for ever? He waits, his back turned, moving from one foot to the other.
Then he turns to face her. His smile, as his eyes lock on hers, is wide and devoid of self-consciousness. His hair is brushed back, the skin below his hairline glistening, his cheeks flushed. He looks so handsome, it’s heart-stopping. Happiness sharpens beneath her ribs. She notices a nick of blood on his neck. He’ll have shaved this morning, a fresh blade, no doubt.
This, then, is her moment.
Her darling Papa looks at her. He seems reluctant to leave, but after a brief squeeze of Edith’s wrist, he moves to take his seat next to Mutti, who’s squashed on to the narrow wooden bench between the Brons and elderly aunts and cousins from the Harms side of the family.
Then the minister speaks. His words slide into one another and she cannot distinguish much except her own name and Egon’s. There are hymns and Bible readings.
Behind her, from the pews, comes the sound of a child crying. It’s distracting. Edith turns. The culprit is a fat little thing, perched on its mother’s knee. The woman ignores it, simply jiggles the child up and down. She has a pale, thin face, a straight nose, and a halo of copper hair. She looks so similar to Egon that this must be Gertrude, Egon’s younger sister. She did not attend the family meeting; Egon had tried to downplay the suggestion that she had refused the invitation. ‘She can’t wait to meet you,’ he’d said. But now, here she is, her cool eyes on Edith, taking in every thread of her. Edith feels uncomfortable under the scrutiny, as if she has been found lacking. The woman whispers to a man to her right, her husband, who Edith knows to be Egon’s friend Anton. Neither one is smiling. When the baby continues to cry, the woman gets up, slips past the other guests, and takes it outside.
Edith quickly scans the faces of the other guests. Adele is at home, supposedly suffering from a migraine. She has remained in bed since the announcement, refusing even to open the curtains. She has not spoken to her sister since the day she found out about the wedding and, in her rage, launched a champagne glass at Edith’s chest. In fact, Adele has not spoken to a soul. Edith was forced to move from the bedroom they shared, fearing for her safety, and sleep in the same small room as Hanna, the maid.
Edith is nudged back into the moment. Everyone is waiting. It’s so very hot.
The minister repeats his question. In a daze, she has placed a band, which once belonged to his father, on Egon’s finger and heard him speak, although she’s not sure exactly what he said.
‘And will you, Edith Anna Harms, take this man …’ Egon’s eyes are on her. Her name sounds so strange coming from the minister’s mouth, as if separated from her actual existence. Edith focuses on the movement of the minister’s lips. ‘… Egon Leo Adolf Ludwig Schiele, to be your wedded husband?’ he repeats. She has never heard his middle names before. Edith sways. It is suddenly as if she cannot get enough air.
Then, at the back, stepping between the shadows, Edith sees a woman in black, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders, with her face partially obscured, despite the heat. The eyes are so dark and menacing, they take her breath away. Could the woman be Adele? Or a scorned Vally? Whoever it is, Edith is worried she might try to put a stop to the union.
‘I take thee to be my lawful husband,’ Edith says quickly and decisively, her throat dry.
Egon takes a ring from his pocket. The beautiful gold band glints and shines. He slips it on. It catches for an awkward moment on the knot of her knuckle so he pushes again while she holds her breath. She intends to wear this ring for the rest of her life.
‘Now that Egon Schiele and Edith Harms have given themselves to each other by solemn vows, I pronounce that they are husband and wife, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder,’ the minister says.
‘Edith Schiele?’ she whispers to herself. Yes. The artist’s wife.
Edith looks back at the shadows, wondering if the woman was a hallucination from the heat. Whoever she was, she has gone. Edith spots lovely Hanna standing at the back of the church and smiles.
Egon’s face is very close to hers. He takes the edge of her veil between his fingers and lifts it up over her head. As he does so, his fingers brush her hair. Then he takes her by the shoulders. She’s electrified by his touch. He leans in, closer, closer. Edith shuts her eyes as his lips meet hers.
2
June 1915
The truth is, Edith had not been as passive in the sequence of events as everyone believed.
She’d seen the artist from the window that first October evening more than two years ago, as he moved his belongings into the apartment opposite theirs. She, too, had experienced a flutter of intrigue and desire as she watched him. But of course, her sister got there first, staking her claim, declaring him her own.
Adele had always passed things down to her little sister. It began with the dolls she no longer cared for, books she’d finished; later it was dresses she’d outgrown – the natural order in a family with two girls. By the time they were older, Adele had grown accustomed to taking things first and without thought. Edith never minded much.
But when they’d left the apartment that night, hurrying to the opera, and the artist brushed past them on the street, Edith had seen a look in his eyes and felt a kind of knowing pass between them. It was a look she had been unable to shake from her mind the entire night. Adele, of course, had been oblivious, and had prattled on, leaving no space for Edith to admit her own feelings.
In the past, Adele’s passions had usually burned themselves out, and Edith had assumed this new one would suffer the same fate – that her sister would grow bored and move on. But that did not happen. Instead, Adele’s obsession seemed only to intensify, as if magnified under a lens.
Edith may not have been honest with her sister about her attraction to Egon, but she’d have stepped aside gracefully if she’d witnessed a great love blooming between Adele and the artist. Instead, Edith saw the way he looked at her on the occasions when they met in the street – his eyes glistening with questions that no man had asked of her before. He seemed to be the first person who saw Edith for who she really was, and she couldn’t bear to be unseen again. In every interaction, she felt the threads tightening between them. Adele was ignorant, too caught up in her own chorus, and so triumphant over every perceived conquest, that she never noticed that the artist did not look at her in the same way.
After more than a year of this budding attraction between them, and more than two years since she’d first caught sight of him, along with the disastrous trip to the moving pictures with that woman Vally in tow, Edith knew she had to find a way to talk to the artist, alone. But with Mutti on high alert because of her worries over Adele, there was little opportunity.
That all changed one day in May, when Hanna lumbered up the stairs holding another letter from him, playfully addressed to ‘Ad and Ed’. There was very little Hanna did not see or have influence over in the Harms household, despite appearances. Long ago, Adele had made an enemy of Hanna by treating her with disdain, and she paid for it, every day, in trivial ways. Edith recognized the writing as the artist’s, for he’d written before, but she’d barely seen those letters. Adele had claimed them, devouring the words, owning them, and sleeping with them under her pillow.
This time, Edith intended to read the letter at her own pace, savouring the message, before sharing it with her sister. Edith took it from Hanna with a kiss and escaped to the privacy of the linen closet. It was the only place where she could be safe from prying eyes. Nestled amid the towels, blankets and bedding, Edith ran a finger over the creamy paper. She took a grip from her hair to prise open the envelope. Then she unfolded the paper and scanned the words: Are you under house arrest? Why not visit me? I realize this would not be considered appropriate.
Reading his words, Edith felt something speed up inside her. And with those short lines, she devised her plan. She knew that Mutti had her salon the following day, so she would only have Adele to deal with. Edith wrote her response, saying that indeed, living under such scrutiny was entirely suffocating, and would Egon be kind enough to meet briefly at the corner of the road the next morning at eleven thirty. Only to have the chance to say hello once more, she wrote, signing off from both of them.
Adele found the artist handsome, but Edith had caught glimpses of something deeper in him that her sister failed to grasp: a sensitivity in the way he considered things, his gentleness when he was around her, his way of looking at the world, as she’d witnessed at the gallery. All the other suitors her mother kept trying to press upon her paled in comparison. Edith felt guilty about betraying Adele, and she didn’t want to hurt her, but why should she allow her sister to claim Egon just because she’d seen him first?
Edith tucked the letter in her blouse and headed towards the kitchen. She needed an ally.
‘Hanna …’ she began. How best to phrase it? Edith had to tread carefully. ‘I know this will seem like a strange request, and not one you’ll relish, but could you see to it that Adele accompanies you to the market tomorrow morning while Mutti is entertaining her ladies? And please, don’t hurry home.’
Edith thought Hanna might ask why, but the maid gave her a warm, knowing look.
‘For you, my dear, anything,’ Hanna replied, as she busied herself with lunch.
‘And please could you pass this note back to the artist this afternoon?’
‘I know he’ll be pleased to see you,’ Hanna replied, squeezing Edith’s arm.
Adele must never find out that Edith had taken matters into her own hands in such a reckless manner. Edith took Egon’s letter from her blouse, held it to her lips, and opened the grate to the stove. The gold flicker of the fire was mesmerizing. She admired the flames as they consumed the paper and felt relieved. For the first time in her life, she might have something to call her own.
Meeting Egon alone that day sealed Edith’s fate. The busy main street of Hietzing was dotted with elegant men and women, well-dressed children holding the hands of their nannies, and horse-drawn carriages heading in the direction of the Innere Stadt. Adele, protesting, had left with Hanna some time earlier, chased out of the apartment by Mutti. Edith, waiting in bed for her sister’s departure – under the false pretence of a cough – had felt truly queasy at the thought that Adele might not leave, or that she’d dither and delay to the extent that she’d bump into the artist herself and ruin it all.
But at the last moment, things had come to pass just as she’d hoped they would.
Egon was waiting, hands in his pockets, rocking gently on his heels. He’d politely asked about Adele. Edith said she’d been called away.
He raised his eyebrows and smiled conspiratorially.
‘Just you and I, then, Fräulein Harms? Shall we take a walk in Park Schönbrunn?’
‘I can spare half an hour, at the very most,’ Edith replied, feeling nervous.
They headed in the direction of the park, Egon walking close alongside her. As she stepped off the pavement, his hand brushed against hers. He apologized immediately.
‘Forgive me,’ he said, grinning. ‘I know what is said of me but I can assure you my intentions are pure. I have the utmost respect for you, Edith.’
She couldn’t help but smile at his manners. This was the same young man who had shocked Vienna.
They talked, circling various subjects, a dance of words that mirrored the emotion brewing between them. She asked about his art, his ambitions for the future. He asked the same question of her. What did she want from her life? Who did she want to become?
An admiral butterfly landed on his lapel and he stopped in the middle of the path, dipping his hat to an elderly couple a few steps behind them. He lifted it off, gently, examined it, its dusty pigments on his finger.
He held the insect up without telling her what to see.
‘I should go,’ Edith said, reluctantly. ‘My sister will be returning any minute now.’
‘Of course,’ Egon replied. ‘Let me walk you back to your door, at least.’
Edith winced. ‘Adele might see us together, and that would be … problematic.’
‘I’ve noticed that she looks at me rather intensely,’ Egon said with a wry smile.
They stopped on the corner of the main street in Hietzing. ‘Before you go,’ he added. ‘I want to say something … it’s about Vally.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I intend to talk to her and bring things to a dignified end. I hope you understand what I’m trying to say.’
His eyes searched her face.
Edith shook her head. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Edith,’ he said, ‘I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to you than meets the eye and every time I’m with you, you prove me right. I want to know you, deeply. Will you allow me that privilege?’
Edith was playing cards, weeks later, after several more clandestine meetings with the artist, each with its own excitement, when there was a knock at their door.
‘Herr Schiele, greetings,’ she heard Hanna say from the hallway.
‘Hello, Hanna,’ he said warmly. ‘I’d like to speak with Herr Harms, if I may?’
Edith jumped. What was Egon doing here?
‘What may I say it’s regarding?’ Hanna asked.
‘A private matter, I’m afraid,’ Egon replied.
Edith crept into the hallway.
‘Herr Harms doesn’t like to be disturbed, especially at this time in the morning.’
‘Tell him we have serious business to discuss.’
What business? Edith wondered. Her mind jumped.
Hanna, grumbling, approached the room where Papa took his breakfast. She knocked.
‘What is it now?’ Papa demanded. Hanna’s reply was lost as she went in and the door closed behind her.
‘What are you doing here?’ Edith hissed at Egon.
‘I saw your mother leave with Adele, so I’m taking my chances with your father.’
‘Egon, surely you’re not … this is too soon!’
‘But I am sure of my intentions, Edith. And how much longer do we need? Besides, this war is building. My brother-in-law, Anton, has already received his conscription papers. This might be our only chance.’ The door opened and Hanna beckoned him in. ‘Trust me,’ he said nervously as he went into the room. Hanna approached.
‘This is men’s business. Come, I’ll make camomile to calm your nerves,’ she said.
Edith put her ear to the wood. ‘I’m not going anywhere, not with my fate being discussed.’
‘Herr Harms, I regret that I’ve disturbed you, but this matter can’t wait,’ she could hear Egon saying. Hanna joined her by the door. ‘I’m here to make a proposal. I want to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.’
Breath pooled in Edith’s lungs and Hanna gripped her arm.
‘You’ve come here, Herr Schiele, at this unsociable hour, hoping to find me in an agreeable mood, so that you might ask to marry my daughter?’
‘There’s no time like the present, sir.’
‘If I were your age, I’d be satisfied to wait a while,’ Papa replied.
‘With respect, I’m almost twenty-five. And this war has changed everything. I want to step into my future as a better man – and draw a line under the foolish days of my youth.’
‘Ah, yes, all of Vienna knows of your misdemeanours. What gives you the idea I’d allow my daughter to marry an artist – and a convict, no less?’
‘I was found guilty of nothing more than creating art, sir. I’ve learnt my lesson. I can assure you, I’ll not abuse the trust you place in me with your daughter. I’ve much to offer.’
‘Much to offer?’ Edith could hear the derision in Papa’s voice. ‘Let us be frank, Herr Schiele – what way of life can an artist seriously offer my daughter? What have you by way of financial stability? You offer little in terms of respectability.’
‘My name is beginning to hold value, abroad as well as in Austria. I have accepted three commissions this month alone and I expect many more. My situation is improving.’
‘Is that so? And what about your family?’
‘My uncle, Leopold Czihaczek, was chief inspector for the Imperial-Royal Austrian State Railways. My father, a stationmaster. I was brought up with rules and taught manners.’
