Lensky's lips have drawn themselves ever more deeply down at the corners; his nostrils quiver, he pa.s.ses his hand uneasily over the table between himself and Perfection. "That is all very instructive and very interesting that you tell me," said he, uneasily; "but how does it further concern me?"

"It is in your power to change the situation, and I would like to persuade you to do your part. H-m! it is so hard to speak of it to you, Lensky, you have such pa.s.sionate prejudices; but, really, it will lead to nothing to further excite Spatzig. If you soothe his vanity, wounded by you, he will immediately write an article about you which will paralyze the effect of the one about me. He will make converts for you, will extol you just as zealously as he has formerly depreciated you."

"And what shall I do to cause this important reverse of affairs?" asks Lensky, with caustic scorn.

Perfection hesitated a moment, then he replied: "Call upon Frau Spatzig."

"So, then, Spatzig has a wife?" asked Lensky. "You surely must know; he has been married for more than six years."

"I had no suspicion, never troubled myself about Herr Spatzig's private affairs," replied Lensky, arrogantly.

"A former singer, Signora Zingarelli. She spoke with great interest of you; told me that, long years ago, on your first tour in America, she had the pleasure of learning to know you personally, and a.s.sured me that she would be very happy to see you again. She laid great stress on it."

"What is the lovely creature's name? Zinga--Zinga----"

"Zingarelli."

"So, Zingarelli!" Lensky laughed to himself. "That is indeed delightful, that is charming, really. The Zingarelli! I remember her distinctly. A Belgian with a pretty white complexion and red hair. I compliment Herr Spatzig. H-m! And I should call upon this lady?"

"It would be to your interest," said Perfection. "If it, nevertheless, would be disagreeable to you, I make you another proposition. I play to-morrow at a soiree at the Spatzigs. Come for my sake, to do me the honor, without having left a card before."

"H-m! To a soiree at Madame Zingarelli Spatzig's! Pardon me, does any one go to her house?"

"All Rome, especially the distinguished foreigners. She entertains a great deal. She brought Spatzig a considerable fortune."

"Yes, yes; she sang third _roles_ in Morelli's troupe in Russia. It is very tolerable to sing third _roles_ in a travelling Italian opera troupe!" Lensky laughed significantly.

Perfection was silent.

"But do not be so sanctimonious," now cried Lensky. "It certainly cannot be unknown to you that Zingarelli was a quite common courtesan."

"I know nothing of that," replied Perfection, coldly, with the suitable dignity with which a man of the world corrects a forward person who dares bring to light his facts of the past, which the man of the world has buried for his convenience. At the same time the pianist had risen from his chair. He took his hat. "Well, will you forget the old grudge, Lensky? May I tell Frau Spatzig that you are coming?"

"You are here in her commission?" cried Lensky, to whom a new reason for Perfection's manner had occurred.

Perfection, who had not found it hard to answer before, remained silent.

"I understand," said Lensky. "She needs me to show me. One knows by what arts such women charm society to their drawing-rooms. It would please her to lead about the old lion by a chain. There may even be a little advantage for him to permit it"--with a sharp glance at Perfection--"but--" He now stood before Perfection, drawn up to his full height, and gloomy. With a gesture which was peculiar to him when greatly excited, he raised his arms and clenched his fists.

"You can tell her," cried he, slowly letting his arms sink--"you can tell her that I would rather stand in the pillory and be stared at by the pa.s.sers-by than set foot over the threshold of the Spatzig couple.

It would seem less degrading to me than to sue for the favor of this pack of idiots."

A minute later Lensky was alone in the room. Perfection has withdrawn with a deep bow. Lensky had the feeling that a misfortune had occurred--a misfortune which was his fault. He did not know what, and could not measure the consequences of what had happened. Suddenly his heart beat loudly and heavily. The sweat of anxiety stood on his brow.

Why had he not better governed himself?

But what wonder? He had never been able to govern himself; how should he learn it as an old man?

x.x.xVIII.

Except that from principle he never touched his bow on the days of his concerts before he presented himself to the audience, Lensky spent this day just like any other; one perceived no outward excitement about him.

This time it was otherwise.

Early in the morning he visited his wife's grave in the pretty churchyard by the Cestius pyramid, at the foot of the Aventine. When he returned his face bore the signs of severe weeping, and he shut himself into his room for many hours. Mascha heard him practise. He incessantly tried pa.s.sages on his violin as if he would strengthen his memory. At lunch he sat down with his children, but could eat nothing. He complained of weariness in his left arm. Twice the fork fell from his hand.

In the afternoon Mascha proposed a drive, having noticed that he was restless and uneasy. He consented. On the Corso they met Frau Spatzig in her carriage. Lensky was about to remove his hat, then he was ashamed of his cowardice, and turned away his head.

They drove far out in the Campagna. The fairy charm of spring spread the fragrance of its renewed life over the graves and ruins. Dreamily Lensky's eyes wandered over the wide plain. He recognized everything.

How often he had driven along this street with Natalie! He felt young again, a feeling of elevating enthusiasm took possession of him.

And suddenly a vibrating and singing began in his soul. He listened breathlessly. What wonderful songs were those? He could have written them down now, immediately.

But did that really all ring through his soul? It seemed to him that he heard the music vibrating down to him from above. He bent forward----

Ever lower, the song sank down to earth, with its consoling, calming compa.s.sion, the divine compa.s.sion of an angel who understands the pain of a tormented human heart.

Lower, ever lower, softer, fuller--hark! The song had ceased, a rough breeze had blown it away.

Lensky looked up. Near the street stood a white church-yard wall, and tall, dark cypresses rose around it. At the gate stood white-robed monks around a coffin; the black smoke of their red, flickering torches darkened the bright spring air; from their lips sounded a dirge.

The carriage rolled on; the gloomy picture vanished; around ruled the spring. The breath of new life rose from the earth covered with fresh green, and in the hedges the flowers kissed each other.

x.x.xIX.

"Really, without evasion, what do you think of Lensky?" It is the Countess Lowenskiold, one of the former Lensky enthusiasts, who asks this question of Albert Perfection. She sits in one of the first rows of the Salla Dante, between Perfection and Madame Spatzig, with whom she is quite intimate, and awaits Lensky's appearance on the stage.

"I have such an insurmountable feeling of reverence and grat.i.tude for Lensky that my judgment may not be impartial," replied Perfection, correctly.

"Perfection, _pas de betises_, give your true opinion," commands Frau Spatzig in her rough, guttural voice.

"Well, my true opinion is: I regret that with Lensky the summits are so near the abysses," says Perfection. "You must not misunderstand me, honored Countess----"

The Countess laughs and strikes him with her fan. "I understand you very well," cries she. "The epigram is wonderfully descriptive."

"Alas! it is not original with me; it comes from De Sterny--but how unpunctual Lensky is to-day." Perfection looks at his watch. "Half-past nine."

"And yet he will play all that for us?" says Madame Spatzig, and points to an unusually long programme.

"It is indeed a somewhat tasteless and overladen musical _menu_,"

murmurs Spatzig, who sits behind the Lowenskiold. "Shall you remain until the end, Countess?"

"Impossible, my friend."