Guten Tag, hier ist das zweite Kapi~ (Good day, here's the second chapter)
February 1908. Eisenstadt, Austria.
"Roderich, they have accepted!" Roderich's mother declared, brandishing the next letter addressed to her son within two months. Her son arose from his chair, setting down his paperwork. "Excuse me?"
The letter was waved again, closer to his proximity this time. "The Academy! They have agreed for you to join."
The young aristocrat was surprised. He honestly had not expected to be accepted - really, he hadn't even done any art courses before! He had no good grades to show for his work, no references, other than a few family members...So how come the Academy so readily took him in? "Are you sure, Mother?"
"Yes, yes! Here," She replied enthusiastically as she handed him the letter.
He skimmed it thoughtfully.
...and so, the Vienna Academy of Fine Arts shall gladly accept Herr Roderich Edelstein.
With kind regards,
Professor Francis Bonnefoy
Beneath the printed name, was an artfully elegant signature. Certainly this professor was an artist.
"Bonnefoy," Roderich tried the sound of it on his tongue. "Sounds French."
Frau Edelstein tilted her head. "...Yes, I did wonder about that. He must also be an administrator for the Academy." Her eyes bored into his. "You will go, won't you?"
Another sigh. Well, considering Mother Music has given up on me. along with the whole damned Vienna city. "...I...I suppose I could, try, Mother."
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February 1908. Schillerplatz, Vienna, Austria.
The carriage rattled to a stop along the road leading to the Vienna Academy, the horses bowing their perspiring heads as they stood restless in their harnesses.
"Now, it was very much a last-minute arrangement," Commented Herr Edelstein as he fixed his son's dark lilac eyes sincerely, "so do not expect treatment fit for a Royal."
"At a fine art academy, I am not sure the word 'Royal' would be the first to spring to mind," Roderich grumbled, "how do I not know they will not expect me to live in a store cupboard?"
Frau Edelstein frowned, fixing her skirts as they prepared to exit the finely-decorated carriage. "Enough of that sulking attitude, Roderich. You appeared so excited when first this was mentioned." With a sigh, the young Austrian aristocrat opened his side door and stepped out. Did I? Then I must be a better actor than I imagined.
He stopped in front of the Academy to admire it's Viennese beauty. It was a great ornament, carved with precision and finesse, six tall stone pillars holding up the entrance framework, upon each stood statues of angels or perhaps goddesses - Roderich did not particularly care which.
He ventured into the grand hallway. The sight took his breath from him.
More stone pillars carved into ridges held up the ceiling - the ceiling which was so beautifully painted with figures of angels and cherubs, with every colour the mind could capture. All of this reflected in the deep amethyst orbs of his. Everything was polished to a gleam; not even footprints could be seen on the marble flooring.
A grand Academy indeed.
The sound of echoing footsteps accompanied the form of perhaps the most elegant man Roderich had ever laid eyes on. His heeled dress shoes clicked as his long, slender legs moved under swaying hips; a long paint-splattered dandy-shirt with frilled sleeves and drawstrings covered his thin torso; slim shoulders were touched upon lightly by his long platinum blonde hair which framed his face, his light blue eyes glinting as he flashed the Austrian family a smile.
Glancing sideways, Roderich noted his father's eyes narrowing and his mother drawing a quick breath.
"Bonjour," Greeted the angelic man as he stopped before the youngest man. Said young man noted he smelled of a fine fragrance. Honeysuckle? No. Roses.
"Ah, I apologise, I meant guten Tag." Another smile.
"...Yes, it is nice to meet you. I assume you are of course Herr Bonnefoy?" Asked Roderich's father with a look of bemusement on his wrinkled features. Naturally like the typical Austrian aristocrats he did not widely approve of foreigners working in his home country.
"Oui, I am he. I understand your son is to begin his course with us soon?" A nod from Herr Edelstein. Frau Edelstein finally gathered her thoughts enough to speak. "Y-yes. This is Roderich," She gently took her son's arm and gave an aged smile to the Frenchman, who happily returned it.
Roderich felt his mother squeeze his bicep. That must be the signal to contribute.
"Sir, I would like to thank you for allowing myself entry into this Academy, I look forward to working here." There. Just like he had practised earlier that day with his mother. Of course, his mother was of a much more different character than the model before him now. Aforementioned model placed one hand on his hip, giving the younger a nod of approval. "Come. I will show you the Academy."
"I'm afraid we cannot stay," Spoke Roderich's father, "but we fully intend to explore the hallways of this building at Herr Klimt's Kunstschau. That is happening soon, is it not?"
Bonnefoy nodded, clapped his hands together briskly. "Alor, it was lovely to meet you. I hope to see you soon," He winked at Roderich's mother, to which she grew paler. "Y-yes, Herr Bonnefoy," She muttered nervously, turning to her son, giving him a comforting smile. "We'll see you soon, Roderich."
Both adults left their only child with no more than a suitcase of his belongings and a sense of abandonment. He recalled this feeling from many previous experiences: his parents, while adoring of him, had always liked their space. Children who were fed and educated properly were considered 'nurtured' by his mother's books, but….he'd always felt distant from them. Roderich respected and obeyed them, but he did not seem to have the kind of emotional attachment one would expect between parents and kin.
Together, Roderich and Bonnefoy ascended one of the grande staircases, footsteps echoing, emphasising the lack of dialogue and the excess amount of thoughts.
It is unusually quiet for such a vast, widely-catering Academy, the younger man thought as he admired artworks upon the hallways. Suddenly, the Academy's orchestra started to play a concerto from Mozart. "I was unaware there was an orchestra here," Roderich commented.
Bonnefoy glanced at him, smiling. "Oui, they are an exceptional group of people. Your mother mentioned your love of music, am I to assume it is as strong as your passion for art?"
Roderich hesitated. Stronger. By far. "...Yes, yes from a young age I played many instruments, piano being the favoured."
Nodding, the Frenchman gestured in the direction of the music. "I would of course allow you to play in our orchestra, however they have no places available. I apologise."
"N-no, it is fine," Replied the younger, waving it off. "But please, pray tell them that if they are in need of a pianist, I will of course offer to contribute."
"I shall inform them of that." As they continued, the music switched to a different piece, again by Mozart. Roderich found himself compelled to sway with the sounds of Requiem, the quiet opening to the striking vocals and rippling chords of the violin. Mozart's mournful tune dedicated to the passing of his wife, Anna. The power and drama of the Masterpiece sent chills up Roderich's spine.
Such was the effect of this music, it took him a few moments to notice Francis Bonnefoy had stopped walking.
The brunette turned to face him, the music now a distant whisper in the corridor in which they stood. Bonnefoy had stopped before plain double-doors. "These are the men's dormitories," He announced.
Those pale blue eyes of his held a look of suspicion.
Roderich had always been taught it was rude to stare, much less with a judging eye. "What is it?" He asked, restraining from snapping at the older man.
"Master Edelstein, I am a professor of fine art here at this Academy, and to all art students I must ask this question to their faces," Francis began, slowly making his way over to Roderich. He halted when their chests almost touched, so much so that the Austrian began to get even more uncomfortable. The Frenchman's lips parted once more, "Do you really want to be here?"
Darkened lilac eyes narrowed. "I…Pardon?"
"To be here, now, is an honour. You have accepted that. I have been told you want, desperately, to take an artistic course. So why, then, do I see you tremble at the orchestra's performances? Why do your fingers twitch so, as if aching for ebony and ivory keys?" Still Roderich couldn't answer. Oh no, if I do not assure him...he will throw me out, and my parents will be...devastated…
"I do want to be here," He blurted, somewhat clumsily. Francis smiled softly. "But it is not for the artwork, correct?"
Roderich flushed. "What- I - no, I….I do honestly like to draw -"
"'Like' is a weak word," Interrupted Bonnefoy, "if you are to stay here, it is 'love' that you need. I can see you have love, are in love, but it is with chords and concertos, not colours. Why did you come here?"
Feeling disheartened, Roderich tried to salvage any reasoning he had left. He sighed. "While it is true my heart beats faster for music than canvas, I believe it is possible to be in love with two subjects at once," He continued, tone becoming more confident, "indeed my fingers were twitching but how do you know it was not for a paintbrush, or a graphite pencil? I am here to work, to learn, and appreciate the finer details of this city. I do very much want to be here, Herr Bonnefoy. Does that answer meet your expectations?" It was clear by the look on Francis's face that Roderich had stunned him with certainty, after such a submissive first impression was given. Striding over and opening one of the doors, Bonnefoy gestured inside with a smirk. "I have heard better."
The room Roderich was to stay in turned out more of an 'office': it contained only a small desk of drawers, a single bed, small shelf unit and a window with a rather unstimulating view of the street below. Seeing as this place had few residents able to afford a room inside the Academy he imagined the dorm would be rather quiet after classes had finished every day.
Bonnefoy had left with words of advice, for him to explore the Vienna city. The buildings and scenery prove for excellent artistic stimulation, he had commented. Classes do not begin until tomorrow so be sure not to get carried away chasing dames.
The cheek! Roderich had no time for such affairs - literally. After the long journey here, a quick briefing and registration along with unpacking, he was positively exhausted. The dormitory had a bathroom - communal with cubicles - but it was of poor condition. He decided not to bathe just yet.
He also felt guilty that everything he'd said to Bonnefoy had been poppycock. Well, not all of it, but… He ached to walk over to that music room, push aside their current pianist and tickle the ivories with his own hands; he did not long to paint.
Glancing at his room with a thought of dismay, Roderich pulled on his fabric overjacket as he stepped out into the corridor, making a path for Vienna City.
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"What do you mean, he is ill? When did he fall ill?" The sounds of Bonnefoy's agitated voice rang throughout the hallway near the exit of the Academy. Curious, Roderich peered between the double doors into the room from which the sounds were coming from. In the room stood many easels, tables, stools and other such equipment. He could only assume this was an art classroom - in the centre there was a dais, a raised stage, assumedly for still-life drawings.
The Austrian blushed at the thought of drawing people, naked people, trying to replicate everything from their skin tone to the light effect.
Francis appeared troubled as he spoke with another man - another professor, perhaps? Pondered Roderich as his ears picked up more conversation.
"I am sorry, Francis, but he has only just sent an informant to us. It is a serious infection, maybe influenza."
Francis pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. "Very well, it is too late to call in another still-life model. We shall have to make do with only two. It is a shame, really - his musculature is simply divine." Again, the Austrian's cheeks burned with those calibre of words.
"Sir," The other man gasped, "it is highly inappropriate for you to be using such….misleading….language when talking about a male."
"We teach others how to draw naked humans, Herr Meier," Replied the Frenchman, undeterred, "so why should we not openly praise our subjects?" Still Meier looked bewildered. "Bloody Frenchman, cannot tell chalk from cheese…" He muttered distastefully as he sidled away.
That was strange. Purple eyes widened as his gaze returned to Francis. Francis, who was looking right at him. Oh dear.
"It is rude to eavesdrop," Scolded the professor as he moved to open one door, leaning against it.
"Y-yes, you're - I did not mean to, sir, I only…" Roderich took a deep breath. "What do you mean, only two? Who is the ill person?"
"A very worthy painting model," Answered Francis. "Alas, disease has taken him before you have had the chance to paint him. We are already lacking in participants for this area of art, and this is…" He trailed off. "Well. What were you wandering around for?"
Roderich licked his full lips. "I was on my way to explore Vienna, as per your advice. May I ask, why are there so few people interested in this kind of artwork?"
To this, the blonde-haired man paused in answering. "Most subjects are expected to be naked for their portraits," He explained, "and seeing as this is Vienna, this is Austria, I have found the people here to be much more….unwilling than those of Paris, for example," he finished with a wink.
"Do you mean to insinuate that just because Viennese people are less willing to strip for strangers, they are more arrogant?" Roderich's tone was becoming heated. He had never been possessed with a fierce desire to defend his countrymen - hell, they could do that themselves - but he did not like the way this foreigner spoke of them. Like they were frigid, scared of reality.
Leaning down so that blue eyes bored into purple, the Frenchman gave the slightest of nods. "Be careful with your interpretations. But yes, I do believe that to look upon the naked beauty of a man -" He faltered, "or woman, with only embarrassment and disgust as these people do, is unwise. Beauty is fleeting, so why not worship it while it lasts?"
"My idea of beauty differs from yours, as does everyone else's."
"Students taking this art course would disagree. Remember, Master Edelstein, you are also a student who will be starting this course tomorrow. You will be expected to complete one artwork a day. Focus on being open-minded, not some shallow being who can only see something pretty when it wears clothes." With that, the older man moved past the tongue-tied Austrian, swiftly travelling to other parts of the building.
Expelling a huff of frustration, Roderich went out into the streets with one thought on his mind: what a perverted Frenchman; I shall never see beauty in something so bare as skin.
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I hope you like this chapter, and I mean to cause no offence to either French or Austrian people :3 ..I don't think there's anything to translate which isn't inferable in meaning...Ah! Kunstschau = art show.