door; and then a little old man came shuffling into the room, dressed in a plum-colored dress-coat with black buttons, a high white choker, short nankeen trousers, and dark blue stockings. His small face was hardly visible from the quantity of irongray hair that fell over it. His hair stood high on the top of his head and hung in straggling locks, giving him very much the appearance of a ruffled hen, more especially so, as the only features to be distinguished from beneath this mass of irongray were his sharp nose and round yellow eyes. "Louisa can run, and I can not,” continued the old man in Italian, looking down at his large gouty feet clad in high shoes with bows; "but here, I have brought some water." He held the neck of a bottle, grasped in his shriveled bony fingers. "But Emile may die in the mean while!" exclaimed the young girl, turning to Sanin for assistance. "O sir! can you not help him in any way?" "He must be bled-he has a fit," interposed old Pantaleone. Although Sanin had no knowledge whatever of medicine, one thing he did know that boys of fourteen were not subject to fits. "He has only fainted, it is no fit," he said, addressing Pantaleone. "Have you any brushes ?" The old man raised his face in astonishment, and said abruptly, "What ?" "Brushes, brushes," repeated Sanin in German and French. "Clothes-brushes," he added, brushing his own coat with his hand. The old man understood him at last. "Brushes! spazzette! of course we have brushes!" "Give them here then; we must take off his coat and rub him." "Benone! But will you not put any water on his head ?" "No, we shall do that afterward; go and fetch the brushes." Pantaleone placed the bottle on the floor, ran out of the room, and returned with a couple of brushes, one a hair-brush, the other a clothes-brush. A curly poodle followed him, wagging his tail furiously and looking up inquiringly at the old man, the young girl, and even at Sanin, as though anxious to know what all the excitement was about. Sanin took the coat off the boy very gently, turned his own shirt-sleeves up, and, taking the clothes-brush, commenced rubbing his chest and hands with all his strength. Pantaleone used the same energy with the hair-brush, along the boy's trousers and boots, while the young girl knelt by the side of the sofa, holding her brother's head in both her hands, and never taking her eyes off his face, into which she gazed anxiously and lovingly. Sanin, while thus occupied, watched the young girl furtively. "Heavens! what a lovely creature," he inwardly ejaculated. III. Her nose was not small, but handsomely shaped, and her upper lip was covered with a soupçon of down, while her complexion was of a clear olive; her wavy hair, like that of Allori's Judith in the Palazzo Pitti, and more especially her eyes, deep gray with a dark rim beneath the lashes-such beautiful eyes, though at the moment overclouded by fear and grief, still radiantly triumphant eyes-carried him back in imagination to that glorious country from whence he was now returning. . . . Even in Italy he had never seen eyes to rival those he now gazed at. The young girl breathed slowly and irregu larly, and between each breath she drew, she seemed to listen and wait for a breath to escape her brother's lips. Sanin still kept rubbing the boy, and occasionally watching the old man, whose original appearance attracted his attention. Old Pantaleone had exhausted his strength and was breathing with great difficulty; each time he lifted the brush he gave a little jump and groan, and his locks of hair, saturated with perspiration, fell to and fro about his face, like the root of some big tree washed by the water. "Draw off his boots," Sanin was about to say to him, when the dog, unable to comprehend the nature of the disturbance, gave vent to his feelings in a loud bark. "Tartaglia, canaglia!" growled the old man in a low voice. At that instant a change came over the young girl's face. She raised her dark eyebrows, and her large eyes sparkled with happiness. Sanin turned to the boy-a color had come to his face, his nostrils were moving, and a sigh escaped through his still firmly closed teeth. 1873. SPRING FLOODS.、 "Emile," she cried, "Emilio mio!" A pair of large black eyes opened very There was still a vacant look gradually. in them, but nevertheless they smiled, though faintly, and the smile reached his pale lips. He moved the hand that hung on his over the sofa and placed it breast. the young girl, "Emilio !" repeated raising herself from the floor; and such a forcible and vivid expression flashed across her face, that she seemed on the point of either bursting into tears or into a fit of laughter. Emile!" ex"Emile! What is it? claimed a voice from the other room, and a lady, very neatly dressed, with silver-gray hair and dark complexion, entered the room very quietly. An elderly man was following in her footsteps, while the head of a maid-servant peered from behind his shoulders. The young girl rushed to meet them. "He is saved, mother, he is alive!" she exclaimed convulsively, embracing the lady who had come into the room. "But what has happened ?" she asked. "I return home and meet the doctor and Louisa The young girl began to relate all that had occurred, while the doctor approached the sick boy, who was regaining consciousness every minute, and was still smiling: he appeared to begin to feel sensible of the trouble he had caused. "I see you have been rubbing him now we done. shall see what else can He felt the boy's pulse. show me your tongue!" and "Hem! now The old lady bent over the boy anxiously. He smiled more brightly than before, and raised his eyes to her face and blushed. It struck Sanin that his presence was now no more required, so he passed back into the shop; but his hand had hardly turned the handle of the street-door, when the young girl again appeared before him and stopped him. "You are going away," she began, looking kindly into his face; "I do not wish to detain you now, but you must promise to come to us this evening; we are so much indebted to you-you have been the means, perhaps, of saving my brother's life-we wish to thank you, and so does "But I leave for Berlin to-day," stam- "But you will still have time," continued now. What could Sanin do? "Yes, I shall come," he answered. IV. When he returned to Roselli's, after the lapse of an hour and a half, he was welcomed as one of the family. Emilio was sitting on the same sofa on which he had been rubbed; the doctor had prescribed some medicine, and had advised the patient to be kept very quiet, as he was of a very nervous temperament and had a tendency to heart-disease. He had always been subject to fainting fits, but never to such a violent one as this had been. The doctor, however, had declared him to be out of danger. Emile was dressed, as became an invalid, in an ample dressing-gown; his moneck, and he looked as gay and lively as And every ther had wound a blue scarf round his though he were at a feast. In front of the sofa, on a thing indeed in the room had a festive appearance. round table, covered with a clean cloth and surrounded by cups, decanters with sirup, biscuits and buns, and even flowers, stood a high china coffee-pot; six wax candles burned in two old-fashioned silver candelabras. On one side of the sofa stood a soft, enticing, Voltaire arm-chair, sented to Sanin. All the inmates of the and this comfortable seat was at once prepastry-cook shop, whose acquaintance he had made that day, were present, not even excluding the poodle Tartaglia and the cat: sneezed with pleasure, and the cat kept all seemed unspeakably happy; the dog purring and clawing the chair as it had When he andone before. Sanin was called upon to and what his name was. explain who he was, from whence he came, nounced that he was a Russian, both the ladies looked surprised, and even gave a cry of astonishment, and exclaimed in one voice, that his pronunciation of German was excellent, but that if he preferred speaking in French he might do so, as they also understood that language and spoke it. Sanin at once took advantage of the proposal. "Sanin! Sanin!" The ladies had no idea that a Russian name could be so easy to pronounce. His Christian name, "Dimitri," sounded very pleasantly to them. The elder of the two ladies informed him that in her youth she had heard a beautiful opera called "Demetrio e Polibio"-but she thought "Dimitri" was much prettier than " Demetrio." This kind of conversation continued for about an hour. Then the ladies enlightened Sanin on all the details of their own life. The mother, the lady with the silver-gray hair, was the most talkative of all. She told Sanin her name was Lenore Roselli; that she was the widow of Giovanni Battista Roselli, who twenty-five years ago had settled in Frankfort as a confectioner; that Giovanni Battista was a native of Vicenza, and was a very good man, although rather passionate and presumptuous, and moreover a Republican! With these words, Madam Roselli pointed to the departed Giovanni's portrait, which hung in oil colors over the sofa. It was evident that the artist-"also a Republican!" as the old lady remarked with a sigh-had not been successful in catching the likeness, as in his portrait the late Giovanni Battista had all the features of a fierce-looking brigand-not unlike Rinaldo Rinaldini! She, herself, was a native of that "ancient and beautiful town of Padua, celebrated for its wonderful cupola, painted by the immortal Correggio!" But from her löng sojourn in Germany she had become almost entirely Germanized. Then she added, shaking her head mournfully, all that was left to her now, was this daughter and this son, (pointing to each by turns with her finger;) that her daughter was called Gemma, and her son Emilio; that they were both very good and obedient children, especially Emilio . . . ("Am I not also obedient ?" asked her daughter.-"Oh! thou art likewise a Republican!" answered her mother;) that of course her business was not as profitable as it had been during the life of her husband, who had understood his trade thoroughly... (“Un grand' uomo!" put in Pantaleone with energy;) still, thank God, they had sufficient to live on! V Gemma listened to her mother-now laughing, now sighing, now patting her shoulder, now lifting her finger at her in reproof, now looking at Sanin; at last she rose, put her arms round her mother's neck, and kissed her. Pantaleone was also presented to Sanin. It appeared that at one time he had been an opera-singer, but had long since thrown up his theatrical profession, and was now filling the post of friend and servant in the Roselli family. Notwithstanding his long stay in Germany, he had learnt but very little of the language, and could only scold in it, and even on these occasions he twisted the abusive words most unmercifully. "Ferroflucto spicebubio!" was the term he applied to almost every German. But his pronunciation of Italian was perfect-he having been born in Sinigalia, where you hear the "lingua toscana in bocca romana !" Emilio was apparently luxuriating on the sofa and abandoning himself to the pleasant sensations of one escaped from danger or recovering from an illness; besides, it was not difficult to perceive that all the household petted him. He thanked Sanin in a very shy way, and seemed more especially to be absorbed in the consumption of syrup and sweetmeats. Sanin was forced to drink two large cups of excellent chocolate, and to eat a considerable number of biscuits; he had barely time to swallow one, when Gemma would offer him another and to refuse her was an utter impossibility! He soon felt himself at home, and the time flew with incredible quickness. He had to relate a great deal to themabout Russia in particular, about the Russian climate, Russian society, the Russian peasant, and more especially about the Cossacks; also about the war of 1812, about Peter the Great, about the Kremlin, the Russian songs, and bells in Russia. Both the ladies had a very faint notion of our vast and distant country. Madam Roselli, or, as she was more frequently called, Frau Lenore, threw Sanin into great consternation by asking him whether that celebrated house of ice still existed which was erected in St. Petersburg during the last century, and concerning which she had read, not long since, such an interesting article in one of her husband's books: 1873. 66 SPRING FLOODS. In answer to his exBellezze delle arti. clamation: "Do you really suppose we never have summer in Russia ?" Frau Lenore replied, that she had hitherto imagined Russia thus eternal snow, every one walking about in fur cloaks, and all military men-but that hospitality in Russia was extreme, and that all the peasants Sanin strove to imwere very obedient ! part to her and to her daughter more accurate information about Russia. When the conversation turned to Russian music, he was immediately begged to sing some Russian air, and they pointed to a small piano with black keys where they should He have been white, and vice versa. obeyed without any preamble, and accompanying himself with a couple of fingers of his right hand and with three of his left, (his forefinger, middle one, and thumb,) he sang in a small nasal tenor voice, first of all, Sarafan," then "Po ulitsie mostovoi," ("Along the village road.") The ladies praised his voice and the music, but were most of all enchanted with the sweetness and sonorousness of the Russian language, and begged he would translate the texts of Sanin did as he was asked; the songs. but as the words " Sarafan," and especially "Po ulitsie mostovoi," ("On a paved street a young girl went for water"—it was thus he translated the original,) could not inspire his audience with a very grand conception of Russian poetry, he first of all recited, then sang, Pushkin's " Ya pomniu tchudnoe mgnovanie," ("I remember a moment of bliss,") set to music by Glinka, the minor parts of which he sang rather falsely. The ladies were in ecstasies. Frau Lenore even discovered in the Russian language a wonderful resemblance to Italian. "Mgnovanie" (moment) sounded like "o vieni," (with me) like "siam noi," so mnoi Even the names of Pushkin (she etc., etc. pronounced it Pussekin) and Glinka reSanin, minded her of her own country. in his turn, prayed they would sing him something, and they also stood on no ceremony. Frau Lenore seated herself at the piano, and together with Gemma sang a few short duets and "Stornello." The mother must have had in her youth a good contralto voice; the daughter's was rather weak, but nevertheless very agreeable. 66 what far back and thought to himself that spect. Here "That was a man indeed!" he "Never did the great Garcia—il cried. gran Garcia-lower himself to that extent as to sing in a falsetto voice, as do the present petty tenors of the day. His voice came rolling from his chest, always from his chest, voce di petto si !" and here the old man struck his chest with his shriveled little fist! "And what an actor! A volcano, signori miei, a volcano, un Vesuvio! I had the honor and the happiness of singing with him in an opera dell' illustrissimo maestro Rossini-in Otello! Garcia was Otello—I was Iago—and when he uttered those words. fiercely out of his small bright eyes, he more than ever resembled a bird, an angry one too-a crow or a vulture. Then Emile, blushing suddenly, as spoilt children are wont to do, turned to his sister and said that, if she wished her visitor to be amused, the best thing she could do would be to read one of Maltz's small comedies, which she read so well. Gemma laughed, tapped her brother gently on the hand, and exclaimed that he was always inventing something of the kind! Nevertheless, she went straight to her room, and, returning with a small book in her hand, placed herself at the table before the lamp, looked around her, lifted up her finger as though to say, "Now silence!"-a purely Italian gesture-and began reading. VII. Maltz was a Frankfort author of thirty years' standing, who in his short and lightly Then he, like lightning, like a tiger, sang sketched comedies, written in the local out The old man attempted an extraordinary kind of fioritura, and broke down on the tenth note, and giving an impatient wave of the hand, turned away, muttering, Why do you torment me ?" Gemma instantly sprang from her chair, and applauding loudly with both hands and crying, Bravo! bravo! ran up to the poor old pensioned Iago and patted him kindly on the shoulders. Emile alone laughed pitilessly. Cet age est sans pitié-this age knows no pity, was said long ago by La Fontaine. Sanin strove to console the aged bard, and opened out a fresh conversation with him in Italian-(he had picked up a little of the language during his last journey.) He spoke of the paese del Dante, dove il si suona. This phrase and another-Lasciate ogni speranza-formed the whole extent of this young tourist's Italian poetical knowledge; but Pantaleone entirely ignored his deficiencies. Burying his chin still deeper into his neck-cloth, and staring dialect, brought forth, in an amusing and bold, though not profoundly humorous. manner, the different types of Frankfort. Gemma's reading proved to be really very good-quite artistic. Her face reflected each character to perfection, and she gave full scope to all her powers of mimicry, which she had inherited with her Italian blood: showing no mercy either for her delicate voice or her lovely face, she made the most laughable grimaces, screwed up her eyes, puckered up her nose, lisped, squeaked when she had to impersonate a decrepit, mad old woman, or a silly burgomaster. She, herself, never laughed while reading; but when her audience (excepting, it is true, Pantaleone, who withdrew indignantly as soon as the discourse turned to quel ferroflucto Tedesco) interrupted her by outbursts of loud laughter, she, dropping the book on her knees, would join them in their merriment, laughing in silvery tones, with her head thrown back, and her black curls dancing in soft ringlets down her neck and shoulders. When the laughter ceased, she instantly lifted her book, her features assumed their proper character, and she would continue reading gravely. Sanin could not admire her sufficiently; what puzzled him most of all was the magic power by which so lovely and ideal a face was so suddenly transformed into such comical and, at times, almost trivial |