IV.

DOGS AND NIGHTINGALES

“I saw nothing of them till the spring, when I had a surprise visit from Mrs. Kerr, looking considerably dilapidated. ‘Ach, Ferdinand Ferdinandovich, you won’t believe what I have been through in these two months! If I were a writer like you I would write a novel in the _genre_ of Dostoevski, so true, and yet incredible, so poignant! I have begun a diary. I will bring it to you this afternoon. You can make use of it for your books.

“‘Lord de Jones lent me some money to go and have a thorough change and rest, and so Zita, Eva, John and I went to Abbazia. A lovely coast. Blue sea, sunshine, casino, roulette, _chemin de fer_, baccarat. A real change and rest for the nerves. All day we gamble, and at night dancing, flirtations. Both girls passionate gamblers, also John. But luck went against us and we found we had no more money to go on with. I pawned some of my things and we lived very comfortably for a time at the Grand Hotel--dancing, music, sea bathing twice a day and getting to know lots of very agreeable young men on the beach, and at night moonlight walks in the wood--in couples: Zita with the Italian boy; Eva with the young Dane; and I with the Spaniard Rodrigo. Or to the cinema--always in couples, Rodrigo looking at me with great passionate eyes. Very delightful and charming. When the money was exhausted, I found a post as housekeeper in a small pension overlooking the sea--very artistically situated--and Zita, Eva and John were taken in by a lady friend of Rodrigo’s, a very nice, quiet, well-read woman. I was busy all day in the kitchen which gives out into the garden, and the children, looking so gay and fresh in their white summer things, would be coming to see me all the time. And I’d say to them, “Go and play in the garden,” and I would give them things through the window, as the lady friend of Rodrigo’s could not provide them with food. “There you are, children, take this and this and this,” and I’d give them cakes, coffee, sugar, sweets, dainties, pastry, everything, and they’d take it home and eat it and come back for more. And I’d give them more through the window, all kinds of preserved meats and provisions: “Here you are, children,” and they never went short of anything while I was housekeeper there. But--but would you believe it, Fyodor Frederickovich? The landlady, seeing me give nourishment to my children, gave me the sack. If it had been for myself, I understand, but for the children! I have noticed a strange insensibility in those people, a hardness, a general--how shall I say?--unfeelingness. No love, no understanding of children. I just looked at her like that--I could say nothing. I could not have expressed what was in my heart. A feeling of sorrow, not of anger. And as I took my things and passed her on the doorstep I just turned my head to her: “In Russia this could not have been,” and went without a word.

“‘Outside, in the street, the children around me, I stop and ask: “All-wise and loving God,” I ask, “why dost Thou punish me so? _Why?_”

“‘From there I got into the Grand Hotel as “Kaffee-Köchin” and all day long I had to boil coffee, first for the clients, then for the hotel staff--all day long boil coffee and nothing but coffee. They gave me a tiny little room on the roof, overlooking an unfinished church, and at night dogs would come to sleep in that church and howl hungrily--dogs; and up in the trees, nightingales. I opened the window. Below in the square, lilac shrubs in bloom. The scent of lilac. And thoughts, like a bevy of bees, stung my heart. I remembered our dear Russia when I was a young girl, my mother a young woman, my father, my two brothers, and how I felt and how I hoped. It all came back--Pushkin, Lermontov, Tolstoy, Turgenev, Dostoevski--and hot tears streamed down my cheeks. “Dear God,” I said, “to think what was once! and what is now! Come back, days of youth, of my innocence, and hot faith in the divinity of Thy Creation, Thy Love! Vague dreams of my heart, virgin and untouched, of my unsullied soul, come back, come back!...” The breath of Spring. Dogs, an unfinished church, you know ... and those nightingales, all the night through. Dogs and nightingales.

“‘All day long I boiled coffee. I went by the name of “Frau Kaffeeköchin,” for I alone in the whole hotel was to boil coffee and I wasn’t to do anything else. From six in the morning till ten at night I boiled coffee. But at half past ten I would put on my yellow satin gown and sit out on the Casino terrace, order a vermouth, light a cigarette, and never in a thousand years would it occur to anyone that the smart, elegantly gowned, romantic-looking woman sitting out on the Casino terrace and looking, you might say, like a Queen of the Steppes, was the Frau Kaffeeköchin of the Grand Hotel. And one night as I sit there, an old beggar, sick, filthy, stenchy, all in rags, and barefoot, comes up to me. “Here, beggar,” I give him a copper, and he holds out his hand and introduces himself: “Captain of the Imperial Russian Navy, Nobleman Khan Balalykin.” Yes, Khan Balalykin--a Tartar Prince! And, do you know, Ferdinand Ferdinandovich, he fell in love with me? What am I to do? Where I go he follows me. “No,” he says, “I cannot live without you,” and looks at me with soft, love-lorn eyes. And also calls me “My Queen of the Steppes.” Or quotes a lyric from Lermontov. Well, we made a night of it, and spoke of Russia. Next morning I return to the hotel to work; he after me, right into the kitchen. “Sit down, Captain,” I say, “here is meat, bread, cheese, butter, beer. Eat and drink, it will do you good, restore your strength a bit.” He tucked in, oblivious of everything, poor old man, he looked so starved; but here the head cook, a huge great man, comes in--a great big animal with a short, thick neck, just like an ox--horrible!--an obnoxious big bully, the real cave man. And, would you believe it, Ferdinand Fyodorovich, begins to remonstrate with Captain Khan Balalykin, who is peacefully tucking in at the table? But I wasn’t going to be bullied by this ox of a man. “Don’t you dare shout at me,” I screamed, “I’m not afraid of you. I care that much for your being head cook. In Russia at one time one used to beat one’s cook when one wasn’t satisfied with him, and I, the daughter of Pàvel Yàkovlevich Sabolenko, won’t stand any of your nonsense, I can tell you!” Well, I thought this would pacify him a little. But no! The ox shouts and storms more than ever and begins to insult Captain Khan Balalykin. Well, I wasn’t going to have my guest reviled and insulted. He may look dirty and all that, which is not surprising in his sphere as a beggar, but he is a real gentleman of the old school, a captain of the Russian Navy, graduated with Honours at the Imperial Naval Academy, and the bully is a common ignorant Austrian cook. I took the big brass pan with the potatoes and crashed it to the ground: I was so angry. Well, he begins shouting madder than ever and kicks Captain Khan Balalykin out of the kitchen and then fetches in the manager and points at me and the potatoes on the floor and screams: “It’s she!” And the pair of them begin to scream at me together, though I can scream as loud as they together. “No--it’s _he!_--_he!_--_he!_” I scream, and go for both of them with my fists. Insulting a distinguished Russian officer, an old nobleman, Khan Balalykin, a graduate of the Imperial Naval Academy: I _was_ so wild!

“‘Well, do you know, Fyodor Ferdinandovich, the manager being hand in glove with the head cook, gave me the sack. I pawned my last ruby ring and we all came back this morning. In Milan we ran across Fräulein von Wiesendorf, and we all came back together.’

“‘And how is she?’ I asked.

“‘Well, it seems from all the drinking bouts during the _Fasching_ and the late hours Fräulein von Wiesendorf got the colics and a sort of nervous breakdown. Her father, who is Comptroller of Public Morals, alarmed at his daughter’s condition, called in the doctor, who examined Fräulein von Wiesendorf and found symptoms of the beginnings of consumption and ordered her _immediately_, without a moment’s loss or hesitation, at railway speed to Italy. “As fast as the train will carry you!” he said. Fräulein von Wiesendorf throws a few odd things into a bag and darts off, helter-skelter, to Italy and arrives, holus-bolus, in Genoa and as she has no means takes a post as governess to children. Nine children of assorted ages. She has to teach and feed and wash for them and take them out for walks, and the children all veritable devils, real Machiavellis, cruel, mischievous, teasing her, and the parents exigent and stingy. In a month poor Fräulein von Wiesendorf was worn to a shadow; a doctor was called in, examined her and--“Back home!” he said, “at full tilt! As fast as you can fly!” She arrived in hot haste this morning. To-morrow night we are making a last night of it, and the day after I am off to Abbazia.’

“‘What! again!’

“‘To get the ruby ring back from the pawn-shop. I’ve borrowed some money here on the strength of my caracole coat.’

“‘And how are Zita, Eva and John?’

“‘The children are so happy. As we had no quarters to go to on arrival we went and sat in the Hofpark and we’ve chummed up with four Bulgarian students: two small ones, a thin one, and a big one. The two small ones have fallen in love with Zita and Eva. the thin one with Fräulein von Wiesendorf, and the big one with me. I must be off now to look for a room for the children, and don’t forget to ask them for my diary.’”