VII
On their first evening in Hamburg, Crammon rented a box in the playhouse, and invited Christian, Johanna Schöntag, and Herr Livholm, one of the directors of the Lloyd, to be his guests. He had made the latter’s acquaintance in the hotel where he had gone to pay Eva a visit of welcome. He had liked the man, who cut a good figure, and so he had added him to the party in order, as he put it, to keep the atmosphere normal by the presence of an entirely neutral person.
“Social skill,” he was accustomed to say, “is not unlike skill in cookery and serving. Between two heavy, rich dishes there must be one like foam that stimulates the palate quite superficially. Otherwise the meal has no style.”
The play was a mediocre comedy, and Christian was frankly bored. Crammon thought it his duty to show a condescending and muffled amusement, and now and then he gave Christian a gentle poke, to persuade him also to show some appreciation of the performance. Johanna was the only one who was genuinely amused. The source of her amusement was an actor to whom a serious rôle had been assigned, but who talked with such silly affectation and false importance that every time he appeared she had to hold her lacy handkerchief to her lips to smother her laughter.
Occasionally Christian gave the girl a far and estranged glance. She wasn’t either agreeable or the reverse; he did not know what to make of her. This feeling of his had not changed since he had first seen her during the journey in Eva’s company.
She felt the coldness of his glance. Her merriment did not vanish; but on the lower part of her face appeared a scarcely perceptible shadow of disappointment.
As though seeking for help, she turned to Christian. “The man is terribly funny, don’t you think so?” It was characteristic of her to end a question with a negative interrogation.
“He’s certainly worth seeing,” Christian agreed politely.
The door of the box opened, and Voss entered. He was faultlessly dressed for the occasion; but no one had expected or invited him. They looked at him in astonishment. He bowed calmly and without embarrassment, stood quite still, and gave his attention to the stage.
Crammon looked at Christian. The latter shrugged his shoulders. After a while Crammon arose, and with sarcastic courtesy pointed to his seat. Voss shook his head in friendly refusal, but immediately thereafter assumed once more his air of humility and abjectness. He stammered: “I was in the stalls and looked up. I thought there was no harm in paying a visit.” Suddenly Crammon went out, and was heard quarrelling with the usher. Johanna had become serious, and looked down at the audience. Christian, as though to ward off disagreeable things, ducked his shoulders a little. The people in the near-by seats became indignant at the noise Crammon was making. Herr Livholm felt that the proper atmosphere had hardly been preserved. Amadeus Voss alone showed himself insensitive to the situation.
He stood behind Johanna, and thought: “The hair of this woman has a fragrance that turns one dizzy.” At the end of the act he withdrew, and did not return.
Late at night, when he had him alone, Crammon vented his rage on Christian. “I’ll shoot him down like a mad dog, if he tries that sort of thing again! What does the fellow think? I’m not accustomed to such manners. Damned gallow’s bird—where’d he grow up? Oh, my prophetic soul! I always distrusted people with spectacles. Why don’t you tell him to go to hell? In the course of my sinful life, I’ve come in contact with all kinds of people; I know the best and I know the dregs; but this fellow is a new type. Quite new, by God! I’ll have to take a bromide, or I won’t be able to sleep.”
“I believe you are unjust, Bernard,” answered Christian, with lowered eyes. But his face was stern, reserved, and cold.