Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (190 page)

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 suede 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.

Emil thanked him, and in a very short time he was completely at home with him and with his room; he looked at all his things, asked him about almost every one of them, where he had bought it, and what was its value. He helped him to shave, observing that it was a mistake not to let his moustache grow; and finally told him a number of details about his mother, his sister, Pantaleone, the poodle Tartaglia, and all their daily life. Every semblance of timidity vanished in Emil; he suddenly felt extraordinarily attracted to Sanin — not at all because he had saved his life the day before, but because he was such a nice person! He lost no time in confiding all his secrets to Sanin. He expatiated with special warmth on the fact that his mother was set on making him a shopkeeper, while he
knew
, knew for certain, that he was born an artist, a musician, a singer; that Pantaleone even encouraged him, but that Herr Klüber supported mamma, over whom he had great influence; that the very idea of his being a shopkeeper really originated with Herr Klüber, who considered that nothing in the world could compare with trade! To measure out cloth — and cheat the public, extorting from it ‘
Narren — oder Russen Preise
’ (fools’ — or Russian prices) — that was his ideal! [Footnote: In former days — and very likely it is not different now — when, from May onwards, a great number of Russians visited Frankfort, prices rose in all the shops, and were called ‘Russians’,’ or, alas! ‘fools’ prices.’]

‘Come! now you must come and see us!’ he cried, directly Sanin had finished his toilet and written his letter to Berlin.

‘It’s early yet,’ observed Sanin.

‘That’s no matter,’ replied Emil caressingly. ‘Come along! We’ll go to the post — and from there to our place. Gemma will be so glad to see you! You must have lunch with us…. You might say a word to mamma about me, my career….’

‘Very well, let’s go,’ said Sanin, and they set off.

X

Gemma certainly was delighted to see him, and Frau Lenore gave him a very friendly welcome; he had obviously made a good impression on both of them the evening before. Emil ran to see to getting lunch ready, after a preliminary whisper, ‘don’t forget!’ in Sanin’s ear.

‘I won’t forget,’ responded Sanin.

Frau Lenore was not quite well; she had a sick headache, and, half - lying down in an easy chair, she tried to keep perfectly still. Gemma wore a full yellow blouse, with a black leather belt round the waist; she too seemed exhausted, and was rather pale; there were dark rings round her eyes, but their lustre was not the less for it; it added something of charm and mystery to the classical lines of her face. Sanin was especially struck that day by the exquisite beauty of her hands; when she smoothed and put back her dark, glossy tresses he could not take his eyes off her long supple fingers, held slightly apart from one another like the hand of Raphael’s Fornarina.

It was very hot out - of - doors; after lunch Sanin was about to take leave, but they told him that on such a day the best thing was to stay where one was, and he agreed; he stayed. In the back room where he was sitting with the ladies of the household, coolness reigned supreme; the windows looked out upon a little garden overgrown with acacias. Multitudes of bees, wasps, and humming beetles kept up a steady, eager buzz in their thick branches, which were studded with golden blossoms; through the half - drawn curtains and the lowered blinds this never - ceasing hum made its way into the room, telling of the sultry heat in the air outside, and making the cool of the closed and snug abode seem the sweeter.

Sanin talked a great deal, as on the day before, but not of Russia, nor of Russian life. Being anxious to please his young friend, who had been sent off to Herr Klüber’s immediately after lunch, to acquire a knowledge of book - keeping, he turned the conversation on the comparative advantages and disadvantages of art and commerce. He was not surprised at Frau Lenore’s standing up for commerce — he had expected that; but Gemma too shared her opinion.

‘If one’s an artist, and especially a singer,’ she declared with a vigorous downward sweep of her hand, ‘one’s got to be first - rate! Second - rate’s worse than nothing; and who can tell if one will arrive at being first - rate?’ Pantaleone, who took part too in the conversation — (as an old servant and an old man he had the privilege of sitting down in the presence of the ladies of the house; Italians are not, as a rule, strict in matters of etiquette) — Pantaleone, as a matter of course, stood like a rock for art. To tell the truth, his arguments were somewhat feeble; he kept expatiating for the most part on the necessity, before all things, of possessing ‘
un certo estro d’inspirazione
’ — a certain force of inspiration! Frau Lenore remarked to him that he had, to be sure, possessed such an ‘
estro
’ — and yet … ‘I had enemies,’ Pantaleone observed gloomily. ‘And how do you know that Emil will not have enemies, even if this “
estro
” is found in him?’ ‘Very well, make a tradesman of him, then,’ retorted Pantaleone in vexation; ‘but Giovan’ Battista would never have done it, though he was a confectioner himself!’ ‘Giovan’ Battista, my husband, was a reasonable man, and even though he was in his youth led away …’ But the old man would hear nothing more, and walked away, repeating reproachfully, ‘Ah! Giovan’ Battista!…’ Gemma exclaimed that if Emil felt like a patriot, and wanted to devote all his powers to the liberation of Italy, then, of course, for such a high and holy cause he might sacrifice the security of the future — but not for the theatre! Thereupon Frau Lenore became much agitated, and began to implore her daughter to refrain at least from turning her brother’s head, and to content herself with being such a desperate republican herself! Frau Lenore groaned as she uttered these words, and began complaining of her head, which was ‘ready to split.’ (Frau Lenore, in deference to their guest, talked to her daughter in French.)

Gemma began at once to wait upon her; she moistened her forehead with eau - de - Cologne, gently blew on it, gently kissed her cheek, made her lay her head on a pillow, forbade her to speak, and kissed her again. Then, turning to Sanin, she began telling him in a half - joking, half - tender tone what a splendid mother she had, and what a beauty she had been. ‘“Had been,” did I say? she is charming now! Look, look, what eyes!’

Gemma instantly pulled a white handkerchief out of her pocket, covered her mother’s face with it, and slowly drawing it downwards, gradually uncovered Frau Lenore’s forehead, eyebrows, and eyes; she waited a moment and asked her to open them. Her mother obeyed; Gemma cried out in ecstasy (Frau Lenore’s eyes really were very beautiful), and rapidly sliding the handkerchief over the lower, less regular part of the face, fell to kissing her again. Frau Lenore laughed, and turning a little away, with a pretence of violence, pushed her daughter away. She too pretended to struggle with her mother, and lavished caresses on her — not like a cat, in the French manner, but with that special Italian grace in which is always felt the presence of power.

At last Frau Lenore declared she was tired out … Then Gemma at once advised her to have a little nap, where she was, in her chair, ‘and I and the Russian gentleman — ”
avec le monsieur russe
” — will be as quiet, as quiet … as little mice … “
comme des petites souris
.”‘ Frau Lenore smiled at her in reply, closed her eyes, and after a few sighs began to doze. Gemma quickly dropped down on a bench beside her and did not stir again, only from time to time she put a finger of one hand to her lips — with the other hand she was holding up a pillow behind her mother’s head — and said softly, ‘sh - sh!’ with a sidelong look at Sanin, if he permitted himself the smallest movement. In the end he too sank into a kind of dream, and sat motionless as though spell - bound, while all his faculties were absorbed in admiring the picture presented him by the half - dark room, here and there spotted with patches of light crimson, where fresh, luxuriant roses stood in the old - fashioned green glasses, and the sleeping woman with demurely folded hands and kind, weary face, framed in the snowy whiteness of the pillow, and the young, keenly - alert and also kind, clever, pure, and unspeakably beautiful creature with such black, deep, overshadowed, yet shining eyes…. What was it? A dream? a fairy tale? And how came
he
to be in it?

XI

The bell tinkled at the outer door. A young peasant lad in a fur cap and a red waistcoat came into the shop from the street. Not one customer had looked into it since early morning … ‘You see how much business we do!’ Frau Lenore observed to Sanin at lunch - time with a sigh. She was still asleep; Gemma was afraid to take her arm from the pillow, and whispered to Sanin: ‘You go, and mind the shop for me!’ Sanin went on tiptoe into the shop at once. The boy wanted a quarter of a pound of peppermints. ‘How much must I take?’ Sanin whispered from the door to Gemma. ‘Six kreutzers!’ she answered in the same whisper. Sanin weighed out a quarter of a pound, found some paper, twisted it into a cone, tipped the peppermints into it, spilt them, tipped them in again, spilt them again, at last handed them to the boy, and took the money…. The boy gazed at him in amazement, twisting his cap in his hands on his stomach, and in the next room, Gemma was stifling with suppressed laughter. Before the first customer had walked out, a second appeared, then a third…. ‘I bring luck, it’s clear!’ thought Sanin. The second customer wanted a glass of orangeade, the third, half - a - pound of sweets. Sanin satisfied their needs, zealously clattering the spoons, changing the saucers, and eagerly plunging his fingers into drawers and jars. On reckoning up, it appeared that he had charged too little for the orangeade, and taken two kreutzers too much for the sweets. Gemma did not cease laughing softly, and Sanin too was aware of an extraordinary lightness of heart, a peculiarly happy state of mind. He felt as if he had for ever been standing behind the counter and dealing in orangeade and sweetmeats, with that exquisite creature looking at him through the doorway with affectionately mocking eyes, while the summer sun, forcing its way through the sturdy leafage of the chestnuts that grew in front of the windows, filled the whole room with the greenish - gold of the midday light and shade, and the heart grew soft in the sweet languor of idleness, carelessness, and youth — first youth!

A fourth customer asked for a cup of coffee; Pantaleone had to be appealed to. (Emil had not yet come back from Herr Klüber’s shop.) Sanin went and sat by Gemma again. Frau Lenore still went on sleeping, to her daughter’s great delight. ‘Mamma always sleeps off her sick headaches,’ she observed. Sanin began talking — in a whisper, of course, as before — of his minding the shop; very seriously inquired the price of various articles of confectionery; Gemma just as seriously told him these prices, and meanwhile both of them were inwardly laughing together, as though conscious they were playing in a very amusing farce. All of a sudden, an organ - grinder in the street began playing an air from the Freischütz: ‘
Durch die Felder, durch die Auen
…’ The dance tune fell shrill and quivering on the motionless air. Gemma started … ‘He will wake mamma!’ Sanin promptly darted out into the street, thrust a few kreutzers into the organ - grinder’s hand, and made him cease playing and move away. When he came back, Gemma thanked him with a little nod of the head, and with a pensive smile she began herself just audibly humming the beautiful melody of Weber’s, in which Max expresses all the perplexities of first love. Then she asked Sanin whether he knew ‘Freischütz,’ whether he was fond of Weber, and added that though she was herself an Italian, she liked
such
music best of all. From Weber the conversation glided off on to poetry and romanticism, on to Hoffmann, whom every one was still reading at that time.

And Frau Lenore still slept, and even snored just a little, and the sunbeams, piercing in narrow streaks through the shutters, were incessantly and imperceptibly shifting and travelling over the floor, the furniture, Gemma’s dress, and the leaves and petals of the flowers.