The Love Letters
Paul Ernst
Translated by Juan LePuen
Original title: “Die Liebesbriefe”
English translation copyright 2012 by Fario
Published at Smashwords by Fario
That Isabelle has many admirers should astonish no one, of course; she is wearing a light red, velvet dress, the sleeves puffy and slit open, lined with yellow silk, and above it a purple velvet coat, open and sleeveless. When Lelio sinks to her feet and she leans gracefully over to pick him up, the old gentlemen in the parquet reach for their snuffboxes, take a quiet pinch, and wipe away a secret tear. The entire theater is breathless, and the mouths of the young men in the gallery water.
The notary, naturally, can read and write. He is one of the few members of the company with much education. People say of him that years ago he was a university student and that he became an actor out of love for an actress. The good notary was young once, too, of course, but it was so long ago that not even he has any memory of it. How old he actually is no one knows; not even the oldest members of the company can recall his looking any different from the way he looks now. The poor notary is not handsome, either. He is dressed in black, and a red handkerchief is the sole cheerful touch on his person; he has a feather behind his ear and big glasses on his nose; and to make things worse he also has a belly, not a firm, jolly, manly, strong belly that curves majestically beneath a broad chest and ruddy, healthy cheeks but a woeful potbelly that, rather than wobble when its master laughs, can never do anything but hang drearily and wretchedly down. Can the notary want Isabelle to love him? No, he can’t. But neither does he expect her to. The notary is a philosopher.
Lelio has fallen to Isabelle’s feet. Isabelle has picked him up, the old men have snapped shut the lids of their snuffboxes, the deep emotion of the audience has dissolved into thunderous applause, the young men in the gallery have stamped their feet so hard that the entire audience has to cough on account of the swirling dust, the curtain has fallen; Isabelle says to Lelio: