"The first dish for Spiegeler--he has done his part well."

"Ho, Ktchen, the first intestines for the reporter, because he is the priest who offers up the sacrifice."

"Bravo, Spiegeler, lame, divine messenger of fame, Mercury without wings."

Thus the voices resounded in confusion, and Spiegeler did, indeed, receive the first _fleck_ that was produced from the kettle.

Blanden became attentive. These speeches concerned the critic who had attacked Giulia.

"My dear Herr Spiegeler," one voice could be heard saying, in whose precocious, instructive tones he soon recognised the wise Salomon of the sea side, "I grant you all possible laurels, and also the first of the intestines; because critics are like the Roman _haruspices_ who, after the contemplation of entrails, can prophecy or speak the truth."

"Hush, Salomon is speaking."

"I also remark that I have not the honour of sharing your views as a critic, but still you are a man of intellect, and nothing is more interesting than when such men defend false views."

"Excuse me," said Spiegeler, as he laid his fork aside, "I must beg for a proof that my view is false."

"I am not in the humour now to prove anything," continued Salomon, "and you never are, for in your criticisms all proofs are wanting, as, indeed, in all such cases, it is just as Schiller says--

'The Almighty blew And the Armada flew to every wind.'

"Not of this, however, would I speak, but merely express an objection to your last sharp criticism; it had one trifling fault, it contained the opposite of what it had formerly said. But when a critic acts the part of a priest at the sacrifice, then, like the latter, he must also exhibit the most perfect purity. The Roman priests, when sacrificing, were obliged to be washed, sprinkled and perfumed so as to be worthy of their office."

"Well, and what more," said Spiegeler; stamping angrily with his crutches, he rose and adjusted his spectacles.

"Criticism is not infallible, but it has the privilege of acknowledging its faults; to-day it can blame what yesterday it praised; it suddenly looks upon things from another point of view, and all, gentlemen, depends upon the point of view! Everything advances and undergoes metamorphosis--and yet criticism should always remain stationary like a sculptured saint! What doctor does not alter his diagnosis after closer observation? To-day he discovers an organic disease where yesterday he only perceived a slight cold. Who would turn that into a reproach against him? We are deceived and bribed; the delusion disappears, it is no fault, it is progress. Criticism does not squint, it only sees more clearly to-day than yesterday."

"There we have it," cried Salomon, "that is exactly fitted for this witches' kitchen! Do not the witches in 'Macbeth' say--

"'Fair is foul, and foul is fair Hover through the fog and filthy air.'

"And to Mephistopheles the witch says--

"'And nine is one And ten is none That is the witches' one times one.'

"I have commenced an alb.u.m of witches' poetry, these verses taken from it also apply to criticism."

"I protest against any such remarks," cried Spiegeler, in whom the effects of deep potations became more apparent; "besides which I can praise and blame what I choose and as I will--criticism is absolute.

Signora Giulia dazzled me at first--I do not deny it; I deemed her art to be an apple of Paradise; now I recognise it as one of Sodom, which crumbles to ashes in my hand, and that which I have recognised I must express. Criticism does not lie; whoever says it does, I declare to be a liar."

Blanden had risen, indignant at the man's daring behaviour and the daring calumniation of his Giulia; but before he had time seriously and sharply to rebuke the reporter, it had been done very effectually from another quarter.

A resounding box on his ears roused the astonishment of the lookers-on, who did not know whence it came so suddenly, and also roused the boundless rage of the victim.

"_Bugiardo, bugiardo_, you are a liar yourself," cried a powerful voice, and by Spiegeler's side stood the Italian, drawn up erectly, and with proud gladness in his features at the lynch-law which he had just carried out. Suddenly a solemn silence reigned around.

"_Corpo di bacco_," cried the stranger, whose singular appearance inspired the students with respect, "to cut off a singer's fame, curtail her receipts, ruin her credit, is honourable, worthy of a _gentiluomo_! The _giornale_ that hisses forth such venom should be made into spills, and he who boasts of producing it deserves to be chastised by every honest man."

Spiegeler had let the one crutch fall, he held his burning cheek while his lips quivered convulsively. Big and little witches stood drawn up in a line with their kitchen spoons, and with quiet enjoyment watched a scene not unusual in that house.

"That was rude, sir!"

"Laying on of hands is no refutation."

"The man is lame and a cripple."

Thus spoke the somewhat timid defence of the disciples of the Albertina; but Salomon exclaimed--

"Sir, it is an ambuscade, a species of _brigantaggio_! Intellect is our only stiletto, with which we have been favoured by nature. You appear to be a foreigner, for you curse in the language of the _Inferno_, but we do not tolerate such attempts here, we protest!"

"We protest," cried several students, waving their little liqueur gla.s.ses.

Spiegeler now stood foaming with rage before the _signor_, who with folded arms bid defiance to public opinion.

"You shall not escape me, there are judges in Prussia; we are not in the inn at Terracina, my _Signor Fra Diavolo_, and do not permit ourselves to be attacked."

And as he let his second crutch fall, and caught his opponent by a coat b.u.t.ton, he cried as loudly as his hoa.r.s.e squeaking voice would permit him--

"Your name, sir--your name!"

Baluzzi, bowing politely, gave him a card.

"Then our _prime-donne_ are allied to Italian _bravi_? They possess a little robber's cave close to their drawing-rooms? Is truth to be cudgelled? You are mistaken, sir! We shall not allow ourselves to be intimidated, we will even expose the matter in a trenchant article, and as far as Signora Giulia is concerned--you have broken my eye-gla.s.ses, sir! I shall now make use of a magnifying lens, which not the smallest failing can escape, and if hitherto I have beaten her with rods, I will now scourge her with scorpions."

Salomon meanwhile had picked up the crutches for the critic, who during his angry speech had supported himself upon the table; he now limped out of the room, followed by the students, whose cries of "Bravo Spiegeler" accompanied him, for they looked upon the critic as a species of clown, who first in newspapers, then in inn parlours, performed somersaults for the general amus.e.m.e.nt.

Blanden had looked on at the scene in a divided frame of mind; the reporter's remarks had roused his indignation, but the Italian's brutality not less so, and indeed he had always felt the most decided aversion for the amber merchant. Especially odious did the man appear, because he stood in some dark relation to Giulia, as the violence proved with which he had maltreated one of her opponents.

As Blanden stood there lost in thought, and weighed his intention of questioning the Signora about this person, who even on the Lago Maggiore had followed her like a shadow, Ktchen stepped up to him, and whispered she had now a moment's time, he should go with her.

They groped their way along a gloomy corridor into the yard, whose dark square was not illuminated by any reflection of light from out the dull little windows, which opened into it on four sides. Ktchen looked like a night-goblin in the dim snow-light, she sprang on in advance, and danced as if in insane gladness.

Suddenly she moved the pump handle: some time elapsed before the pump awoke out of its winter sleep. Ktchen then, however, did not merely wash her hands, she bent down and let the icy cold water trickle over her head, and dried herself with the shawl which she had thrown about her neck. Then she led her companion up the stairs of the building at the back, it was a break-neck staircase, uneven steps, unusual windings; she counted the steps, gave her hand to Blanden, and he remarked that she squeezed his, and pressed it to her heart, and in one of the narrow bends nestled up to him, and her still dripping hair wetted his bosom.

They ascended three flights; he had to stoop beneath the beams of the sloping roof. Ktchen opened a creaking door that moved with difficulty upon its hinges. Then she begged Blanden to wait until she had struck a light, yet she hesitated in doing so, nestled beseechingly against him, stroked his hair until he shook the caressing witch angrily from him.

"Wait a moment longer," said she, "not in the light shall you see where the locket is hidden."

A pause ensued, and Blanden perceived that her laced bodice became looser.

Soon the dreary ray of a tallow candle, whose wick was but meagrely fed by some guttered ma.s.ses of fatty substance, lighted the tiny room in which by the window alone Blanden could find one spot on which to stand uprightly beneath the sloping roof. That attic with the moss overgrown beams was a melancholy sight; the melting snow penetrated the badly closing windows, into the wood were nails driven, on which some clothes and a fishing net hung. The bed was most peculiar, of a shape resembling a boat, the coa.r.s.e straw mattress seemed to be bedded in a skiff.

And in the midst of these poverty-stricken surroundings stood the sea-maiden banished into the country, with dripping hair, her bosom half bared, and gazing at her guest with her protruding eyes, while she held the locket in one hand.