"Behold my tears, behold mine anguish,Oh twine once more love's wreath for me."
"Behold my tears, behold mine anguish,Oh twine once more love's wreath for me."
How he was moved by the few bars with which Norma interrupts Adalgisa's confessions, bars devoted to recollections of other days, to the magic which had once enthralled her also! And to what passion was she urged by the Roman's discovered faithlessness! With grandeur of mind she walked to the self-sacrifice!
An actress who could personate a life so full of soul must possess it herself. If the composer's music nowhere gives the dramatic power of the story with equally overwhelming force, if it soon, as if alarmed at such daring, only wreathed the power with arabesques in which the self-conceited play of notes rocks itself to and fro, the vivacity of the representation in this case perfected the want of creative power on the composer's part, and held all intellects bound in the spell of the tragic grandeur!
She was aprincipessain the kingdom of art, and was that not something much loftier than if her ancestors had stood proudly in the golden book of Venice?
Filled with such feelings and thoughts, Blanden joined vigorously in the outbursts of applause with which thefinaleof the performance was distinguished; yes, in theentr'actehe had bought the last bouquet of the flower-girl, and thrown it to the triumphant actress. She took it up indifferently amongst the others; she did not know from whom it came.
Had she yesterday cast the flowers into the water so as to bury all recollections? Here they returned again as the first greeting of a newly awakening love! Yet she in that bouquet perceived but one of those evidences of homage which were lavished so numerously upon her art!
Not long afterwards Blanden was sitting with Professor Reising, Dr. Kuhl and Schöner in the comfortable cellar of the Court of Criminal Justice.
Reising was in a good temper; he had shaken off his female retinue; the four sisters had been invited to a tea-party after the theatre.
"Italian music," said Reising, "that is true music! How much Hegel was delighted with the starring tours of those Italian voices in Vienna! Music, like every art, must be the one object; the kingdom of notes has its own action and splendour; the opera singers must sing like nightingales and rejoice in the presumptuousness of song in those ascending and descending runs, in those stirring trills, in those sharp, foaming pearls of self-sufficing capriccios. Who would enquire whether that music is always adapted to thelibretto? The story is a necessary evil; it is the perch in the cage, because the bird must sit somewhere.
"Intellectual music, that is the subtlety of the mind. People have compared music with arithmetic only because it rests upon unknown numbers. Good Heavens! then may the musicians at least remain at the four elementary rules, and not lose themselves in the differential and integral calculus! It is a cruel mistake wishing to express every possible thing by music; music can express nothing but the mind's emotions. In all else it acts with divine freedom; I acknowledge that I am an utter Italian in music, and love to revel with it in its own riches!"
"As we, however, possess an opera," replied Blanden, "and as music is bound to dramatic situations, it must also give a suitable expression to them; yet it does not exist merely on account of that expression, else it would move in constant servitude. It is a free art and its own ruler in its dominion!"
"An enchanting Norma such as ours, renders all artistic theories superfluous," cried Schöner with enthusiasm.
"But to-day," replied Kuhl, "we missed the poems wafted down from the chandelier; on other occasions our friend has a new sonnet for each character. The liberty of nations must wait when Signora Bollini is extolled."
"She is worthy of all laudation," said Schöner: "but it would be desecration to praise her in inferior verses. My muse is not always solvent, now and then I prefer to be silent."
"I am such a novice in theatrical affairs," said Blanden, "that the fame of actors and actresses is a legend for me! I might drink a glass of wine with a Roscius and know nothing of the honour that was my portion. Who is this Signora Bollini? Is she a genuine or only a theatrical Italian? Since when has she belonged to the stage celebrities? Where has she gained her laurels?"
"These questions," began Schöner, "I can reply to accurately after the study of theatres, newspapers and the personal information of the culprit herself, for as such she appears to be in your eyes, as you seem to bring a formal impeachment against the actress. She is a true daughter of Hesperia, although she has passed her childhood in Germany, and therefore is as perfect a mistress of our language as she is of her mother tongue. She went upon the stage when very young, she gained her first successes in Milan inla Scala, and inla Pergolain Florence. Italy was the cradle of her renown. Then she sang in Madrid, in London, but always returned again to her own home. Two years ago she made a professional tour in Russia, and it was a special distinction for our Königsberg that she gave a somewhat lengthy series of visitor's performances there; she also then travelled along the coast and through the Province. I do not know wherein lies the power of attraction which our Northern Venice exercises upon the daughter of the South!"
"Perhaps in Dr. Schöner's verses," suggested Kuhl. "It is a reward to be sung by an East Prussian Leopardi."
"Enough," continued Schöner, "that Signora Bollini is here once again, probably on her way to Russia for a second time. According to what they say, she proposes very easy conditions to the managers, and is therefore welcomed as a bird of good fortune, like the albatross in Coleridge's poem of the 'Ancient Mariner.'"
"I cannot imagine," replied Kuhl, "that our sober town of pure reason, or our stage fascinate her; some additional secret charm must exist, some secret affection."
"I do not think it," replied Schöner. "I know all her adorers; there are several amongst them who have serious intentions. The rich young merchant Böller is even said to have asked her hand in marriage; it is a matter of course that she should have rejected that long-legged stork; Lieutenant Buschmann cherishes a passion for her that is colossal as the figure of that ancient Teuton, a passion which threatened to burst the officer's tight uniform, but that passion, too, is unreciprocated."
"Our friend Schöner," interposed Kuhl, "is too modest to include himself amongst the number of the beautiful singer's adorers, yet I must exclaim with Spiegelberg, 'Moor, your register has one gap, you have forgotten yourself.'"
"Of course I adore her," replied Schöner. "I admire the harmony of her being, her talent, her beauty, but I possess too perfect knowledge of the country to open a campaign without any prospect of success; she is most amiable towards us all, but she distinguishes none, and any one who would venture too far to the front would most assuredly sustain discomfiture. What did that brave Böller gain when he even travelled to Moscow after her? He met with his Beresina in Russia, and returned as disconsolately as once thegrande armée. One might think that she hopes to conquer an Italianprincipeor a Russian prince, and until then does not care to rule over any other souls or slaves; yet it is equally possible that she may already possess some silent love, perhaps, in her own home, and may cherish it with invincible faithfulness."
"Those are very kind suppositions," said Professor Reising. "Such a singer, free to go where she will, is a coquette from the cradle. She requires plenty of admirers, because she requires success; she favours none especially, so as not to repel the others. Wheresoever she goes she forms a little ministry for herself, and does the same here; the portfolio of her finances is in her friend von der Klapperwiese's hands; Lieutenant Buschmann is Minister at War, who inspires all enemies with the necessary terror; the chief of the Press-bureau is Dr. Schöner, and that officer works in prose and verse, writes the official external correspondence, looks after the portraits and biographies in the newspapers and the laudatory and eulogistic poems. If she depart from here, a great Cabinet crisis takes place, the ministry is dismissed, and a new one is formed in each new town."
"According to my views," replied Kuhl, "Signora Bollini would do well to think of a retreat, to marry a Russian prince and to enjoy the comfort which would make it possible for her withoutarias, without trills andfioritureto rule over thousands of souls."
"Why then?" asked Blanden, who until now had listened silently, but with strained attention to the conversation.
"Because her voice is already ruined."
Dr. Kohl's daring suggestion met with most animated opposition.
"Or--it will soon be so. I possess a sharp ear for such things, I need no stethescope; I can already detect, in her voice a slight autumnal rustle; soon its mellowness will be gone. Believe me--I am an experienced prophet therein, and one of those privileged doctors who proclaim the inevitable evil with greatest certainty. Did I not predict to Fräulein Burg that her organ was on the wane while she still seemed able to sing down the walls of Jericho with a flourish of trumpets? And how quickly it set in! It crackles and breaks suddenly even if it do still rustle like heavy satin! And there is no remedy for it--I could at most prescribe the Russian prince to the Signora."
"You make our souls shudder with foreboding at this prophecy," cried the Professor, while he looked anxiously at the clock, for he did not wish to reach home later than Euphrasia, because Lori had lately expressed an opinion that being out late was ruinous to his health.
"This medical wisdom," cried Schöner angrily, "might be capable of spoiling all our enjoyment of life. The gentlemen can no longer cure, but they recognise the least disturbance in the mechanism of life; they carry our verdict of death upon their lips, and know about the period when it will be executed; but to obtain a full pardon from implacable Nature lies quite beyond their capabilities. There I extol the poets; they glorify the beautiful present, the blessed today, and leave to-morrow to the black-visioned prophet and to the uncertain whim of destiny."
The party broke up, Blanden made enquiries of the poet as to the singer's abode, and while he walked alone with Kuhl across the moonlit castle yard, said to him--
"With what a trembling heart I passed through that door when I went to the Frau Gräfin's court, that beautiful witness of the Apocalypse! Another time has come and wafted away all the spectre, but also has demanded a tardy victim! For me it was a crushing blow, I did not dare to live any longer. From to-day I dare it again, all the spirits of my life are stirred, because that Signora Bollini is myprincipessaof Lago Maggiore."
The play-bill announced that in consequence of Signora Bollini's hoarseness the performance of the "Somnambula" would not take place, "der Freischütz" was substituted for it.
The theatre was empty, and all the greater was the number of visitors who towards evening came to enquire after the health of the singer. Beate had trouble to restrain the pressure which, under pretexts of every description, became dangerous for her friend's quiet, nor could she always succeed, inventive as she was in evasions of every kind; the regular visitors would not let themselves be turned away, and even a few others who were particularly pushing, obtained admittance by force.
Amongst the latter class was the student Salomon, who in the interim had relinquished his studies at the gymnasium, and was proudly conscious of his new position in life, which was still more transfigured for him by the brilliancy of the jubilee.
The cunning Italian, with her sparkling eyes, her high, arched eyebrows, the agreeable sly smile upon her lips, one of those beauties that would have been fitted for a queen of hearts for the tricks at cards of a Bosco, felt an unconquerable repugnance to the wearisome youth.
"Signora Beate," said he in reply to all her representations, "your friend may be indisposed and exclude herself from the general crowd, but you really do not act in your own interests when you insult the student class; I look upon myself as its representative; I am to give my friends information as to the admired actress' state of health; what, then, would they say if I found these doors closed? Consider that her success is our work; we are the genuine, incorruptible enthusiasts--enthusiasm of theclaquealways betrays its hired origin--the fate of an evening at the theatre rests in our pure hands."
Beate was not impervious to such explanations, and opened the portals of the sanctuary to the repulsive young man.
Somewhat pale, Signora Giulia lay upon the sofa, her hair unbound, a book in her hand, a red-hued sheeny silk encircled the slender form; the modulated light of a hanging lamp which still struggled with the light of day, imparted a slightly green tint to her noble features. Spectre-like stood out the statues of Dante and Tasso, of Rossini and Bellini from the dark red velvet hangings; the Signora loved the art of sculpture and beautiful forms.
There, too, the head of Juno Ludovisti was displayed, a successful copy; here the Venus out of the Florentine Academy, and that group upon the buffet represented the bull of the derricks, the cruel piece of carving out of the Museo Borbonico.
The Signora greeted the student with a slight movement of her head as he entered; he enquired after her health and the subject of her reading--
"Tasso!" exclaimed he then, "Jerusalem delivered? and the very canto which treats of Armida and Rinaldo? I must confess that Tasso is not my favourite, he takes things so terribly seriously, and describes circumstances which are really frivolous, with such solemn feeling; he is for ever squinting at the capitoline laurels."
"Oh, who would not," cried the singer suddenly raising herself, "gaze towards those laurels, even with weary expiring eyes, as the poet beneath the oak of San Onofrio gazed across at the Capitol?"
"I personally," said Salomon, "am not susceptible to laurel wreaths; in these days they are much too cheap a prize!"
And at the same time he cast an impertinent glance at the velvet wall which was completely covered with such wreaths.
"But as far asGerusalemme Liberatais concerned, as Tasso sings of it, it is an old worn-out story which never becomes new, thank God; because the crusades could only take place in a period so little enlightened as the so-called middle ages, when any monk with a long beard, who sat upon a jackass, possessed more influence than a minister of war, and who mobilised the whole Reserve and Landsturm of Christianity. Such things are no longer possible in these days. You cannot misunderstand me when I, as an educated man of our times, in connection with the 'Jerusalem delivered,' think of something very different than what that mad poet glorified in his stanzas, namely the emancipation of our faith. Heine is our Tasso, and is indeed a much greater poet; for when he describes an Armida, she is flesh and blood, and with a few strokes of the brush he gives her more vivid colouring than when Tasso absorbs a whole palette full of tints in order to paint her upon canvas."
Signora Giulia paid no attention to the chatterer, and calmly continued to read her poem.
"Ariostonow, is quite a different man! In him there is some of the blood of Heinrich Heine; an ironical light hovers around his creations; his giants bear some resemblance to Atta Troll, and his beautiful women might move about in a drawing-room. But you are surely unwell, Signora? I must, it is true, confess that I have not perceived any of the hoarseness of which the play-bills speak, but they, so far as I am concerned, are very little deserving of credence, I, who, indeed, possess a sceptical nature; but you seem to be exhausted also, and doubtlessly such a conversation as I love to hold, I might say in academical style, fatigues you, because my mind is always devoted to the loftier interests of art and literature, although I am also interested in butterflies and other creatures of the animal kingdom. Indeed, I surely weary you?"
For the first time, Giulia gave him a look of gratitude; she acknowledged that she was unwell, and begged him to thank the brave youth of the Albertina, who had behaved so admirably at the late commemoration. Salomon acknowledged these thanks in the name of all the students, and not without a sensation of dissatisfaction left the singer who had not given him personally that sympathy which his enthusiasm and constant efforts merited.
"A sad lot," said Giulia to Beate, who entered, "this dependence upon the public--is it not the worst slavery? And what is it all for? So that in the general exultant applause, no sound of disapproval, no token of discontent may be mingled. Always fear for this evanescent fame; ever from day to day this begging for the alms of applause!"
"Well," said Beate, "they have always been expended lavishly upon you!"
"Yet how short is the memory of our contemporaries: what is all this fleeting, intoxicating splendour for which we strive with all the fibres of our soul? How soon we are transformed into a legend that each year becomes more obscure, and then the vast storm of oblivion sweeps over us all! Oh, I am weary, often infinitely weary, and would fain fly to a quiet spot where never more the incessant chase after success would shatter my nerves."
Giulia rested her head upon her hand, and closed her eyes; then she continued, opening them again wearily.
"Yes, if the sweet rapture still hold us captive; if we still feel all the magic of renown in its perfect entirety, then we may defy the infinite trouble which the chase after laurels brings with it, for the time has passed in which they fall spontaneously like divine favours into the lap of the happy being, but when we have become indifferent to all these triumphs, when we would fain cast aside all this rustling gilt tinsel of fame, and necessity still compels us to labour, for immortality in which we no longer believe, oh, then we could envy the daily labourer the calm happiness of his work, for he only needs his hands--his thoughts and emotions are free, while we must bring spirit and nerve to our daily task, yield up our heart's blood without faith or love."
"In such a frame of mind you probably declined to-day's performance!"
"Perhaps--but you know--I have seen him. How uncertain are my feelings! I did not wish to see him again, therefore we sought his home when he was absent. With dread I look forward to the moment in which he will speak to me, call me by my name--the step out of that enchanted fairy tale into sober reality, appears inconceivable to me. I feel the burning colour of shame upon my cheeks at the very thought. At one time I appear to myself like a Somnambula who must precipitate herself into an abyss when he calls me, awakes me out of my dreams, then at another like a Melusina, who is surprised by her knight while she, with a fish's tail, splashes about in the crystal stream with other water-witches, that horrible fish's tail, the paper train of unhappy theatrical renown."
"But many aprincipehas married such a Melusina despite her fish's tail," said Beate with a smile of ready comfort.
"He feels differently, I know it; I wish now not to meet him, not to desecrate a beautiful moonlight memory with the sober light of day, and yet what is it that ever drives me hither to this desolate land? A dark, incomprehensible longing, that I dare not confess to myself; I feel as if I belonged to him when I stand upon the soil of his home, and when I saw him again the day before yesterday, he recognised me--I saw it, felt it; what is all fame, all exultation of the crowd to me? I yearn for one word from him, he will come, he must come, and because I expect him, I have not sung to-day."
"If the stern manager knew that!"
"I tremble at the prospect of meeting him, I start up each time the bell is touched; I listen with feverish expectation; I am boundlessly disappointed at every other face, and yet I could hardly endure to see him."
The bell was rung; in anxious anticipation Giulia smoothed the dark curls from her brow. Beate, shrugging her shoulders, announced Herr Spiegeler, the indefatigable, irrepressible operatic reporter, who in addition provided the radicalism for many German theatrical newspapers.
Giulia, after a silent malediction, assumed a friendly smile and greeted the lame critic, who limped into the room upon his crutch.
"Indisposed, beautifulprima donna?" said he, with the air of a protector, "our malicious climate is not created for nightingales."
"And yet I have heard that in Lithuania the nightingales are very numerous and sing wonderfully."
"It may be--in that case they must have been sent to a wrong address, for there is no public there capable of appreciating their melting warbles."
Spiegeler belonged to the would-be witty daily writers, who are not alarmed at any impertinence to the descendants of Saphir, whose star at that time was already on the wane; he wished to make himself talked about and feared, he cared not at what cost; in every artist he did but perceive a victim of his wit, and examined that victim until he had discovered the vulnerable heel of Achilles for his dart. He piqued himself upon his rudenesses, his existence depended upon them. In middle class life it often befell him that he was turned out of public-houses on account of his unseemly conduct; everywhere he was exposed to a by no means silent contempt; at the same time in literary and theatrical circles he was deemed a magnate, and there all strove to win his good-will. But the latter always remained uncertain, because for the sake of a happy idea he would even sacrifice his friends. He was so touchingly innocent that he was never even conscious of his own impudence; he considered wit to be his profession, and in that profession everything was allowable. Without blushing he stretched out the hand of friendship to those into whose heart he had on the previous day plunged a dagger with the skill of a literary bravo, and then wondered why his friendly greeting was not reciprocated. Such parasitical existences more than aught else have brought literature into disrepute in middle class German life, because the German cannot bring himself to admire that which in other respects he despises! Certainly in literature the portals are thrown widely open even to these sharks; under the banner of so-called talent even the most miserable characterless creatures are smuggled in, and when such a shameless pretender of wit composes an immature piece which only possesses dramatic joints in however slight a degree, and ill or well can move upon the boards, immediately many court theatres, which have long since learned to treat as rubbish all productions of true talent, hasten to bring out that drama or after-piece, so as to pay homage to a young genius, or much more, to render themselves secure against the ruthless lash of the literary clown.
Spiegeler certainly had not yet made any attempt upon the domain of original art; but in all other qualities he did not deny the type of the so-called wit, above all not in indifference towards every description of chastisement which did not extend so far as the laying on of hands. For him moral annihilation did not exist, and he was wont to return with great freedom from embarrassment whithersoever such acts of homage had been his portion.
Never did Giulia feel the degradation of her actress' calling more than in the presence of such German critics and their professional malice: aprima donnawho had associated on friendly terms with the highest nobility of Italy was compelled to receive with all well-bred affability persons to whom the doors of a drawing-room would never have been thrown open. Often enough had she proudly scorned to wait upon the malicious "gentlemen of the press," while many of her colleagues in velvet trains rustled up the back-stairs to an attic in which some newspaper writer, dangerous to her existence, had his den; but even if her success did not suffer therefrom, at all events on all sides she was told of the witty sallies with which the intellectual reporter revenged himself for this neglect. Of what use to her was all proper indignation?
It troubled her to read in every countenance the knowledge of those spitefulbon mots, she was given up to public malice; the air in which she breathed was no longer the pure atmosphere of art, it wafted a poisoned pestilential blast towards her, and she preferred to submit to secret humiliation rather than bear the insults to which she was exposed before the whole world.
And Giulia was obliged to tell herself that such theatrical criticism only flourished upon German soil! In Italy, in England, in Spain every critic was anobile, a gentleman, anhidalgo; even censure is offered with a polite bow, every merited acknowledgment is made to talent and beauty. Never is an artistic performance sacrificed to the unsparing spirit that delights in plucking it to pieces; never do newspapers venture to let an inquisitive ray of light fall into the interior of private life as through an open window shutter, and then to gossip about it withpiquantallusions. Giulia thought little of the much-vaunted German piety, she saw that not alone the actors and actresses, but also the original poets themselves were often criticisingly ill-treated by most incapable heads, and that the public did not take part with the richly gifted and nobly struggling talents, but rather carried their homage with utmost complacency to the sparkling conceits of the much promising critic. She certainly did not know that a similar lot had fallen to our classical poets, that a criticism which had a fig-leaf ready for every bare mediocrity picked Schiller's tragedies to pieces as being schoolboy's work, even shortly before their author's death, and that amid the exultation of a numerous crowd a squib sought to destroy Goethe's laurels.
All the same, these thoughts, the recollections of many an experience in her intercourse with the representatives of German public opinion, caused her blood to boil more than usually to-day; either the sad mood that overcame her was its cause, or a dim feeling that even in daring defiance she would find a protector in the man who breathed the air of the same town with her.
Spiegeler had made himself comfortable, propped his crutch against the easy chair; the spiteful line about his lips, recognisable despite the luxuriant beard, the small dark watchful eyes intimated that some malice was being prepared, but it was no plumed dart, which he this time launched at the singer; he wished to let her feel his superiority, while showing her that she was dependent upon a man who had never troubled himself particularly about her especial art.
"My real department," said he, "is the drama; I have only added operatic criticism to it, because our musical men can write nothing but notes. I do not understand much about music; those unfortunate finger exercises disgusted me with the pianoforte, and I have no voice for singing, but I am therefore all the more impressionable, all the freer from prejudice; handicraft is universally the death of art; all men of business are craftsmen, unbiassed only is he who enjoys, and I am thus the fitting exponent of public opinion. What does our great public understand about music? Nothing, absolutely nothing; I assure you it is unbounded hypocrisy of our society that it pretends to be initiated in the secrets of an art, which one must study like the cabala in order to decipher its marks. Nowhere do the charlatans possess so great a field as here--
'That which cannot declined beIs ta'en for immortality.'
'That which cannot declined beIs ta'en for immortality.'
People worship the incomprehensible devoutly and do not know that it is everlastingly incomprehensible. On the other hand it is genuine music that electrifies, that penetrates the nerves; and who does not rejoice at a national melody, the notes of which can be caught up and retained while they are hummed around us, or at a piece for the trumpet at which even the horses begin to neigh and raise their heads?"
Giulia was indignant at the impudence with which the critical musical guide of the capital confessed his ignorance and claimed admiration for it.
"It is not very flattering," said she, "that you study the influence of our art amongst four-footed creatures."
"Influence--that of course is the principal thing! Whether a war-horse raises his head at the trumpet's note or Raffaelle's Cecilie at the sound of the harp, originates in one and the same cause--the magic of music! And in order to feel it thoroughly one must be hampered with no theory; music must insinuate itself around us, or rouse us like an elementary power."
"You may be right," said Giulia, "and yet they are two quite different matters--feeling the charms of music and writing upon them."
"You offer me a challenge," replied Spiegeler, not without bitterness. "My criticisms are not learned enough for you; they contain nothing about fugues and counter-point, and I do not understand how to designate your highest notes according to the alphabet ofla Scala. Nevertheless, I can detect whether they are pure and beautiful or if they leave an unpleasant after-taste which you will then perceive in my criticisms. That was the case recently in 'Norma.' I pitied you on account of your indisposition. You must, indeed, spare yourself; people are already remarking that your performances are moving in a declining scale."
Giulia had risen angrily from the sofa.
"I am a great lover of truth," continued Spiegeler. "We here live in the town of a great Thinker, who spoke the truth ruthlessly. Until now in my criticisms I have extended the cloak of Christian charity over your shortcomings, but my conscience is awakened. For some time I have collected every variety of observations and remarks upon broken and cracked voices; they are not amiss these scraps of thought; they are mental iron filings, and I am seeking the magnet to which they can be attached; I cannot promise you that I may not utilise them in my criticism of your next performance if it satisfy my expectations as little as did your 'Norma.'"
The fiery blood of the Italian now conquered all prudence. Her tall figure was drawn up to its full height, her eye flashed, internal agitation quivered in the corners of her lips, as Giulia cried--
"Well, then, annihilate me; I will gladly be the victim so that not one of nay successors may have the accumulated poisonous flowers poured over her from the cornucopias of your intellect. We are all, indeed, the slaves of the public; it subscribes to my notes as to your wit, and when my voice becomes hoarse and your genius is snuffed out, the Moor's occupation will be gone and he may retire."
"Very true," interposed Spiegeler, nodding his head in assent.
"The public is perfectly right; yet I, too, have the right to tell you what I think. I despise a criticism which alone aims at its own brilliance, even if it only be the light of mental corruption with which it wanders about like a will-o'-the-wisp."
Spiegeler cast a hostile glance at the singer, rose with difficulty, and grasped the crutch that stood beside him.
"I despise any criticism," continued Giulia, implacably, "that vaunts its own ignorance of that glorious art to which I and we all have dedicated our lives. We are and shall remain in the sanctuary; what do we care about the baying of the dogs at the portals of the temple?"
Noisily Spiegeler seized the second crutch.
"The criticism may be severe, but noble; brave and conversant with the rules and customs of war; I myself will eat the black soup with the Spartan, little as I may like it, yet not with the Helot! He must carry my shield, else I shall chastise him."
Spiegeler struck the floor with his crutch, so that the room shook.
"That to me, Signora! But beware, my bees may swarm!"
"I shall know how to protect myself against their sting."
"I doubt it; but I thank you--you accord me full liberty once more. I have longed for it, I showed consideration for your beauty, did any favour befall me in consequence? I showed consideration for your worldly fame, it dazzled me as it did the public. Worldly fame, like a soap-bubble it shall collapse. A circus in Barcelona, a Crystal Palace in England, to these may be added acafé chantantin Moscow, and the magic is dissolved. Talent! What is talent? People possess it so long as it is believed in. Talent is a bill at sight, it must be redeemed. It is little enough to possess talent alone; a singer must cease to begin when her voice begins to cease. There you have a few specimens; how do you like the colour? It is of a brilliant lustre, brilliant! That will create a sensation!"
Giulia stood as if bewildered beneath the drizzling rain of these aphorisms. She kept her hands pressed convulsively upon the table.
"I can discover new stars," cried Spiegeler, "and transform them into falling ones. I have given the German stage twoprime donne. I can create queens of the opera, but also hurl them to destruction.Nous verrons, Signora!"
Beate rusted in from the adjoining room.
Stamping with his crutches, the lame reporter left the boudoir.
"What have you done?Corpo di bacco!"
"I feel myself free and great as Italy's most promising actress, young Adelaide Ristori, when, as Mary Stuart, she plunged the knife into her enemy's bosom."
"Unbounded recklessness! What possessed you? We shall be obliged to bear the consequences."
The bell was rung outside.
"I fear nothing more! He comes--it is he!"
With downcast mien Beate announced Lieutenant Buschmann and Herr Böller.
Giulia received her adorers with cold reserve.
Böller, who was as tall as Buschmann, but who, behind the corpulent officer, looked like the latter's shadow, was now one of the Signora's friends most capable of sacrificing himself. After she had rejected his attentions, he had relinquished all hopes of winning her; however, he had vowed to himself to protect and watch over her as much as he possibly could.
He was a young man of principle, noble-hearted and faithful to his duty; but his exterior was not very prepossessing. A figure thin as a lamp-post, grey eyes, a haggard face and a sharply prominent nose; he seemed to be the embodiment of Immanuel Kant's conception of duty.
Lieutenant Buschmann's principles were less firmly planted, but his outward appearance was superior. It was imposing, of great physical size; his features expressed perfect self-complacency, a healthy colour lay upon his cheeks, and confidence of success flashed from his eyes. He was little adapted to stand in the ranks, therefore he was generally ordered upon duties which had nothing in common with the march past on parade.
Far removed from resigning, like his friend Böller, who on that account was his friend, he still went out bent upon conquest; for him the beautifulprima donnawas a worthy prize.
She looked favourably upon him because he spoke good Italian, and that had also been the excuse for his first visit. Just as he always connected the useful with the agreeable, so he looked upon his visits to Signora Bollini at the same time as lessons in exercising and improving himself in Italian. Even if his loftier plans were shipwrecked, he should not have spent his time quite uselessly, but to the benefit of his linguistic studies.
Thus he now commenced an Italian conversation with the singer, while Beate imparted to Herr Böller the declaration of war which her friend had thrown to the critic. This cast Böller into a state of great perturbation; already he perceived themene tekelof Belshazzar written in black and white, and felt every sharply pointed word pierce his own bosom like the stroke of a dagger.
Buschmann spoke of "Norma," of the art treasures of Naples and Florence, he lingered fondly over plastic pictures which he certainly set forth in an æsthetic light; at the same time, however, he let a bold word fall occasionally, taking greater intimacy for granted.
Then the bell rang again! Giulia started. This time her expectations had not deceived her, it was Herr von Blanden's card which Beate handed to her. How her heart beat! she pressed her hand upon it and rested the other upon the table to keep herself steady. How painful to be obliged to receive him just now; she wished the officer far away who had drawn so defiantly close to her, and even modest Herr Böller, who cast such mournful glances at her, and ever again filled the basket, which he had received,[1]with fresh flowers expressive of his homage; and yet, perhaps, she should be less embarrassed if she were not alone when she greeted him for the first time. She signed to her friend, and soon after Blanden entered the room.
She went to meet him, and offered her hand to him; but she trembled in so doing, and a burning colour suffused her cheeks.
"I am rejoiced," said he, after having been introduced to the other gentlemen, "to be able here in the cold north to renew a brief acquaintance begun in Italy."
Blanden spoke with calmness and ease, and sought by these tactics to mask Giulia's agitation, but Buschmann, who had as good an eye for a countenance as he had for reconnoissance, had long since perceived that no indifferent meeting was now taking place. His jealousy had immediately been roused; he decided at once to reconnoitre the ground more closely, and ventured to the front with one question after another as to the time and place of that meeting, but if he counted upon evasive replies, he had been mistaken. Blanden took it upon himself to speak, and answered so clearly and decidedly that the officer withdrew hisvedettes.
Blanden felt himself once more entirely under the spell of that beautiful woman of the south; not myrtles and laurels, not the mirror of the lake with the reflection of the lofty Alpine peaks, not the aromatic breath of orange flowers acted now intoxicatingly upon his senses, and yet it was the self-same charm that held him in its spell, at the contemplation of those harmonious features and of that noble form. But she appeared distant to him, majestically distant, and he could hardly believe that he had once folded her in his arms.
Beneath indifferent conversation both concealed the emotions and thoughts that stirred them inwardly. Vainly Blanden hoped that the first visitors would withdraw and grant him an undisturbed interview. Lieutenant Buschmann stood bravely to his post, and did not give the slightest indication of retiring from the field; he even at times assumed a familiar tone towards the singer, which she repelled with displeasure.
Blanden's conversation seemed to glide unconcernedly above all this by-play, which in reality he watched closely; the other guests' obduracy obliged him to be the first to take leave. Giulia's looks, however, assured him of her unchanged affection; she requested him to repeat his visit very soon.
"My Beatrice," said Buschmann, who thought much of his knowledge of Dante's comedy, "my guide through Paradise appears to turn completely away from me! Who then is this stranger who crosses our mutual path?"
"I have already mentioned his name," said Giulia coldly, "but here is his card!"
"An old Italian acquaintance! Herr von Blanden, a gentleman of large property! Ah, ah, Böller, that is promotion over our heads, we shall have to retire to the ranks."
"I gave no cause for such remarks," said Giulia.
"No, Signora, we have not yet lost all courage. Such acquaintances from the land where the oranges bloom, easily droop in our climate; they require a special hot-house here, and it is to be hoped that you will not find one. But we are tried weather-proof friends, is it not so Böller? But we will not disturb the Signora any longer! no bad feelings, lovely one! Does not Beatrice bear the olive branch of peace?"
When Buschmann and Böller had retired, Giulia gave way to violent tears and sobs. Beate came to her and enquired as to the cause of this despair.
"Despair, indeed! I have seen him again and all else has become worthless to me; it is the breath of this passion that extinguishes all the other lights on the Christmas tree of my life, while I, dazzled, stare fixedly into the one all-consuming flame! But he, he--how can he respect me? That love, which I as if in a dream and intoxication gave to him, I the nameless one to the stranger--does it not now speak its own verdict of condemnation upon me? Now, when all gains name, form humiliating distinctness! In what circles does he see me. In those of importunate admirers, who sacrifice my name! The theatrical tinsel that rustles around me is sure to make all appear like acomediato him, and who knows if like adivina comedia! Ah! and he does not imagine how the glowing recollection of him governs all my dreams, how, like that Penelope who waited for her Odyssey, I reject every other lover."
"He does not know it," said Beate, consolingly, "but you can tell him though."
"And when I have told him, if he believe me, if he still love me, what then? Is my misfortune any the less? The secret of my life, that baneful fetter that I drag after me, all prohibit any thought of lasting happiness! Was there ever a more pitiable slave than I? I would make a holocaust of all my laurel wreaths, of that accumulated adornment of my life, and precipitate myself into the flames; it would be best!"
"Do not despair," said Beate, "I have courage and resolution! I think day and night of a means by which to release you."
"It is impossible," replied Giulia sighing.
"First you shall speak to your friend of Lago Maggiore, and probe his heart. Appoint the hour yourself; I shall keep guard and no one shall cross this threshold."
Gratia pressed Beate's hand gratefully, but then she shook her head, threw herself upon the sofa, and, weeping silently, buried her face in the cushions.