The Torrents of Spring | Page 7

shaky, but still moving voice:
"L'i ... ra daver ... so daver ... so il fato lo più no ... no ... no ... non temerò!"
The theatre was all a-quiver, signori miei! though I too did not fall short, I too after him.
"L'i ra daver ... so daver ... so il fato Temèr più non davro!"
And all of a sudden, he crashed like lightning, like a tiger: Morro!... ma vendicato ... Again when he was singing ... when he was singing that celebrated air from "Matrimonio segreto," Pria che spunti ... then he, il gran Garcia, after the words, "I cavalli di galoppo"--at the words, "Senza posa cacciera,"--listen, how stupendous, come è stupendo! At that point he made ...' The old man began a sort of extraordinary flourish, and at the tenth note broke down, cleared his throat, and with a wave of his arm turned away, muttering, 'Why do you torment me?' Gemma jumped up at once and clapping loudly and shouting, bravo!... bravo!... she ran to the poor old super-annuated Iago and with both hands patted him affectionately on the shoulders. Only Emil laughed ruthlessly. Cet age est sans pitié--that age knows no mercy--Lafontaine has said already.
Sanin tried to soothe the aged singer and began talking to him in Italian--(he had picked up a smattering during his last tour there)--began talking of 'paese del Dante, dove il si suona.' This phrase, together with 'Lasciate ogni speranza,' made up the whole stock of poetic Italian of the young tourist; but Pantaleone was not won over by his blandishments. Tucking his chin deeper than ever into his cravat and sullenly rolling his eyes, he was once more like a bird, an angry one too,--a crow or a kite. Then Emil, with a faint 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 comedies of Malz, that she read so nicely. Gemma laughed, slapped her brother on the arm, exclaimed that he 'always had such ideas!' She went promptly, however, to her room, and returning thence with a small book in her hand, seated herself at the table before the lamp, looked round, lifted one finger as much as to say, 'hush!'--a typically Italian gesture--and began reading.

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