villa rubein and other stories-第12章

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Someone　was　playing　Schumann's　Kinderscenen。　　Harz　stood　still　to

listen。　　The　notes　came　twining；　weaving　round　his　thoughts；　the

whole　night　seemed　full　of　girlish　voices；　of　hopes　and　fancies；

soaring　away　to　mountain　heightsinvisible；　yet　present。　　Between

the　stems　of　the　acacia…trees　he　could　see　the　flicker　of　white

dresses；　where　Christian　and　Greta　were　walking　arm　in　arm。　　He　went

towards　them；　the　blood　flushed　up　in　his　face；　he　felt　almost

surfeited　by　some　sweet　emotion。　　Then；　in　sudden　horror；　he　stood

still。　　He　was　in　love！　　With　nothing　done　with　everything　before

him！　　He　was　going　to　bow　down　to　a　face！　　The　flicker　of　the　dresses

was　no　longer　visible。　　He　would　not　be　fettered；　he　would　stamp　it

out！　　He　turned　away；　but　with　each　step；　something　seemed　to　jab　at

his　heart。



Round　the　corner　of　the　house；　in　the　shadow　of　the　wall；　Dominique；

the　Luganese；　in　embroidered　slippers；　was　smoking　a　long　cherry…wood

pipe；　leaning　against　a　treeMephistopheles　in　evening　clothes。

Harz　went　up　to　him。



〃Lend　me　a　pencil；　Dominique。〃



〃Bien；　M'sieu。〃



Resting　a　card　against　the　tree　Harz　wrote　to　Mrs。　Decie：　〃Forgive

me；　I　am　obliged　to　go　away。　　In　a　few　days　I　shall　hope　to　return；

and　finish　the　picture　of　your　nieces。〃



He　sent　Dominique　for　his　hat。　　During　the　man's　absence　he　was　on

the　point　of　tearing　up　the　card　and　going　back　into　the　house。



When　the　Luganese　returned　he　thrust　the　card　into　his　hand；　and

walked　out　between　the　tall　poplars；　waiting；　like　ragged　ghosts；

silver　with　moonlight。









VIII



Harz　walked　away　along　the　road。　　A　dog　was　howling。　　The　sound

seemed　too　appropriate。　　He　put　his　fingers　to　his　ears；　but　the

lugubrious　noise　passed　those　barriers；　and　made　its　way　into　his

heart。　　Was　there　nothing　that　would　put　an　end　to　this　emotion？　　It

was　no　better　in　the　old　house　on　the　wall；　he　spent　the　night

tramping　up　and　down。



Just　before　daybreak　he　slipped　out　with　a　knapsack；　taking　the　road

towards　Meran。



He　had　not　quite　passed　through　Gries　when　he　overtook　a　man　walking

in　the　middle　of　the　road　and　leaving　a　trail　of　cigar　smoke　behind

him。



〃Ah！　my　friend；〃　the　smoker　said；　〃you　walk　early；　are　you　going　my

way？〃



It　was　Count　Sarelli。　　The　raw　light　had　imparted　a　grey　tinge　to　his

pale　face；　the　growth　of　his　beard　showed　black　already　beneath　the

skin；　his　thumbs　were　hooked　in　the　pockets　of　a　closely　buttoned

coat；　he　gesticulated　with　his　fingers。



〃You　are　making　a　journey？〃　he　said；　nodding　at　the　knapsack。　　〃You

are　earlyI　am　late；　our　friend　has　admirable　kummelI　have　drunk

too　much。　　You　have　not　been　to　bed；　I　think？　　If　there　is　no　sleep

in　one's　bed　it　is　no　good　going　to　look　for　it。　　You　find　that？　　It

is　better　to　drink　kummel。。。！　　Pardon！　　You　are　doing　the　right

thing：　get　away！　　Get　away　as　fast　as　possible！　　Don't　wait；　and　let

it　catch　you！〃



Harz　stared　at　him　amazed。



〃Pardon！〃　Sarelli　said　again；　raising　his　hat；　〃that　girlthe　white

girlI　saw。　　You　do　well　to　get　away！〃　he　swayed　a　little　as　he

walked。　　〃That　old　fellowwhat　is　his　name…Trrreffr…ry！　　What　ideas

of　honour！〃　　He　mumbled：　〃Honour　is　an　abstraction！　　If　a　man　is　not

true　to　an　abstraction；　he　is　a　low　type；　but　wait　a　minute！〃



He　put　his　hand　to　his　side　as　though　in　pain。



The　hedges　were　brightening　with　a　faint　pinky　glow；　there　was　no

sound　on　the　long；　deserted　road；　but　that　of　their　footsteps；

suddenly　a　bird　commenced　to　chirp；　another　answeredthe　world

seemed　full　of　these　little　voices。



Sarelli　stopped。



〃That　white　girl；〃　he　said；　speaking　with　rapidity。　　〃Yes！　You　do

well！　get　away！　　Don't　let　it　catch　you！　　I　waited；　it　caught　me

what　happened？　　Everything　horribleand　nowkummel！〃　　Laughing　a

thick　laugh；　he　gave　a　twirl　to　his　moustache；　and　swaggered　on。



〃I　was　a　fine　fellownothing　too　big　for　Mario　Sarelli；　the　regiment

looked　to　me。　　Then　she　camewith　her　eyes　and　her　white　dress；

always　white；　like　this　one；　the　little　mole　on　her　chin；　her　hands

for　ever　movingtheir　touch　as　warm　as　sunbeams。　　Then；　no　longer

Sarelli　this；　and　that！　　The　little　house　close　to　the　ramparts！　　Two

arms；　two　eyes；　and　nothing　here；〃　he　tapped　his　breast；　〃but　flames

that　made　ashes　quicklyin　her；　like　this　ash！〃　he　flicked　the

white　flake　off　his　cigar。　　〃It's　droll！　　You　agree；　hein？　　Some　day

I　shall　go　back　and　kill　her。　　In　the　meantimekummel！〃



He　stopped　at　a　house　close　to　the　road；　and　stood　still；　his　teeth

bared　in　a　grin。



〃But　I　bore　you；〃　he　said。　　His　cigar；　flung　down；　sputtered　forth

its　sparks　on　the　road　in　front　of　Harz。　　〃I　live　heregood…morning！

You　are　a　man　for　workyour　honour　is　your　Art！　　I　know；　and　you　are

young！　　The　man　who　loves　flesh　better　than　his　honour　is　a　low　type…

…I　am　a　low　type。　　I！　Mario　Sarelli；　a　low　type！　I　love　flesh　better

than　my　honour！〃



He　remained　swaying　at　the　gate　with　the　grin　fixed　on　his　face；　then

staggered　up　the　steps；　and　banged　the　door。　　But　before　Harz　had

walked　on；　he　again　appeared；　beckoning；　in　the　doorway。　　Obeying　an

impulse；　Harz　went　in。



〃We　will　make　a　night　of　it；〃　said　SareIIi；　〃wine；　brandy；　kummel？　　I

am　virtuouskummel　it　must　be　for　me！〃



He　sat　down　at　a　piano；　and　began　to　touch　the　keys。　　Harz　poured　out

some　wine。　　Sarelli　nodded。



〃You　begin　with　that？　　Allegropiupresto！



Winebrandykummel！〃　he　quickened　the　time　of　the　tune：　〃it　is　not

too　long　a　passage；　and　this〃he　took　his　hands　off　the　keys〃comes

after。〃



Harz　smiled。



〃Some　men　do　not　kill　themselves；〃　he　said。



Sarelli；　who　was　bending　and　swaying　to　the　music　of　a　tarantella；

broke　off；　and　letting　his　eyes　rest　on　the　painter；　began　playing

Schumann's　Kinderscenen。　　Harz　leaped　to　his　feet。



〃Stop　that！〃　he　cried。



〃It　pricks　you？〃　said　Sarelli　suavely；　〃what　do　you　think　of　this？〃

he　played　again；　crouching　over　the　piano；　and　making　the　notes　sound

like　the　crying　of　a　wounded　animal。



〃For　me！〃　he　said；　swinging　round；　and　rising。



〃Your　health！　　And　so　you　don't　believe　in　suicide；　but　in　murder？

The　custom　is　the　other　way；　but　you　don't　believe　in　customs？

Customs　are　only　for　Society？〃　　He　drank　a　glass　of　kummel。　　〃You　do

not　love　Society？〃



Harz　looked　at　him　intently；　he　did　not　want　to　quarrel。



〃I　am　not　too　fond　of　other　people's　thoughts；〃　he　said　at　last；　〃I

prefer　to　think　my　own。



〃And　is　Society　never　right？　　That　poor　Society！〃



〃Society！　　What　is　Societya　few　men　in　good　coats？　　What　has　it

done　for　me？〃



Sarelli　bit　the　end　off　a　cigar。



〃Ah！〃　he　said；　〃now　we　are　coming　to　it。　　It　is　good　to　be　an　artist；

a　fine　bantam　of　an　artist；　where　other　men　have　their　dis…ci…pline；

he　has　his；　what　shall　we　sayhis　mound　of　roses？〃



The　painter　started　to　his　feet。



〃Yes；〃　said　Sarelli；　with　a　hiccough；　〃you　are　a　fine　fellow！〃



〃And　you　are　drunk！〃　cried　Harz。



〃A　little　drunknot　much；　not　enough　to　matter！〃



Harz　broke　into　laughter。　　It　was　crazy　to　stay　there　listening　to

this　mad　fellow。　　What　had　brought　him　in？　　He　moved　towards　the

door。



〃Ah！〃　said　Sarelli；　〃but　it　is　no　good　going　to　bedlet　us　talk。　　I

have　a　lot　to　sayit　is　pleasant　to　talk　to　anarchists　at　times。〃



Full　daylight　was　already　coming　through　the　chinks　of　the　shutters。



〃You　are　all　anarchists；　you　painters；　you　writing　fellows。　　You　live

by　playing　ball　with　facts。　　Imagesnothing　solid…　hein？　　You're　all

for　new　things　too；　to　tickle　your　nerves。　　No　discipline！　　True

anarchists；　every　one　of　you！〃



Harz　poured　out　another　glass　of　wine　and　drank　it　off。　　The　man's

feverish　excitement　was　catching。



〃Only　fools；〃　he　replied；　〃take　things　for　granted。　　As　for

discipline；　what　do　you　aristocrats；　or　bourgeois　know　of　discipline？

Have　you　ever　been　hungry？　　Have　you　ever　had　your　soul　down　on　its