Soden is a little town half an hour’s distance from Frankfort. It lies
in a beautiful country among the spurs of the Taunus Mountains, and is
known among us in Russia for its waters, which are supposed to be
beneficial to people with weak lungs. The Frankforters visit it more
for purposes of recreation, as Soden possesses a fine park and various
“wirthschaften,” where one may drink beer and coffee in the shade of
the tall limes and maples. The road from Frankfort to Soden runs along
the right bank of the Maine, and is planted all along with fruit trees.
While the carriage was rolling slowly along an excellent road, Sanin
stealthily watched how Gemma behaved to her betrothed; it was the first
time he had seen them together. _She_ was quiet and simple in her
manner, but rather more reserved and serious than usual; _he_ had the
air of a condescending schoolmaster, permitting himself and those under
his authority a discreet and decorous pleasure. Sanin saw no signs in
him of any marked attentiveness, of what the French call
“_empressement_,” in his demeanour to Gemma. It was clear that Herr
Klüber considered that it was a matter settled once for all, and that
therefore he saw no reason to trouble or excite himself. But his
condescension never left him for an instant! Even during a long ramble
before dinner about the wooded hills and valleys behind Soden, even
when enjoying the beauties of nature, he treated nature itself with the
same condescension, through which his habitual magisterial severity
peeped out from time to time. So, for example, he observed in regard to
one stream that it ran too straight through the glade, instead of
making a few picturesque curves; he disapproved, too, of the conduct of
a bird—a chaffinch—for singing so monotonously. Gemma was not bored,
and even, apparently, was enjoying herself; but Sanin did not recognise
her as the Gemma of the preceding days; it was not that she seemed
under a cloud—her beauty had never been more dazzling—but her soul
seemed to have withdrawn into herself. With her parasol open and her
gloves still buttoned up, she walked sedately, deliberately, as
well-bred young girls walk, and spoke little. Emil, too, felt stiff,
and Sanin more so than all. He was somewhat embarrassed too by the fact
that the conversation was all the time in German. Only Tartaglia was in
high spirits! He darted, barking frantically, after blackbirds, leaped
over ravines, stumps and roots, rushed headlong into the water, lapped
at it in desperate haste, shook himself, whining, and was off like an
arrow, his red tongue trailing after him almost to his shoulder. Herr
Klüber, for his part, did everything he supposed conducive to the
mirthfulness of the company; he begged them to sit down in the shade of
a spreading oak-tree, and taking out of a side pocket a small booklet
entitled, “_Knallerbsen; oder du sollst und wirst lachen!_” (Squibs; or
you must and shall laugh!) began reading the funny anecdotes of which
the little book was full. He read them twelve specimens; he aroused
very little mirth, however; only Sanin smiled, from politeness, and he
himself, Herr Klüber, after each anecdote, gave vent to a brief,
business-like, but still condescending laugh. At twelve o’clock the
whole party returned to Soden to the best tavern there.
They had to make arrangements about dinner. Herr Klüber proposed that
the dinner should be served in a summer-house closed in on all
sides—“_im Gartensalon_”; but at this point Gemma rebelled and declared
that she would have dinner in the open air, in the garden, at one of
the little tables set before the tavern; that she was tired of being
all the while with the same faces, and she wanted to see fresh ones. At
some of the little tables, groups of visitors were already sitting.
While Herr Klüber, yielding condescendingly to “the caprice of his
betrothed,” went off to interview the head waiter, Gemma stood
immovable, biting her lips and looking on the ground; she was conscious
that Sanin was persistently and, as it were, inquiringly looking at
her—it seemed to enrage her. At last Herr Klüber returned, announced
that dinner would be ready in half an hour, and proposed their
employing the interval in a game of skittles, adding that this was very
good for the appetite, he, he, he! Skittles he played in masterly
fashion; as he threw the ball, he put himself into amazingly heroic
postures, with artistic play of the muscles, with artistic flourish and
shake of the leg. In his own way he was an athlete—and was superbly
built! His hands, too, were so white and handsome, and he wiped them on
such a sumptuous, gold-striped, Indian bandana!
The moment of dinner arrived, and the whole party seated themselves at
the table.