THIRTY-THREE PARTS
It must certainly be said of our philosopher that he was acting
somewhat inconsistently. He had left his home and property, where he
had lived a simple country life amid his own people, happy in the
study of those mysterious powers--fire and water; he had abandoned all
his scientific pursuits to belong to a world to which he was, and must
ever be, a stranger, feeling more or less like a fish upon dry land.
Even his science he had turned into a farce, so bringing it into
disgrace. He had lent himself to lectures and tableaux, to singing
operas, and dancing Hungarian cotillons, to hunting foxes at breakneck
speed, to rescuing beautiful ladies, mixing himself up therewhile in
the affairs of noble families, to fighting duels with officers for the
sake of lovely countesses, and running the risk of being sabred by an
intemperate savage! It was no wonder that, reviewing all this, Ivan
should say to himself, "Good heavens, what an ass I have made, and am
making, of myself! What have I to do with all the nonsense that goes
on in this fashionable world of Pesth? Above all, what is it to me
whether Countess Angela is at war with her grandfather, whether she
goes to Vienna, or whether he comes to Pesth? Why is it necessary for
me to remain here, leading such an uncongenial life, apparently
without any object?--and, although I have an object, yet if this were
known to the world I should be considered an even greater fool than I
am at present deemed to be."
Now, as Ivan's reflections have been made public, it is only proper
that the reason of his apparently objectless conduct should be laid
before the reader of these pages, so that he or she may be in a
position to judge whether he was a fool or a wise man, or something
between the two--a man of sentiment and feeling, who does what his
heart commands him to do. With some natures the heart cannot be
silenced; it has its rights. We may remember that when the Abbé Samuel
paid his first visit to Ivan, he found that gentleman in the act of
writing a refusal to the Countess Theudelinde's invitation; that he
was, in fact, upon the point of returning to Bondavara, and that the
arrival of a letter changed all his plans, and was the cause of his
remaining in Pesth. This letter came from Vienna; the writer was a
certain pianist whose name had been for some years mentioned among the
first class of artists--Arpad Belenyi.
Nearly fourteen years before our story began Ivan had lived for a long
time in the house of the Belenyis. We shall know later what he did
there. Arpad was at that time a child of five years old; he was
already counted a prodigy, and could play long pieces upon the piano.
At that time warlike and patriotic marches were all the fashion. One
day the bread-winner of the family, the father, died suddenly. The
widow was in despair, especially for her orphaned boy. Ivan consoled
her with the promise that he would look after him, and provide for his
education.
On account of certain circumstances, some months after, however, Ivan
had to leave the family Belenyi somewhat suddenly, and it seemed
doubtful if he should ever see them again. Ivan at parting gave all
the money he could spare to the widow, and told her to get Arpad a
good musical education, such as would fit him for an artistic career.
The boy, he thought, would attain eminence, and make a livelihood by
his art. And here let it be clearly understood that Ivan was neither a
friend of Belenyi nor the lover of Madame Belenyi; neither was he
connected with the family in any way, nor was he in duty bound to do
as he did. For years the Belenyis heard nothing from Ivan, nor he from
them. Once, on his inquiring about them, he was told that in
consequence of a lawsuit they had lost their house, had left the town,
and that neither mother nor son had since been heard of. Then, after
another spell of years, Arpad Belenyi's name began to be mentioned in
different newspapers, always as a young and astonishingly clever
artist. From this time Ivan took in regularly a musical paper or
magazine, and so followed attentively his adopted son's career. The
latter, however, knew nothing of his kind benefactor until, later,
Ivan's name also appeared in the papers. His discourse at the Academy
led to his being traced by his adopted son, who at once wrote him a
letter, beginning with the words, "My dear father." It was a letter
full of simple, boyish sentiments, through which broke at intervals
the natural fun and playful humor of the artist. He told Ivan
everything concerning himself; how he had travelled in many countries,
accompanied always by his mother, to whom he had always to give an
account of his actions as near the truth as possibly could be. He had
already given concerts before crowned heads, and had received several
orders which he was allowed to wear only on Sundays; the other days of
the week they were locked up by his mother. He had earned a good deal
of money, but he was not permitted to spend much. Mamma gave him
every day a five-shilling piece for pocket-money; the rest she put by
to buy back her little house which "old Raize" had robbed her of. He,
therefore, to make more money, gave music-lessons and played
accompaniments for artists. This was well paid, particularly of late,
when he had fallen in with a little artist, a new singer, who paid
splendidly. She was said to be the wife of Felix Kaulmann, the rich
banker.
When he came to this passage Ivan's heart began to beat. He laid down
the letter, then took it up again, and read it with renewed attention.
"This girl is a mixture of Muse and Mænad," wrote Arpad. "Now she is a
petulant child, the next minute a wild Amazon; a born artist, full of
genius, yet she is not likely ever to rise above mediocrity. She is
full of intelligence and life, and with this often as stupid as a
donkey. There is no doubt she could attain an unenviable notoriety,
but she shrinks from it, for although she conducts herself like a
courtesan, I would take my oath she is in reality as innocent as the
child she really is. She is very trying to me, full of mischief and
petulance, and this because I treat her to no soft manners, but scold
her well for being so naughty. If you could only see, dear papa, what
a splendid master I am, always serious, no frivolity allowed! Now I
have photographed myself for you, have I not? Do not think, however,
that I would have scrawled all over my paper this monologue about my
pupil, as if I had nothing better or wiser to write about. I have done
so because the subject has a certain interest for you. You must know
this curious little angel confides in me as if I were her confessor.
Sometimes she chatters all through her lesson, telling me where she
has been, what she has done, everything that has happened to her; and
she often tells me things which, if I were in her place, I would not
talk about. Have a little patience, my dear good papa. This lady has
thirty-three different _rôles_, all of them of different kinds. They
are not, strictly speaking, stage parts, but monologues, which are
composed expressly for her. These scenes we rehearse together; I play
her accompaniment, while she sings and acts.
"I am coming now to the kernel of the nut. I am going to crack
it for you. Here are the names of the actress's thirty-three
parts--'Loreley,' 'Cleopatra,' 'The Queen of the Sun,' 'The Greek
Slave,' 'The Bacchante,' 'Nourmahal,' 'The Bride,' 'The Matron's
Cap,' 'The Bayadère,' 'Claudia Laeta, the Vestal,' 'Amalasontha,'
'Magdalene,' 'Ninon,' 'La Somnambula,' 'Medea,' 'Salome,' 'The
Houris,' 'The Despair of Hero,' 'The Phrygian Cap,' 'Turandot,' 'The
Peasant Girl,' 'The Mother,' 'Jeanne la Folle,' 'Ophelia,' 'Judith,'
'Zuleika Potiphar,' 'The Market Woman,' 'The Grisette,' 'The
Creole,' 'Lucretia,' 'The Will-o'-the-Wisp,' 'Julia Gonzaga.'
"The thirty-third part I do not know; we have not as yet rehearsed it.
But why the deuce does she learn all these parts, for she never treads
the boards? The report is that the reason why this lady's talent is so
much cultivated is that she is engaged to sing at the Opera-house.
This seems even more strange, and I, for one, am slow to believe it. A
banker like Kaulmann, who is a millionaire, and whose wife pays for
her apartment four thousand florins! Besides, she would have to give
her singing-master, who has got her the engagement, six thousand; to
the leader of the orchestra, two thousand; four thousand to the
newspapers to puff her; another three thousand to the _claqueurs_; and
something else to the men who throw the wreaths and flowers. There
would remain for her about a thousand florins; that would hardly pay
for her scents. So you see the absurdity of the whole thing. Where are
we now? This pretty creature, who wishes also to be a famous artist,
has several lovers who can easily pay their court to madame, seeing
that she and her husband live in separate apartments. This is only
natural; the banker could not have his mind, which is occupied with
important speculations, disturbed by constant _solfeggi_. There are
several persons in Vienna who bear the title of the 'Mæcenas of Art';
they are gentlemen of high position, who have great weight in the
departmental government, and whose voices are heard in all social and
official capacities. These have been allowed the privilege of being
present during the rehearsals of the thirty-two monologues; the
thirty-third has not as yet been played before any one. In all this I
can assure you everything is conducted with the greatest propriety, I
am always present, also the husband, who remains so long as the comedy
continues. Among the company are representatives of the highest
nobility, counts, princes, senators, and ministers. They are good sort
of people, and call one another Fritz, Nazi, Muke, etc. Among others
we have two princes, who come every time we have a rehearsal--the
Prince Mari and the Prince Baldi; the names they received on baptism
being Waldemar and Theobald. Yesterday Eveline--for so is my pupil
named--was not inclined to work, and without my asking her what ailed
her, with her usual frankness she came out with her annoyance.
"'Only fancy,' she said; 'that odious Prince Waldemar, when he was in
my opera-box last night, threatened that if I did not let him come to
our next rehearsal he would ruin Lixi.' (Lixi is short for Felix, her
husband's name.)
"'Why don't you admit him?' I asked. 'He is not worse than the other
jackanapes who come here.'
"'Because I cannot endure him. I told Lixi what Prince Waldemar had
said, and Lixi answered that he would ruin the prince. At the same
time he gave me to understand that Prince Theobald must be invited to
the rehearsal.'
"'All right,' said I; 'he is a fine old gentleman. You can have no
objection to him; he is old enough to be your grandfather.'
"The young wife bit her lips, and, with a frown on her lovely face,
said:
"'I have to ask him to do something. What do you think it is? Oh, you
could never guess! It is to give his signature that he will consent to
a certain affair which will cost him nothing, but which will help Lixi
greatly. You know that Lixi has a grand speculation on hand, a
gigantic coal company, which is to start the business with I don't
know how many millions of money; but the place where the coal-mines
are situated, the Bondavara property, belongs to Prince Theobald and
his sister. The countess has already given her consent, but without
his ratification the shares would not be taken up at the exchange.
Prince Waldemar is working against us, and therefore I am to win over
the old prince to our side. Lixi says it will be very easy to get
round him just at the present moment, because his granddaughter,
Countess Angela, of whom he is very fond, has quarrelled with him and
left him. The poor old man is very sad and lonely, and Lixi says
whoever cheers him up will be able to do anything with him; and,' she
added, with a wise look, 'we are not deceiving him, for the Bondavara
coal is the finest in the world.'
"I burst out laughing; I could not help it. Then she pulled my hair
and said:
"'Why do you laugh, you ridiculous donkey? I think I must be a judge
of coal, for I worked as day-laborer for ten years in the mines of
Herr Behrend.'
"At these words my astonishment was so great that I jumped up from my
seat.
"'You may stare your eyes out of your head,' she said, laughing at my
amazement, 'but it is quite true. I used to shove the coal-wagons, and
barefoot into the bargain.'
"'Gracious lady, believe me, I did not jump up from astonishment; I
was surprised to hear you name Ivan Behrend. What do you know of him?
Pray tell me.'
"'He was the owner of the coal-mines in Bondavara, near which Felix is
going to open works upon an enormous scale. He was my master; God
bless him, wherever he goes!'
"Now, dear papa, I have come to the heart of the business, after, it
must be owned, an unconscionably long prelude. With my weak intellect
I have thought out the whole thing. Here is my kind friend, my adopted
father, the owner of a mine in Bondavara, and beside him men with I
don't know how many millions at their backs are going to form a coal
company. It would be a good thing to let him know, that he may act in
time; it may be good for him, but it would seem to me that it may also
be very bad. Here the air is full of speculation; you see, I am
already slightly bitten. Let me know how and in what manner the affair
affects you and your interests. I shall write to you what goes on
here, for I shall be behind the scenes; this little fool tells me
everything."
The receipt of this letter had decided Ivan to accept the Countess
Theudelinde's invitation to give a romantic reading at her house, and
to enter into the society of Pesth. He wrote to Arpad, and begged him
to give him every day an exact account of what he heard through Evila
of the progress of the coal-mine company.
From this time Ivan received regularly every week two or three letters
from Vienna.
"The old prince nibbles at the bait. Kaulmann has brought him to the
rehearsal of the new piece. Eveline sings and acts enchantingly; that
is, when she is within four walls, and has only a few people for
audience. If she acted like this on the stage she would be a
celebrated actress in no time; but so soon as she comes before the
footlights stage-fright seizes upon her, she trembles, forgets
everything, stands there like a stick, and, worst of all, sings quite
false. These rehearsals have been given on the pretext that the prince
should have an opportunity of judging of her talent, so that he may
influence those in power to give her an engagement at the opera. I
know what their real object is. The prince is a real connoisseur in
music, and he understands not alone art, but artists. He knows that
there is a price set upon such black diamonds as sparkle in Eveline's
eyes. There is the additional incentive that Prince Waldemar is
desperately in love with this woman, and Prince Theobald, for certain
reasons, will do anything to prevent her falling into his hands. He
would even go the length of taking her himself sooner than such a
misadventure should happen.
"A short time since Prince Waldemar met me, and offered me one hundred
ducats for every leaf of the album in which are the portraits of
Madame Kaulmann in her character costumes. You must know, of late,
each day that we rehearse one of the monologues at the piano a
photographer is present and takes the artist in her costume.
Everything must be finished in the house, and not more than four
pictures are allowed to be executed; one of these is for Prince
Theobald, one is kept by herself, one she presents to me, and the
fourth is for my friend Felix. The negative is then broken. I would
not sell my photographs to Prince Waldemar, but I send them to you as
they follow one another. Mamma does not like to see such pictures in
my room."
Ivan received with each letter a photograph; each portrait represented
Evila as a lovely creation in a most graceful pose. Arpad had not the
least idea what a hell of different passions were raised in Ivan's
breast as he looked at the beautiful image of the woman he had and
still loved.
In the first portrait she was represented as "Loreley" the fairy, who,
in the whirlpool of the Rhine, sings her magic song and combs her hair
with a golden comb, while her left shoulder rises from the waves,
which partially conceal her form. Her eyes gaze invitingly at the
fisherman, whom she entices to his ruin. In the second photograph she
appeared as "Cleopatra" at Tarsus, where she is displaying all her
charms to seduce her conqueror and make him her slave; a rich
portrait, in which the lascivious queen is represented laden with
splendid dresses and jewels, while the expression of the beautiful
face was an admirable mixture of pride, dignity, and weakness. The
third photograph presented the sun-queen, "Atahualpa," the wife of the
last Inca. Her look was haughty and sublime; the sublimity of the
expression diverts attention from the uncovered arms, white as marble,
round as an infant's, which are raised to heaven, offering as a
sacrifice a human heart. Her face mirrored the coldness of heaven
itself. The fourth, as the "Greek Slave"; she represented the
tortured beauty, who in vain tries to break the chains of shame in
which she is bound--a lovely marble statue, equal in conception to one
by Thorwaldsen or Pradier. The fifth was the "Bacchante," from one of
the Roman bas-reliefs, which represents the procession of Bacchus. A
wild, bold, dissolute conception; showing accessories of surprising
drapery, panther skins, cups, etc., an ideal debauch; limbs in wild
movement. The sixth portrait was of a bride; a white lace dress, upon
her head a white garland, her figure concealed by a white veil, on her
face an expression of soft emotion at the approaching realization of
her happiness, in her eyes tears, on her lips a tremulous smile. With
what wonderful charm she stretches out her hand to receive the
betrothal ring! The eighth portrayed a young woman who for the first
time puts the matron's cap upon her head. Pride, shame, and conscious
triumph are all in her face. She feels that the cap upon her head is a
well-deserved crown--a crown for which she has sacrificed a garland.
Ivan contemplated this picture for a long time; his heart was full of
the bitterness of disappointed love. His adopted son's present had
been somewhat unfortunate.
The ninth photograph represented Evila as a "Bayadère," in the
artistic dress of the Indian dancer, striking the tambourine over her
head. Round her slight figure a shawl embroidered in gold was wound in
careless folds, on her neck a chain of gold coins, her small feet
bare, and strings of pearls up to the knee.
In the tenth portrait she appeared as "Claudia Laeta," the vestal
virgin, at the moment when she is led to the stake because she has
refused the solicitations of Caracalla; on her face an expression of
horror, of virginal modesty. With one hand she tries to cover her
head with her cloak to escape from the gaze of the multitude.
How is it possible for one woman to play so many parts? Arpad
accompanied these pictures with diffuse explanations, which were so
many arrows in the heart of Ivan. The result of all this posturing
was, he said, becoming every day clearer.
"The prince is more and more fascinated; he is falling deeper and
deeper into the net spread for him. After each rehearsal he declares
that a real treasure has been concealed, which has been a loss to art
that must be at once remedied."
But such treasures are very costly, especially when a man has reached
the age of sixty-eight, close on seventy, and has a marriageable
granddaughter; then it is necessary to look very closely into his
check-book to see if it would be possible to provide for the
grandchild and at the same time satisfy the caprices of a beautiful
young woman.
Not long ago Prince Theobald had built a splendid palace in the
Maximilian Strasse; it was destined for the Countess Angela, in the
case that she agreed to her grandfather's wish as to her marriage. The
palace was furnished with the utmost magnificence. The countess,
however, had thought otherwise. She broke off her marriage with
Sondersheim; she had good reasons, no doubt, but she need not have
openly defied her grandfather. It was unwise of her so to do, for
Evila was weaving her spell closer round the old man's heart, and
Angela had best be prudent, and return speedily to Vienna, else the
palace in the Maximilian Strasse will be presented, without a shadow
of doubt, to Madame Kaulmann.
Arpad's letters had made Ivan acquainted with the ins and outs of the
whole affair; through them he had learned that the woman he had loved
had become the wife of another man, and was likely to be the mistress
of a third. The first blow he could bear with a certain resignation;
he wished her all happiness; but that she should sink up to the neck
in shame, led thither by the act of her own husband, was a bitter
thought! No, that she should be saved from, if Ivan could compass her
deliverance. For this end he remained in Pesth. Hence it seemed to him
he could pull the strings of this complex drama, and defeat the
conspiracy against Evila's honor; for this purpose he went into a
world that he despised, affected a manner of life totally inconsistent
with his ideas, and cultivated a friendship with the Countess Angela,
that his influence might induce her to play the part of the good
angel.
Was he a fool to sacrifice his own feelings for a woman who had
inflicted upon him the severest mortification a man can endure? Those
whose hearts are dominated by cold prudence will judge his folly
perhaps rightly; those who have hearts that feel for others will
acknowledge that he did well in obeying its dictates, and from his own
point of view, perhaps, he acted for his own ultimate advantage.
If Prince Theobald is induced to consent to the lease of his property
to the Bondavara Company, Ivan's little coal-mine is ruined. Good if
he can, while working for another, help himself. A man of business is
always a speculator; therefore we say to the warm-hearted and
compassionate that Ivan acted a part to save Evila from shame, and to
the cold-hearted and unfeeling that it was all in the way of business,
to save, if he could, his little all from the monster company ready to
devour it bodily.
Arpad continued to send the photographs. They were of all kinds,
tragic and comic. "Medea," with her murderous revenge and jealousy;
the daughter of Herod, with her voluptuous dance to gain the saint's
head; the cruelty of "Judith," the wild laughter of "Jeanne la Folle,"
the devotion of a holy nun, the coquettish tricks of a _grisette_, a
languid Creole, a supernatural "Will-o'-the-Wisp"--these were the
principal representations in which Ivan found rather studied effort at
catching an artistic effect than natural instinct or expression. This
was the school of Madame Grissac, to whom Felix had intrusted Evila's
education. Two portraits that came at the end produced upon Ivan a
painful impression. One represented a mother by the cradle of her
child, the other a peasant girl, a coal-carrier, with her hair plaited
down her back, and a red frock tucked up above her ankles. It pained
Ivan deeply that she should profane these two sacred subjects. Why
take a mother's love to be made a vehicle to create an old man's
admiration? And the girl with the red frock! Ah, that was
unpardonable! He could not forgive her for having wounded him to the
very heart.
One day the artist wrote to Ivan--
"My good patron, Felix Kaulmann, is an out-and-out scoundrel. Up to
the present he generally attends the rehearsals when the prince is
present. Yesterday Prince Theobald seemed quite excited, so much so
that Kaulmann was struck by it. To his question the prince said that
he was very happy. He had received a letter from his granddaughter,
the Countess Angela. She wrote in the most friendly manner. She told
him that she had met a certain Ivan Behrend, who had the courage to
give her a regular scolding, and had told her to her face what was the
duty of the Hungarian magnates towards their country, a duty in which
they were wanting, and which Prince Theobald would fulfil if he left
Vienna and came to reside in Pesth, in which case the countess would
agree to a reconciliation. The old prince seemed so happy at the idea
of seeing his child again! Kaulmann, however, looked very black,
blacker still when the prince said he would consider the matter; but
that, as the countess had taken a fancy to Pesth, he thought he would
go there. Inwardly Felix gnashed his teeth with rage, outwardly he
expressed great satisfaction that the countess had at last broken the
ice; it was a good sign that she was getting tired of her obstinacy.
But if he were in the prince's situation he would try and persuade the
countess to come to Vienna, instead of going himself to Pesth. The
prince listened to this suggestion; he fell into the trap, and will
not go at once to Pesth, but will try to bring back the countess. In
the meantime we are to have the two last rehearsals. The thirty-second
is the representation of 'Julia Gonzaga,' whose story you will find in
any library. The most interesting part of this scene is the toilette
of the heroine, who appears in a night-dress made of muslin, with her
feet naked. In spite of this rather risky costume the lady's virtue
was irreproachable, for in her hand she held a dagger, and threatened
to kill any one who ventured to look at her feet. As I wrote to you,
Kaulmann has always been present at these rehearsals, but from this
one of 'Julia Gonzaga' he is obliged to absent himself, as he has to
go away for a few days. I believe that my office should be called
_garde des dames_. As it happens, however, on this occasion I, too, am
unavoidably prevented from being present. When I went home and showed
mamma the enclosed photograph she shuddered, and positively forbade me
to assist at a rehearsal in which a woman appeared in such a costume.
I must plead illness or any other cause, but stay at home I must. I
thought over several lies, but at last I decided that I would tell my
gracious pupil the truth; so I did.
"'Listen,' I said. 'My mother will not allow me to accompany you if
you sing barefoot. If it is really the point of the piece that 'Julia'
must present herself without stockings on her feet, then I must deny
myself the pleasure of playing on the piano.'
"The silly child laughed very much, and said she would get somebody
else. She may do as she likes; I don't care. Mamma is perfectly right
in forbidding me to go, and I think that I have done perfectly right
to tell my pupil why I refuse to accompany her."
This letter depressed Ivan. For a long time he looked at the
photograph, considering it from every point of view. Evila in a dress
the thin material of which showed every motion of her plastic limbs;
in one hand she gathered the folds across her breast, her eyes had a
murderous glare in their violet depths, her long and beautiful hair
fell to her feet; in her right hand she pointed a dagger towards a
motionless form which lay at her feet covered by a rug. This was the
second time that Ivan had heard the story from a lady.
The next day he received another letter from Arpad; he found it on his
return from the first meeting with Salista.
"Eveline," wrote the artist, "performed her tableau before the prince
without the accompaniment of the piano and without the company of her
husband. She looked so lovely that all the prince's good principles
melted away like snow before the sun. He took her hand and kissed it;
then the murderous look disappeared from her sweet eyes; she broke out
into a ripple of laughter.
"'Prince, do you not see that I have a knife in my hand?'
"'I can take it from you.'
"The young girl laughed again; and we all know how easy it is to take
anything from a smiling woman.
"At this moment there resounded through the room an echo of Eveline's
laugh; that is to say, if you can call a frog's croak an echo of a
nightingale's song. Out of the conservatory, which ornaments one side
of the room, there came a crippled dwarf, who supported himself upon
crutches. His long head was sunk between his high shoulders, and his
white, satyr-like face was distorted by an odious grin as he dragged
himself between the prince and his inamorata.
"'Prince, we are not alone,' laughed Eveline, freeing her hand from
the clasp of the astonished nobleman.
"'In Heaven's name, who is this splendid specimen of a toad?' he
cried, with an air of disgust.
"'This is my only beloved little brother,' cried Eveline, putting her
arms round the little monster, and covering him with kisses while she
stroked his head. 'My dear, only little brother, my all, my dearest;
my ugly, cross, quarrelsome little tyrant, who comes to me whenever he
likes.'
"'A horrible creature!' said the prince. 'The hobgoblins who kept
watch over the gate of the Witch of Endor were cherubims as compared
with this monster. I beg of you, Eveline, not to kiss his face, as it
takes away forever the pleasure one would have in kissing so lovely a
mouth.'
"Eveline made no answer, but, suddenly turning away, she threw a
burnoose round her shoulders, put her tiny feet into a pair of
slippers, and said, demurely:
"'Prince, the thirty-second rehearsal is over, and there only remains
the thirty-third to complete the course.'
"The prince asked what the title of this last should be, and Eveline
whispered in his ear that he would know the next day but one.
"'And how many more will know it?'
"'No one but you.'
"'Not this Caliban?'
"'Certainly not.'
"The prince took his leave in an ecstasy, firmly convinced that at the
last representation he would have Eveline all to himself. Eveline
needed a day to prepare herself.
"The scene was repeated to me by the cripple, who likes me very much,
and comes nearly every evening to share my supper; for although
everything possible for his comfort is provided by Eveline, he is
never happy unless he begs from some one. If he were a prince, I do
believe the creature would get out of his carriage to ask for alms. He
finds such a wonderful pleasure in begging. For a stick of
sugar-barley he will tell me everything. What pleased him most was the
prince's remark about his being a splendid specimen of a toad. He
imitated for me how he crept out of the conservatory on his crutches,
and how he laughed when he saw the gentleman wanted to take the knife
from his sister. You will hear from me again the day after to-morrow."
The day after to-morrow! These words to a man who might be lying stark
and stiff by that time! They gave Ivan a sudden chill; but he said to
himself he would not die easily, he would fight for his life.
That night he dreamed a curious dream, in which he saw two "Julia
Gonzagas," who both wanted to kill him, and yet he had deserved
nothing but good at their hands.
So goes the world!