Eduard was sitting at one of the little marble tables in Florian's
cafe on the Piazza. He had chosen a seat in the back row, and was
fluttering the pages of an illustrated paper. A small glass of
vermouth stood on the table beside him. He had at last discarded his
yachting jacket and white shoes, and was now clad in a light-coloured
summer suit, enjoying the luxury of being ashore again after so many
days at sea.
Here, in Venice, ran his thoughts, I hope to stay two days; but I
don't mean to spend them in hunting up art treasures. I'm going to
be an ascetic so far as such things are concerned. I wonder why she
left the yacht so early? The time had certainly come when it was
expedient to land somewhere!
Pictures of the last few days aboard the "Excelsior" passed before
his eyes. All the cheerfulness of the first days had vanished;
monosyllabic courtesy prevailed; laughter had become a stranger.
Wilhelm spent half the day in solitude, apart; his friends watched
him sadly as he sat crouching on a chair in the bows; he avoided
Diana and the prince, and chose only Franklin's company, conversing
with him about camels, elephant hair, and crocodile tears. When he
played the lute, he touched its strings lightly, making music for
himself alone, and he never sang now. Of an evening, he would creep
down to where Giorgino, the ship's boy, sat on the companion steps,
and Scherer as he went by heard them practising the Venetian dialect
together.
Scherer, too, was restless, and tried every expedient to relieve his
boredom, asking the captain for information concerning winds and
tides, fogs and lighthouses. Eduard and Kyril had long discussions
about the people as against the individual, at the end of which, they
would fetch the chess board and sit down to a game. Four or five
hours would go by, and neither would raise his eyes from the board;
and even during the meals that followed, they would remain pensive
and chary of words.
Every one on board had become suspect to Kyril, his fundamental
mistrust of Diana having now spread to her friends; hardly had the
fences which separated the two begun to be pulled down, than he
carefully set them up again. On the whole, this state of affairs
fell in with Eduard's humour, for the prince's uneasiness concerning
Diana's little excursion with Wilhelm had assuaged his jealousy of
the Russian, and it seemed to him that the latter's comradely
attitude towards Diana was a good one to imitate. Diana herself,
since that strangely poignant evening, had been constrained to
greater precaution, seeing that the prince held back; indeed, he
seemed to be slipping away altogether, and he for his part made no
effort to hold her. She could not guess what he had been cogitating
for months; all she was aware of was that he revered her instead of
taking possession of her; her spirit was rent by the conflict between
pride and inclination, a conflict in which pride usually gained the
upper hand, and thereby augmented the alienation.
Eduard got up, paid his score, and was making for the colonnade by
the public library, wishing to mix with the crowd that always
promenaded there towards noon, when he heard himself called by name.
As he abruptly turned in response, his sleeve caught the change the
waiter had deposited on the little table, and swept it to the ground.
Four hands were instantly stretched out to pick the money from the
ground, and as the prince, too, stooped in order to help, he saw
himself confronted by Kyril and another young Russian. All three
laughed as they rose and shook hands.
"That's the first time I've ever seen you groping for money, most
honoured Samoroff," cried Eduard. "You always allow it to roll away
unheeded at Monte Carlo. Thanks," he added as the coins were
returned to his hand.
"It's only to show myself an arrant foe of capitalism in the eyes of
my old friend Kyril. We were students together. Otherwise, quand il
aura puissance dans l'Institut Smolny, he might put me under lock and
key in the dungeons of the Peter-Paul fortress!"
The elegant young gentleman who spoke these words, partly in broken
German and partly in excellent French, was nearly as tall as Eduard.
His walking cane between his legs, he was preparing to take a seat,
when Kyril said, addressing Eduard:
"Dimiter Alexandrovitch will excuse me, I feel sure. He'll be
happier chatting with you about the gaming table than with me about
Kropotkin whom he met in London and whose samovar is the only thing
he has been able to understand! Good-bye, I have other matters in
hand."
He then turned to his compatriot, and took leave of him in Russian.
Soon he was lost in the crowd. Eduard realized how glad Kyril was at
such an easy escape, and with what relish the young man had foisted a
compatriot of birth and standing upon himself as one of similar
lineage.
"How goes the world with you, cher Prince?" said Dimiter, slipping
his hand lightly through Eduard's arm, and leading him towards the
colonnade. He seemed a little distrait, but his manner was more
cordial towards Eduard than the latter's towards him, for both by
education and temperament the German was more reserved than the
Russian globe-trotter. While they chatted, Dimiter sauntering easily
along, Prince Eduard walking with greater decorum, the latter's mind
was occupied with thoughts as to how he could get rid of his
fortuitous companion. He feared Dimiter might invite him to lunch,
that he, in turn, would have to reciprocate, and he was loath to
bring this idler aboard Scherer's yacht since he, as member of the
same caste, would thus render himself more or less responsible for
the Russian. They had passed a few days together in Cannes a couple
of years ago, empty days to be sure, but since Dimiter had just come
from those parts, the conversation naturally turned to recollections
of that time, whose charm was greatly exaggerated in retrospect by
the Russian. In Eduard's memory those same few days were far from
appearing so beautiful, and he was determined not to contribute
anything to their glamour.
"I hear you've been cruising in the Mediterranean with a newspaper
magnate," began Dimiter. But he broke off to say: "Just look, there,
the girl on the right--look at the movement of her shoulder under her
black shawl, you can actually see it as if it were being X-rayed!"
He spoke with the utmost physical unconcern. "Superb," he continued,
"only most of them smell so strong. In winter, it's not so bad....
Apropos, Kyril tells me you have a lady on board. Very convenient
when one's at sea, only one must be sure the cabin doors open
quietly, see that the hinges are well-oiled, otherwise the husband--I
speak from experience! Enfin... Not going already?"
Eduard protested that he must rejoin his friends, though in reality
he was under no obligation to do so, for it had been agreed among
them that each was free to do what he liked ashore. As the prince
was about to move away, it suddenly occurred to him that this
loose-tongued gossip might give him information about Kyril. He
therefore said somewhat irrelevantly: "You know, of course, that Dr.
Sergievitch is a great favourite on board the yacht?"
"Naturally," exclaimed Dimiter with vivacity, and he unexpectedly sat
himself down on one of the steps of the flagstaff belonging to the
church of San Marco, his cane between his legs. "That goes without
saying. When we were students together--my father wanted me to take
my degree--I was to study law in Switzerland, at Lausanne, for the
old man had friends there, exiles from Alexander's reign--and Kyril
was to study there likewise. It was charming, for at Ouchy, in
Madame Dorée's pension, there lived a most adorable woman, her
daughter, you know--seventeen, noli me tangere type, brunette, slim
as a boy, only up here, you know.--Eh bien, we were all crazy about
this bronze divinity. But this poor devil---- Let's see, we must
have been twenty-two at the time---- Yes, that's right, for it was
in 1906, a year after the October revolution---- Well, Kyril, who
was not in a position to make her a present of even so much as a
bracelet, went straight to the goal, just as if this cool and suave
young lady were a rutting bitch. Straight there, after seeing her
but twice. I bet you it was his regard demoniaque and his
magnificent teeth that did the trick." Dimiter struck viciously at
the square red slabs with his cane. "Cette canaille!" he exclaimed.
Then, unexpectedly, he sat silent, ruminating, filled with jealousy,
as if he actually saw the couple before him in the flesh, ignoring
the many years that had elapsed and the many successful adventures
that had come his way since.
Eduard, standing in front of him, had at first listened, his hands
resting on the small of his back, as he balanced himself on the soles
of his brown shoes. But, his interest in the story waxing, he
brought his face nearer to the speaker, placing one foot upon the
step above and gripping the flagstaff with his left hand. He noticed
the Russian's preoccupation and respected it for a while. Then, into
the silence, he flung a question, lightly, as if he attached but
little importance to the answer:
"He was very poor at the time?"
Dimiter looked up, blinking his eyes as he answered:
"Son of a cottager, Ukrainian peasant folk, adopted by some farmer or
other. Suddenly wrenched from his natural surroundings and hurled
into the vortex of revolutionary intrigue. Then he studied, buried
himself in his work. Got subsidies, financed by the party--je ne
connais pas les details. Later, I gather, he was sent to Siberia.
Escaped, as usual.--En avant! Enough of this camelot! Come along to
Danieli's. You must consent to be my guest at lunch, and tell me the
most recent Berlin scandals."
"That would be delightful," rejoined Eduard, hoping to hide behind a
mask of levity the pensive mood these scraps of information had
induced. "Unfortunately I am a slave aboard the galley which you can
see from here flaunting her charms in a robe of snow-white innocence.
Tomorrow I'll drop you a line at your hotel. For today, I have no
choice, I must aboard. Mille pardons!"
As soon as he had shaken the Russian off, Eduard made his way, with
greater speed than was customary to him, through the strollers who
were by now thronging the Piazza. He hailed a gondola, and, not
wishing to be the prey of further questionings, called haphazard the
first name that occurred to him:
"All' Accademia!"
He would thus gain time to consider where he would next order the man
to go, and meanwhile he could give himself up to meditation.
Lounging on the well-worn leather cushions, he saw nothing of the
sights around him. His mental vision was filled with Kyril's form;
he saw Kyril's eyes asparkle, Kyril's teeth gleaming; he heard
Dimiter's envious voice saying, "Straight there, after seeing her but
twice," and again Dimiter's tone as he uttered the words "bronze
divinity," words that had pierced Eduard's heart. Then the dim
interior of a peasant's hut rose before the prince's eyes, a new-born
baby was crying, the farmer in his high boots entering and carrying
the child away, the snow, the heat, the endless steppe, a resolute
lad growing up on a farm, a propagandist on his rounds whispering the
word of promise for a brighter future and giving the boy a book, the
youngster devouring page after page, his face aglow--now the lad is
packing his few things, scraping a handful of coins together, making
for the railway station, journeying to Moscow--public meetings, a
kopeck or two spent on food, all the rest of his scanty hoard going
to buy books, and again books--then, suddenly, reindeer drawing a
sleigh over Siberian wastes, Kyril sitting inside it, hastening
onwards, for ever hastening, that "they" might not catch him, onward
till he reaches the coast--now the youth is aboard a sailing vessel,
none of your spick-and-span white yachts--and then the vision of the
girl of seventeen summers, a bronze divinity, spurning the advances
of the scion of a princely race in order to give herself to the
meanly born swain who possessed her then and there as if she were "a
rutting bitch." ...
"O--hé! Guarda--mi!"
The gondolier's warning cry broke in upon his reverie. The man's
voice reminded him of the voice of his first tutor calling to him as
he played in the park at home, summoning him back to his quarters in
the left wing of the castle. But first he must bring his wooden
ducks ashore, lovely white-lacquer birds, with which he had been
playing in the marble basin where the goldfish swam; they must not be
allowed to stay out over night. "Johann! Johann!" And the old
servant would come running along the avenue of yew trees while the
youngster stamped about in water, crying: "Johann, catch my ducks!
No, not yet; first help me on with my shoes, I've got to be quick,
Stefan is already with Herr Hollrigel, we've got to do twice two
today!"
At this very hour, Diana was sitting alone in the cool, spacious hall
of the Accademia, looking up at Titian's last masterpiece.
"What depth, what weight," thought she. "This is surely the climax
of the century when, after so glorious a course, after hundreds of
paintings depicting sunlit nudities, red-gold, shimmering hair, lute
players twanging love-lorn ditties beside Aphrodite; of pictures of
chains and war-harness, of boldness and of freedom--there should be
conceived this canvas, showing beneath a green-gold cupola of
transcendental loveliness, the dusky and livid body of Our Lord being
taken down from the cross before the gloomy eyes of the watchful
Magdalen.... To die young ... younger even than He ... in the dread
ecstasy of love, in the throes of a twin pulsation, naked, up on a
couch within earshot of the surges of a southern sea, under the skies
in full view of one's guiding star.... Is my constellation really
the Scales? Last night, when I heard them lowering the anchor, and
the chain rattled over the cathead, I looked out through the
port-hole, straight across to San Giorgio's point, and there was
Saturn, the girdled god.... I must get away from this tragical
picture.... It was here I saw those enigmatic angel heads of
Leonardo's that time when I came away from Rome.... They were under
glass, and some one carefully rolled back the cloth that protected
them from the light.... They must be over there...."
Diana got up, passed through two other rooms, full of people coming
and going and chatting, to reach a little gallery whose walls were
adorned with glass cases. The place was deserted but for one other,
a glimpse of whose back she caught in the farther corner. She
started looking at the pages which were spread out for inspection
beneath the glass. They were drawings by Leonardo himself.
She looked long and lovingly at these sweet angel faces with their
ecstatic upward gaze and their unearthly, enigmatic smile; herein she
read nothing but heavenly love, desireless and candid; and her heart,
which had been troubled of late, gradually found ease and quietude
from the contemplation of these pure and ethereal beings; she felt
her soul flooded with the reflected laughter and devotion of these
fanciful creations. The face of the master who had conjured them
forth from the recesses of his fancy rose before her, and as peace
invaded her and wrapped her round she felt that his spirit must be
near at hand. A light footfall to her left brought her back to
reality, though for a moment, so greatly was she under the spell of
her musings, she thought it was the tread of the great master himself.
The form she had glimpsed as she entered the gallery had detached
itself from the shadowy corner, and was now studying the contents of
the cases, just as she was, only from the other end. He was a tall
man in the middle sixties, dressed in a suit of dark cloth, and, from
the position of his body as he bent to look at the drawings, it was
difficult to decide whether he would be equally bent when walking or
not. He wore no hat, his hair was silvery white, and his delicate
face with its long nose and thin lips looked like an etching,
especially when seen in profile and when one could appreciate the
line of his long, white beard which fell softly over chin and throat.
Indeed his head resembled the portrait Leonardo has left us of
himself.
It was thus, in profile, as he bent over the cases, that Diana caught
sight of him on raising her eyes, her pulses still throbbing from the
glory of her vision. She started, for she recognized him at once.
"Father!" she cried, never stirring from where she stood. He looked
up, without haste, and she saw his blue eyes turned towards her,
kindly and inquiring now, whereas once they had been like shafts of
glittering steel.
"Diana! It is you, my dear daughter!"
His voice struck to her very heart, just as his eyes had done. It
had become more cordial during these three years since she had heard
it last.
"Father!"
Slowly, as if she were a little girl, she went towards him. He
raised his arms, but did not open them for an embrace, and kissed her
on the forehead. It was as though he were giving her his blessing.
They were silent for a while.
"Just before I caught sight of you," she said softly, "the head of
this magician loomed near me, and when I heard footsteps approaching
I thought it could be none other than he."
"And it turned out to be only your old father! How simply things
explain themselves! As I look at you now you seem to me all aglow
inside."
"I come from the company of angels," said Diana, casting another look
at the drawings under the glass.
"And I am on my way to them, for at my end there were nothing but
grimacing devils. I always start down there and make my way upward."
"Shall I have to go down among the devils?"
"Are you afraid of them?" he asked, scrutinizing her closely.
"I fear no one," said she, tossing her head defiantly, and thus
making her curls dance around the edge of her cap.
He stood motionless as if captivated. Then he raised his arms once
more in that peculiar gesture of his, and spoke in a voice that
sounded younger and sweeter:
"Helena! That's just the way Helena had of tossing her head...."
The reference to her mother made Diana long to throw herself at his
feet. She stood silent, controlling the impulse, for she knew that
at any moment a stranger might appear in the doorway. He, too, made
an effort to regain composure.
"Will you stay a little while with me?" he said at last.
"I--shall come with you, Father!"
As she spoke, she remembered other claims, the yacht, the prince, her
own desires; and her father was quick to perceive that there was an
obstacle to the free disposal of her time, an impediment imposed from
without. He said:
"Not long ago I dreamed that I might meet you."
"When was that? Do you remember?"
"I remember not only the day when each of my dreams has occurred, but
almost the time as well, for I have written them all down these
twelve years past. This one came three days ago, towards evening,
when I fell asleep in my arm-chair--a very unusual thing for me to
do. It must have been nearly seven o'clock, for when I awoke I saw
the little steamer passing by. So I could not have been asleep long."
She nodded her head.
"And at the same hour, three days ago, I was standing on the deck of
a pleasure yacht, thinking: We are going to Venice! It is April,
perhaps Father will be there!"
"There, you see how simple it all is!" The old man smiled genially.
"And now let's go and have some lunch and a good talk."
With the deliberate and courtly gesture appropriate to a man of his
years, he offered his daughter an arm. As she took it, a surge of
maternal solicitude flooded her heart: she saw the soft hat he held
in his hand, and looked up at his silvery head:
"Won't you," she began, "... it is rather cold in these rooms...."
"I cannot wear a hat in the presence of the master's work," he said
simply, as they went on their way.
As they were about to descend, she caught sight of the prince who was
in the act of landing. He, however, changed his mind, stepping back
into the gondola, hastily pulling the curtains around the seat, and
thus concealing himself from the passers-by. Since the gondolier had
brought his fare to the place he was bidden, the man waited patiently
till it should please the gentleman to alight. But Eduard did not
stir.
Hidden by the curtains, the prince watched Diana stepping lightly
between the huge couchant lions. She looked the embodiment of youth
as she accommodated her springy gait to that of the tall old
gentleman at her side: she was in a light-coloured coat and skirt
that the wind from the lagoon played with as she walked; he in
well-tailored black, leaning upon an ivory-handled stick. Eduard's
mind was still full of reminiscences of his childhood days, and for
him the broad steps were those of his ancestral halls where likewise
two couchant lions kept guard, and Diana was descending them, leaning
on the arm of his own old father.
As she stepped into a gondola near by, the prince suddenly resolved
to follow her.