VII
Malz was a writer flourishing at Frankfort about 1830, whose short comedies, written in a light vein in the local dialect, hit off local Frankfort types with bright and amusing, though not deep, humour. It turned out that Gemma really did read excellently—quite like an actress in fact. She indicated each personage, and sustained the character capitally, making full use of the talent of mimicry she had inherited with her Italian blood; she had no mercy on her soft voice or her lovely face, and when she had to represent some old crone in her 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 indignation so soon as the conversation turned _o quel ferroflucto Tedesco_) interrupted her by an outburst of unanimous laughter, she dropped the book on her knee, and laughed musically too, her head thrown back, and her black hair dancing in little ringlets on her neck and her shaking shoulders. 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 particularly astonished at the marvellous way in which a face so ideally beautiful assumed suddenly a comic, sometimes almost a vulgar expression. Gemma was less successful in the parts of young girls—of so-called “_jeunes premières_”; in the love-scenes in particular she failed; she was conscious of this herself, and for that reason gave them a faint shade of irony as though she did not quite believe in all these rapturous vows and elevated sentiments, of which the author, however, was himself rather sparing—so far as he could be.
Sanin did not notice how the evening was flying by, and only recollected the journey before him when the clock struck ten. He leaped 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 in the 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 Lenore queried.
“The whole fare!” Sanin said dolefully with a gloomy face.
Gemma looked at him, half closed her eyes, and laughed, while her mother scolded her:
“The young gentleman has paid away his money for nothing, and you laugh!”
“Never mind,” answered Gemma; “it won’t ruin him, and we will try and amuse him. Will you have some lemonade?”
Sanin drank a glass of lemonade, Gemma took up Malz once more; and all went merrily again.
The clock struck twelve. Sanin rose to take leave.
“You must stay some days now in Frankfort,” said Gemma: “why should you 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 would have no choice about remaining in Frankfort till he got an answer from a friend in Berlin, to whom he proposed writing for money.
“Yes, do stay,” urged Frau Lenore too. “We will introduce you to Mr. Karl Klüber, who is engaged to Gemma. He could not come to-day, as he was very busy at his shop … you must have seen the biggest draper’s and 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 of information. “He’s a lucky fellow, that fiancé!” flashed across his mind. He looked at Gemma, and fancied he detected an ironical look in her 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, but of affirmation, as though it could not be otherwise.
“Till to-morrow!” echoed Sanin.
Emil, Pantaleone, and the poodle Tartaglia accompanied him to the corner of the street. Pantaleone could not refrain from expressing his displeasure 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 face forward, 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 the public hall) in a rather confused frame of mind. All the talk he had had in French, German, and Italian was ringing in his ears.
“Engaged!” he whispered as he lay in bed, in the modest apartment assigned 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 arrival of two gentlemen. One of them turned out to be Emil; the other, a good-looking and well-grown young man, with a handsome face, was Herr Karl Klüber, the betrothed of the lovely Gemma.
One may safely assume that at that time in all Frankfort, there was not in a single shop a manager as civil, as decorous, as dignified, and as affable as Herr Klüber. The irreproachable perfection of his get-up was on a level with the dignity of his deportment, with the elegance—a little affected and stiff, it is true, in the English style (he had spent two years in England)—but still fascinating, elegance of his manners! It was clear from the first glance that this handsome, rather severe, excellently brought-up and superbly washed young man was accustomed to obey his superior and to command his inferior, and that behind the counter of his shop he must infallibly inspire respect even in his customers! Of his supernatural honesty there could never be a particle of doubt: one had but to look at his stiffly starched collars! And his voice, it appeared, was just what one would expect; deep, and of a self-confident richness, but not too loud, with positively a certain caressing note in its timbre. Such a voice was peculiarly fitted to give orders to assistants under his control: “Show the crimson Lyons velvet!” or, “Hand the lady a chair!”
Herr Klüber began with introducing himself; as he did so, he bowed with such loftiness, moved his legs with such an agreeable air, and drew his heels together with such polished courtesy that no one could fail to feel, “that man has both linen and moral principles of the first quality!” The finish of his bare right hand—(the left, in a suède glove, held a hat shining like a looking-glass, with the right glove placed within it)—the finish of the right hand, proffered modestly but resolutely to Sanin, surpassed all belief; each finger-nail was a perfection in its own way! Then he proceeded to explain in the choicest German that he was anxious to express his respect and his indebtedness to the foreign gentleman who had performed so signal a service to his future kinsman, the brother of his betrothed; as he spoke, he waved his left hand with the hat in it in the direction of Emil, who seemed bashful and turning away to the window, put his finger in his mouth. Herr Klüber added that he should esteem himself happy should he be able in return to do anything for the foreign gentleman. Sanin, with some difficulty, replied, also in German, that he was delighted … that the service was not worth speaking of … and he begged his guests to sit down. Herr Klüber thanked him, and lifting his coat-tails, sat down on a chair; but he perched there so lightly and with such a transitory air that no one could 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 again quickly, and advancing with two discreet little dance-steps, he announced that to his regret he was unable to stay any longer, as he had to hasten to his shop—business before everything! but as the next day was Sunday, he had, with the consent of Frau Lenore and Fräulein Gemma, arranged a holiday excursion to Soden, to which he had the honour of inviting the foreign gentleman, and he cherished the hope that he would not refuse to grace the party with his presence. Sanin did not refuse so to grace it; and Herr Klüber repeating once more his complimentary sentiments, took leave, his pea-green trousers making a spot of cheerful colour, and his brand-new boots squeaking cheerfully as he moved.
IX
Emil, who had continued to stand with his face to the window, even after Sanin’s invitation to him to sit down, turned round directly his future kinsman had gone out, and with a childish pout and blush, asked Sanin if he might remain a little while with him. “I am much better to-day,” he added, “but the doctor has forbidden me to do any work.”
“Stay by all means! You won’t be in the least in my way,” Sanin cried at once. Like every true Russian he was glad to clutch at any excuse that saved him from the necessity of doing anything himself.