Appassionata. A musician's story

Front matter

APPASSIONATA Popular 3/6 Novels. OAPT'N DAVY'S HONEYMOON. By Hall Caine. THE SCAPEGOAT. By Hall Caine. THE BONDMAN. By Hall Caine. THE STORY OF A PENITENT SOUL. By Adeline Sergeant. THE HEAD OF THE FIRM. By Mrs. Riddell. NOR WIFE NOR MAID. By Mrs. Hungerford. A LITTLE MINX. By Ada Cambridge. A MARKED MAN. By Ada Cambridge. THE THREE MISS KINGS. By Ada Cambridge. NOT ALL IN VAIN. By Ada Cambridge. ACCORDING TO S. JOHN. By Amelie Rives. DESPERATE REMEDIES. By Thomas Hardy. A KNIGHT OF THE WHITE FEATHER. By Tasma. UNCLE PIPER OF PIPERS HILL. By Tasma. THE MASTER OF THE MAGICIANS. By E. S. Phelps and H. D. Ward. DAUGHTERS OF MEN. By Hannah Lynch. MAMMON. By Mrs. Alexander. THE RETURN OF THE O'MAHONY. By Harold Frederic. IN THE VALLEY. By Harold Frederic. PRETTY MISS SMITH. By Florence Warden. A ROMANCE OF THE CAPE FRONTIER.

By Bertram Mitford. 'TWEEN SNOW AND FIRE. By Bertram Mitford. LONDON: WM. HEINEMANN, si, BEDFORD STREET, W.C And at all Booksellers' and Railway Books tails. APPASSIONATA A MUSICIAN'S STORY KY ELSA D'ESTERRE-KEELING AUTHOR OF 'three sisters,' 'in thoughtland and in dreamland,' 'ORCHARDSCROFT,' ETC. LONDON WILLIAM HEINEMANN 1893 [All rights reserved] l&qirtratelJ TO NELLY, MY MUSICIAN. Old Mandeville says : ' Many men have great liking to hear of strange things of divers countries' We — you and I — have been together in divers countries, and have heard of strange things, but of none stranger, I think, than this thing — the story of Anatol Denissow and his wife Selma. E. D'E.-K. TO THE READER. In giving publication to the story contained in ' Appassionata,' I am tempted to say a few words. It is not usual in these days for authors to write prefaces to their stories, though they sometimes, I observe, have prefaces written to them by other authors.

Loath as I am to trouble anyone to be apologist for me, I am also loath to publish this story without a few explanatory sentences. In writing it objectivity was aimed at, and I am alarmed to find, now that it is written, that I know not what answer I could give if asked to say with whom my sympathies lie, the wronged husband or the wronged wife who are the central characters in it. We women usually take the man's part, the men taking the woman's, and so here equilibrium is upheld ; and, perhaps, I am less inclined to refuse large sympathy to Anatol Denissow than to his wife Selma. Of both of TO THE READER viii them, it appears to me, it can only be said that they made ' a thorough mess of things,' to quote the words used by their friend Miss Olive. Per haps, if men and women did not sometimes do this, there would be no inducement to write their stories. ELSA D'ESTERRE-KEELING. APPASSIONATA

Chapter I

A LITTLE FINN. ' O, Finland ! Who knows or cares about Finland ? Not even Mr. Gladstone !' — A Lady of Kensington. SHE was most rarely beautiful, and Browning has described her, ' the face of her, the eyes of her, the lips, the little chin, the stir of shadow round her mouth.' She was standing with her face pressed against a window-pane, peering into the open. The outlook was a vast one, ending in a red evening sky, broken up by ships, or so it seemed, viewed from the low window. The poles, spars and masts of the old Finnish harbour made a grating behind which the sun glowed like a fire behind bars. The hot summer day was drawing to a close, and a light cool air, having suddenly sprung up, was whipping APPASSIONATA 2 the surface of sea and sky, making the clouds race and the waters ripple.

The little being at the window was not drinking in the beauty of it, but wore as sad a look as if all the misery in the world had at that moment come to Abo and to her. Abo, once the capital of that wonderful land which has risen, which still is rising, up out of the sea, is a city with a story. Lying on the coast of Finland, facing Sweden, and washed by island studded waters, whose every wave-beat brings a greeting from that whilom suzerain-country, it is proud, if sad, in its old memories. Here it was that Swedes and Russians met some century and a half ago to conclude the negotiations by which Sweden was made to cede her Finnish possessions to Russia. Abo has looked sadder ever since. Learning once flourished here, but fire and the powers that were leagued themselves against Abo, and her university was moved to the new capital of Helsingfors, which lies further eastward, fronting Russia, the new suzerain-land, and washed by the waters that wash St. Petersburg.

One thing Abo has kept — her sanctity : she has still her bishops. And she has still her shipping. They know three languages here: Finnish, Swedish and Russian . They are proud of their grand native poetry, which, however, they read perhaps less A LITTLE FINN 3 than we English read the poetry which Longfellow wrote in imitation of it. They say, too, that the Finnish language is of extraordinary beauty and richness, but they speak, with seeming preference, Swedish, and will probably continue to speak that language until the Russians, who are just now standing on their dignity, begin, as is their way, to stamp on it, and insist on the Russian language being spoken. Within sight, as are they of Abo, of an ever moving population, that upon the sea, they love tripping and travelling. Some of them trip to Helsingfors, some to Stockholm, some to St. Petersburg ; some of them travel to London and to Paris.

They think Helsingfors frivolous, Stockholm more frivolous, and St. Petersburg most frivolous. London they think terrible, and Paris more — most ! — terrible. To all these opinions the Doktorinna adhered. Let no one imagine that the Doktorinna had studied medicine. She was the wife of a medical man of Abo, that was all. Her mother and both her grandmothers had been the wives of medical men, and it was her boast that she could claim kin ship with some dozen Doktorinnor, living or de ceased, in Abo and the region round about. She had no children, and had adopted a niece — Selma — APPASSIONATA the child flattening her face against the window pane. In her way the Doktorinna was fond of Selma, and Selma in her way returned the feeling. Now and again the elder and the younger lady quarrelled, the one being exceedingly prim, in fact precise in every part, and the other being exceedingly unconventional, and apt to rise up against what she considered laws of decorum not brought up to date.

In fact, Selma shocked daily and hourly her aunt, and it was for what the latter regarded as a grave breach of maidenly propriety that the child had, some five minutes before station ing herself at the window in the miserable attitude already described, brought upon herself ignominious punishment in the form of a sound box on the ear, accompanied by the prophecy that, as she grew up, Abo would point the finger of scorn at her, and she would never be a Doktorinna. What a blow was there given ! The child was still smarting, both in the flesh and in the spirit, when a pleasant voice said in Russian : 'What are you doing, Selma ?'

Chapter II

A BRIAR ROSE. Compliments pass when the quality meet.' ' I WAS making a Russian nose,' was the not very courteous answer of the small Finn, as she opened the low window. Count Denissow seated himself on the ledge. He was a man of about thirty years of age, tall and strikingly handsome. A wealth of ash-coloured hair, longer than an Englishman would have approved, was brushed back from his broad open forehead, and fell thickly on his neck. Heavy brows shadowed the keen gray eyes, but the quiet mouth and strong chin were not concealed. Per haps the least satisfactory feature in the face was the nose, which was small and was depressed. ' What makes you say that, Selma ?' he asked. Selma seated herself, facing him, inside the window. APPASSIONATA ' I heard aunt say the other day that Russians had flat noses.' ' She has never been out of Abo, my dear.' ' Yes, she's silly.' The little girl, who had never been out of Abo, and had not been there for very many years, lifted her eyebrows.

The Count, flushing slightly — for the child's ready agreement with the proposition wrapt up in his remark did not invest it with much dignity — bent forward and took her face between his hands. It was an exquisite face, though soiled with childish grief, with tears that had been brushed away by murky hands, and with the dust of the window, which had tipped with black the charming nose — a Greek nose, though Selma had not a drop of Grecian blood in her veins. 'Why were you crying, my star?' he asked, gazing into the young clear eyes that met his fearlessly. Instead of answering, Selma pointed to the sun, which had dropped low in the west. He spoke again. ' Do you wish you were over there, my little friend ?' 'Yes.' ' Why ?' ' Because everything's over there.' A BRIAR ROSE 7 ' Name something.' He loosed his hold of the little face, and she clasped her hands above her head, crushing the dark hair forward. ' Stockholm is over there, Christiania is over there, London is over there, Paris is over there !' The last words were a cry, and the arms were flung apart, as a bird flings apart its wings.

She sprang from the sill and stood on the floor within the window, straining her eyes eagerly westward. It was plain that she saw the French capital in the cloud flecked sun. Count Denissow entered the room, and, standing with the child, drew her towards him. ' My little one, you are trembling ; are you ill ?' ' No, I have pain.' ' Where ?' The starry eyes darkened. ' In every bit of me : in my little toe, and in my little finger, and in my hair. It's just as if every bit of me had been whipped/ She wriggled like a little child, and shook herself in her frock as if it hurt her. His face became graver. ' My darling, what did you do ?' ' I was saucy to aunt. I said — but it doesn't matter what I said. I've thought of something much saucier I might have said.' APPASSIONATA 8 The Count bit his lips to hide a smile at the note of regret in the voice.

Selma wriggled again. ' It was only on one ear, but the pain went all over me. She hits so horridly with her big hands, andshe says ' The voice and figure suddenly came to a stand still. Tears flushed into the eyes. ' Well, sprite, what did she say ?' ' She said I shall never be a Doktorinna, but I shall !' The tears were kept back bravely, and there was a fine note of pride in the voice. Again the Count's lips quivered ; but it was only for a moment. Then a great seriousness again came to his face. ' I wish ' — he stroked the dark, heavy hair — ' I wish she wouldn't strike you ; but really, Selma ' (the tone became more and more paternal, and there was some sternness in the voice) ' you are a very naughty little girl.' ' I know I am. I'm very sorry sometimes, you know ' — confidentially — ' but don't tell.' The Count laughed outright. ' No, so disgraceful a secret must be carefully guarded.

They might begin to think you had a human heart, and were not an out-and-out Undine. How old are you, Selma?' A BRIAR ROSE 9 ' Sixteen.' ' It isn't possible !' His arm had been about the child. He with drew it. ' You needn't get disagreeable and stiff about it, like aunt. / can't help it. And it's not quite sixteen till to-morrow. I'm going to stick up my hair and be good to-morrow. Yes, really. I'm not going to be saucy again ; it's so feeble and childish. Now aunt is coming. That's her walk, clamp! clump!' — imitating the gait of a heavy middle-aged person. 'Don't you pretend to know. I shall drop down outside the window, and listen to what she says to you about me.' ' I thought you were going to stick up your hair and be good.' ' To-morrow !' came the answer in a low tone from among the flowers, and a charming little face was turned up.

Chapter III

A DELICATE ARIEL. ' Dost thou love me, master ? No ? Selma had not made her exit a moment too soon. She was settling her frock, with a view to comfort perhaps chiefly, when into the room which she had quitted there strode the Doktorinna. The Doktorinna, fair, fat, and forty, was one of the daughters of Peterkin, as described by Ander sen. Peterkin — he was of a type that is not confined to Danes, and that is very common among Suedo - Finns — had lain, the Danish dreamer avers, in a buttercup as baby, and looked so yellow and buttery round the corners of his mouth that one could not help believing that, if one cut his cheek, butter would come out of it. It was precisely the same case with the Dok torinna. ' You here, Count !' she exclaimed, extending a A DELICATE ARIEL 11 creamy hand. ' How careless the servants are !

Nobody told me of your coming.' The white brow crumpled a little, but not enough to suggest a frown. The red full lips wore a pleasant smile. The Count laughed gaily. ' I'm afraid, Doktorinna, I broke into the house like a burglar, at the window. I saw Selma within.' ' How funny of you !' The little high laugh was rather forced. One makes some allowances for a self-styled burglar who is a Count, but decorum will out. ' I wonder where Selma is now,' the lady added, the creases in her white brow deepening. The Count approached the window again. ' She is in the garden, Doktorinna. You feel the chill air, I see. I will close the window.' He looked straight before him as he suited the action to the word, quite conscious of Selma's furiously frowning brows, and also observing, though he did not appear to do so, a little bent figure stealing away from beneath the window.

A moment later Selma was sitting in the hollow of a tree. The sky, which a few minutes before had been gorgeous with banks of reddened clouds, had grown suddenly dim. Four bright bands lay beneath the sun ; all else was quiet sky. De- APPASSIONATA 12 pressing, rather. A cloud passed into the heart of the little Finn. She began to count up all the unpleasant people she knew. A melancholy pleasure, we have been told, is better than none ; nay, verily, better than most. She did not except Count Anatol Denissow. It was so thoroughly disagreeable of him to shut that window.

Chapter IV

A PROPOSAL. ' She was lovable, and he loved her.' ' Yes, it grows quite chill after sundown.' The Doktorinna spoke in Swedish, and the Count, with a courtesy that sat well on one of the conquering nation, answered her in that language, though he spoke it with difficulty, and was aware that she spoke Russian with ease. Taking the seat to which she motioned him, he said suddenly : ' I want to speak to you on an important matter, Doktorinna. I wish to marry Selma.' The Doktorinna fixed her large mild eyes on his face. ' Do you mind saying that again ?' ' Not in the least. I wish to marry Selma.' So wholly bewildered did the lady of Abo still look that the Count repeated a third time, without waiting for instructions to do so, and speaking very APPASSIONATA 14 slowly and distinctly, as if addressing a person suffering from great deafness, that he wished to marry Selma.

As dumfounded as ever, the Doktorinna looked at him with an expression of grave inquiry. Then, having been silent for more than a full minute, she asked him suddenly, as if she had just read some thing quite new in his face, if she was right in believing that he wished to marry Selma. Preserving a perfectly serious manner, the Russian assured her courteously that she had divined the truth. He begged to know if she would consent to the marriage, and, with Finnish condescension, the Doktorinna confessed that she had no great objec tion to her niece's becoming the wife of a Russian nobleman, though it had been the custom for generations past for members of her family to marry Suedo-Finns and medical men. Count Denissow kept his countenance and his temper, saying, as soon as an opportunity presented itself : ' I want you to allow me now to send Selma to school.' ' To school !

My dear Count, our Finnish girls attend school from very early childhood. They are not usually found ignorant. But ' — she changed her manner as she saw the colour rise to the face A PROPOSAL 15 of the Russian : he had heard before — as who has not ? — of the superior culture of the Finns — ' you wish, perhaps, to send Selma to a finishing school at Helsingfors ?' ' No, Doktorinna.' ' Ah ! Stockholm ? The offended Finnish lady had her revenge. ' Certainly not.' ' I think I understand.' The Doktorinna, feeling, probably, that she had gone as far as it was safe to go, smiled with her wonted affability. ' You desire, no doubt, that the future Countess should finish her schooling in St. Petersburg, your own capital.' ' Wrong again !' The Russian laughed good temperedly. ' The truth is, I am so emphatically a man of St. Petersburg that I should like the suture Countess to finish her education in Paris.

Two years would be sufficient. Then I should marry her.' Selma at this moment strolled into the room, and, balancing herself on the arm of a chair, looked from the Count to her aunt.

Chapter V. Love And

A LADY'S FOOT. 'SlT down, Selma,' the Doktorinna said, with a little flutter in her voice, ' in the chair, my dear, not outside it. I have something to tell you. Our good friend, the Count ' — Selma made what children call a face at him — ' wants to send you to school in Paris, and then — how untidy you are ! pray tie your boot-laces — then he is going to marry you.' 9 A look of astonishment passed over Selma's face. She had knelt to tie the laces, and rose. ' Is it true, Count ?' 'Yes.' ' Then I'm a grown-up. Please fasten my laces,' putting forward one foot. Much amused, the Count bent down before her, and began to fumble with the string. ' There's no tag ; I point it like gentlemen do their moustaches. You know I do, LOVE AND A LADY'S FOOT 17 aunt ' (to the scandalized Doktorinna, who frowned deeply).

The Count still fingered the frayed and knotted string. ' Shall I tell you a story, Selma ?' he asked. ' What's it about ?' ' Love and a lady's foot.' ' That sounds pretty. Yes, tell it, please.' ' There is a flower, it grows everywhere, that bursts into blossom when it comes into contact with a pretty lady's foot. Once a lady's foot made this plant burst into blossom in a man's garden, and when it was all in flower, she trod upon it — heavily.' ' How silly ! that killed it, of course.' * Yes.' ' Is that all ?' ' That's all/ ' Rather a thin little story. Where does the love come in ?' ' The name of the flower is love.' ' Now, that's the kind of story I hate. It's just like a Sunday sermon, and — what are you doing ?' — irascibly. ' Not that way.' She drew her foot back. ' First in a bow, and then in a knot ; that's the only way with laces.

That's right, thank you. I shall like to be your wife for some reasons. Am I a.panc/e now, aunt?' APPASSIONATA 18 ' Yes, my dear. I don't think you quite under stand how solemn all this is. You're very childish in many ways. Selma sat smiling at the neat laces. Count Denissow laughed. 'Yes, you are very funny, Selma. The child-face clouded. ' Don't look unhappy, dear,' he added gently. ' You're not my wife yet. First in a bow, and then in a knot.' ' I don't understand.' The child drew away from him ' No, I see you don't.' He turned from her to her aunt, and in a changed voice said to her : ' You must explain things to her, Doktorinna. So saying, he left them. ' Is he angry ?' Selma lifted a puzzled face to her aunt. ' He hasn't said good-bye to us,' she added. The Doktorinna smiled. ' You may run after him and say good-bye.' The lady of Abo was not so terribly silly, after all.

Selma ran past the Count, and placed herself before the hall-door with extended arms. It was a high, wide door, and the little figure pressed against it, with head held up and witching eyes, LOVE AND A LADY'S FOOT 19 made a wonderful picture. Count Denissow did not touch her, but stood as if spell-bound before her. She was the first to speak. ' You're not angry with me, are you ? I've come to say my proper good-bye, and to give you a kiss.' Her young soft lips touched his ; he caught her in his arms. ' My darling ! don't you understand at all ?' On that same evening Selma did up her hair.

Chapter VI

A PACKET OF LETTERS. ' The quarrel is a very pretty quarrel as it stands.' Count Denissow and the Doktorinna were chat ting. It would be difficult to say which bored the other more. The Doktorinna had made several comments on the obvious, and the Count had ex hausted every topic, native and foreign, which it appeared to him could have any interest for the Doktorinna. The thoughts of both were occupied with Selma, but each, in courtesy to the other, en larged on general subjects, while both listened eagerly for the quick light step. Ten, fifteen minutes passed. Then at last some one approached the room, someone with a slow, measured tread that matched well the cautious opening of the door. A servant, no doubt, sent by Selma to say that she was not pleased to grant an audience this forenoon.

The Count visibly A PACKET OF LETTERS 21 chafed, but only for an instant. Then his look of disappointment and annoyance gave way to one of absolute astonishment. Through the carefully opened door there entered asmall person in a lengthened frock with elaborately dressed hair, and head held breathlessly erect. The Doktorinna rose and went into the adjoining room, her shoulders shaking with amusement. The Count, with an effort keeping serious, said, as the wonderful little figure came towards him, drifting rather than walking, with eyes set and almost like those of a sleep-walker : 'You are coming towards me very slowly, Selma.' ' I can't walk quickly, Count ; my dress blocks up my feet, and my hair comes down.' ' Don't call me Count ; stick up your dress, and let your hair come down.' Selma promptly began to bunch up her skirt, drawing it through the dark silk sash that was knotted about her waist.

In excess of energy she looped it here and there so high as to show a dainty blue petticoat. Meanwhile the Count had not solved the mystery of the headdress. ' Tell me, Selma,' he said, laughing, ' how much iron have you in your head ?' ' I stuck in a whole boxful.' APPASSIONATA 22 Selma put up her hands and detached some dozen pins in an instant. The short, wayward hair began to bristle, and a determined shake of the head sent a shower of pins upon the carpetless floor. ' Don't mind ; I'll pick them up. What am I to call you, Count ?' This with bent face. ' By my name, of course.' The face was lifted in a moment ' / call you — Ana ' The Count pretended to misunderstand. ' No, no, you mustn't call me Anna, please ; but I want you, my little love, to call me Anatol.' ' I shall find that hard at first.

You must let me practise it with my aunt or the miss. I shall call you for the present just you.' She paused for a minute, then exclaimed ' Count !' ' I thought you were going to call me just you.' ' Yes, but I can't begin a talk with that. Please don't smile.' She was sitting on a high chair, making a charming picture from little black crown to little black shoe, the darkness that pre vailed in herself and her dress being set off by glimpses of blue. ' I want you to be earnest.' A PACKET OF LETTERS 23 The Count sat down beside the quaint creature, and looked tenderly into the young face that quivered with excitement. 'I am quite earnest, Selma. What is it?' ' It's just this, Count. You mustn't mind my saying " Count," please' — this with raised finger. ' My aunt says, now that you're going to marry me, I should talk sensibly with you.' 'Yes, dear.' ' Well, I've a lot of things to tell you,' kicking off one shoe. ' Don't lift it up, please, because I shall be doing that all the time.

I always kick off my shoes when I'm flustered.' The other shoe fell with a sharp noise. ' There now, they're both gone,' crossing the neat feet, and stowing them away. 'What was I saying before? Oh, I remember ! I want you to know everything, of course. Well, I suppose you see those silly letters over there.' ' I see some letters,' the Count replied cour teously ; but he started. The letters to which Selma pointed formed a big packet. Was the strange child a flirt? Had she written love letters ? His face darkened. Selma got off the chair, picked up her shoes, and put them on again. APPASSIONATA 24 ' Now I'm going away, because you look terrible.' ' No, my love. Explain this to me. What does it mean ?' ' They're only silly letters. You may read them.' The child flushed hotly.

Chapter VII. Much Ado

' Here it is — an incendiary letter.' The Count went over to the writing-table, loosened the packet, and began to read one of the letters. It was written in a bad, childish hand — a downhill hand that told of sorrows to come. It began : ' My beautiful dear Hendrik, ' I do so love you, every bit of you ; the H and the E and the N and the D and the R and the I and the K.' ' Oh, this is too nonsensical, Selma ! I did not think you could be so foolish. I hope you will never write to me like that.' ' No — never — Count !' The slow, distinct words were chillingly cold, and the small white teeth, set angrily, shone through the parted lips, as the girl looked into APPASSIONATA 26 the Russian's face with proud eyes. She was sitting again ; her feet were joined together with a child's rigidity of attitude, her hands were clenched in her lap. 'And what will you write to me?' the Count asked, in some alarm. ' I shall write ' She threw back her head with a superb gesture.

She was speaking in Russian. ' I shall write ' (she here lapsed into English, spoken with a queer accent) : 'Sis, ' To practise me in English I write to you this letter. I hope that you are finding yourself in good health. I make my compliments to you. My aunt also, the old fat, makes to you her compliments. I write no more to-day, sir. I hope that I have make no faults. ' Believe you me, 'Faithfully to you, ' Selma Excepting for the qualifying clause, ' the old fat ' in the case of her aunt, and the ludicrously foreign construction throughout, this was a wofully stately letter, and the Count felt to the full the irony in it. ' You think me a mere pedant,' he said, hitting MUCH ADO 27 the truth. ' My dear little love, that would be a very dreadful letter to receive.' Selma still looked at him with burning cheeks. ' Oh, I shall write very sensible letters to — you.' The Count winced, and continued to read the letter in his hand.

It was certainly not very sensible. ' How old, my dear Selma, is this fascinating Hendrik ?' Selma's two shoes fell off, an annoying thing to happen just when she was making an effort to appear completely at her ease. ' I make him thirty,' she said, and pursed her lips. The Count stole a look at her. What an exceed ingly grown-up answer ! ' Indeed ! What — what is he ?' ' He's a poet.' Selma stole a look at the Count. ' H'm ! A— Finnish— poet ?' 'No.' Selma put out first one toe, and then the other ; then, with the little shoes hanging on her up turned feet, said : ' A Swede.' ' Where does he live ? The small, high heels made a click on the floor as the feet settled into their places. APPASSIONATA ' Nowhere.' ' That can hardly be true, Selma.' ' It is true.' ' You mean to say The Count sat down on a chair by the table. ' Remain sitting where you are, and don't look at me.' Selma rose, walked over to him, and stood behind him. ' Look straight at that picture of grandfather.' Thoroughly annoyed and furiously jealous by this time, the Count had some difficulty in keeping his gaze fixed on the genial but, to him, not particularly interesting face of the old doctor.