"I am very angry with you."
"With me! Why?"
"That you always go on giving people occasion to regard you as a
dilettante."
This was a home thrust. George actually felt a slight sense of malice
against Else, then quickly pulled himself together and answered: "That
perhaps is just what I am. And if one isn't a genius it is much better
to be an honest dilettante than ... than an artist with a swollen head."
"Nobody wants you to do great things all at once, but all the same one
really should not let oneself go in the way you do in both your inner
and your outward life."
"I really don't understand you, Else. How can one contend.... Do you
know that I am going to Germany in the autumn as a conductor?"
"Your career will be ruined by your not turning up to the rehearsals at
ten o'clock sharp."
The taunt was still gnawing at George. "And who called me a dilettante,
if I may ask?"
"Who did? Good gracious, why it has already been in the papers."
"Really," said George feeling reassured, for he now remembered that
after the concert in which Fräulein Bellini had sung his songs a critic
had described him as an aristocratic dilettante. George's friends had
explained at the time that the reason for this malicious critique
was that he had omitted to call on the gentleman in question, who
was notoriously vain. So that was it once again. There were always
extrinsic reasons for people criticising one unfavourably, and Else's
touchiness to-day, what was it at bottom but sheer jealousy....
The table was cleared. They went into the drawing-room.
George went up to Anna, who was leaning on the piano, and said gently
to her: "You do look beautiful, dear."
She nodded with satisfaction.
He then went on to ask: "Did you have a pleasant talk with Heinrich?
What did you speak about? Therese, isn't that so?"
She did not answer, and George noticed with surprise that her eyelids
suddenly drooped and that she began to totter. "What is the matter?" he
asked, frightened.
She did not hear him, and would have fallen down if he had not quickly
caught hold of her by the wrists. At the same moment Frau Ehrenberg and
Else came up to her.
"Did they notice us?" thought George.
Anna had already opened her eyes again, gave a forced smile and
whispered: "Oh, it is nothing. I often stand the heat so badly."
"Come along!" said Frau Ehrenberg in a motherly tone. "Perhaps you will
lie down for a moment."
Anna, who seemed dazed, made no answer and the ladies of the house
escorted her into an adjoining room.
George looked round. The guests did not seem to have noticed anything.
Coffee was handed round. George took a cup and played nervously with
his spoon. "So after all," he thought, "she will not finish up in
middle-class life." But at the same time he felt as far away from her
psychologically, as though the matter had no personal interest for him.
Frau Oberberger came up to him. "Well, what do you really think about
platonic love? You are an expert, you know."
He answered absent-mindedly. She went on talking, as was her way,
without bothering whether he was listening or answering. Suddenly Else
returned. George inquired how Anna was, with polite sympathy.
"I am certain it is not anything serious," said Else and looked him
strangely in the face.
Demeter Stanzides came in and asked her to sing.
"Will you accompany me?" She turned to George.
He bowed and sat down at the piano.
"What shall it be?" asked Else.
"Anything you like," replied Wilt, "but nothing modern." After supper
he liked to play the reactionary at any rate in artistic matters.
"Right you are," said Else, and gave George a piece of music.
She sang the _Das Alte Bild_ of Hugo Wolf in her small well-trained and
somewhat pathetic voice. George played a refined accompaniment, though
he felt somewhat _distrait_. In spite of his efforts he could not help
feeling a little annoyed about Anna. After all no one seemed to have
really noticed the incident except Frau Ehrenberg and Else.
After all, what did it really come to?... Supposing they did all
know?... Whom did it concern? Yes, who bothered about it? Why, they are
all listening to Else now, he continued mentally, and appreciating the
beauty of this song. Even Frau Oberberger, though she is not a bit
musical, is forgetting that she is a woman for a few minutes and her
face is quiet and sexless. Even Heinrich is listening spell-bound and
perhaps for the moment is neither thinking of his work, nor of the fate
of the Jews, nor of his distant mistress. Is perhaps not even giving
a single thought to his present mistress, the little blonde girl, to
please whom he has recently begun to dress smartly. As a matter of
fact he does not look at all bad in evening dress, and his tie is not
a ready-made one, such as he usually wears, but is carefully tied....
Who is standing so close behind me? thought George, so that I can feel
her breath over my hair.... Perhaps Sissy.... If the world were to be
destroyed to-morrow morning it would be Sissy whom I should choose
for to-night. Yes, I am sure of it. And there goes Anna with Frau
Ehrenberg; it seems I am the only one who notices it, although I have
got to attend simultaneously to both my own playing and Else's singing.
I welcome her with my eyes. Yes, I welcome you, mother of my child....
How strange life is!...
The song was at an end. The company applauded and asked for more.
George played Else's accompaniment to some other songs by Schumann,
by Brahms; and finally, by general request, two of his own, which had
become distasteful to him personally, since somebody or other had
suggested that they were reminiscent of Mendelssohn.
While he was accompanying he felt that he was losing all touch with
Else and therefore made a special effort in his playing to win back
again her sense of sympathy. He played with exaggerated sensibility, he
specifically wooed her and felt that it was in vain. For the first time
in his life he was her unhappy lover.
The applause after George's songs was great.
"That was your best period," said Else gently to him while she put the
music away, "two or three years ago."
The others made kind remarks to him without going into distinctions
about the periods of his artistic development.
Nürnberger declared that he had been most agreeably disillusioned by
George's songs. "I will not conceal the fact from you," he remarked,
"that going by the views I have frequently heard you express, my dear
Baron, I should have imagined them considerably less intelligible."
"Quite charming, really," said Wilt, "all so simple and melodious
without bombast or affectation."
"And he is the man," thought George grimly, "who dubbed me a
dilettante."
Willy came up to him. "Now you just say, Herr Hofrat, that you can
manage to whistle them, and if I know anything about physiognomy the
Baron will send two gentlemen to see you in the morning."
"Oh no," said George, pulling himself together and smiling;
"fortunately, the songs were written in a period which I have long
since got over, so I don't feel wounded by any blame or by any praise."
A servant brought in ices, the groups broke up and Anna stood alone
with George by the pianoforte.