V
Gemma listened to her mother, and at one minute laughed, then sighed,then patted her on the shoulder, and shook her finger at her, and thenlooked at Sanin; at last, she got up, embraced her mother and kissedher in the hollow of her neck, which made the latter laugh extremelyand shriek a little. Pantaleone too was presented to Sanin. Itappeared he had once been an opera singer, a baritone, but had longago given up the theatre, and occupied in the Roselli family aposition between that of a family friend and a servant. In spite ofhis prolonged residence in Germany, he had learnt very little German,and only knew how to swear in it, mercilessly distorting even theterms of abuse. '_Ferroflucto spitchebubbio_' was his favouriteepithet for almost every German. He spoke Italian with a perfectaccent--for was he not by birth from Sinigali, where may be heard'_lingua toscana in bocca romana_'! Emilio, obviously, played theinvalid and indulged himself in the pleasant sensations of one who hasonly just escaped a danger or is returning to health after illness;it was evident, too, that the family spoiled him. He thanked Saninbashfully, but devoted himself chiefly to the biscuits and sweetmeats.Sanin was compelled to drink two large cups of excellent chocolate,and to eat a considerable number of biscuits; no sooner had heswallowed one than Gemma offered him another--and to refuse wasimpossible! He soon felt at home: the time flew by with incredibleswiftness. He had to tell them a great deal--about Russia in general,the Russian climate, Russian society, the Russian peasant--andespecially about the Cossacks; about the war of 1812, about Peter theGreat, about the Kremlin, and the Russian songs and bells. Both ladieshad a very faint conception of our vast and remote fatherland; SignoraRoselli, or as she was more often called, Frau Lenore, positivelydumfoundered Sanin with the question, whether there was still existingat Petersburg the celebrated house of ice, built last century, aboutwhich she had lately read a very curious article in one of herhusband's books, '_Bettezze delle arti_.' And in reply to Sanin'sexclamation, 'Do you really suppose that there is never any summer inRussia?' Frau Lenore replied that till then she had always picturedRussia like this--eternal snow, every one going about in furs, and allmilitary men, but the greatest hospitality, and all the peasants verysubmissive! Sanin tried to impart to her and her daughter some moreexact information. When the conversation touched on Russian music,they begged him at once to sing some Russian air and showed him adiminutive piano with black keys instead of white and white insteadof black. He obeyed without making much ado and accompanying himselfwith two fingers of the right hand and three of the left (the first,second, and little finger) he sang in a thin nasal tenor, first 'TheSarafan,' then 'Along a Paved Street.' The ladies praised his voiceand the music, but were more struck with the softness and sonorousnessof the Russian language and asked for a translation of the text. Sanincomplied with their wishes--but as the words of 'The Sarafan,' andstill more of 'Along a Paved Street' (_sur une rue pavee une jeunefille allait a l'eau_ was how he rendered the sense of the original)were not calculated to inspire his listeners with an exalted ideaof Russian poetry, he first recited, then translated, and then sangPushkin's, 'I remember a marvellous moment,' set to music by Glinka,whose minor bars he did not render quite faithfully. Then the ladieswent into ecstasies. Frau Lenore positively discovered in Russiana wonderful likeness to the Italian. Even the names Pushkin (shepronounced it Pussekin) and Glinka sounded somewhat familiar to her.Sanin on his side begged the ladies to sing something; they too didnot wait to be pressed. Frau Lenore sat down to the piano and sangwith Gemma some duets and 'stornelle.' The mother had once had a finecontralto; the daughter's voice was not strong, but was pleasing.
VI
But it was not Gemma's voice--it was herself Sanin was admiring. Hewas sitting a little behind and on one side of her, and kept thinkingto himself that no palm-tree, even in the poems of Benediktov--thepoet in fashion in those days--could rival the slender grace of herfigure. When, at the most emotional passages, she raised her eyesupwards--it seemed to him no heaven could fail to open at such a look!Even the old man, Pantaleone, who with his shoulder propped againstthe doorpost, and his chin and mouth tucked into his capacious cravat,was listening solemnly with the air of a connoisseur--even he wasadmiring the girl's lovely face and marvelling at it, though one wouldhave thought he must have been used to it! When she had finished theduet with her daughter, Frau Lenore observed that Emilio had a finevoice, like a silver bell, but that now he was at the age when thevoice changes--he did, in fact, talk in a sort of bass constantlyfalling into falsetto--and that he was therefore forbidden to sing;but that Pantaleone now really might try his skill of old days inhonour of their guest! Pantaleone promptly put on a displeased air,frowned, ruffled up his hair, and declared that he had given it allup long ago, though he could certainly in his youth hold his own,and indeed had belonged to that great period, when there were realclassical singers, not to be compared to the squeaking performers ofto-day! and a real school of singing; that he, Pantaleone Cippatola ofVarese, had once been brought a laurel wreath from Modena, and thaton that occasion some white doves had positively been let fly in thetheatre; that among others a Russian prince Tarbusky--'_il principeTarbusski_'--with whom he had been on the most friendly terms, hadafter supper persistently invited him to Russia, promising himmountains of gold, mountains!... but that he had been unwilling toleave Italy, the land of Dante--_il paese del Dante!_ Afterward, tobe sure, there came ... unfortunate circumstances, he had himselfbeen imprudent.... At this point the old man broke off, sigheddeeply twice, looked dejected, and began again talking of theclassical period of singing, of the celebrated tenor Garcia, forwhom he cherished a devout, unbounded veneration. 'He was a man!'he exclaimed. 'Never had the great Garcia (_il gran Garcia_)demeaned himself by singing falsetto like the paltry tenors ofto-day--_tenoracci_; always from the chest, from the chest, _voce dipetto, si!_' and the old man aimed a vigorous blow with his littleshrivelled fist at his own shirt-front! 'And what an actor! A volcano,_signori miei_, a volcano, _un Vesuvio_! I had the honour and thehappiness of singing with him in the _opera dell' illustrissimomaestro_ Rossini--in Otello! Garcia was Otello,--I was Iago--andwhen he rendered the phrase':--here Pantaleone threw himself into anattitude and began singing in a hoarse and shaky, but still movingvoice:
"L'i ... ra daver ... so daver ... so il fato lo piu no ... no ... no ... non temero!"
The theatre was all a-quiver, _signori miei_! though I too did notfall short, I too after him.
"L'i ra daver ... so daver ... so il fato Temer piu non davro!"
And all of a sudden, he crashed like lightning, like a tiger:_Morro!... ma vendicato ..._ Again when he was singing ... when he wassinging that celebrated air from "_Matrimonio segreto_," _Pria chespunti_ ... then he, _il gran Garcia_, after the words, "_I cavallidi galoppo_"--at the words, "_Senza posa cacciera_,"--listen, howstupendous, _come e stupendo_! At that point he made ...' The old manbegan a sort of extraordinary flourish, and at the tenth note brokedown, cleared his throat, and with a wave of his arm turned away,muttering, 'Why do you torment me?' Gemma jumped up at once andclapping loudly and shouting, bravo!... bravo!... she ran to the poorold super-annuated Iago and with both hands patted him affectionatelyon the shoulders. Only Emil laughed ruthlessly. _Cet age est sanspitie_--that age knows no mercy--Lafontaine has said already.
Sanin tried to soothe the aged singer and began talking to himin Italian--(he had picked up a smattering during his last tourthere)--began talking of '_paese del Dante, dove il si suona_.' Thisphrase, together with '_Lasciate ogni speranza_,' made up the wholestock of poetic Italian of the young tourist; but Pantaleone wasnot won over by his blandishments. Tucking his chin deeper than everinto his cravat and sullenly rolling his eyes, he was once morelike a bird, an angry one too,--a crow or a kite. Then Emil, with afaint momentary blush, such as one so often sees in spoilt children,addressing his sister, said if she wanted to entertain their guest,she could do nothing better than read him one of those little comediesof Malz, that she read so nicely. Gemma laughed, slapped her
brotheron the arm, exclaimed that he 'always had such ideas!' She wentpromptly, however, to her room, and returning thence with a smallbook in her hand, seated herself at the table before the lamp, lookedround, lifted one finger as much as to say, 'hush!'--a typicallyItalian gesture--and began reading.
VII
Malz was a writer flourishing at Frankfort about 1830, whose shortcomedies, written in a light vein in the local dialect, hit off localFrankfort types with bright and amusing, though not deep, humour.It turned out that Gemma really did read excellently--quite like anactress in fact. She indicated each personage, and sustained thecharacter capitally, making full use of the talent of mimicry she hadinherited with her Italian blood; she had no mercy on her soft voiceor her lovely face, and when she had to represent some old crone inher dotage, or a stupid burgomaster, she made the drollest grimaces,screwing up her eyes, wrinkling up her nose, lisping, squeaking....She did not herself laugh during the reading; but when her audience(with the exception of Pantaleone: he had walked off in indignationso soon as the conversation turned _o quel ferroflucto Tedesco_)interrupted her by an outburst of unanimous laughter, she dropped thebook on her knee, and laughed musically too, her head thrown back, andher black hair dancing in little ringlets on her neck and her shakingshoulders. When the laughter ceased, she picked up the book at once,and again resuming a suitable expression, began the reading seriously.Sanin could not get over his admiration he was particularlyastonished at the marvellous way in which a face so ideally beautifulassumed suddenly a comic, sometimes almost a vulgar expression. Gemmawas less successful in the parts of young girls--of so-called '_jeunespremieres_'; in the love-scenes in particular she failed; she wasconscious of this herself, and for that reason gave them a faint shadeof irony as though she did not quite believe in all these rapturousvows and elevated sentiments, of which the author, however, washimself rather sparing--so far as he could be.
Sanin did not notice how the evening was flying by, and onlyrecollected the journey before him when the clock struck ten. Heleaped up from his seat as though he had been stung.
'What is the matter?' inquired Frau Lenore.
'Why, I had to start for Berlin to-night, and I have taken a place inthe diligence!'
'And when does the diligence start?'
'At half-past ten!'
'Well, then, you won't catch it now,' observed Gemma; 'you must stay... and I will go on reading.'
'Have you paid the whole fare or only given a deposit?' Frau Lenorequeried.
'The whole fare!' Sanin said dolefully with a gloomy face.
Gemma looked at him, half closed her eyes, and laughed, while hermother scolded her:
'The young gentleman has paid away his money for nothing, and youlaugh!'
'Never mind,' answered Gemma; 'it won't ruin him, and we will try andamuse him. Will you have some lemonade?'
Sanin drank a glass of lemonade, Gemma took up Malz once more; and allwent merrily again.
The clock struck twelve. Sanin rose to take leave.
'You must stay some days now in Frankfort,' said Gemma: 'why shouldyou hurry away? It would be no nicer in any other town.' She paused.'It wouldn't, really,' she added with a smile. Sanin made no reply,and reflected that considering the emptiness of his purse, he wouldhave no choice about remaining in Frankfort till he got an answer froma friend in Berlin, to whom he proposed writing for money.
'Yes, do stay,' urged Frau Lenore too. 'We will introduce you to Mr.Karl Klueber, who is engaged to Gemma. He could not come to-day, as hewas very busy at his shop ... you must have seen the biggest draper'sand silk mercer's shop in the _Zeile_. Well, he is the manager there.But he will be delighted to call on you himself.'
Sanin--heaven knows why--was slightly disconcerted by this piece ofinformation. 'He's a lucky fellow, that fiance!' flashed across hismind. He looked at Gemma, and fancied he detected an ironical look inher eyes. He began saying good-bye.
'Till to-morrow? Till to-morrow, isn't it?' queried Frau Lenore.
'Till to-morrow!' Gemma declared in a tone not of interrogation, butof affirmation, as though it could not be otherwise.
'Till to-morrow!' echoed Sanin.
Emil, Pantaleone, and the poodle Tartaglia accompanied him to thecorner of the street. Pantaleone could not refrain from expressing hisdispleasure at Gemma's reading.
'She ought to be ashamed! She mouths and whines, _una caricatura_!She ought to represent Merope or Clytemnaestra--something grand,tragic--and she apes some wretched German woman! I can do that ..._merz, kerz, smerz_,' he went on in a hoarse voice poking his faceforward, and brandishing his fingers. Tartaglia began barking at him,while Emil burst out laughing. The old man turned sharply back.
Sanin went back to the White Swan (he had left his things there in thepublic hall) in a rather confused frame of mind. All the talk he hadhad in French, German, and Italian was ringing in his ears.
'Engaged!' he whispered as he lay in bed, in the modest apartmentassigned to him. 'And what a beauty! But what did I stay for?'
Next day he sent a letter to his friend in Berlin.
VIII
He had not finished dressing, when a waiter announced the arrivalof two gentlemen. One of them turned out to be Emil; the other, agood-looking and well-grown young man, with a handsome face, was HerrKarl Klueber, the betrothed of the lovely Gemma.
One may safely assume that at that time in all Frankfort, there wasnot in a single shop a manager as civil, as decorous, as dignified,and as affable as Herr Klueber. The irreproachable perfection of hisget-up was on a level with the dignity of his deportment, with theelegance--a little affected and stiff, it is true, in the Englishstyle (he had spent two years in England)--but still fascinating,elegance of his manners! It was clear from the first glance that thishandsome, rather severe, excellently brought-up and superbly washedyoung man was accustomed to obey his superior and to command hisinferior, and that behind the counter of his shop he must infalliblyinspire respect even in his customers! Of his supernatural honestythere could never be a particle of doubt: one had but to look at hisstiffly starched collars! And his voice, it appeared, was just whatone would expect; deep, and of a self-confident richness, but not tooloud, with positively a certain caressing note in its timbre. Such avoice was peculiarly fitted to give orders to assistants under hiscontrol: 'Show the crimson Lyons velvet!' or, 'Hand the lady a chair!'
Herr Klueber began with introducing himself; as he did so, he bowedwith such loftiness, moved his legs with such an agreeable air, anddrew his heels together with such polished courtesy that no one couldfail to feel, 'that man has both linen and moral principles of thefirst quality!' The finish of his bare right hand--(the left, in asuede glove, held a hat shining like a looking-glass, with the rightglove placed within it)--the finish of the right hand, profferedmodestly but resolutely to Sanin, surpassed all belief; eachfinger-nail was a perfection in its own way! Then he proceededto explain in the choicest German that he was anxious to expresshis respect and his indebtedness to the foreign gentleman who hadperformed so signal a service to his future kinsman, the brother ofhis betrothed; as he spoke, he waved his left hand with the hat in itin the direction of Emil, who seemed bashful and turning away to thewindow, put his finger in his mouth. Herr Klueber added that he shouldesteem himself happy should he be able in return to do anything forthe foreign gentleman. Sanin, with some difficulty, replied, alsoin German, that he was delighted ... that the service was not worthspeaking of ... and he begged his guests to sit down. Herr Klueberthanked him, and lifting his coat-tails, sat down on a chair; but heperched there so lightly and with such a transitory air that no onecould fail to realise, 'this man is sitting down from politeness,and will fly up again in an instant.' And he did in fact fly up againquickly, and advancing with two discreet little dance-steps, heannounced that to his regret he was unable to stay any longer, as hehad to hasten to his shop--business before everything! but as the nextday was Sunday, he had, with the consent of Frau Lenore and FraeuleinGemma, arrang
ed a holiday excursion to Soden, to which he had thehonour of inviting the foreign gentleman, and he cherished the hopethat he would not refuse to grace the party with his presence. Sanindid not refuse so to grace it; and Herr Klueber repeating once more hiscomplimentary sentiments, took leave, his pea-green trousers making aspot of cheerful colour, and his brand-new boots squeaking cheerfullyas he moved.
IX
Emil, who had continued to stand with his face to the window, evenafter Sanin's invitation to him to sit down, turned round directly hisfuture kinsman had gone out, and with a childish pout and blush, askedSanin if he might remain a little while with him. 'I am much betterto-day,' he added, 'but the doctor has forbidden me to do any work.'
Veshnie vody. English Page 2
