Ossip Schubin

“ Don Cesare owns neither a tree nor a blade of grass. It is all one to him if it rains or shines. He is a ship-trader. What has he to do with rain? And yet it was Don Cesare who took the saint from his pedestal and carried him down to the rocks. He it was who slung the rope over the olive tree, and let Evolino down into the water. And Don Cesare is a wise man, the wisest of us--of you all. He knows what he does, and why he does it; and therefore I, Father Atanasio, say something is wrong--something is hidden that must be revealed. ”

“ Every Sunday we bring you fragrant nosegays, and when, as at present, the burning drought kills our flowers, then we bring bunches of gold and silver tinsel, and thick yellow wax candles to light before your image. Father Atanasio, who never honored you as he ought, and always calls you a half-converted heathen, he is of opinion that we give his Madonna nothing but miserable tallow dips, and keep the best of everything for you. So, you see, best, dearest Evolino, that we don't grudge you anything, and our children shall be just like us; for you are our own, only honored patron saint. ”

“ Gesa listens--listens--his bow stops, he sees the little green chamber, the smiling friend at the old spinet, and beside him the lovely maiden, her hands clasped in one another, her delicate head slightly bent toward the shoulder, as if it were grown too heavy. "Nessun maggior dolore," he murmurs. The whole audience shouts. The orchestra applauds standing--the amateurs crowd round the stage. But there!--what is this? Panting, breathless, foam on his lips, rage in his eyes, the violinist presses forward through the ranks of the orchestra, up to the director. ”

“ He constantly feared that he should meet some one who would ask him about his bride, or his friend. At the thought the blood rushed into his cheek, and even when he was quite alone he turned his face to the wall. He trembled in every limb, a wild rage possessed him when he thought of the betrayer. Then--then he remembered the thousand kindnesses to which the virtuoso had accustomed him, his amiability, the cordial tone of his voice. He pressed his hands to his temples and groaned.
He could not understand.
And the days went by, and he did not seek de Sterny. A wild fear of men mastered him. ”

“ He entered the Rue Ravestein. Sickening miasmas rose from the drain; a cloud of midges hovered in the air;--the crucified Saviour looked down more sadly than ever.
Familiar things greeted his eyes as he passed: the lean hyena-like dogs wagged their tails, and some of them came and shoved cold moist noses into his hand.
"No one is at home!" cried the woman who sold vegetables in the shop on the ground floor of Delileo's dwelling. "No one. Neither the old gentleman, nor the young lady."
"Have they gone on a journey?" asked Gesa, blankly. ”

“ It was the "Nessun maggior dolore" from his own music to Dante's Inferno, which Gesa had laid on the music desk. A strange composition, in which the human voice swelled from soft half audible revery to bitter despairing utterance of pain, while the violin gave out a melody of penetrating sweetness, like the torturing memory of long vanished joy. Gesa's cheeks were burning as he finished the performance of this his favorite composition. De Sterny let his hands glide from the keyboard, and fixed the violinist with a sharp look, "That is yours?" he asked. ”

“ Verily this was not the ending he had imagined for his love adventure when he tempted Carmela to follow him to his quiet Casina.
Ever blacker lowered the night, heavier and closer hung the clouds, thicker poured the rain. And as Nino heard the rush of heavy drops on the roof, and felt the moist breath of the drinking earth which came in through the little window, it seemed as if something broke within his heart, and a voice cried from the depths: "Every drop of rain that falls from heaven proclaims the power of the saint, and can you doubt the miracle which he has worked on you?" ”

“ While the pair were holding their rendezvous before Don Cesare's house, that worthy was proceeding to his, after another fashion. At a leisurely pace, as if addressed to an evening's gossip with a friend, he had slowly departed down the street, never doubting that Carmela would look after him; all girls did so, and his sister was like the others, of course. Women were women, he opined, smiling quietly to himself; one must treat them like children, pretend immense confidence, but be mighty vigilant, and always preserve one's masculine independence. ”

“ When he hears of the approaching performance, under de Sterny's personal direction, he is shaken with a sudden wild rage.
How dare de Sterny venture on coming to Brussels, in face of the chance that they may meet?
Then he mutters bitterly. "He thinks I am dead. He says to himself, 'If Gesa von Zuylen were still alive the world would have heard of him!'" A fearful pang harrows his very soul. Not the death of his bride, not the treachery of his friend had inflicted a pang like that. The spectre of his great, degraded talent stands suddenly before him. ”

“ Old Delileo, whose cheeks glowed as if he had been drinking champagne, was very loquacious. Gesa confided to Annette word for word, de Sterny's flattering judgment upon her, but she showed herself nervous and irritable like a child too early waked from sleep. She complained that she had sung badly. She who had always so kindly indulged the garrulity of her poor old father, scarcely listened to him, even made impatient little grimaces, and said his way of walking up and down put her beside herself. When the old man sat down with a hurt air, then she broke into tears and begged his forgiveness. ”

“ Pale, with rich red hair that when she uncoiled it reached to her heels, her enormous black eyes, short nose, and large mouth lent her some likeness to a death's head. Yet, she was not without a certain charm, especially in her smile, and she smiled constantly, as people do whom nothing can any longer rejoice. To her Gesa talked oftenest about his beloved. She listened to him most kindly and sometimes she wept. She was the soprano of the troupe, and lived in the bitterest enmity with the Alto, who was married to the Tenor, immensely jealous, and very proud of her own virtue. ”

“ The blonde daughter of a square-built burgher?"
"She is the daughter of my foster-father."
"O--h! The Gualtieri's daughter. And her you will marry? Marry?"
"You cannot possibly imagine how charming she is," murmured Gesa.
"That the Gualtieri's daughter is charming I can easily imagine," said the virtuoso, and there came suddenly into his eyes an expression of dreamy passion to which they were quite unaccustomed, "but that a man would want to marry the Gualtieri's daughter, I cannot understand. Perhaps you do not know who the Gualtieri was." ”

“ She had drawn off her betrothal ring, and laid it on the coverlet enclosed in a folded letter, where in her large, unskilled, childish hand, she had written the words: "To my dear, dear brother Gesa. God bless him a thousand times!"
He placed the ring again on her finger, and kissed her cold hand.
The fearful mystery which separates us from our dead is so incomprehensible that we never realize our loss in all its fulness while the beloved form yet lies before us. Involuntarily we feel as if the dead knew of every little service we render--and this thought hovers around us as a comfort. ”

“ There is something quite mysterious in this hazy light, this mist of dissolved sunbeams, this metallic vibrating and shimmering that illumines sober, grey old Brussels in the springtime, like a saint's nimbus. The statues in the park have lost their winter cowls of straw; through the trees, whose feathery foliage gives out a pleasant pungent spring odor, glide the sunbeams, outline the edge of a gnarled black bough with a streak of silver, paint broad spots of light on a mighty bole, slip gaily into the moist grass and play hide-and-seek among the transparent leaf-shadows. ”

“ He loved the long idling meal times, which lifted from him the necessity of doing anything, and furnished such a plausible excuse for his beloved laziness: he loved to sit and dally with his coffee, while Annette sat opposite and occasionally sipped a little out of his cup. He loved to rummage among the notes of old composers whom no one had ever heard of and to rush through the works of half-forgotten poets. When a verse pleased him, then his eyes glowed, and he would thunder forth the most colossal adjectives, and read the lines two, three, yes twenty times to the little Annette. ”

“ And as a sign of that which he requires from you he has brought down the key of his chapel and hung it on his finger, that you shall set up a new image for him there; that you may know the old Evolino, as you have been wont to call him, in remembrance of past times, dies to-day and a new San Pancrazio enters into his place, a true and blessed saint, who will love and protect you, and will never more allow the old heathen who hides under these venerable garments to afflict your town and fields with drought, bad harvests, and deadly pestilence. ”

“ Certainly no one heard this, not even Father Atanasio, although he was standing close by, and looking on with silent, malicious delight, while they made life so hard for the Holy Madonna's hated rival; and still less was it observed by the bystanders, for the face which Don Cesare made didn't match his words at all, and whoever had seen him at that moment must have said to himself: "Poor St. Pancras! it's lucky you are made of wood; for if alive you were, alive you would never come out of the hands of this raving maniac, with the glaring eyes and bristling hair." ”

“ Now he turned off from the Montagne de la Cour--before his eyes stretched the Rue Ravestein. A strange nameless feeling overcame him, a feeling of agitation and anxiety. He could have turned and fled, yet he drew nearer and nearer. Soft golden haze wove itself over everything. The strange little alley, with its architecture of the Middle Ages, and its crucifix leaning against the black church wall, looked like an old picture painted on a gold background.
"Is Monsieur Delileo at home?" asked Gesa at the door of the well-known dwelling. ”

“ De Sterny sat down by the chimney to warm his feet. "Deuced cold!--hand me the chartreuse, so--Yes, a refined siren if you like," he continued. "The siren has soft human arms with which she draws us into destructive pleasures, the chimera has claws with which she tears our heart. The siren entices us into the mire, the chimera lures us toward heaven,--only we don't reach the heaven, and we often find ourselves very well off in the mire,--deucedly well off! But saperment! you don't understand that yet." And he pulled Gesa's ear. ”

“ Nino listened without a word. What should he do? What would come of all this? It was no use to think of flight. The old stones lay fast one upon another, and fast lay the old oaken doors on their hinges. In the morning all Roccastretta would come to replace the saint on his pedestal, for he had sent the rain without a doubt. Nino could hear the big drops pattering against the window-panes. And they would find him here with Carmela. Alone with Carmela in the chapel! And then? When Don Cesare stepped across the threshold? Nino knew Don Cesare and what he had to expect from him. ”

“ The houses are not alike, some are narrow and tall, some broad and low, as if crowded into the ground by their monstrous red-green roofs. In a few windows are flower pots, others are closely curtained. Small, not particularly tempting drinking shops, with dark red woodwork, on which is written in white letters, "Hier verkoopt men drank," frequently break the rows of dwellings. Any one of these alleys, in Gesa's youth, might have passed for all the rest, only the Rue Ravestein perhaps was still more disreputably picturesque than the others. ”

“ Surely for every genuine talent the hour of triumph strikes at least once in a life time, and he, he was no man of talent, he was a genius! How freely he breathed after that first day after his arrival in Paris. His new acquaintance, the tenor, had asked him "if he would like to take a walk to the real Boulevard." He meant the Boulevard between the New Opera House and the Madeleine. But Gesa shrank from the bustle and confusion--and while the tenor, with the haste of a newly-arrived provincial hurried off into the heart of Paris, Gesa crept slowly up the hill of Montmartre. ”

“ He rapped on the desk.
His manner of conducting was characteristic. It recalled neither the fiery contortions of Verdi, nor the demoniac energy of Berlioz. His movements at first were quiet, almost weary, his countenance wore an expression of fixed concentration; suddenly his eyes lighted up, his lip quivered, his breast heaved as an exciting climax approached, he raised his arms higher and higher, like wings with which he would wrench himself free from earth; then all at once he collapsed with a look of dejected exhaustion.
"He is killing himself!" sighed the pianist, in a gush of sympathy. ”