Part 27 (1/2)
The last phrase was uttered in a low voice, though there was no by-stander. But Calabressa, with a lofty gesture, replied,
”My friend, we are not always on commissions. Sometimes we have a little liberty--a little money--a notion in our head. And if one cannot exactly travel _en prince_, _n'importe!_ we have our little excursion. And if one has one's sweetheart to see? Do you know, friend Beratinsky, that I have been dining with Natalie--the little Natalushka, as, she used to be called?”
Beratinsky glanced quickly at him with the black, piercing eyes.
”Ah, the beautiful child! the beautiful child!” Calabressa exclaimed, as if he was addressing some one not present. ”The mouth sweet, pathetic, like that in t.i.tian's a.s.sumption: you have seen the picture in the Venice Academy? But she is darker than t.i.tian's Virgin; she is of the black, handsome Magyar breed, like her mother. You never saw her mother, Beratinsky?”
”No,” said the other, rather surlily. ”Come, sit down and have a cigar.”
”A cigarette--a cigarette and a little cognac, if you please,” said Calabressa, when the three companions had gone along to the middle of the hall and taken their seats. ”Ah, it was such a surprise to me: the sight of her grown to be a woman, and the perfect, beautiful image of her mother--the very voice too--I could have thought it was a dream.”
”Did you come here to talk of nothing but Lind's daughter?” said Beratinsky, with scant courtesy.
”Precisely,” remarked Calabressa, in absolute good-humor. ”But before that a word.”
He glanced round this a.s.semblage of foreign-looking persons, no doubt guessing at the various nationalities indicated by physique and complexion--Prussian, Pole, Rhinelander, Swiss, and what not. If the company, in English eyes, might have looked Bohemian--that is to say, unconventional in manner and costume--the Bohemianism, at all events, was of a well-to-do, cheerful, good-humored character. There was a good deal of talking besides the music.
”These gentlemen,” said Calabressa, in a low voice, ”are they friends--are they with us?”
”Only one or two,” said Beratinsky.
”You do not come here to proselytize, then?”
”One must amuse one's self sometimes,” said the little, fat, black-haired Pole, somewhat gruffly.
”Then one must take care what one says!”
”I presume that is generally the case, friend Calabressa.”
But Calabressa was not offended. He was interested in what was going on.
”Par exemple,” he said, in his airy way, ”que vient faire la le drole?”
The music had come to an end, and the spectacled professor had retired amidst a thunder of applause. His successor, who had attracted Calabressa's attention, was a gentleman who had mounted on a high easel an immense portfolio of cartoons roughly executed in crayon; and as he exhibited them one by one, he pointed out their characteristics with a long stick, after the manner of a showman. His demeanor was serious; his face was grave; his tone was simple and business-like. But as he unfolded these rude drawings, Calabressa, who understood but little German, was more and more astonished to find the guttural laughter around him increase and increase until the whole place resounded with roars, while some of the old Herren held their sides in pain, as the tears of the gigantic mirth streamed down their cheeks. Those who were able hammered loud applause on the table before them; others rolled in their chairs; many could only lie back and send their merriment up to the reverberating roof in shrill shrieks and yells.
”In the name of Heaven, what is it all about?” said Calabressa. ”Have the people gone mad?”
”Ill.u.s.trations of German proverbs,” said Beratinsky, who, despite his surly manner, was himself forced to smile.
Well, Calabressa had indeed come here to talk about Lind's daughter; but it was impossible, amidst this wild surging to and fro of Olympian laughter. At last, however, the showman came to an end of his cartoons, and solemnly made his bow, and amidst tumultuous cheering resumed his place among his companions.
There was a pause, given over to chatter and joking, and Calabressa quickly embraced this opportunity.
”You are a friend of the little Natalushka--of the beautiful Natalie, I should say, perhaps?”
”Lind's daughter does not choose to have many friends,” said Beratinsky, curtly.
This was not promising; and, indeed, the corpulent little Pole showed great disinclination to talk about the young lady who had so laid hold of Calabressa's heart. But Calabressa was not to be denied, when it was the welfare of the daughter of Natalie Berezolyi that was concerned.
”Yes, yes, friend Beratinsky, of course she is very much alone. It is rather a sad thing for a young girl to be so much alone.”
”And if she chooses to be alone?” said Beratinsky, with a sharpness that resembled the snarl of a terrier.
Perhaps it was to get rid of the topic that Beratinsky here joined in a clamorous call for ”Nageli! Nageli!” Presently a fresh-colored young Switzer, laughing and blus.h.i.+ng tremendously, went up to the platform and took his seat at the piano, and struck a few noisy chords. It was a Tyrolese song he sung, with a jodel refrain of his own invention: