<h3>XVIII</h3>
<p>An hour later the waiter came in again to Sanin, and handed him an old, soiled
visiting-card, on which were the following words: “Pantaleone Cippatola
of Varese, court singer (<i>cantante di camera</i>) to his Royal Highness the
Duke of Modena”; and behind the waiter in walked Pantaleone himself. He
had changed his clothes from top to toe. He had on a black frock coat, reddish
with long wear, and a white piqué waistcoat, upon which a pinchbeck chain
meandered playfully; a heavy cornelian seal hung low down on to his narrow
black trousers. In his right hand he carried a black beaver hat, in his left
two stout chamois gloves; he had tied his cravat in a taller and broader bow
than ever, and had stuck into his starched shirt-front a pin with a stone, a
so-called “cat’s eye.” On his forefinger was displayed a
ring, consisting of two clasped hands with a burning heart between them. A
smell of garments long laid by, a smell of camphor and of musk hung about the
whole person of the old man; the anxious solemnity of his deportment must have
struck the most casual spectator! Sanin rose to meet him.</p>
<p>“I am your second,” Pantaleone announced in French, and he bowed
bending his whole body forward, and turning out his toes like a dancer.
“I have come for instructions. Do you want to fight to the death?”</p>
<p>“Why to the death, my dear Signor Cippatola? I will not for any
consideration take back my words—but I am not a bloodthirsty person!… But
come, wait a little, my opponent’s second will be here directly. I will
go into the next room, and you can make arrangements with him. Believe me I
shall never forget your kindness, and I thank you from my heart.”</p>
<p>“Honour before everything!” answered Pantaleone, and he sank into
an arm-chair, without waiting for Sanin to ask him to sit down. “If that
<i>ferroflucto spitchebubbio</i>,” he said, passing from French into
Italian, “if that counter-jumper Klüberio could not appreciate his
obvious duty or was afraid, so much the worse for him!… A cheap soul, and
that’s all about it!… As for the conditions of the duel, I am your
second, and your interests are sacred to me!… When I lived in Padua there was a
regiment of the white dragoons stationed there, and I was very intimate with
many of the officers!… I was quite familiar with their whole code. And I used
often to converse on these subjects with your principe Tarbuski too…. Is this
second to come soon?”</p>
<p>“I am expecting him every minute—and here he comes,” added
Sanin, looking into the street.</p>
<p>Pantaleone got up, looked at his watch, straightened his topknot of hair, and
hurriedly stuffed into his shoe an end of tape which was sticking out below his
trouser-leg, and the young sub-lieutenant came in, as red and embarrassed as
ever.</p>
<p>Sanin presented the seconds to each other. “M. Richter, sous-lieutenant,
M. Cippatola, artiste!” The sub-lieutenant was slightly disconcerted by
the old man’s appearance … Oh, what would he have said had any one
whispered to him at that instant that the “artist” presented to him
was also employed in the culinary art! But Pantaleone assumed an air as though
taking part in the preliminaries of duels was for him the most everyday affair:
probably he was assisted at this juncture by the recollections of his
theatrical career, and he played the part of second simply as a part. Both he
and the sub-lieutenant were silent for a little.</p>
<p>“Well? Let us come to business!” Pantaleone spoke first, playing
with his cornelian seal.</p>
<p>“By all means,” responded the sub-lieutenant, “but … the
presence of one of the principals …”</p>
<p>“I will leave you at once, gentlemen,” cried Sanin, and with a bow
he went away into the bedroom and closed the door after him.</p>
<p>He flung himself on the bed and began thinking of Gemma … but the conversation
of the seconds reached him through the shut door. It was conducted in the
French language; both maltreated it mercilessly, each after his own fashion.
Pantaleone again alluded to the dragoons in Padua, and Principe Tarbuski; the
sub-lieutenant to “<i>exghizes léchères</i>” and “<i>goups de
bistolet à l’amiaple</i>.” But the old man would not even hear of
any <i>exghizes</i>! To Sanin’s horror, he suddenly proceeded to talk of
a certain young lady, an innocent maiden, whose little finger was worth more
than all the officers in the world … (<i>oune zeune damigella innoucenta,
qu’a elle sola dans soun péti doa vale piu que tout le zouffissié del
mondo!</i>), and repeated several times with heat: “It’s shameful!
it’s shameful!” (<i>E ouna onta, ouna onta</i>!) The sub-lieutenant
at first made him no reply, but presently an angry quiver could be heard in the
young man’s voice, and he observed that he had not come there to listen
to sermonising.</p>
<p>“At your age it is always a good thing to hear the truth!”
cried Pantaleone.</p>
<p>The debate between the seconds several times became stormy; it lasted over an
hour, and was concluded at last on the following conditions: “Baron von
Dönhof and M. de Sanin to meet the next day at ten o’clock in a small
wood near Hanau, at the distance of twenty paces; each to have the right to
fire twice at a signal given by the seconds, the pistols to be single-triggered
and not rifle-barrelled.” Herr von Richter withdrew, and Pantaleone
solemnly opened the bedroom door, and after communicating the result of their
deliberations, cried again: “<i>Bravo Russo! Bravo giovanotto!</i> You
will be victor!”</p>
<p>A few minutes later they both set off to the Rosellis’ shop. Sanin, as a
preliminary measure, had exacted a promise from Pantaleone to keep the affair
of the duel a most profound secret. In reply, the old man had merely held up
his finger, and half closing his eyes, whispered twice over, <i>Segredezza</i>!
He was obviously in good spirits, and even walked with a freer step. All these
unusual incidents, unpleasant though they might be, carried him vividly back to
the time when he himself both received and gave challenges—only, it is
true, on the stage. Baritones, as we all know, have a great deal of strutting
and fuming to do in their parts.</p>
<h3>XIX</h3>
<p>Emil ran out to meet Sanin—he had been watching for his arrival over an
hour—and hurriedly whispered into his ear that his mother knew nothing of
the disagreeable incident of the day before, that he must not even hint of it
to her, and that he was being sent to Klüber’s shop again!… but that he
wouldn’t go there, but would hide somewhere! Communicating all this
information in a few seconds, he suddenly fell on Sanin’s shoulder,
kissed him impulsively, and rushed away down the street. Gemma met Sanin in the
shop; tried to say something and could not. Her lips were trembling a little,
while her eyes were half-closed and turned away. He made haste to soothe her by
the assurance that the whole affair had ended … in utter nonsense.</p>
<p>“Has no one been to see you to-day?” she asked.</p>
<p>“A person did come to me and we had an explanation, and we … we came to
the most satisfactory conclusion.”</p>
<p>Gemma went back behind the counter.</p>
<p>“She does not believe me!” he thought … he went into the next room,
however, and there found Frau Lenore.</p>
<p>Her sick headache had passed off, but she was in a depressed state of mind. She
gave him a smile of welcome, but warned him at the same time that he would be
dull with her to-day, as she was not in a mood to entertain him. He sat down
beside her, and noticed that her eyelids were red and swollen.</p>
<p>“What is wrong, Frau Lenore? You’ve never been crying,
surely?”</p>
<p>“Oh!” she whispered, nodding her head towards the room where her
daughter was.</p>
<p>“Don’t speak of it … aloud.”</p>
<p>“But what have you been crying for?”</p>
<p>“Ah, M’sieu Sanin, I don’t know myself what for!”</p>
<p>“No one has hurt your feelings?”</p>
<p>“Oh no!… I felt very low all of a sudden. I thought of Giovanni Battista
… of my youth … Then how quickly it had all passed away. I have grown old, my
friend, and I can’t reconcile myself to that anyhow. I feel I’m
just the same as I was … but old age—it’s here! it is here!”
Tears came into Frau Lenore’s eyes. “You look at me, I see, and
wonder…. But you will get old too, my friend, and will find out how bitter it
is!”</p>
<p>Sanin tried to comfort her, spoke of her children, in whom her own youth lived
again, even attempted to scoff at her a little, declaring that she was fishing
for compliments … but she quite seriously begged him to leave off, and for the
first time he realised that for such a sorrow, the despondency of old age,
there is no comfort or cure; one has to wait till it passes off of itself. He
proposed a game of tresette, and he could have thought of nothing better. She
agreed at once and seemed to get more cheerful.</p>
<p>Sanin played with her until dinner-time and after dinner Pantaleone too took a
hand in the game. Never had his topknot hung so low over his forehead, never
had his chin retreated so far into his cravat! Every movement was accompanied
by such intense solemnity that as one looked at him the thought involuntarily
arose, “What secret is that man guarding with such determination?”
But <i>segredezza! segredezza!</i></p>
<p>During the whole of that day he tried in every possible way to show the
profoundest respect for Sanin; at table, passing by the ladies, he solemnly and
sedately handed the dishes first to him; when they were at cards he
intentionally gave him the game; he announced, apropos of nothing at all, that
the Russians were the most great-hearted, brave, and resolute people in the
world!</p>
<p>“Ah, you old flatterer!” Sanin thought to himself.</p>
<p>And he was not so much surprised at Signora Roselli’s unexpected state of
mind, as at the way her daughter behaved to him. It was not that she avoided
him … on the contrary she sat continually a little distance from him, listened
to what he said, and looked at him; but she absolutely declined to get into
conversation with him, and directly he began talking to her, she softly rose
from her place, and went out for some instants. Then she came in again, and
again seated herself in some corner, and sat without stirring, seeming
meditative and perplexed … perplexed above all. Frau Lenore herself noticed at
last, that she was not as usual, and asked her twice what was the matter.</p>
<p>“Nothing,” answered Gemma; “you know I am sometimes like
this.”</p>
<p>“That is true,” her mother assented.</p>
<p>So passed all that long day, neither gaily nor drearily—neither
cheerfully nor sadly. Had Gemma been different—Sanin … who knows?… might
not perhaps have been able to resist the temptation for a little
display—or he might simply have succumbed to melancholy at the
possibility of a separation for ever…. But as he did not once succeed in
getting a word with Gemma, he was obliged to confine himself to striking minor
chords on the piano for a quarter of an hour before evening coffee.</p>
<p>Emil came home late, and to avoid questions about Herr Klüber, beat a hasty
retreat. The time came for Sanin too to retire.</p>
<p>He began saying good-bye to Gemma. He recollected for some reason
Lensky’s parting from Olga in <i>Oniegin</i>. He pressed her hand warmly,
and tried to get a look at her face, but she turned a little away and released
her fingers.</p>
<h3>XX</h3>
<p>It was bright starlight when he came out on the steps. What multitudes of
stars, big and little, yellow, red, blue and white were scattered over the sky!
They seemed all flashing, swarming, twinkling unceasingly. There was no moon in
the sky, but without it every object could be clearly discerned in the
half-clear, shadowless twilight. Sanin walked down the street to the end … He
did not want to go home at once; he felt a desire to wander about a little in
the fresh air. He turned back and had hardly got on a level with the house,
where was the Rosellis’ shop, when one of the windows looking out on the
street, suddenly creaked and opened; in its square of blackness—there was
no light in the room—appeared a woman’s figure, and he heard his
name—“Monsieur Dimitri!”</p>
<p>He rushed at once up to the window … Gemma! She was leaning with her elbows on
the window-sill, bending forward.</p>
<p>“Monsieur Dimitri,” she began in a cautious voice, “I have
been wanting all day long to give you something … but I could not make up my
mind to; and just now, seeing you, quite unexpectedly again, I thought that it
seems it is fated” …</p>
<p>Gemma was forced to stop at this word. She could not go on; something
extraordinary happened at that instant.</p>
<p>All of a sudden, in the midst of the profound stillness, over the perfectly
unclouded sky, there blew such a violent blast of wind, that the very earth
seemed shaking underfoot, the delicate starlight seemed quivering and
trembling, the air went round in a whirlwind. The wind, not cold, but hot,
almost sultry, smote against the trees, the roof of the house, its walls, and
the street; it instantaneously snatched off Sanin’s hat, crumpled up and
tangled Gemma’s curls. Sanin’s head was on a level with the
window-sill; he could not help clinging close to it, and Gemma clutched hold of
his shoulders with both hands, and pressed her bosom against his head. The
roar, the din, and the rattle lasted about a minute…. Like a flock of huge
birds the revelling whirlwind darted revelling away. A profound stillness
reigned once more.</p>
<p>Sanin raised his head and saw above him such an exquisite, scared, excited
face, such immense, large, magnificent eyes—it was such a beautiful
creature he saw, that his heart stood still within him, he pressed his lips to
the delicate tress of hair, that had fallen on his bosom, and could only
murmur, “O Gemma!”</p>
<p>“What was that? Lightning?” she asked, her eyes wandering afar,
while she did not take her bare arms from his shoulder.</p>
<p>“Gemma!” repeated Sanin.</p>
<p>She sighed, looked around behind her into the room, and with a rapid movement
pulling the now faded rose out of her bodice, she threw it to Sanin.</p>
<p>“I wanted to give you this flower.”</p>
<p>He recognised the rose, which he had won back the day before….</p>
<p>But already the window had slammed-to, and through the dark pane nothing could
be seen, no trace of white.</p>
<p>Sanin went home without his hat…. He did not even notice that he had lost it.</p>
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