A
solemn black-clad girl stares out from the gilt framed picture.
Casually positioned in front of ornate doors, her dark dress enhances
their golden embellishments and these in turn offset the pale of her
skin, which could otherwise have been taken as a lingering illness or
the blood drained from some sense of trepidation. Although it still
could be, of course, the latter explanation and not as I'm assuming a
natural fairness because there's no evidence of bloom in her young
cheeks. There's possibly the ghost of a smile, one about to form or
one that's fading as if it's been caught in a moment of indecision
which her hand clasping the door handle in all likelihood also
attests to.
Was
she about to make an exit or had she just entered?
Are
we supposed to assume she's in the room alone or there's others
unseen she's facing? The artist, of course, is an external factor and
not part of the picture, that imagined or painted into existence and
trapped forever, in spite of the hairlike cracks that will appear to
note the years that pass. A true likeness, observers might exclaim if
indeed the person is or was once known; or how alluring, how
exquisite if the person is not, because the artist has managed to
capture something, which cannot be put into words except to say that
it has a very human, almost soulful, quality, which in the mouth of
each observer means something different depending on whether they
think along romantic or classical lines.
That
essence of humanness caught in the painting and since conveyed to
many has led to more than one assumption as to the girl's character,
situation and emotional state. There are some who will not think of
her as Marguerite van Mons, as the picture titles her, but as the
fictional Effi Briest, for on some imprints she adorns the cover, and
so the rightful history (whatever that is) gets mixed up with
another's. And this fictional other, Effie Briest, is purportedly
already based on a real person.
Yet
wouldn't it be strange if there was no divide after all? If these two
girls were separated only by their mother tongue and country of
residence, like twins unaware of each other yet leading parallel
lives. Could Marguerite be of German descent like Effi, or as van
Mons implies be only of Belgian blood? Could they look like each
other, or not too dissimilar at one stage or another, because girls
at ten or seventeen can look alike?
The
Belgian city of Mons has had various occupations so a little mixing
of blood wouldn't be too far-fetched, though less admitted to
possibly, but then 'van Mons' only means of a place i.e. of Mons, and
doesn't inform us as to heritage transferred from parent to child.
What gives a person their identity anyway – the country of their
birth or lineage? My meaning being that Marguerite, since I know
little of her, could conceivably have a Germanic background –
somewhere, way, way, back; diluted but there all the same. Though
according to records of those times it's more likely to be Spanish or
Flemish.
Marguerite,
however, is the point of the interest and so too is Effi, which leads
to the comparison that Theo van Rysselberghe, the artist, favoured
realism as did the author Theodor Fontane. Marguerite was a friend's
daughter and Effi was based on the daughter of a German aristocrat.
Marguerite is flat whereas Effi is fuller bodied because the ins and
outs of her life were supplied in fiction and reality; the portrait
of Marguerite then provides the image if one refuses to be formed in
mind alone and gives the character solidity. Effi will forever be
associated with Marguerite, or at the very least Marguerite leaves a
trace of herself so that if you chance across her picture without the
book you think 'where have I seen you before?' until memory recalls
the jacket cover; whereas if you read a page or two from a plainer
edition the portrait of her enters your mind because to you that is
how Effi has come to look.
Is
one made more fortunate than the other by this association? That is
impossible to say, even with the hindsight of time. Details and dates
can always be changed so that there's more or less similarity, or
just plain inaccuracy, to beguile researchers or readers and foster
the relation between these two (or should that be three?) unrelated
women.
Picture credit: The Portrait of Marguerite van Mons, 1886, Theo van Rysselberghe