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Updated: May 21, 2025
Anna Siebert took the cat in her arms and caressed it. Its name was Zephyr. It accompanied her wherever she went. Daniel threw himself on a chair and looked at the lamp. Zingarella, standing before the mirror, stroked the cat. Gazing distractedly into space, she remarked that the manager had discharged her because the public was no longer satisfied with her work.
Among them was Margaretta Ziesensis, a Danish lady, who painted a large number of portraits and some historical subjects. She was best known, however, for her miniature copies of the works of famous artists. These pictures were much the same in effect as the "picture-miniatures" now in vogue. Her copy of Correggio's Zingarella was much admired, and was several times repeated.
Indeed he himself became true, real, and conscious of his existence in a world of actualities. On his way home he covered his face with his hands, for the windows of the houses gaped at him like the hollow eyes of a demi-monde. Zingarella could not imagine why the strange man had left. He seemed to be quite indifferent.
Jasmina had not the shadow of a desire to perform; her sisters were equally disinclined to listen. “It is not right,” the three kept saying, when they heard of Eleanore’s visits. “It is not right.” Even Meta the maid was of the opinion that her calls were highly unconventional. As Daniel played on and merely nodded to her, Eleanore’s eyes fell on the mask of Zingarella.
There was an element of strangeness about him. Zingarella saw that he had had nothing to do with women of her kind. This tortured her; she gnashed her teeth. Daniel did not sense her hatred. As he looked into her face, marked with a life of transgression and already claimed by fate, he built up in his own soul a picture of inimitable chastity. He tried to see the playmate of a god.
Daniel was terrified; for he recalled instantaneously another occasion on which another woman had done precisely the same thing. His eye involuntarily fell on the mask of Zingarella. He was not conscious of the connection; there was no visible bridge between the two incidents; Gertrude’s face was too unlike that of its momentary prototype.
The Father looked about the room: his eyes fell on a round, wooden box lying on a chair; it looked like a cake box. “The people at home have sent you something to nibble at,” remarked the Father, as Daniel got up. Daniel riveted his eyes on the monk, took the box, hesitated for a while, and then opened it. In it, carefully packed in sawdust, was the mask of Zingarella.
Daniel saw that the mask of Zingarella had been broken to pieces. Without greeting a single person present, without even looking at a single one of them, he stepped into the circle, knelt down, and tried to put the broken pieces of the mask together. But there were too many small shreds.
Reeking as the auditorium was with the stench of stale beer, it left the impression of a dark, dank cavern. With an indifference that seemed to argue that Zingarella made no distinction between chairs and people, she took her seat between the sculptor and the writer.
"I shall take easily to love, but it will not break my heart." I am glad to hear that. "I shall cross the sea before I see London again." Ah! I am afraid not. "The end of my summer will be happier than its beginning" and that may very easily be. For that I gave my prophetess a shilling. Oh, Zingarella! my blessing on your black eyes and red-brown cheeks! May you have spoken true!...
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