60°10”N, 24°57”E #3
But time is cruel. Living matter degrades, and retinas are no exception.
Von Nordmann turns the cogs and cleans the mirrors to bring his subjects into focus, but the images remain blurred.
The colours become fainter all the while, and before long the eyepiece shows nothing but a thick, soupy fog.
The microscopic world disappears, scarpers out of reach, but he cannot stop now, he has taken it upon himself to classify all the spiders in Finland, to present to the world the arthropods hiding in the forests and ditches and their tiny, extraordinary bodies.
There is much to do, but try as he might, the fog will not lift.
The brass tubes of the Microscope Achromatique Universel gleam in the pale afternoon light, and Hilda Olson steps closer inquisitively.
She admires the device, it is like a jewel or a strange statue, and when the professor asks whether she would like to try it out, she does not hesitate but sits down and waits for instructions.
Von Nordmann shows her how to adjust the magnification and prepares a sample for her.
He places a dish under the eyepiece, and Miss Olson grips the dial and turns.
She looks at the body of the money spider.
The professor lets her get used to the sight, allows her to enjoy the moment when small becomes large for the first time, but he cannot contain himself for long and fetches some drawing equipment.
Miss Olson nods and picks up the pencil, looks into the microscope then at the paper in turn, and von Nordmann watches as she sketches the spinnerets and the chelicerae, traces the marbling across the spider’s abdomen, its tiny dark eyes, and when she lowers her pencil, every last cilium is just as it should be.
Von Nordmann has Miss Olson’s grey irises and sharp pupils at his disposal, and not a moment too soon.
A scintillating letter is waiting on his desk.
The botanist Christian von Steven has written, saying that he is ready to bequeath his personal plant collection to the Imperial Alexander University.
Von Nordmann has seen von Steven’s study, its flower presses and leather-bound trunks containing the vascular plants of entire continents, almost one hundred thousand specimens in total, another scientist’s life’s work now just within reach.
All he has to do is fetch the specimens and transport them to Finland, a long and expensive trip, but he has already applied for funding and plans to put the time to good use by examining the spiders of the Ukraine and southern Russia on the way.
In order to do so, he will need the help of an illustrator.
They must set off very soon, lest somebody else snatch the opportunity from under their noses, and as he watches the money spider come into view on the paper, he puts his doubts to one side.
He comes up with a contract, and to his relief Miss Olson’s salary requirements are eminently reasonable.
All in all, the day has surpassed all his expectations, and when he goes to bed that evening and waits for grief to return, it does not, and he falls asleep with a grin on his face as he thinks of all the consternation his new assistant will surely cause.
History is replete with scientists who have enlisted the help of a wife or daughter, but to take on an unknown woman as an assistant – that is quite something.
If von Nordmann were less renowned, many might think his decision unseemly, but his reputation is pre-eminent enough to keep wagging tongues at bay, and any conversations along the corridors of the university are held only in whispers.
Meanwhile, the professor’s daughters are left shaking their heads.
They love their father dearly, but at times he is inappropriate to the point of exasperation, though the melancholy he has suffered since Arthur’s death would leave even the most discerning of men susceptible to reckless decisions.
But what’s done is done, and now they can do nothing more than show him that the family supports him in his decision.
The professor’s daughters invite Miss Olson for a visit.
Matilda and Maria await the meeting in a mood of distinct trepidation, but when Miss Olson steps through the door, their burden is lightened.
She is dressed in a practical black frock and greets the professor’s daughters courteously but amiably.
Miss Olson, too, is nervous about the meeting.
If they wanted to, the professor’s daughters could make her life very difficult and might even implore their father to rescind his offer.
Miss Olson greets the women cordially, nervously fidgeting with her skirt.
By the time they have drunk their coffee, she has won the daughters over.
She is a down-to-earth woman, there is no doubt about her honour, and it turns out that she is exceptionally good company too.
She gives Matilda’s children a game she has designed, and as Matilda examines the playing board, Hilda notices that she has the same joviality as her father.
Maria’s horses get stuck at Foul-Mile Hill.
She has to return to the start of the board, but the die favours Matilda.
She climbs aboard a steam ship, travels all the way to Tornio and is the first to get back to Helsinki.
Matilda is giddy with excitement as she moves her piece over the finish line.
Hilda congratulates her on her victory, and they agree to another round once she returns from her expedition.
Work takes Miss Olson and von Nordmann to Yekaterinoslav and Simferopol, then through Serbia, Turkey, Bulgaria, Moldova and Odesa, though they are less interested in cities and cathedrals than in what can be found beneath the rocks and leaves.
Von Nordmann teaches Miss Olson to find the webs of garden spiders and the crab spiders hiding in among flower petals.
First, they shut these arthropods into glass jars, then Miss Olson places the jars in a holder attached to her easel and waits.
Initially, the spider cowers at the bottom of the jar, gathers its legs beneath its body and plays dead, but when no predators appear it becomes curious, stretches out its legs and starts exploring the walls of its glass prison.
And at that moment, Miss Olson makes a quick sketch.
She records the spider’s shape and colours, reproduces any patterning, and once the drawing is ready, she removes the lid, fills the jar with ethanol, and the arthropod’s life comes to an end.
In the evening, she draws the spiders for a second time.
She pulls the deceased creature from the liquid and pins it out in something approximating a natural position, just as the professor taught her.
Von Nordmann sets up his microscope, and Miss Olson uses it to draw another image, this time a detailed anatomical enlargement.
She draws the tubular heart that only a moment ago was pushing colourless blood through microscopic arteries, she sketches the differences between the sexes, the palpal bulbs and the epigyna, and when the sketch is ready, she colours it using the drawing she made from the live animal as a model.
The dead and the living merge into a single, detailed image on the paper, and through her eyes von Nordmann can once again see the spider in all its grandeur.
The sun is slowly setting, dyeing the hillsides overlooking the garden.
Miss Olson tries to commit the view to memory.
Surely this is what Paradise is like, five hundred fruit trees, vineyards as far as the eye can see, thousands upon thousands of flowers.
Von Steven’s garden is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.
The elderly botanist smiles broadly upon hearing her praise.
When von Steven first arrived at Nikita, it was a small scrap of a village, but he has conducted one sample-gathering expedition after another.
His rickety carriage and shabby horse are a familiar sight to the local villagers, who gently tease him about his dishevelled appearance.
He does not own a proper pair of boots, though even the lowliest farmhand has such things, but the villagers’ laughter merely warms him, and he leaves them to gather their harvest in peace.
He has collected the rarest and most fascinating plants from Russia and the Caucasus, and now his own garden is beyond compare.
Von Steven’s garden and manor house have become a Mecca and a guesthouse for botanists, and now he finally has the pleasure of hosting his old, long-awaited friend.
He invites von Nordmann and his assistant for a delicious dinner in his arboretum, and after the meal von Nordmann shows his friend the spider drawings from their journey.
Von Steven admires the images, and when he hears that it was Miss Olson who painted them, he proposes a toast to her, and the professor raises his glass too.
Hilda shakes her head in amusement, and she is filled with a warm, bubbling joy.
She has loved every moment of this journey.
For once, she can concentrate solely on her drawings; the professor has bought her a quire of thick rag paper that will not curl at the edges or yellow in the sunshine, a set of excellent watercolours, brushes with tips of pine-marten fur, making her work an absolute pleasure.
More importantly, her paintings are useful.
With her brushes, she can make visible that which normally goes unnoticed, and she is proud at the notion that with her help the professor will add another small stitch to the great fabric of science.