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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The First Violin, by Jessie Fothergill
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The First Violin
+       A Novel
+
+Author: Jessie Fothergill
+
+Release Date: June 25, 2009 [EBook #29219]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIRST VIOLIN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Alicia Williams, D. Alexander and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE FIRST VIOLIN
+
+ _A NOVEL._
+
+ BY JESSIE FOTHERGILL,
+
+ _Author of "A March in the Ranks," Etc._
+
+     *       *       *       *       *
+
+ NEW YORK
+ THE FEDERAL BOOK COMPANY
+ PUBLISHERS
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST VIOLIN.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+MISS HALLAM.
+
+
+"Wonderful weather for April!" Yes, it certainty was wonderful. I fully
+agreed with the sentiment expressed at different periods of the day by
+different members of my family; but I did not follow their example and
+seek enjoyment out-of-doors--pleasure in that balmy spring air.
+Trouble--the first trouble of my life--had laid her hand heavily upon
+me. The world felt disjointed and all upside-down; I very helpless and
+lonely in it. I had two sisters, I had a father and a mother; but none
+the less was I unable to share my grief with any one of them; nay, it
+had been an absolute relief to me when first one and then another of
+them had left the house, on business or pleasure intent, and I, after
+watching my father go down the garden-walk, and seeing the gate close
+after him, knew that, save for Jane, our domestic, who was caroling
+lustily to herself in the kitchen regions, I was alone in the house.
+
+I was in the drawing-room. Once secure of solitude, I put down the
+sewing with which I had been pretending to employ myself, and went to
+the window--a pleasant, sunny bay. In that window stood a small
+work-table, with a flower-pot upon it containing a lilac primula. I
+remember it distinctly to this day, and I am likely to carry the
+recollection with me so long as I live. I leaned my elbows upon this
+table, and gazed across the fields, green with spring grass, tenderly
+lighted by an April sun, to where the river--the Skern--shone with a
+pleasant, homely, silvery glitter, twining through the smiling meadows
+till he bent round the solemn overhanging cliff crowned with mournful
+firs, which went by the name of the Rifted or Riven Scaur.
+
+In some such delightful mead might the white-armed Nausicaa have
+tossed her cowslip balls among the other maids; perhaps by some such
+river might Persephone have paused to gather the daffodil--"the fateful
+flower beside the rill." Light clouds flitted across the sky, a waft of
+wind danced in at the open window, ruffling my hair mockingly, and
+bearing with it the deep sound of a church clock striking four.
+
+As if the striking of the hour had been a signal for the breaking of a
+spell, the silence that had prevailed came to an end. Wheels came
+rolling along the road up to the door, which, however, was at the other
+side of the house. "A visitor for my father, no doubt," I thought
+indifferently; "and he has gone out to read the funeral service for a
+dead parishioner. How strange! I wonder how clergymen and doctors can
+ever get accustomed to the grim contrasts amid which they live!"
+
+I suffered my thoughts to wander off in some such track as this, but
+they were all through dominated by a heavy sense of oppression--the
+threatening hand of a calamity which I feared was about to overtake me,
+and I had again forgotten the outside world.
+
+The door was opened. Jane held it open and said nothing (a trifling
+habit of hers, which used to cause me much annoyance), and a tall woman
+walked slowly into the room. I rose and looked earnestly at her,
+surprised and somewhat nervous when I saw who she was--Miss Hallam, of
+Hallam Grange, our near neighbor, but a great stranger to us,
+nevertheless, so far, that is, as personal intercourse went.
+
+"Your servant told me that every one was out except Miss May," she
+remarked, in a harsh, decided voice, as she looked not so much at me as
+toward me, and I perceived that there was something strange about her
+eyes.
+
+"Yes; I am sorry," I began, doubtfully.
+
+She had sallow, strongly marked, but proud and aristocratic features,
+and a manner with more than a tinge of imperiousness. Her face, her
+figure, her voice were familiar, yet strange to me--familiar because I
+had heard of her, and been in the habit of occasionally seeing her from
+my very earliest childhood; strange, because she was reserved and not
+given to seeing her neighbors' houses for purposes either of gossip or
+hospitality. I was aware that about once in two years she made a call at
+our house, the vicarage, whether as a mark of politeness to us, or to
+show that, though she never entered a church, she still chose to lend
+her countenance and approval to the Establishment, or whether merely out
+of old use and habit, I knew not. I only knew that she came, and that
+until now it had never fallen to my lot to be present upon any of those
+momentous occasions.
+
+Feeling it a little hard that my coveted solitude should thus be
+interrupted, and not quite knowing what to say to her, I sat down and
+there was a moment's pause.
+
+"Is your mother well?" she inquired.
+
+"Yes, thank you, very well. She has gone with my sister to Darton."
+
+"Your father?"
+
+"He is well too, thank you. He has a funeral this afternoon."
+
+"I think you have two sisters, have you not?"
+
+"Yes; Adelaide and Stella."
+
+"And which are you?"
+
+"May; I am the second one."
+
+All her questions were put in an almost severe tone, and not as if she
+took very much interest in me or mine. I felt my timidity increase, and
+yet--I liked her. Yes, I felt most distinctly that I liked her.
+
+"May," she remarked, meditatively; "May Wedderburn. Are you aware that
+you have a very pretty north-country sounding name?"
+
+"I have not thought about it."
+
+"How old are you?"
+
+"I am a little over seventeen."
+
+"Ah! And what do you do all day?"
+
+"Oh!" I began, doubtfully, "not much, I am afraid, that is useful or
+valuable."
+
+"You are young enough yet. Don't begin to do things with a purpose for
+some time to come. Be happy while you can."
+
+"I am not at all happy," I replied, not thinking of what I was saying,
+and then feeling that I could have bitten my tongue out with vexation.
+What could it possibly matter to Miss Hallam whether I were happy or
+not? She was asking me all these questions to pass the time, and in
+order to talk about something while she sat in our house.
+
+"What makes you unhappy? Are your sisters disagreeable?"
+
+"Oh, no!"
+
+"Are your parents unkind?"
+
+"Unkind!" I echoed, thinking what a very extraordinary woman she was and
+wondering what kind of experience hers could have been in the past.
+
+"Then I can not imagine what cause for unhappiness you can have," she
+said, composedly.
+
+I made no answer. I repented me of having uttered the words, and Miss
+Hallam went on:
+
+"I should advise you to forget that there is such a thing as
+unhappiness. You will soon succeed."
+
+"Yes--I will try," said I, in a low voice, as the cause of my
+unhappiness rose up, gaunt, grim and forbidding, with thin lips curved
+in a mocking smile, and glittering, snake-like eyes fixed upon my face.
+I shivered faintly; and she, though looking quickly at me, seemed to
+think she had said enough about my unhappiness. Her next question
+surprised me much.
+
+"Are you fair in complexion?" she inquired.
+
+"Yes," said I. "I am very fair--fairer than either of my sisters. But
+are you near-sighted?"
+
+"Near sight_less_," she replied, with a bitter little laugh. "Cataract.
+I have so many joys in my life that Providence has thought fit to temper
+the sunshine of my lot. I am to content myself with the store of
+pleasant remembrances with which my mind is crowded, when I can see
+nothing outside. A delightful arrangement. It is what pious people call
+a 'cross,' or a 'visitation,' or something of that kind. I am not pious,
+and I call it the destruction of what little happiness I had."
+
+"Oh, I am very, very sorry for you," I answered, feeling what I spoke,
+for it had always been my idea of misery to be blind--shut away from the
+sunlight upon the fields, from the hue of the river, from all that "lust
+of the eye" which meets us on every side.
+
+"But are you quite alone?" I continued. "Have you no one to--"
+
+I stopped; I was about to add, "to be kind to you--to take care of you?"
+but I suddenly remembered that it would not do for me to ask such
+questions.
+
+"No, I live quite alone," said she, abruptly. "Did you think of offering
+to relieve my solitude?"
+
+I felt myself burning with a hot blush all over my face as I stammered
+out:
+
+"I am sure I never thought of anything so impertinent, but--but--if
+there was anything I could do--read or--"
+
+I stopped again. Never very confident in myself, I felt a miserable
+sense that I might have been going too far. I wished most ardently that
+my mother or Adelaide had been there to take the weight of such a
+conversation from my shoulders. What was my surprise to hear Miss Hallam
+say, in a tone quite smooth, polished, and polite:
+
+"Come and drink tea with me to-morrow afternoon--afternoon tea I mean.
+You can go away again as soon as you like. Will you?"
+
+"Oh, thank you. Yes, I will."
+
+"Very well. I shall expect you between four and five. Good-afternoon."
+
+"Let me come with you to your carriage," said I, hastily. "Jane--our
+servant is so clumsy."
+
+I preceded her with care, saw her seated in her carriage and driven
+toward the Grange, which was but a few hundred yards from our own gates,
+and then I returned to the house. And as I went in again, my
+companion-shadow glided once more to my side with soft, insinuating,
+irresistible importunity, and I knew that it would be my faithful
+attendant for--who could say how long?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+"Traversons gravement cette m�chante mascarade qu'on appelle le monde"
+
+
+The houses in Skernford--the houses of "the gentry," that is to say--lay
+almost all on one side an old-fashioned, sleepy-looking "green" toward
+which their entrances lay; but their real front, their pleasantest
+aspect, was on their other side, facing the river which ran below, and
+down to which their gardens sloped in terraces. Our house, the vicarage,
+lay nearest the church; Miss Hallam's house, the Grange, furthest from
+the church. Between these, larger and more imposing, in grounds beside
+which ours seemed to dwindle down to a few flower-beds, lay Deeplish
+Hall, whose owner, Sir Peter Le Marchant, had lately come to live there,
+at least for a time.
+
+It was many years since Sir Peter Le Marchant, whose image at this time
+was fated to enter so largely and so much against my will into all my
+calculations, had lived at or even visited his estate at Skernford. He
+was a man of immense property, and report said that Deeplish Hall, which
+we innocent villagers looked upon as such an imposing mansion, was but
+one and not the grandest of his several country houses. All that I knew
+of his history--or rather, all that I had heard of it, whether truly or
+not, I was in no position to say--was but a vague and misty account; yet
+that little had given me a dislike to him before I ever met him.
+
+Miss Hallam, our neighbor, who lived in such solitude and retirement,
+was credited with having a history--if report had only been able to fix
+upon what it was. She was popularly supposed to be of a grim and
+decidedly eccentric disposition. Eccentric she was, as I afterward
+found--as I thought when I first saw her. She seldom appeared either in
+church or upon any other public occasion, and was said to be the deadly
+enemy of Sir Peter Le Marchant and all pertaining to him. There was some
+old, far-back romance connected with it--a romance which I did not
+understand, for up to now I had never known either her or Sir Peter
+sufficiently to take any interest in the story, but the report ran that
+in days gone by--how far gone by, too, they must have been!--Miss
+Hallam, a young and handsome heiress, loved very devotedly her one
+sister, and that sister--so much was known as a fact--had become Lady Le
+Marchant: was not her monument in the church between the Deeplish Hall
+and the Hallam Grange pews? Was not the tale of her virtues and her
+years--seven-and-twenty only did she count of the latter--there
+recorded? That Barbara Hallam had been married to Sir Peter was matter
+of history: what was not matter of history, but of tradition which was
+believed in quite as firmly, was that the baronet had ill-treated his
+wife--in what way was not distinctly specified, but I have since learned
+that it was true; she was a gentle creature, and he made her life
+miserable unto her. She was idolized by her elder sister, who, burning
+with indignation at the treatment to which her darling had been
+subjected, had become, even in disposition, an altered woman. From a
+cheerful, open-hearted, generous, somewhat brusque young person, she had
+grown into a prematurely old, soured, revengeful woman. It was to her
+that the weak and injured sister had fled; it was in her arms that she
+had died. Since her sister's death, Miss Hallam had withdrawn entirely
+from society, cherishing a perpetual grudge against Sir Peter Le
+Marchant. Whether she had relations or none, friends or acquaintance
+outside the small village in which she lived, none knew. If so, they
+limited their intercourse with her to correspondence, for no visitor
+ever penetrated to her damp old Grange, nor had she ever been known to
+leave it with the purpose of making any journey abroad. If perfect
+silence and perfect retirement could hush the tongues of tradition and
+report, then Miss Hallam's story should have been forgotten. But it was
+not forgotten. Such things never do become forgotten.
+
+It was only since Sir Peter had appeared suddenly some six weeks ago at
+Deeplish Hall, that these dry bones of tradition had for me quickened
+into something like life, and had acquired a kind of interest for me.
+
+Our father, as vicar of the parish, had naturally called upon Sir Peter,
+and as naturally invited him to his house. His visits had begun by his
+coming to lunch one day, and we had speculated about him a little in
+advance, half jestingly, raking up old stories, and attributing to him
+various evil qualities of a hard and loveless old age. But after he had
+gone, the verdict of Stella and myself was, "Much worse than we
+expected." He was different from what we had expected. Perhaps that
+annoyed us. Instead of being able to laugh at him, we found something
+oppressive, chilling, to me frightful, in the cold, sneering smile which
+seemed perpetually hovering about his thin lips--in the fixed, snaky
+glitter of his still, intent gray eyes. His face was pale, his manners
+were polished, but to meet his eye was a thing I hated, and the touch of
+his hand made me shudder. While speaking in the politest possible
+manner, he had eyed over Adelaide and me in a manner which I do not
+think either of us had ever experienced before. I hated him from the
+moment in which I saw him looking at me with expression of approval. To
+be approved by Sir Peter Le Marchant, could fate devise anything more
+horrible? Yes, I knew now that it could; one might have to submit to the
+approval, to live in the approval. I had expressed my opinion on the
+subject with freedom to Adelaide, who to my surprise had not agreed
+with me, and had told me coldly that I had no business to speak
+disrespectfully of my father's visitors. I was silenced, but unhappy.
+From the first moment of seeing Sir Peter, I had felt an uncomfortable,
+uneasy feeling, which, had I been sentimental, I might have called a
+presentiment, but I was not sentimental. I was a healthy young girl of
+seventeen, believing in true love, and goodness, and gentleness very
+earnestly; "fancy free," having read few novels, and heard no gossip--a
+very baby in many respects. Our home might be a quiet one, a poor one, a
+dull one--our circle of acquaintance small, our distractions of the most
+limited description imaginable, but at least we knew no evil, and--I
+speak for Stella and myself--thought none. Our father and mother were
+persons with nothing whatever remarkable about them. Both had been
+handsome. My mother was pretty, my father good-looking yet. I loved them
+both dearly. It had never entered my head to do otherwise than love
+them, but the love which made the star and the poetry of my quiet and
+unromantic life was that I bore to Adelaide, my eldest sister. I
+believed in her devotedly, and accepted her judgment, given in her own
+peculiar proud, decided way, upon every topic on which she chose to
+express it. She was one-and-twenty, and I used to think I could lay down
+my life for her.
+
+It was consequently a shock to me to hear her speak in praise--yes, in
+praise of Sir Peter Le Marchant. My first impulse was to distrust my own
+judgment, but no; I could not long do so. He was repulsive; he was
+stealthy, hard, cruel, in appearance. I could not account for Adelaide's
+perversity in liking him, and passed puzzled days and racked my brain in
+conjecture as to why when Sir Peter came Adelaide should be always at
+home, always neat and fresh--not like me. Why was Adelaide, who found it
+too much trouble to join Stella and me in our homely concerts, always
+ready to indulge Sir Peter's taste for music, to entertain him with
+conversation?--and she _could_ talk. She was unlike me in that respect.
+I never had a brilliant gift of conversation. She was witty about the
+things she did know, and never committed the fatal mistake of pretending
+to be up in the things she did not know. These gifts of mind, these
+social powers, were always ready for the edification of Sir Peter. By
+degrees the truth forced itself upon me. Some one said--I overheard
+it--that "that handsome Miss Wedderburn was undoubtedly setting her cap
+at Sir Peter Le Marchant." Never shall I forget the fury which at first
+possessed me, the conviction which gradually stole over me that it was
+true. My sister Adelaide, beautiful, proud, clever--and, I had always
+thought, good,--had distinctly in view the purpose of becoming Lady Le
+Marchant. I shed countless tears over the miserable discovery, and dared
+not speak to her of it. But that was not the worst. My horizon darkened.
+One horrible day I discovered that it was I, and not Adelaide, who had
+attracted Sir Peter's attentions. It was not a scene, not a set
+declaration. It was a word in that smooth voice, a glance from that
+hated and chilling eye, which suddenly aroused me to the truth.
+
+Shuddering, dismayed, I locked the matter up within my own breast, and
+wished with a longing that sometimes made me quite wretched that I could
+quit Skernford, my home, my life, which had lost zest for me, and was
+become a burden to me. The knowledge that Sir Peter admired me
+absolutely degraded me in my own eyes. I felt as if I could not hold up
+my head. I had spoken to no one of what had passed within me, and I
+trusted it had not been noticed; but all my joy was gone. It was as if I
+stood helpless while a noisome reptile coiled its folds around me.
+
+To-day, after Miss Hallam's departure, I dropped into my now chronic
+state of listlessness and sadness. They all came back; my father from
+the church; my mother and Adelaide from Darton, whither they had been on
+a shopping expedition; Stella from a stroll by the river. We had tea,
+and they dispersed quite cheerfully to their various occupations. I,
+seeing the gloaming gently and dim falling over the earth, walked out of
+the house into the garden, and took my way toward the river. I passed an
+arbor in which Stella and I had loved to sit and watch the stream, and
+talk and read Miss Austen's novels. Stella was there now, with a
+well-thumbed copy of "Pride and Prejudice" in her hand.
+
+"Come and sit down, May," she apostrophized me. "Do listen to this about
+Bingley and Wickham."
+
+"No, thank you," said I, abstractedly, and feeling that Stella was not
+the person to whom I could confide my woe. Indeed, on scanning mentally
+the list of my acquaintance, I found that there was not one in whom I
+could confide. It gave me a strange sense of loneliness and aloofness,
+and hardened me more than the reading of a hundred satires on the
+meannesses of society.
+
+I went along the terrace by the river-side, and looked up to the
+left--traces of Sir Peter again. There was the terrace of Deeplish Hall,
+which stood on a height just above a bend in the river. It was a fine
+old place. The sheen of the glass houses caught the rays of the sun and
+glanced in them. It looked rich, old, and peaceful. I had been many a
+time through its gardens, and thought them beautiful, and wished they
+belonged to me. Now I felt that they lay in a manner at my feet, and my
+strongest feeling respecting them was an earnest wish that I might never
+see them again.
+
+Thus agreeably meditating, I insensibly left our own garden and wandered
+on in the now quickly falling twilight into a narrow path leading across
+a sort of No-Man's-Land into the demesne of Sir Peter Le Marchant. In my
+trouble I scarcely remarked where I was going, and with my eyes cast
+upon the ground was wishing that I could feel again as I once had felt,
+when
+
+     "I nothing had, and yet enough;"
+
+and was sadly wondering what I could do to escape from the net in which
+I felt myself caught, when a shadow darkened the twilight in which I
+stood, and looking up I saw Sir Peter, and heard these words:
+
+"Good-evening, Miss Wedderburn. Are you enjoying a little stroll?"
+
+By, as it seemed to me, some strange miracle all my inward fears and
+tremblings vanished. I did not feel afraid of Sir Peter in the least. I
+felt that here was a crisis. This meeting would show me whether my fears
+had been groundless, and my own vanity and self-consciousness of
+unparalleled proportions, or whether I had judged truly, and had good
+reason for my qualms and anticipations.
+
+It came. The alarm had not been a false one. Sir Peter, after conversing
+with me for a short time, did, in clear and unmistakable terms, inform
+me that he loved me, and asked me to marry him.
+
+"I thank you," said I, mastering my impulse to cover my face with my
+hands, and run shuddering away from him. "I thank you for the honor you
+offer me, and beg to decline it."
+
+He looked surprised, and still continued to urge me in a manner which
+roused a deep inner feeling of indignation within me, for it seemed to
+say that he understood me to be overwhelmed with the honor he proposed
+to confer upon me, and humored my timidity about accepting it. There was
+no doubt in his manner; not the shadow of a suspicion that I could be in
+earnest. There was something that turned my heart cold within me--a
+cool, sneering tone, which not all his professions of affection could
+disguise. Since that time I have heard Sir Peter explicitly state his
+conception of the sphere of woman in the world; it was not an exalted
+one. He could not even now quite conceal that while he told me he wished
+to make me his wife and the partner of his heart and possessions, yet he
+knew that such professions were but words--that he did not sue for my
+love (poor Sir Peter! I doubt if ever in his long life he was blessed
+with even a momentary glimpse of the divine countenance of pure Love),
+but offered to buy my youth, and such poor beauty as I might have, with
+his money and his other worldly advantages.
+
+Sir Peter was a blank, utter skeptic with regard to the worth of woman.
+He did not believe in their virtue nor their self-respect; he believed
+them to be clever actresses, and, taken all in all, the best kind of
+amusement to be had for money. The kind of opinion was then new to me;
+the effect of it upon my mind such as might be expected. I was
+seventeen, and an ardent believer in all things pure and of good report.
+
+Nevertheless, I remained composed, sedate, even courteous to the
+last--till I had fairly made Sir Peter understand that no earthly power
+should induce me to marry him; till I had let him see that I fully
+comprehended the advantages of the position he offered me, and declined
+them.
+
+"Miss Wedderburn," said he, at last--and his voice was as unruffled as
+my own; had it been more angry I should have feared it less--"do you
+fear opposition? I do not think your parents would refuse their consent
+to our union."
+
+I closed my eyes for a moment, and a hand seemed to tighten about my
+heart. Then I said:
+
+"I speak without reference to my parents. In such a matter I judge for
+myself."
+
+"Always the same answer?"
+
+"Always the same, Sir Peter."
+
+"It would be most ungentlemanly to press the subject any further." His
+eyes were fixed upon me with the same cold, snake-like smile. "I will
+not be guilty of such a solecism. Your family affections, my dear young
+lady, are strong, I should suppose. Which--whom do you love best?"
+
+Surprised at the blunt straightforwardness of the question, as coming
+from him, I replied thoughtlessly, "Oh, my sister Adelaide."
+
+"Indeed! I should imagine she was in every way worthy the esteem of so
+disinterested a person as yourself. A different disposition,
+though--quite. Will you allow me to touch your hand before I retire?"
+
+Trembling with uneasy forebodings roused by his continual sneering
+smile, and the peculiar evil light in his eyes, I yet went through with
+my duty to the end. He took the hand I extended, and raised it to his
+lips with a low bow.
+
+"Good-evening, Miss Wedderburn."
+
+Faintly returning his valediction, I saw him go away, and then in a
+dream, a maze, a bewilderment, I too turned slowly away and walked to
+the house again. I felt, I knew I had behaved well and discreetly, but I
+had no confidence whatever that the matter was at an end.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+"Lucifer, Star of the Morning! How art thou fallen!"
+
+
+I found myself, without having met any one of my family, in my own room,
+in the semi-darkness, seated on a chair by my bedside, unnerved, faint,
+miserable with a misery such as I had never felt before. The window was
+open, and there came up a faint scent of sweetbrier and wall-flowers in
+soft, balmy gusts, driven into the room by the April night wind. There
+rose a moon and flooded the earth with radiance. Then came a sound of
+footsteps; the door of the next room, that belonging to Adelaide, was
+opened. I heard her come in, strike a match, and light her candle; the
+click of the catch as the blind rolled down. There was a door between
+her room and mine, and presently she passed it, and bearing a candle in
+her hand, stood in my presence. My sister was very beautiful, very
+proud. She was cleverer, stronger, more decided than I, or rather, while
+she had those qualities very strongly developed, I was almost without
+them. She always held her head up, and had one of those majestic figures
+which require no back-boards to teach them uprightness, no master of
+deportment to instill grace into their movements. Her toilet and mine
+were not, as may be supposed, of very rich materials or varied
+character; but while my things always looked as bad of their kind as
+they could--fitted badly, sat badly, were creased and crumpled--hers
+always had a look of freshness; she wore the merest old black merino as
+if it were velvet, and a muslin frill like a point-lace collar. There
+are such people in the world. I have always admired them, envied them,
+wondered at them from afar; it has never been my fate in the smallest
+degree to approach or emulate them.
+
+Her pale face, with its perfect outlines, was just illumined by the
+candle she held, and the light also caught the crown of massive plaits
+which she wore around her head. She set the candle down. I sat still and
+looked at her.
+
+"You are there, May," she remarked.
+
+"Yes," was my subdued response.
+
+"Where have you been all evening?"
+
+"It does not matter to any one."
+
+"Indeed it does. You were talking to Sir Peter Le Marchant. I saw you
+meet him from my bedroom window."
+
+"Did you?"
+
+"Did he propose to you?" she inquired, with a composure which seemed to
+me frightful. "Worldly," I thought, was a weak word to apply to her, and
+I was suffering acutely.
+
+"He did."
+
+"Well, I suppose it would be a little difficult to accept him."
+
+"I did not accept him."
+
+"What?" she inquired, as if she had not quite caught what I said.
+
+"I refused him," said I, slightly raising my voice.
+
+"What are you telling me?"
+
+"The truth."
+
+"Sir Peter has fif--"
+
+"Don't mention Sir Peter to me again," said I, nervously, and feeling as
+if my heart would break. I had never quarreled with Adelaide before. No
+reconciliation afterward could ever make up for the anguish which I was
+going through now.
+
+"Just listen to me," she said, bending over me, her lips drawn together.
+"I ought to have spoken to you before. I don't know whether you have
+ever given any thought to our position and circumstances. If not, it
+would be as well that you should do so now. Papa is fifty-five years
+old, and has three hundred a year. In the course of time he will die,
+and as his life is not insured, and he has regularly spent every penny
+of his income--naturally it would have been strange if he hadn't--what
+is to become of us when he is dead?"
+
+"We can work."
+
+"Work!" said she, with inexpressible scorn. "Work! Pray what can we do
+in the way of work? What kind of education have we had? The village
+school-mistress could make us look very small in the matter of geography
+and history. We have not been trained to work, and, let me tell you,
+May, unskilled labor does not pay in these days."
+
+"I am sure you can do anything, Adelaide, and I will teach singing. I
+can sing."
+
+"Pooh! Do you suppose that because you can take C in alt. you are
+competent to teach singing? You don't know how to sing yourself yet.
+Your face is your fortune. So is mine my fortune. So is Stella's her
+fortune. You have enjoyed yourself all your life; you have had seventeen
+years of play and amusement, and now you behave like a baby. You refuse
+to endure a little discomfort, as the price of placing yourself and your
+family forever out of the reach of trouble and trial. Why, if you were
+Sir Peter's wife, you could do what you liked with him. I don't say
+anything about myself; but oh! May, I am ashamed of you, I am ashamed of
+you! I thought you had more in you. Is it possible that you are nothing
+but a romp--nothing but a vulgar tomboy? Good Heaven! If the chance had
+been mine!"
+
+"What would you have done?" I whispered, subdued for the moment, but
+obstinate in my heart as ever.
+
+"I am nobody now; no one knows me. But if I had had the chance that you
+have had to-night, in another year I would have been known and envied by
+half the women in England. Bah! Circumstances are too disgusting, too
+unkind!"
+
+"Oh! Adelaide, nothing could have made up for being tied to that man,"
+said I, in a small voice; "and I am not ambitious."
+
+"Ambitious! You are selfish--downright, grossly, inordinately selfish.
+Do you suppose no one else ever had to do what they did not like? Why
+did you not stop to think instead of rushing away from the thing like
+some unreasoning animal?"
+
+"Adelaide! Sir Peter! To marry him?" I implored in tears. "How could I?
+I should die of shame at the very thought. Who could help seeing that I
+had sold myself to him?"
+
+"And who would think any the worse of you? And what if they did? With
+fifteen thousand a year you may defy public opinion."
+
+"Oh, don't! don't!" I cried, covering my face with my hands. "Adelaide,
+you will break my heart!"
+
+Burying my face in the bed-quilt, I sobbed irrepressibly. Adelaide's
+apparent unconsciousness of, or callousness to, the stabs she was giving
+me, and the anguish they caused me, almost distracted me.
+
+She loosed my arm, remarking, with bitter vexation:
+
+"I feel as if I could shake you!"
+
+She left the room. I was left to my meditations. My head--my heart
+too--ached distractingly; my arm was sore where Adelaide had grasped it;
+I felt as if she had taken my mind by the shoulders and shaken it
+roughly. I fastened both doors of my room, resolving that neither she
+nor any one else should penetrate to my presence again that night.
+
+What was I to do? Where to turn? I began now to realize that the _Res
+dom_, which had always seemed to me so abundant for all occasions, were
+really _Res Angusta_, and that circumstances might occur in which they
+would be miserably inadequate.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+"Zu Rathe gehen, und vom Rath zur That."
+               _Briefe_ BEETHOVEN'S.
+
+
+There was surely not much in Miss Hallam to encourage confidences; yet
+within half an hour of the time of entering her house I had told her all
+that oppressed my heart, and had gained a feeling of greater security
+than I had yet felt. I was sure that she would befriend me. True, she
+did not say so. When I told her about Sir Peter Le Marchant's proposal
+to me, about Adelaide's behavior; when, in halting and stammering tones,
+and interrupted by tears, I confessed that I had not spoken to my father
+or mother upon the subject, and that I was not quite sure of their
+approval of what I had done, she even laughed a little, but not in what
+could be called an amused manner. When I had finished my tale, she said:
+
+"If I understand you, the case stands thus: You have refused Sir Peter
+Le Marchant, but you do not feel at all sure that he will not propose to
+you again. Is it not so?"
+
+"Yes," I admitted.
+
+"And you dread and shrink from the idea of a repetition of this
+business?"
+
+"I feel as if it would kill me."
+
+"It would not kill you. People are not so easily killed as all that; but
+it is highly unfit that you should be subjected to a recurrence of it. I
+will think about it. Will you have the goodness to read me a page of
+this book?"
+
+Much surprised at this very abrupt change of the subject, but not daring
+to make any observation upon it, I took the book--the current number of
+a magazine--and read a page to her.
+
+"That will do," said she. "Now, will you read this letter, also aloud?"
+
+She put a letter into my hand, and I read:
+
+     "DEAR MADAME,--In answer to your letter of last week, I write to
+     say that I could find the rooms you require, and that by me you
+     will have many good agreements which would make your stay in
+     Germany pleasanter. My house is a large one in the All�estrasse.
+     Dr. Mittendorf, the oculist, lives not far from here, and the
+     St�dtische Augenklinik--that is, the eye hospital--is quite near.
+     The rooms you would have are upstairs--suite of salon and two
+     bedrooms, with room for your maid in another part of the house. I
+     have other boarders here at the time, but you would do as you
+     pleased about mixing with them.
+
+                    "With all highest esteem,
+                         "Your devoted,
+                              "'CLARA STEINMANN.'"
+
+"You don't understand it all, I suppose?" said she, when I had finished.
+
+"No."
+
+"That lady writes from Elberthal. You have heard of Elberthal on the
+Rhine, I presume?"
+
+"Oh, yes! A large town. There used to be a fine picture-gallery there;
+but in the war between the--"
+
+"There, thank you! I studied Guy's geography myself in my youth. I see
+you know the place I mean. There is an eye hospital there, and a
+celebrated oculist--Mittendorf. I am going there. I don't suppose it
+will be of the least use; but I am going. Drowning men catch at straws.
+Well, what else can you do? You don't read badly."
+
+"I can sing--not very well, but I can sing."
+
+"You can sing," said she, reflectively. "Just go to the piano and let me
+hear a specimen. I was once a judge in these matters."
+
+I opened the piano and sung, as well as I could, an English version of
+"Die Lotus-blume."
+
+My performance was greeted with silence, which Miss Hallam at length
+broke, remarking:
+
+"I suppose you have not had much training?"
+
+"Scarcely any."
+
+"Humph! Well, it is to be had, even if not in Skernford. Would you like
+some lessons?"
+
+"I should like a good many things that I am not likely ever to have."
+
+"At Elberthal there are all kinds of advantages with regard to those
+things--music and singing, and so on. Will you come there with me as my
+companion?"
+
+I heard, but did not fairly understand. My head was in a whirl. Go to
+Germany with Miss Hallam; leave Skernford, Sir Peter, all that had grown
+so weary to me; see new places, live with new people; learn something!
+No, I did not grasp it in the least. I made no reply, but sat
+breathlessly staring.
+
+"But I shall expect you to make yourself useful to me in many ways,"
+proceeded Miss Hallam.
+
+At this touch of reality I began to waken up again.
+
+"Oh, Miss Hallam, is it really true? Do you think they will let me go?"
+
+"You haven't answered me yet."
+
+"About being useful? I would do anything you like--anything in the
+world."
+
+"Do not suppose your life will be all roses, or you will be woefully
+disappointed. I do not go out at all; my health is bad--so is my temper
+very often. I am what people who never had any trouble are fond of
+calling peculiar. Still, if you are in earnest, and not merely
+sentimentalizing, you will take your courage in your hands and come with
+me."
+
+"Miss Hallam," said I, with tragic earnestness, as I took her hand, "I
+will come. I see you half mistrust me; but if I had to go to Siberia to
+get out of Sir Peter's way, I would go gladly and stay there. I hope I
+shall not be very clumsy. They say at home that I am, very, but I will
+do my best."
+
+"They call you clumsy at home, do they?"
+
+"Yes. My sisters are so much cleverer than I, and can do everything so
+much better than I can. I am rather stupid, I know."
+
+"Very well, if you like to call yourself so, do. It is decided that you
+come with me. I will see your father about it to-morrow. I always get my
+own way when I wish it. I leave in about a week."
+
+I sat with clasped hands, my heart so full that I could not speak.
+Sadness and gladness struggled hard within me. The idea of getting away
+from Skernford was almost too delightful; the remembrance of Adelaide
+made my heart ache.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+ "Ade nun ihr Berge, ihr v�terlich Haus!
+ Es treibt in die Ferne mich m�chtig hinaus."
+                VOLKSLIED.
+
+
+Consent was given. Sir Peter was not mentioned to me by my parents, or
+by Adelaide. The days of that week flew rapidly by.
+
+I was almost afraid to mention my prospects to Adelaide. I feared she
+would resent my good fortune in going abroad, and that her anger at
+having spoiled those other prospects would remain unabated. Moreover, a
+deeper feeling separated me from her now--the knowledge that there lay a
+great gulf of feeling, sentiment, opinion between us, which nothing
+could bridge over or do away with. Outwardly we might be amiable and
+friendly to each other, but confidence, union, was fled over. Once again
+in the future, I was destined, when our respective principles had been
+tried to the utmost, to have her confidence--to see her heart of hearts;
+but for the present we were effectually divided. I had mortally offended
+her, and it was not a case in which I could with decency even humble
+myself to her. Once, however, she mentioned the future.
+
+When the day of our departure had been fixed, and was only two days
+distant; when I was breathless with hurried repairing of old clothes,
+and the equally hurried laying in of a small stock of new ones; while I
+was contemplating with awe the prospect of a first journey to London, to
+Ostend, to Brussels, she said to me, as I sat feverishly hemming a
+frill:
+
+"So you are going to Germany?"
+
+"Yes, Adelaide."
+
+"What are you going to do there?"
+
+"My duty, I hope."
+
+"Charity, my dear, and duty too, begins at home. I should say you were
+going away leaving your duty undone."
+
+I was silent, and she went on:
+
+"I suppose you wish to go abroad, May?"
+
+"You know I have always wished to go."
+
+"So do I."
+
+"I wish you were going too," said I, timidly.
+
+"Thank you. My views upon the subject are quite different. When I go
+abroad I shall go in a different capacity to that you are going to
+assume. I will let you know all about it in due time."
+
+"Very well," said I, almost inaudibly, having a vague idea as to what
+she meant, but determined not to speak about it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The following day the curtain rose upon the first act of the play--call
+it drama, comedy, tragedy, what you will--which was to be played in my
+absence. I had been up the village to the post-office, and was
+returning, when I saw advancing toward me two figures which I had cause
+to remember--my sister's queenly height, her white hat over her eyes,
+and her sunshade in her hand, and beside her the pale face, with its
+ragged eyebrows and hateful sneer, of Sir Peter Le Marchant.
+
+Adelaide, not at all embarrassed by his company, was smiling slightly,
+and her eyes with drooped lids glanced downward toward the baronet. I
+shrunk into a cottage to avoid them as they came past, and waited.
+Adelaide was saying:
+
+"Proud--yes, I am proud, I suppose. Too proud, at least, to--"
+
+There! Out of hearing. They had passed. I hurried out of the cottage,
+and home.
+
+The next day I met Miss Hallam and her maid (we three traveled alone)
+at the station, and soon we were whirling smoothly along our southward
+way--to York first, then to London, and so out into the world, thought
+I.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+"Ein Held aus der Fremde, gar k�hn."
+
+
+We had left Brussels and Belgium behind, had departed from the regions
+of _Chemins de fer_, and entered those of _Eisenbahnen_. We were at
+Cologne, where we had to change and wait half an hour before we could go
+on to Elberthal. We sat in the wartesaal, and I had committed to my
+charge two bundles, with strict injunctions not to lose them.
+
+Then the doors were opened, and the people made a mad rush to a train
+standing somewhere in the dim distance. Merrick, Miss Hallam's maid, had
+to give her whole attention to her mistress. I followed close in their
+wake, until, as we had almost come to the train, I cast my eyes downward
+and perceived that there was missing from my arm a gray shawl of Miss
+Hallam's, which had been committed to my charge, and upon which she set
+a fidgety kind of value, as being particularly warm or particularly
+soft.
+
+Dismayed, I neither hesitated nor thought, but turned, fought my way
+through the throng of people to the waiting-room again, hunted every
+corner, but in vain, for the shawl. Either it was completely lost, or
+Merrick had, without my observing it, taken it under her own protection.
+It was not in the waiting-room. Giving up the search I hurried to the
+door: it was fast. No one more, it would seem, was to be let out that
+way; I must go round, through the passages into the open hall of the
+station, and so on to the platform again. More easily said than done.
+Always, from my earliest youth up, I have had a peculiar fancy for
+losing myself. On this eventful day I lost myself. I ran through the
+passages, came into the great open place surrounded on every side by
+doors leading to the platforms, offices, or booking offices. Glancing
+hastily round, I selected the door which appeared to my imperfectly
+developed "locality" to promise egress upon the platform, pushed it
+open, and going along a covered passage, and through another door, found
+myself, after the loss of a good five minutes, in a lofty deserted wing
+of the station, gazing wildly at an empty platform, and feverishly
+scanning all the long row of doors to my right, in a mad effort to guess
+which would take me from this delightful _terra incognito_ back to my
+friends.
+
+_Gep�ck-Expedition_, I read, and thought it did not sound promising.
+Telegraphs bureau. Impossible! _Ausgang._ There was the magic word, and
+I, not knowing it, stared at it and was none the wiser for its friendly
+sign. I heard a hollow whistle in the distance. No doubt it was the
+Elberthal train going away, and my heart sunk deep, deep within my
+breast. I knew no German word. All I could say was "Elberthal;" and my
+nearest approach to "first-class" was to point to the carriage doors and
+say "Ein," which might or might not be understood--probably not, when
+the universal stupidity of the German railway official is taken into
+consideration, together with his chronic state of gratuitous suspicion
+that a bad motive lurks under every question which is put to him. I
+heard a subdued bustle coming from the right hand in the distance, and I
+ran hastily to the other end of the great empty place, seeing, as I
+thought, an opening. Vain delusion! Deceptive dream of the fancy! There
+was a glass window through which I looked and saw a street thronged with
+passengers and vehicles. I hurried back again to find my way to the
+entrance of the station and there try another door, when I heard a bell
+ring violently--a loud groaning and shrieking, and then the sound, as it
+were, of a train departing. A porter--at least a person in uniform,
+appeared in a door-way. How I rushed up to him! How I seized his arm,
+and dropping my rugs gesticulated excitedly and panted forth the word
+"Elberthal!"
+
+"Elberthal?" said he in a guttural bass; "_Wollt ihr nach Elberthal,
+fr�uleinchen!_"
+
+There was an impudent twinkle in his eye, as it were impertinence trying
+to get the better of beer, and I reiterated "Elberthal," growing very
+red, and cursing all foreign speeches by my gods--a process often
+employed, I believe, by cleverer persons than I, with reference to
+things they do not understand.
+
+"_Schon fort, Fr�ulein_," he continued, with a grin.
+
+"But where--what--Elberthal!"
+
+He was about to make some further reply, when, turning, he seemed to see
+some one, and assumed a more respectful demeanor. I too turned, and saw
+at some little distance from us a gentleman sauntering along, who,
+though coming toward us, did not seem to observe us. Would he understand
+me if I spoke to him? Desperate as I was, I felt some timidity about
+trying it. Never had I felt so miserable, so helpless, so utterly
+ashamed as I did then. My lips trembled as the new-comer drew nearer,
+and the porter, taking the opportunity of quitting a scene which began
+to bore him, slipped away. I was left alone on the platform, nervously
+snatching short glances at the person slowly, very slowly approaching
+me. He did not look up as if he beheld me or in any way remarked my
+presence. His eyes were bent toward the ground: his fingers drummed a
+tune upon his chest. As he approached, I heard that he was humming
+something. I even heard the air; it has been impressed upon my memory
+firmly enough since, though I did not know it then--the air of the
+march from Raff's Fifth Symphonie, the "Lenore." I heard the tune softly
+hummed in a mellow voice, as with face burning and glowing, I placed
+myself before him. Then he looked suddenly up as if startled, fixed upon
+me a pair of eyes which gave me a kind of shock; so keen, so commanding
+were they, with a kind of tameless freedom in their glance such as I had
+never seen before.
+
+Arrested (no doubt by my wild and excited appearance), he stood still
+and looked at me, and as he looked a slight smile began to dawn upon his
+lips. Not an Englishman. I should have known him for an outlander
+anywhere. I remarked no details of his appearance; only that he was tall
+and had, as it seemed to me, a commanding bearing. I stood hesitating
+and blushing. (To this very day the blood comes to my face as I think of
+my agony of blushes in that immemorial moment.) I saw a handsome--a very
+handsome face, quite different from any I had ever seen before: the
+startling eyes before spoken of, and which surveyed me with a look so
+keen, so cool, and so bright, which seemed to penetrate through and
+through me; while a slight smile curled the light mustache upward--a
+general aspect which gave me the impression that he was not only a
+personage, but a very great personage--with a flavor of something else
+permeating it all which puzzled me and made me feel embarrassed as to
+how to address him. While I stood inanely trying to gather my senses
+together, he took off the little cloth cap he wore, and bowing, asked:
+
+"_Mein Fr�ulein_, in what can I assist you?"
+
+His English was excellent--his bow like nothing I had seen before.
+Convinced that I had met a genuine, thorough fine gentleman (in which I
+was right for once in my life), I began:
+
+"I have lost my way," and my voice trembled in spite of all my efforts
+to steady it. "In a crowd I lost my friends, and--I was going to
+Elberthal, and I turned the wrong way--and--"
+
+"Have come to destruction, _nicht wahr_?" He looked at his watch, raised
+his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. "The Elberthal train is already
+away."
+
+"Gone!" I dropped my rugs and began a tremulous search for my
+pocket-handkerchief. "What shall I do?"
+
+"There is another--let me see--in one hour--two--_will 'mal nachsehen._
+Will you come with me, Fr�ulein, and we will see about the trains."
+
+"If you would show me the platform," said I. "Perhaps some of them may
+still be there. Oh, what will they think of me?"
+
+"We must go to the wartesaal," said he. "Then you can look out and see
+if you see any of them."
+
+I had no choice but to comply.
+
+My benefactor picked up my two bundles, and, in spite of my
+expostulations, carried them with him. He took me through the door
+inscribed _Ausgang_, and the whole thing seemed so extremely simple now,
+that my astonishment as to how I could have lost myself increased every
+minute. He went before me to the waiting-room, put my bundles upon one
+of the sofas, and we went to the door. The platform was almost as empty
+as the one we had left.
+
+I looked round, and though it was only what I had expected, yet my face
+fell when I saw how utterly and entirely my party had disappeared.
+
+"You see them not?" he inquired.
+
+"No--they are gone," said I, turning away from the window and choking
+down a sob, not very effectually. Turning my damp and sorrowful eyes to
+my companion, I found that he was still smiling to himself as if quietly
+amused at the whole adventure.
+
+"I will go and see at what time the trains go to Elberthal. Suppose you
+sit down--yes?"
+
+Passively obeying, I sat down and turned my situation over in my mind,
+in which kind of agreeable mental legerdemain I was still occupied when
+he returned.
+
+"It is now half past three, and there is a train to Elberthal at seven."
+
+"Seven!"
+
+"Seven: a very pleasant time to travel, _nicht wahr_? Then it is still
+quite light."
+
+"So long! Three hours and a half," I murmured, dejectedly, and bit my
+lips and hung my head. Then I said, "I am sure I am much obliged to you.
+If I might ask you a favor?"
+
+"_Bitte, mein Fr�ulein!_"
+
+"If you could show me exactly where the train starts from, and--could I
+get a ticket now, do you think?"
+
+"I'm afraid not, so long before," he answered, twisting his mustache, as
+I could not help seeing, to hide a smile.
+
+"Then," said I, with stoic calmness, "I shall never get to
+Elberthal--never, for I don't know a word of German, not one," I sat
+more firmly down upon the sofa, and tried to contemplate the future with
+fortitude.
+
+"I can tell you what to say," said he, removing with great deliberation
+the bundles which divided us, and sitting down beside me. He leaned his
+chin upon his hand and looked at me, ever, as it seemed to me, with
+amusement tempered with kindness, and I felt like a very little girl
+indeed.
+
+"You are exceedingly good," I replied, "but it would be of no use. I am
+so frightened of those men in blue coats and big mustaches. I should not
+be able to say a word to any of them."
+
+"German is sometimes not unlike English."
+
+"It is like nothing to me, except a great mystery."
+
+"_Billet_, is 'ticket,'" said he persuasively.
+
+"Oh, is it?" said I, with a gleam of hope. "Perhaps I could remember
+that. _Billet_," I repeated reflectively.
+
+"Bil_let_," he amended; "not _Bil_lit."
+
+"Bill-yet--Bill-_yet_," I repeated.
+
+"And 'to Elberthal' may be said in one word, 'Elberthal.' '_Ein
+Billet--Elberthal--erster Classe._'"
+
+"_Ein Bill-yet_," I repeated, automatically, for my thoughts were
+dwelling more upon the charming quandary in which I found myself than
+upon his half-good-natured half-mocking instructions: "_Ein Bill-yet,
+firste--erste_--it is of no use. I can't say it. But"--here a brilliant
+idea struck me--"if you could write it out for me on a paper, and then I
+could give it to the man: he would surely know what it meant."
+
+"A very interesting idea, but a _viva voce_ interview is so much
+better."
+
+"I wonder how long it takes to walk to Elberthal!" I suggested darkly.
+
+"Oh, a mere trifle of a walk. You might do it in four or five hours, I
+dare say."
+
+I bit my lips, trying not to cry.
+
+"Perhaps we might make some other arrangement," he remarked. "I am going
+to Elberthal too."
+
+"You! Thank Heaven!" was my first remark. Then as a doubt came over me:
+"Then why--why--"
+
+Here I stuck fast, unable to ask why he had said so many tormenting
+things to me, pretended to teach me German phrases, and so on. The words
+would not come out. Meanwhile he, without apparently feeling it
+necessary to explain himself upon these points, went on:
+
+"Yes. I have been at a probe" (not having the faintest idea as to what a
+probe might be, and not liking to ask, I held my peace and bowed
+assentingly). He went on, "And I was delayed a little. I had intended to
+go by the train you have lost, so if you are not afraid to trust
+yourself to my care we can travel together."
+
+"You--you are very kind."
+
+"Then you are not afraid?"
+
+"I--oh, no! I should like it very much. I mean I am sure it would be
+very nice."
+
+Feeling that my social powers were as yet in a very undeveloped
+condition, I subsided into silence, as he went on:
+
+"I hope your friends will not be very uneasy?"
+
+"Oh, dear no!" I assured him, with a pious conviction that I was
+speaking the truth.
+
+"We shall arrive at Elberthal about half past eight."
+
+I scarcely heard. I had plunged my hand into my pocket, and found--a
+hideous conviction crossed my mind--I had no money! I had until this
+moment totally forgotten having given my purse to Merrick to keep; and
+she, as pioneer of the party, naturally had all our tickets under her
+charge. My heart almost stopped beating. It was unheard of, horrible,
+this possibility of falling into the power of a total, utter stranger--a
+foreigner--a--Heaven only knew what! Engrossed with this painful and
+distressing problem, I sat silent, and with eyes gloomily cast down.
+
+"One thing is certain," he remarked. "We do not want to spend three
+hours and a half in the station. I want some dinner. A four hours' probe
+is apt to make one a little hungry. Come, we will go and have something
+to eat."
+
+The idea had evidently come to him as a species of inspiration, and he
+openly rejoiced in it.
+
+"I am not hungry," said I; but I was, very. I knew it now that the idea
+"dinner" had made itself conspicuous in my consciousness.
+
+"Perhaps you think not; but you are, all the same," he said. "Come with
+me, Fr�ulein. You have put yourself into my hands; you must do what I
+tell you."
+
+I followed him mechanically out of the station and down the street, and
+I tried to realize that instead of being with Miss Hallam and Merrick,
+my natural and respectable protectors, safely and conventionally
+plodding the slow way in the slow continental train to the slow
+continental town, I was parading about the streets of K�ln with a man of
+whose very existence I had half an hour ago been ignorant; I was
+dependent, too, upon him, and him alone, for my safe arrival at
+Elberthal. And I followed him unquestioningly, now and then telling
+myself, by way of feeble consolation, that he was a gentleman--he
+certainly was a gentleman--and wishing now and then, or trying to wish,
+with my usual proper feeling, that it had been some nice old lady with
+whom I had fallen in: it would have made the whole adventure blameless,
+and, comparatively speaking, agreeable.
+
+We went along a street and came to a hotel, a large building, into which
+my conductor walked, spoke to a waiter, and we were shown into the
+restaurant, full of round tables, and containing some half dozen parties
+of people. I followed with stony resignation. It was the severest trial
+of all, this coming to a hotel alone with a gentleman in broad daylight.
+I caught sight of a reflection in a mirror of a tall, pale girl, with
+heavy, tumbled auburn hair, a brown hat which suited her, and a severely
+simple traveling-dress. I did not realize until I had gone past that it
+was my own reflection which I had seen.
+
+"Suppose we sit here," said he, going to a table in a comparatively
+secluded window recess, partially overhung with curtains.
+
+"How very kind and considerate of him!" thought I.
+
+"Would you rather have wine or coffee, Fr�ulein?"
+
+Pulled up from the impulse to satisfy my really keen hunger by the
+recollection of my "lack of gold," I answered hastily.
+
+"Nothing, thank you--really nothing."
+
+"_O doch!_ You must have something," said he, smiling. "I will order
+something. Don't trouble about it."
+
+"Don't order anything for me," said I, my cheeks burning. "I shall not
+eat anything."
+
+"If you do not eat, you will be ill. Remember, we do not get to
+Elberthal before eight," said he. "Is it perhaps disagreeable to you to
+eat in the saal? If you like we can have a private room."
+
+"It is not that at all," I replied; and seeing that he looked surprised,
+I blurted out the truth. "I have no money. I gave my purse to Miss
+Hallam's maid to keep and she has taken it with her."
+
+With a laugh, in which, infectious though it was, I was too wretched to
+join:
+
+"Is that all? Kellner!" cried he.
+
+An obsequious waiter came up, smiled sweetly and meaningly at us,
+received some orders from my companion, and disappeared.
+
+He seated himself beside me at the little round table.
+
+"He will bring something at once," said he, smiling.
+
+I sat still. I was not happy, and yet I could not feel all the
+unhappiness which I considered appropriate to the circumstances.
+
+My companion took up a "K�lnische Zeitung," and glanced over the
+advertisements, while I looked a little stealthily at him, and for the
+first time took in more exactly what he was like, and grew more puzzled
+with him each moment. As he leaned upon the table, one slight, long,
+brown hand propping his head, and half lost in the thick, fine brown
+hair which waved in large, ample waves over his head, there was an
+indescribable grace, ease, and negligent beauty in the attitude. Move as
+he would, let him assume any possible or impossible attitude, there was
+still in the same grace, half careless, yet very dignified in the
+position he took.
+
+All his lines were lines of beauty, but beauty which had power and much
+masculine strength; nowhere did it degenerate into flaccidity, nowhere
+lose strength in grace. His hair was long, and I wondered at it. My
+small experience in our delightful home and village circle had not
+acquainted me with that flowing style; the young men of my acquaintance
+cropped their hair close to the scalp, and called it the modern style of
+hair-dressing. It had always looked to me more like hair-undressing.
+This hair fell in a heavy wave over his forehead, and he had the habit,
+common to people whose hair does so, of lifting his head suddenly and
+shaking back the offending lock. His forehead was broad, open,
+pleasant, yet grave. Eyes, as I had seen, very dark, and with lashes and
+brows which enhanced the contrast to a complexion at once fair and pale.
+A light mustache, curving almost straight across the face, gave a
+smiling expression to lips which were otherwise grave, calm, almost sad.
+In fact, looking nearer, I thought he did look sad; and though when he
+looked at me his eyes were so piercing, yet in repose they had a certain
+distant, abstracted expression not far removed from absolute
+mournfulness. Broad-shouldered, long-armed, with a physique in every
+respect splendid, he was yet very distinctly removed from the mere
+handsome animal which I believe enjoys a distinguished popularity in the
+latter-day romance.
+
+Now, as his eyes were cast upon the paper, I perceived lines upon his
+forehead, signs about the mouth and eyes telling of a firm, not to say
+imperious, disposition; a certain curve of the lips, and of the full,
+yet delicate nostril, told of pride both strong and high. He was older
+than I had thought, his face sparer; there were certain hollows in the
+cheeks, two lines between the eyebrows, a sharpness, or rather somewhat
+worn appearance of the features, which told of a mental life, keen and
+consuming. Altogether, an older, more intellectual, more imposing face
+than I had at first thought; less that of a young and handsome man, more
+that of a thinker and student. Lastly, a cool ease, deliberation, and
+leisureliness about all he said and did, hinted at his being a person in
+authority, accustomed to give orders and see them obeyed without
+question. I decided that he was, in our graceful home phrase, "master in
+his own house."
+
+His clothing was unremarkable--gray summer clothes, such as any
+gentleman or any shop-keeper might wear; only in scanning him no thought
+of shop-keeper came into my mind. His cap lay upon the table beside us,
+one of the little gray Studentenmutzen with which Elberthal soon made me
+familiar, but which struck me then as odd and outlandish. I grew every
+moment more interested in my scrutiny of this, to me, fascinating and
+remarkable face, and had forgotten to try to look as if I were not
+looking, when he looked up suddenly, without warning, with those bright,
+formidable eyes, which had already made me feel somewhat shy as I caught
+them fixed upon me.
+
+"_Nun_, have you decided?" he asked, with a humorous look in his eyes,
+which he was too polite to allow to develop itself into a smile.
+
+"I--oh, I beg your pardon!"
+
+"You do not want to," he answered, in imperfect idiom. "But have you
+decided?"
+
+"Decided what?"
+
+"Whether I am to be trusted?"
+
+"I have not been thinking about that," I said, uncomfortably, when to my
+relief the appearance of the waiter with preparations for a meal saved
+me further reply.
+
+"What shall we call this meal?" he asked, as the waiter disappeared to
+bring the repast to the table. "It is too late for the _Mittagessen_,
+and too early for the _Abendbrod_. Can you suggest a name?"
+
+"At home it would be just the time for afternoon tea."
+
+"Ah, yes! Your English afternoon tea is very--" He stopped suddenly.
+
+"Have you been in England?"
+
+"This is just the time at which we drink our afternoon coffee in
+Germany," said he, looking at me with his impenetrably bright eyes, just
+as if he had never heard me. "When the ladies all meet together to talk
+scan--_O, beh�te!_ What am I saying?--to consult seriously upon
+important topics, you know. There are some low-minded persons who call
+the whole ceremony a Klatsch--Kaffeeklatsch. I am sure you and I shall
+talk seriously upon important subjects, so suppose we call this our
+Kaffeeklatsch, although we have no coffee to it."
+
+"Oh, yes, if you like."
+
+He put a piece of cutlet upon my plate, and poured yellow wine into my
+glass. Endeavoring to conduct myself with the dignity of a grown-up
+person and to show that I did know something, I inquired if the wine
+were hock.
+
+He smiled. "It is not Hochheimer--not Rheinwein at all--he--no, it, you
+say--it is Moselle wine--'Doctor.'"
+
+"Doctor?"
+
+"Doctorberger; I do not know why so called. And a very good fellow
+too--so say all his friends, of whom I am a warm one. Try him."
+
+I complied with the admonition, and was able to say that I liked
+Doctorberger. We ate and drank in silence for some little time, and I
+found that I was very hungry. I also found that I could not conjure up
+any real feeling of discomfort or uneasiness, and that the prospective
+scolding from Miss Hallam had no terrors in it for me. Never had I felt
+so serene in mind, never more at ease in every way, than now. I felt
+that this was wrong--bohemian, irregular, and not respectable, and tried
+to get up a little unhappiness about something. The only thing that I
+could think of was:
+
+"I am afraid I am taking up your time. Perhaps you had some business
+which you were going to when you met me."
+
+"My business, when I met you, was to catch the train to Elberthal, which
+was already gone, as you know. I shall not be able to fulfill my
+engagements for to-night, so it really does not matter. I am enjoying
+myself very much."
+
+"I am very glad I did meet you," said I, growing more reassured as I
+found that my companion, though exceedingly polite and attentive to me,
+did not ask a question as to my business, my traveling companions, my
+intended stay or object in Elberthal--that he behaved as a perfect
+gentleman--one who is a gentleman throughout, in thought as well as in
+deed. He did not even ask me how it was that my friends had not waited a
+little for me, though he must have wondered why two people left a young
+girl, moneyless and ignorant, to find her way after them as well as she
+could. He took me as he found me, and treated me as if I had been the
+most distinguished and important of persons. But at my last remark he
+said, with the same odd smile which took me by surprise every time I saw
+it:
+
+"The pleasure is certainly not all on your side, _mein Fr�ulein_. I
+suppose from that you have decided that I am to be trusted?"
+
+I stammered out something to the effect that "I should be very
+ungrateful were I not satisfied with--with such a--" I stopped, looking
+at him in some confusion. I saw a sudden look flash into his eyes and
+over his face. It was gone again in a moment--so fleeting that I had
+scarce time to mark it, but it opened up a crowd of strange new
+impressions to me, and while I could no more have said what it was like
+the moment it was gone, yet it left two desires almost equally strong in
+me--I wished in one and the same moment that I had for my own peace of
+mind never seen him--and that I might never lose sight of him again: to
+fly from that look, to remain and encounter it. The tell-tale mirror in
+the corner caught my eye. At home they used sometimes to call me, partly
+in mockery, partly in earnest, "Bonny May." The sobriquet had hitherto
+been a mere shadow, a meaningless thing, to me. I liked to hear it, but
+had never paused to consider whether it were appropriate or not. In my
+brief intercourse with my venerable suitor, Sir Peter, I had come a
+little nearer to being actively aware that I was good-looking, only to
+anathematize the fact. Now, catching sight of my reflection in the
+mirror, I wondered eagerly whether I really were fair, and wished I had
+some higher authority to think so than the casual jokes of my sisters.
+It did not add to my presence of mind to find that my involuntary glance
+to the mirror had been intercepted--perhaps even my motive guessed
+at--he appeared to have a frightfully keen instinct.
+
+"Have you seen the Dom?" was all he said; but it seemed somehow to give
+a point to what had passed.
+
+"The Dom--what is the Dom?"
+
+"The _K�lner Dom_; the cathedral."
+
+"Oh, no! Oh, should we have time to see it?" I exclaimed. "How I should
+like it!"
+
+"Certainly. It is close at hand. Suppose we go now."
+
+Gladly I rose, as he did. One of my most ardent desires was about to be
+fulfilled--not so properly and correctly as might have been desired,
+but--yes, certainly more pleasantly than under the escort of Miss
+Hallam, grumbling at every groschen she had to unearth in payment.
+
+Before we could leave our seclusion there came up to us a young man who
+had looked at us through the door and paused. I had seen him; had seen
+how he said something to a companion, and how the companion shook his
+head dissentingly. The first speaker came up to us, eyed me with a look
+of curiosity, and turning to my protector with a benevolent smile, said:
+
+"Eugen Courvoisier! _Also hatte ich doch Recht!_"
+
+I caught the name. The rest was of course lost upon me. Eugen
+Courvoisier? I liked it, as I liked him, and in my young enthusiasm
+decided that it was a very good name. The new-comer, who seemed as if
+much pleased with some discovery, and entertained at the same time,
+addressed some questions to Courvoisier, who answered him tranquilly
+but in a tone of voice which was very freezing; and then the other, with
+a few words and an unbelieving kind of laugh, said something about a
+_sch�ne Geschichte_, and, with another look at me, went out of the
+coffee-room again.
+
+We went out of the hotel, up the street to the cathedral. It was the
+first cathedral I had ever been in. The shock and the wonder of its
+grandeur took my breath away. When I had found courage to look round,
+and up at those awful vaults the roofs, I could not help crying a
+little. The vastness, coolness, stillness, and splendor crushed me--the
+great solemn rays of sunlight coming in slanting glory through the
+windows--the huge height--the impression it gave of greatness, and of a
+religious devotion to which we shall never again attain; of pure, noble
+hearts, and patient, skillful hands, toiling, but in a spirit that made
+the toil a holy prayer--carrying out the builder's thought--great
+thought greatly executed--all was too much for me, the more so in that
+while I felt it all I could not analyze it. It was a dim, indefinite
+wonder. I tried stealthily and in shame to conceal my tears, looking
+surreptitiously at him in fear lest he should be laughing at me again.
+But he was not. He held his cap in his hand--was looking with those
+strange, brilliant eyes fixedly toward the high altar, and there was
+some expression upon his face which I could not analyze--not the
+expression of a person for whom such a scene has grown or can grow
+common by custom--not the expression of a sight-seer who feels that he
+must admire; not my own first astonishment. At least he felt it--the
+whole grand scene, and I instinctively and instantly felt more at home
+with him than I had done before.
+
+"Oh!" said I, at last, "if one could stay here forever, what would one
+grow to?"
+
+He smiled a little.
+
+"You find it beautiful?"
+
+"It is the first I have seen. It is much more than beautiful."
+
+"The first you have seen? Ah, well, I might have guessed that."
+
+"Why? Do I look so countrified?" I inquired, with real interest, as I
+let him lead me to a little side bench, and place himself beside me. I
+asked in all good faith. About him there seemed such a cosmopolitan
+ease, that I felt sure he could tell me correctly how I struck other
+people--if he would.
+
+"Countrified--what is that?"
+
+"Oh, we say it when people are like me--have never seen anything but
+their own little village, and never had any adventures, and--"
+
+"Get lost at railway stations, _und so weiter_. I don't know enough of
+the meaning of 'countrified' to be able to say if you are so, but it is
+easy to see that you--have not had much contention with the powers that
+be."
+
+"Oh, I shall not be stupid long," said I, comfortably. "I am not going
+back home again."
+
+"So!" He did not ask more, but I saw that he listened, and proceeded
+communicatively:
+
+"Never. I have--not quarreled with them exactly, but had a disagreement,
+because--because--"
+
+"Because?"
+
+"They wanted me to--I mean, an old gentleman--no, I mean--"
+
+"An old gentleman wanted you to marry him, and you would not," said he,
+with an odd twinkle in his eyes.
+
+"Why, how can you know?"
+
+"I think, because you told me. But I will forget it if you wish."
+
+"Oh, no! It is quite true. Perhaps I ought to have married him."
+
+"Ought!" He looked startled.
+
+"Yes. Adelaide--my eldest sister--said so. But it was no use. I was very
+unhappy, and Miss Hallam, who is Sir Peter's deadly enemy--he is the old
+gentleman, you know--was very kind to me. She invited me to come with
+her to Germany, and promised to let me have singing lessons."
+
+"Singing lessons?"
+
+I nodded. "Yes; and then when I know a good deal more about singing, I
+shall go back again and give lessons. I shall support myself, and then
+no one will have the right to want to make me marry Sir Peter."
+
+"_Du lieber Himmel!_" he ejaculated, half to himself. "Are you very
+musical, then?"
+
+"I can sing," said I. "Only I want some more training."
+
+"And you will go back all alone and try to give lessons?"
+
+"I shall not only try, I shall do it," I corrected him.
+
+"And do you like the prospect?"
+
+"If I can get enough money to live upon, I shall like it very much. It
+will be better than living at home and being bothered."
+
+"I will tell you what you should do before you begin your career," said
+he, looking at me with an expression half wondering, half pitying.
+
+"What? If you could tell me anything."
+
+"Preserve your voice, by all means, and get as much instruction as you
+can; but change all that waving hair, and make it into unobjectionable
+smooth bands of no particular color. Get a mask to wear over your face,
+which is too expressive; do something to your eyes to alter their--"
+
+The expression then visible in the said eyes seemed to strike him, for
+he suddenly stopped, and with a slight laugh, said:
+
+"_Ach, was rede ich f�r dummes Zeug!_ Excuse me, _mein Fr�ulein_."
+
+"But," I interrupted, earnestly, "what do you mean? Do you think my
+appearance will be a disadvantage to me?"
+
+Scarcely had I said the words than I knew how intensely stupid they
+were, how very much they must appear as if I were openly and impudently
+fishing for compliments. How grateful I felt when he answered, with a
+grave directness, which had nothing but the highest compliment in
+it--that of crediting me with right motives:
+
+"_Mein Fr�ulein_, how can I tell? It is only that I knew some one,
+rather older than you, and very beautiful, who had such a pursuit. Her
+name was Corona Heidelberger, and her story was a sad one."
+
+"Tell it me," I besought.
+
+"Well, no, I think not. But--sometimes I have a little gift of
+foresight, and that tells me that you will not become what you at
+present think. You will be much happier and more fortunate."
+
+"I wonder if it would be nice to be a great operatic singer," I
+speculated.
+
+"_O, beh�te!_ don't think of it!" he exclaimed, starting up and moving
+restlessly. "You do not know--you an opera singer--"
+
+He was interrupted. There suddenly filled the air a sound of deep,
+heavenly melody, which swept solemnly adown the aisles, and filled with
+its melodious thunder every corner of the great building. I listened
+with my face upraised, my lips parted. It was the organ, and presently,
+after a wonderful melody, which set my heart beating--a melody full of
+the most witchingly sweet high notes, and a breadth and grandeur of low
+ones such as only two composers have ever attained to, a voice--a single
+woman's voice--was upraised. She was invisible, and she sung till the
+very sunshine seemed turned to melody, and all the world was music--the
+greatest, most glorious of earthly things.
+
+     "Blute nur, liebes Herz!
+     Ach, ein Kind das du erzogen,
+     Das an deiner Brust gesogen,
+     Drohet den Pfleger zu ermorden
+     Denn es ist zur Schlange worden."
+
+"What is it?" I asked below my breath, as it ceased.
+
+He had shaded his face with his hand, but turned to me as I spoke, a
+certain half-suppressed enthusiasm in his eyes.
+
+"Be thankful for your first introduction to German music," said he, "and
+that it was grand old Johann Sebastian Bach whom you heard. That is one
+of the soprano solos in the _Passions-musik_--that is music."
+
+There was more music. A tenor voice was singing a recitative now, and
+that exquisite accompaniment, with a sort of joyful solemnity, still
+continued. Every now and then, shrill, high, and clear, penetrated a
+chorus of boys' voices. I, outer barbarian that I was, barely knew the
+name of Bach and his "Matthaus Passion," so in the pauses my companion
+told me by snatches what it was about. There was not much of it. After a
+few solos and recitatives, they tried one or two of the choruses. I sat
+in silence, feeling a new world breaking in glory around me, till that
+tremendous chorus came; the organ notes swelled out, the tenor voice
+sung "Whom will ye that I give unto you?" and the answer came, crashing
+down in one tremendous clap, "Barrabam!" And such music was in the
+world, had been sung for years, and I had not heard it. Verily, there
+may be revelations and things new under the sun every day.
+
+I had forgotten everything outside the cathedral--every person but the
+one at my side. It was he who roused first, looking at his watch and
+exclaiming.
+
+"_Herrgott!_ We must go to the station, Fr�ulein, if we wish to catch
+the train."
+
+And yet I did not think he seemed very eager to catch it, as we went
+through the busy streets in the warmth of the evening, for it was hot,
+as it sometimes is in pleasant April, before the withering east winds of
+the "merry month" have come to devastate the land and sweep sickly
+people off the face of the earth. We went slowly through the moving
+crowds to the station, into the wartesaal, where he left me while he
+went to take my ticket. I sat in the same corner of the same sofa as
+before, and to this day I could enumerate every object in that
+wartesaal.
+
+It was after seven o'clock. The outside sky was still bright, but it was
+dusk in the waiting-room and under the shadow of the station. When
+"Eugen Courvoisier" came in again, I did not see his features so
+distinctly as lately in the cathedral. Again he sat down beside me,
+silently this time. I glanced at his face, and a strange, sharp, pungent
+thrill shot through me. The companion of a few hours--was he only that?
+
+"Are you very tired?" he asked, gently, after a long pause. "I think the
+train will not be very long now."
+
+Even as he spoke, clang, clang, went the bell, and for the second time
+that day I went toward the train for Elberthal. This time no wrong
+turning, no mistake. Courvoisier put me into an empty compartment, and
+followed me, said something to a guard who went past, of which I could
+only distinguish the word _allein_; but as no one disturbed our privacy,
+I concluded that German railway guards, like English ones, are mortal.
+
+After debating within myself for some time, I screwed up my courage and
+began:
+
+"Mr. Courvoisier--your name is Courvoisier, is it not?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Will you please tell me how much money you have spent for me to-day?"
+
+"How much money?" he asked, looking at me with a provoking smile.
+
+The train was rumbling slowly along, the night darkening down. We sat by
+an open window, and I looked through it at the gray, Dutch-like
+landscape, the falling dusk, the poplars that seemed sedately marching
+along with us.
+
+"Why do you want to know how much?" he demanded.
+
+"Because I shall want to pay you, of course, when I get my purse," said
+I. "And if you will kindly tell me your address, too--but how much money
+did you spend?"
+
+He looked at me, seemed about to laugh off the question, and then said:
+
+"I believe it was about three thalers ten groschen, but I am not at all
+sure. I can not tell till I do my accounts."
+
+"Oh, dear!" said I.
+
+"Suppose I let you know how much it was," he went on, with a gravity
+which forced conviction upon me.
+
+"Perhaps that would be the best," I agreed. "But I hope you will make
+out your accounts soon."
+
+"Oh, very soon. And where shall I send my bill to?"
+
+Feeling as if there were something not quite as it should be in the
+whole proceeding, I looked very earnestly at him, but could find nothing
+but the most perfect gravity in his expression. I repeated my address
+and name slowly and distinctly, as befitted so business-like a
+transaction, and he wrote them down in a little book.
+
+"And you will not forget," said I, "to give me your address when you let
+me know what I owe you."
+
+"Certainly--when I let you know what you owe me," he replied, putting
+the little book into his pocket again.
+
+"I wonder if any one will come to meet me," I speculated, my mind more
+at ease in consequence of the business-like demeanor of my companion.
+
+"Possibly," said he, with an ambiguous half smile, which I did not
+understand.
+
+"Miss Hallam--the lady I came with--is almost blind. Her maid had to
+look after her, and I suppose that is why they did not wait for me,"
+said I.
+
+"It must have been a very strong reason, at any rate," he said, gravely.
+
+Now the train rolled into the Elberthal station. There were lights,
+movement, a storm of people all gabbling away in a foreign tongue. I
+looked out. No face of any one I knew. Courvoisier sprung down and
+helped me out.
+
+"Now I will put you into a drosky," said he, leading the way to where
+they stood outside the station.
+
+"All�estrasse, thirty-nine," he said to the man.
+
+"Stop one moment," cried I, leaning eagerly out. At that moment a tall,
+dark girl passed us, going slowly toward the gates. She almost paused as
+she saw us. She was looking at my companion; I did not see her face, and
+was only conscious of her as coming between me and him, and so annoying
+me.
+
+"Please let me thank you," I continued. "You have been so kind, so very
+kind--"
+
+"_O, bitte sehr!_ It was so kind in you to get lost exactly when and
+where you did," said he, smiling. "_Adieu, mein Fr�ulein_," he added,
+making a sign to the coachman, who drove off.
+
+I saw him no more. "Eugen Courvoisier"--I kept repeating the name to
+myself, as if I were in the very least danger of forgetting it--"Eugen
+Courvoisier." Now that I had parted from him I was quite clear as to my
+own feelings. I would have given all I was worth--not much, truly--to
+see him for one moment again.
+
+Along a lighted street with houses on one side, a gleaming shine of
+water on the other, and trees on both, down a cross-way, then into
+another street, very wide, and gayly lighted, in the midst of which was
+an avenue.
+
+We stopped with a rattle before a house door, and I read, by the light
+of the lamp that hung over it, "39."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+ANNA SARTORIUS.
+
+
+I was expected. That was very evident. An excited-looking
+_Dienstm�dchen_ opened the door, and on seeing me, greeted me as if I
+had been an old friend. I was presently rescued by Merrick, also looking
+agitated.
+
+"Ho, Miss Wedderburn, at last you are here! How Miss Hallam has
+worried, to be sure."
+
+"I could not help it, I'm very sorry," said I, following her
+upstairs--up a great many flights of stairs, as it seemed to me, till
+she ushered me into a sitting-room where I found Miss Hallam.
+
+"Thank Heaven, child! you are here at last. I was beginning to think
+that if you did not come by this train, I must send some one to K�ln to
+look after you."
+
+"By this train!" I repeated, blankly. "Miss Hallam--what--do you mean?
+There has been no other train."
+
+"Two; there was one at four and one at six. I can not tell you how
+uneasy I have been at your non-appearance."
+
+"Then--then--" I stammered, growing hot all over. "Oh, how horrible!"
+
+"What is horrible?" she demanded. "And you must be starving. Merrick, go
+and see about something to eat for Miss Wedderburn. Now," she added, as
+her maid left the room, "tell me what you have been doing."
+
+I told her everything, concealing nothing.
+
+"Most annoying!" she remarked. "A gentleman, you say. My dear child, no
+gentleman would have done anything of the kind. I am very sorry for it
+all."
+
+"Miss Hallam," I implored, almost in tears, "please do not tell any one
+what has happened to me. I will never be such a fool again. I know
+now--and you may trust me. But do not let any one know how--stupid I
+have been. I told you I was stupid--I told you several times. I am sure
+you must remember."
+
+"Oh, yes, I remember. We will say no more about it."
+
+"And the gray shawl," said I.
+
+"Merrick had it."
+
+I lifted my hands and shrugged my shoulders. "Just my luck," I murmured,
+resignedly, as Merrick came in with a tray.
+
+Miss Hallam, I noticed, continued to regard me now and then as I ate
+with but small appetite. I was too excited by what had passed, and by
+what I had just heard, to be hungry. I thought it kind, merciful, humane
+in her to promise to keep my secret and not expose my ignorance and
+stupidity to strangers.
+
+"It is evident," she remarked, "that you must at once begin to learn
+German, and then if you do get lost at a railway station again, you will
+be able to ask your way."
+
+Merrick shook her head with an inexpressibly bitter smile.
+
+"I'd defy any one to learn this 'ere language, ma'am. They call an
+accident a _Ungl�ck_; if any one could tell me what that means, I'd
+thank them, that's all."
+
+"Don't express your opinions, Merrick, unless you wish to seem
+deficient in understanding; but go and see that Miss Wedderburn has
+everything she wants--or rather everything that can be got--in her room.
+She is tired, and shall go to bed."
+
+I was only too glad to comply with this mandate, but it was long ere I
+slept. I kept hearing the organ in the cathedral, and that voice of the
+invisible singer--seeing the face beside me, and hearing the words,
+"Then you have decided that I am to be trusted?"
+
+"And he was deceiving me all the time!" I thought, mournfully.
+
+I breakfasted by myself the following morning, in a room called the
+speisesaal. I found I was late. When I came into the room, about nine
+o'clock, there was no one but myself to be seen. There was a long table
+with a white cloth upon it, and rows of the thickest cups and saucers it
+had ever been my fate to see, with distinct evidences that the chief
+part of the company had already breakfasted. Baskets full of _Br�dchen_
+and pots of butter, a long India-rubber pipe coming from the gas to
+light a theemaschine--lots of cane-bottomed chairs, an open piano, two
+cages with canaries in them; the kettle gently simmering above the
+gas-flame; for the rest, silence and solitude.
+
+I sat down, having found a clean cup and plate, and glanced timidly at
+the theemaschine, not daring to cope with its mysteries, until my doubts
+were relieved by the entrance of a young person with a trim little
+figure, a coquettishly cut and elaborately braided apron, and a white
+frilled morgenhaube upon her hair, surmounting her round,
+heavenward-aspiring visage.
+
+"_Guten morgen, Fr�ulein_," she said, as she marched up to the darkly
+mysterious theemaschine and began deftly to prepare coffee for me, and
+to push the Br�dchen toward me. She began to talk to me in broken
+English, which was very pretty, and while I ate and drank, she
+industriously scraped little white roots at the same table. She told me
+she was Clara, the niece of Frau Steinmann, and that she was very glad
+to see me, but was very sorry I had had so long to wait in K�ln
+yesterday. She liked my dress, and was it _echt Englisch_--also, how
+much did it cost?
+
+She was a cheery little person, and I liked her. She seemed to like me
+too, and repeatedly said she was glad I had come. She liked dancing she
+said. Did I? And she had lately danced at a ball with some one who
+danced so well--_aber_, quite indescribably well. His name was Karl
+Linders, and he was, _ach!_ really a remarkable person. A bright blush,
+and a little sigh accompanied the remark. Our eyes met, and from that
+moment Clara and I were very good friends.
+
+I went upstairs again, and found that Miss Hallam proposed, during the
+forenoon, to go and find the Eye Hospital, where she was to see the
+oculist, and arrange for him to visit her, and shortly after eleven we
+set out.
+
+The street that I had so dimly seen the night before, showed itself by
+daylight to be a fair, broad way. Down the middle, after the pleasant
+fashion of continental towns, was a broad walk, planted with two double
+rows of lindens, and on either side this lindenallee was the carriage
+road, private houses, shops, exhibitions, boarding-houses. In the
+middle, exactly opposite our dwelling, was the New Theater, just drawing
+to the close of its first season. I looked at it without thinking much
+about it. I had never been in a theater in my life, and the name was but
+a name to me.
+
+Turning off from the pretty allee, and from the green Hofgarten which
+bounded it at one end, we entered a narrow, ill-paved street, the aspect
+of whose gutters and inhabitants alike excited my liveliest disgust. In
+this street was the Eye Hospital, as was presently testified to us by a
+board bearing the inscription, "St�dtische Augenklinik."
+
+We were taken to a dimly lighted room in which many people were waiting,
+some with bandages over their eyes, others with all kinds of
+extraordinary spectacles on, which made them look like phantoms out of a
+bad dream--nearly all more or less blind, and the effect was
+surprisingly depressing.
+
+Presently Miss Hallam and Merrick were admitted to an inner room, and I
+was left to await their return. My eye strayed over the different faces,
+and I felt a sensation of relief when I saw some one come in without
+either bandage or spectacles. The new-comer was a young man of middle
+height, and of proportions slight without being thin. There was nothing
+the matter with his eyes, unless perhaps a slight short-sightedness; he
+had, I thought, one of the gentlest, most attractive faces I had ever
+seen; boyishly open and innocent at the first glance; at the second,
+indued with a certain reticent calm and intellectual radiance which took
+away from the first youthfulness of his appearance. Soft, yet luminous
+brown eyes, loose brown hair hanging round his face, a certain manner
+which for me at least had a charm, were the characteristics of this
+young man. He carried a violin-case, removed his hat as he came in, and
+being seen by one of the young men who sat at desks, took names down,
+and attended to people in general, was called by him:
+
+"Herr Helfen--Herr Friedhelm Helfen!"
+
+"_Ja--hier!_" he answered, going up to the desk, upon which there ensued
+a lively conversation, though carried on in a low tone, after which the
+young man at the desk presented a white card to "Herr Friedhelm Helfen,"
+and the latter, with a pleasant "Adieu," went out of the room again.
+
+Miss Hallam and Merrick presently returned from the consulting-room, and
+we went out of the dark room into the street, which was filled with
+spring sunshine and warmth; a contrast something like that between Miss
+Hallam's life and my own, I have thought since. Far before us, hurrying
+on, I saw the young man with the violin-case; he turned off by the
+theater, and went in at a side door.
+
+An hour's wandering in the Hofgarten--my first view of the Rhine--a
+dull, flat stream it looked, too. I have seen it since then in mightier
+flow. Then we came home, and it was decided that we should dine together
+with the rest of the company at one o'clock.
+
+A bell rang at a few minutes past one. We went down-stairs, into the
+room in which I had already breakfasted, which, in general, was known as
+the saal. As I entered with Miss Hallam I was conscious that a knot of
+lads or young men stood aside to let us pass, and then giggled and
+scuffled behind the door before following us into the saal.
+
+Two or three ladies were already seated, and an exceedingly stout lady
+ladled out soup at a side table, while Clara and a servant-woman carried
+the plates round to the different places. The stout lady turned as she
+saw us, and greeted us. She was Frau Steinmann, our hostess. She waited
+until the youths before spoken of had come in, and with a great deal of
+noise had seated themselves, when she began, aided by the soup-ladle,
+to introduce us all to each other.
+
+We, it seemed, were to have the honor and privilege of being the only
+English ladies of the company. We were introduced to one or two others,
+and I was assigned a place by a lady introduced as Fr�ulein Anna
+Sartorius, a brunette, rather stout, with large dark eyes which looked
+at me in a way I did not like, a head of curly black hair cropped short,
+an odd, brusque manner, and a something peculiar, or, as she said,
+_selten_ in her dress. This young lady sustained the introduction with
+self-possession and calm. It was otherwise with the young gentlemen, who
+appeared decidedly mixed. There were some half dozen of them in all--a
+couple of English, the rest German, Dutch, and Swedish. I had never been
+in company with so many nationalities before, and was impressed with my
+situation--needlessly so.
+
+All these young gentlemen made bows which were, in their respective
+ways, triumphs of awkwardness, with the exception of one of our
+compatriots, who appeared to believe that himself and his manners were
+formed to charm and subdue the opposite sex. We then sat down, and
+Fr�ulein Sartorius immediately opened a conversation with me.
+
+"_Sprechen Sie Deutsch, Fr�ulein?_" was her first venture, and having
+received my admission that I did not speak a word of it, she continued,
+in good English:
+
+"Now I can talk to you without offending you. It is so dreadful when
+English people who don't know German persist in thinking that they do.
+There was an English-woman here who always said _wer_ when she meant
+where, and _wo_ when she meant who. She said the sounds confused her."
+
+The boys giggled at this, but the joke was lost upon me.
+
+"What is your name?" she continued; "I didn't catch what Frau Steinmann
+said."
+
+"May Wedderburn," I replied, angry with myself for blushing so
+excessively as I saw that all the boys held their spoons suspended,
+listening for my answer.
+
+"May--_das heisst Mai_," said she, turning to the assembled youths, who
+testified that they were aware of it, and the Dutch boy, Brinks,
+inquired, gutturally:
+
+"You haf one zong in your language what calls itself, 'Not always Mai,'
+haf you not?"
+
+"Yes," said I, and all the boys began to giggle as if something clever
+had been said. Taken all in all, what tortures have I not suffered from
+those dreadful boys. Shy when they ought to have been bold, and bold
+where a modest retiringness would better have become them. Giggling
+inanely at everything and nothing. Noisy and vociferous among themselves
+or with inferiors; shy, awkward and blushing with ladies or in refined
+society--distressing my feeble efforts to talk to them by their silly
+explosions of laughter when one of them was addressed. They formed the
+bane of my life for some time.
+
+"Will you let me paint you?" said Fr�ulein Sartorius, whose big eyes had
+been surveying me in a manner that made me nervous.
+
+"Paint me?"
+
+"Your likeness, I mean. You are very pretty, and we never see that color
+of hair here."
+
+"Are you a painter?"
+
+"No, I'm only a _Studentin_ yet; but I paint from models. Well, will you
+sit to me?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. If I have time, perhaps."
+
+"What will you do to make you not have time?"
+
+I did not feel disposed to gratify her curiosity, and said I did not
+know yet what I should do.
+
+For a short time she asked no more questions, then
+
+"Do you like town or country best?"
+
+"I don't know. I have never lived in a town."
+
+"Do you like amusements--concerts, and theater, and opera?"
+
+"I don't know," I was reluctantly obliged to confess, for I saw that the
+assembled youths, though not looking at me openly, and apparently
+entirely engrossed with their dinners, were listening attentively to
+what passed.
+
+"You don't know," repeated Fr�ulein Sartorius, quickly seeing through my
+thin assumption of indifference, and proceeding to draw me out as much
+as possible. I wished Adelaide had been there to beat her from the
+field. She would have done it better than I could.
+
+"No; because I have never been to any."
+
+"Haven't you? How odd! How very odd! Isn't it strange?" she added,
+appealing to the boys. "Fr�ulein has never been to a theater or a
+concert."
+
+I disdained to remark that my words were being perverted, but the game
+instinct rose in me. Raising my voice a little, I remarked:
+
+"It is evident that I have not enjoyed your advantages, but I trust that
+the gentlemen" (with a bow to the listening boys) "will make allowances
+for the difference between us."
+
+The young gentlemen burst into a chorus of delighted giggles, and Anna,
+shooting a rapid glance at me, made a slight grimace, but looked not at
+all displeased. I was, though, mightily; but, elate with victory, I
+turned to my compatriot at the other end of the table, and asked him at
+what time of the year Elberthal was pleasantest.
+
+"Oh," said he, "it's always pleasant to me, but that's owing to myself.
+I make it so."
+
+Just then, several of the other lads rose, pushing their chairs back
+with a great clatter, bowing to the assembled company, and saying
+"Gesegnete Mahlzeit!" as they went out.
+
+"Why are they going, and what do they say?" I inquired of Miss
+Sartorius, who replied, quite amiably:
+
+"They are students at the Realschule. They have to be there at two
+o'clock, and they say, 'Blessed be the meal-time,' as they go out."
+
+"Do they? How nice!" I could not help saying.
+
+"Would you like to go for a walk this afternoon?" said she.
+
+"Oh, very much!" I had exclaimed, before I remembered that I did not
+like her, and did not intend to like her. "If Miss Hallam can spare me,"
+I added.
+
+"Oh, I think she will. I shall be ready at half past two; then we shall
+return for coffee at four. I will knock at your door at the time."
+
+On consulting Miss Hallam after dinner, I found she was quite willing
+for me to go out with Anna, and at the time appointed we set out.
+
+Anna took me a tour round the town, showed me the lions, and gave me
+topographical details. She showed me the big, plain barrack, and the
+desert waste of the Exerzierplatz spreading before it. She did her best
+to entertain me, and I, with a childish prejudice against her abrupt
+manner, and the free, somewhat challenging look of her black eyes, was
+reserved, unresponsive, stupid. I took a prejudice against her--I own
+it--and for that and other sins committed against a woman who would have
+been my friend if I would have let her, I say humbly, _Mea culpa!_
+
+"It seems a dull kind of a place," said I.
+
+"It need not be. You have advantages here which you can't get
+everywhere. I have been here several years, and as I have no other home
+I rather think I shall live here."
+
+"Oh, indeed."
+
+"You have a home, I suppose?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Brothers and sisters?"
+
+"Two sisters," I replied, mightily ruffled by what I chose to consider
+her curiosity and impertinence; though, when I looked at her, I saw what
+I could not but confess to be a real, and not unkind, interest in her
+plain face and big eyes.
+
+"Ah! I have no brothers and sisters. I have only a little house in the
+country, and as I have always lived in a town, I don't care for the
+country. It is so lonely. The people are so stupid too--not always
+though. You were offended with me at dinner, _nicht wahr_?"
+
+"Oh, dear, no!" said I, very awkwardly and very untruly. The truth was,
+I did not like her, and was too young, too ignorant and _gauche_ to try
+to smooth over my dislike. I did not know the pain I was giving, and if
+I had, should perhaps not have behaved differently.
+
+"_Doch!_" she said, smiling. "But I did not know what a child you were,
+or I should have let you alone."
+
+More offended than ever, I maintained silence. If I were certainly
+touchy and ill to please, Fr�ulein Sartorius, it must be owned, did not
+know how to apologize gracefully. I have since, with wider knowledge of
+her country and its men and women, got to see that what made her so
+inharmonious was, that she had a woman's form and a man's disposition
+and love of freedom. As her countrywomen taken in the gross are the most
+utterly "in bonds" of any women in Europe, this spoiled her life in a
+manner which can not be understood here, where women in comparison are
+free as air, and gave no little of the brusqueness and roughness to her
+manner. In an enlightened English home she would have been an
+admirable, firm, clever woman; here she was that most dreadful of all
+abnormal growths--a woman with a will of her own.
+
+"What do they do here?" I inquired, indifferently.
+
+"Oh, many things. Though it is not a large town there is a School of
+Art, which brings many painters here. There are a hundred and
+fifty--besides students."
+
+"And you are a student?"
+
+"Yes. One must have something to do--some _carri�re_--though my
+countrywomen say not. I shall go away for a few months soon, but I am
+waiting for the last great concert. It will be the 'Paradise Lost' of
+Rubinstein."
+
+"Ah, yes!" said I, politely, but without interest. I had never heard of
+Rubinstein and the "Verlorenes Paradies." Before the furor of 1876, how
+many scores of provincial English had?
+
+"There is very much music here," she continued. "Are you fond of it?"
+
+"Ye-es. I can't play much, but I can sing. I have come here partly to
+take singing lessons."
+
+"So!"
+
+"Who is the best teacher?" was my next ingenuous question.
+
+She laughed.
+
+"That depends upon what you want to learn. There are so many: violin,
+_Clavier_, that is piano, flute, 'cello, everything."
+
+"Oh!" I replied, and asked no more questions about music; but inquired
+if it were pleasant at Frau Steinmann's.
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"Is it pleasant anywhere? I don't find many places pleasant, because I
+can not be a humbug, so others do not like me. But I believe some people
+like Elberthal very well. There is the theater--that makes another
+element. And there are the soldiers and _Kaufleute_--merchants, I mean,
+so you see there is variety, though it is a small place."
+
+"Ah, yes!" said I, looking about me as we passed down a very busy
+street, and I glanced to right and left with the image of Eugen
+Courvoisier ever distinctly if unconfessedly present to my mental view.
+Did he live at Elberthal? and if so, did he belong to any of those
+various callings? What was he? An artist who painted pictures for his
+bread? I thought that very probable. There was something free and
+artist-like in his manner, in his loose waving hair and in his keen
+susceptibility to beauty. I thought of his emotion at hearing that
+glorious Bach music. Or was he a musician--what Anna Sartorius called
+_ein Musiker_? But no. My ideas of musicians were somewhat hazy, not to
+say utterly chaotic; they embraced only two classes: those who performed
+or gave lessons, and those who composed. I had never formed to myself
+the faintest idea of a composer, and my experience of teachers and
+performers was limited to one specimen--Mr. Smythe, of Darton, whose
+method and performances would, as I have since learned, have made the
+hair of a musician stand horrent on end. No--I did not think he was a
+musician. An actor? Perish the thought, was my inevitable mental answer.
+How should I be able to make any better one? A soldier, then? At that
+moment we met a mounted captain of Uhlans, harness clanking,
+accouterments rattling. He was apparently an acquaintance of my
+companion, for he saluted with a grave politeness which sat well upon
+him. Decidedly Eugen Courvoisier had the air of a soldier. That
+accounted for all. No doubt he was a soldier. In my ignorance of the
+strictness of German military regulations as regards the wearing of
+uniform, I overlooked the fact that he had been in civilian's dress, and
+remained delighted with my new idea; Captain Courvoisier. "What is the
+German for captain?" I inquired, abruptly.
+
+"_Hauptmann._"
+
+"Thank you." Hauptmann Eugen Courvoisier--a noble and a gallant title,
+and one which became him. "How much is a thaler?" was my next question.
+
+"It is as much as three shillings in your money."
+
+"Oh, thank you," said I, and did a little sum in my own mind. At that
+rate then, I owed Herr Courvoisier the sum of ten shillings. How glad I
+was to find it came within my means.
+
+As I took off my things, I wondered when Herr Courvoisier would "make
+out his accounts." I trusted soon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+"Probe zum verlorenen Paradiese."
+
+
+Miss Hallam fulfilled her promise with regard to my singing lessons. She
+had a conversation with Fr�ulein Sartorius, to whom, unpopular as she
+was, I noticed people constantly and almost instinctively went when in
+need of precise information or a slight dose of common sense and
+clear-headedness.
+
+Miss Hallam inquired who was the best master.
+
+"For singing, the Herr Direktor," replied Anna, very promptly. "And then
+he directs the best of the musical vereins--the clubs--societies,
+whatever you name them. At least he might try Miss Wedderburn's voice."
+
+"Who is he?"
+
+"The head of anything belonging to music in the town--k�niglicher
+musik-direktor. He conducts all the great concerts, and though he does
+not sing himself, yet he is one of the best teachers in the province.
+Lots of people come and stay here on purpose to learn from him."
+
+"And what are these vereins?"
+
+"Every season there are six great concerts given, and a seventh for the
+benefit of the direktor. The orchestra and chorus together are called a
+verein--musik-verein. The chorus is chiefly composed of ladies and
+gentlemen--amateurs, you know--_Dilettanten_. The Herr Direktor is very
+particular about voices. You pay so much for admission, and receive a
+card for the season. Then you have all the good teaching--the _Proben_."
+
+"What is a _Probe_?" I demanded, hastily, remembering that Courvoisier
+had used the word.
+
+"What you call a rehearsal."
+
+Ah! then he was musical. At last I had found it out. Perhaps he was one
+of the amateurs who sung at these concerts, and if so, I might see him
+again, and if so--But Anna went on:
+
+"It is a very good thing for any one, particularly with such a teacher
+as von Francius."
+
+"You must join," said Miss Hallam to me.
+
+"There is a probe to-night to Rubinstein's 'Paradise Lost,'" said Anna.
+"I shall go, not to sing, but to listen. I can take Miss Wedderburn, if
+you like, and introduce her to Herr von Francius, whom I know."
+
+"Very nice! very much obliged to you. Certainly," said Miss Hallam.
+
+The probe was fixed for seven, and shortly after that time we set off
+for the Tonhalle, or concert-hall, in which it was held.
+
+"We shall be much too early," said she. "But the people are shamefully
+late. Most of them only come to _klatsch_, and flirt, or try to flirt,
+with the Herr Direktor."
+
+This threw upon my mind a new light as to the Herr Direktor, and I
+walked by her side much impressed. She told me that if I accepted I
+might even sing in the concert itself, as there had only been four
+proben so far, and there were still several before the haupt-probe.
+
+"What is the haupt-probe?" I inquired.
+
+"General rehearsal--when Herr von Francius is most unmerciful to his
+stupid pupils. I always attend that. I like to hear him make sport of
+them, and then the instrumentalists laugh at them. Von Francius never
+flatters."
+
+Inspired with nightmare-like ideas as to this terrible haupt-probe, I
+found myself, with Anna, turning into a low-fronted building inscribed
+"St�dtische Tonhalle," the concert-hall of the good town of Elberthal.
+
+"This way," said she. "It is in the rittersaal. We don't go to the large
+saal till the haupt-probe."
+
+I followed her into a long, rather shabby-looking room, at one end of
+which was a low orchestra, about which were dotted the desks of the
+absent instrumentalists, and some stiff-looking Celli and Contrabassi
+kept watch from a wall. On the orchestra was already assembled a goodly
+number of young men and women, all in lively conversation, loud
+laughter, and apparently high good-humor with themselves and everything
+in the world.
+
+A young man with a fuzz of hair standing off about a sad and
+depressed-looking countenance was stealing "in and out and round about,"
+and distributing sheets of score to the company. In the conductor's
+place was a tall man in gray clothes, who leaned negligently against the
+rail, and held a conversation with a pretty young lady who seemed much
+pleased with his attention. It did not strike me at first that this was
+the terrible direktor of whom I had been hearing. He was young, had a
+slender, graceful figure, and an exceedingly handsome, though (I
+thought at first) an unpleasing face. There was something in his
+attitude and manner which at first I did not quite like. Anna walked up
+the room, and pausing before the estrade, said:
+
+"Herr Direktor!"
+
+He turned: his eyes fell upon her face, and left it instantly to look at
+mine. Gathering himself together into a more ceremonious attitude, he
+descended from his estrade, and stood beside us, a little to one side,
+looking at us with a leisurely calmness which made me feel, I knew not
+why, uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Anna took up her parable.
+
+"May I introduce the young lady? Miss Wedderburn, Herr Musik-Direktor
+von Francius. Miss Wedderburn wishes to join the verein, if you think
+her voice will pass. Perhaps you will allow her to sing to-night?"
+
+"Certainly, _mein Fr�ulein_," said he to me, not to Anna. He had a long,
+rather Jewish-looking face, black hair, eyes, and mustache. The features
+were thin, fine, and pointed. The thing which most struck me then, at
+any rate, was a certain expression which, conquering all others,
+dominated them--at once a hardness and a hardihood which impressed me
+disagreeably then, though I afterward learned, in knowing the man, to
+know much more truly the real meaning of that unflinching gaze and iron
+look.
+
+"Your voice is what, _mein Fr�ulein_?" he asked.
+
+"Soprano."
+
+"Sopran? We will see. The soprani sit over there, if you will have the
+goodness."
+
+He pointed to the left of the orchestra, and called out to the
+melancholy-looking young man, "Herr Schonfeld, a chair for the young
+lady!"
+
+Herr von Francius then ascended the orchestra himself, went to the
+piano, and, after a few directions, gave us the signal to begin. Till
+that day--I confess it with shame--I had never heard of the "Verlorenes
+Paradies." It came upon me like a revelation. I sung my best,
+substituting _do_, _re_, _mi_, etc., for the German words. Once or
+twice, as Herr von Francius's forefinger beat time, I thought I saw his
+head turn a little in our direction, but I scarcely heeded it. When the
+first chorus was over, he turned to me:
+
+"You have not sung in a chorus before?"
+
+"No."
+
+"So! I should like to hear you sing something _sola_." He pushed toward
+me a pile of music, and while the others stood looking on and whispering
+among themselves, he went on, "Those are all sopran songs. Select one,
+if you please, and try it."
+
+Not at all aware that the incident was considered unprecedented, and was
+creating a sensation, I turned over the music, seeking something I knew,
+but could find nothing. All in German, and all strange. Suddenly I came
+upon one entitled "Blute nur, liebes Herz," the sopran solo which I had
+heard as I sat with Courvoisier in the cathedral. It seemed almost like
+an old friend. I opened it, and found it had also English words. That
+decided me.
+
+"I will try this," said I, showing it to him.
+
+He smiled. "_'S ist gut!_" Then he read the title off the song aloud,
+and there was a general titter, as if some very great joke were in
+agitation, and were much appreciated. Indeed I found that in general
+the jokes of the Herr Direktor, when he condescended to make any, were
+very keenly relished by at least the lady part of his pupils.
+
+Not understanding the reason of the titter I took the music in my hand,
+and waiting for a moment until he gave me the signal, sung it after the
+best wise I could--not very brilliantly, I dare say, but with at least
+all my heart poured into it. I had one requisite at least of an artist
+nature--I could abstract myself upon occasion completely from my
+surroundings. I did so now. It was too beautiful, too grand. I
+remembered that afternoon at K�ln--the golden sunshine streaming through
+the painted windows, the flood of melody poured forth by the invisible
+singer; above all, I remembered who had been by my side, and I felt as
+if again beside him--again influenced by the unusual beauty of his face
+and mien, and by his clear, strange, commanding eyes. It all came back
+to me--the strangest, happiest day of my life. I sung as I had never
+sung before--as I had not known I could sing.
+
+When I stopped, the tittering had ceased; silence saluted me. The young
+ladies were all looking at me; some of them had put on their
+eye-glasses; others stared at me as if I were some strange animal from a
+menagerie. The young gentlemen were whispering among themselves and
+taking sidelong glances at me. I scarcely heeded anything of it. I fixed
+my eyes upon the judge who had been listening to my performance--upon
+von Francius. He was pulling his mustache and at first made no remark.
+
+"You have sung that song before, _gn�diges Fr�ulein_?"
+
+"No. I have heard it once. I have not seen the music before."
+
+"So!" He bowed slightly, and turning once more to the others, said:
+
+"We will begin the next chorus. 'Chorus of the Damned,' Now, _meine
+Herrschaften_, I would wish to impress upon you one thing, if I can,
+that is--Silence, _meine Herren_!" he called sharply toward the tenors,
+who were giggling inanely among themselves. "A chorus of damned souls,"
+he proceeded, composedly, "would not sing in the same unruffled manner
+as a young lady who warbles, 'Spring is come--tra, la, la! Spring is
+come--lira, lira!' in her mamma's drawing-room. Try to imagine yourself
+struggling in the tortures of hell"--(a delighted giggle and a sort of
+"Oh, you dear, wicked man!" expression on the part of the young ladies;
+a nudging of each other on that of the young gentlemen), "and sing as if
+you were damned."
+
+Scarcely any one seemed to take the matter the least earnestly. The
+young ladies continued to giggle, and the young gentlemen to nudge each
+other. Little enough of expression, if plenty of noise, was there in
+that magnificent and truly difficult passage, the changing choruses of
+the condemned and the blessed ones--with its crowning "WEH!" thundering
+down from highest soprano to deepest bass.
+
+"Lots of noise, and no meaning," observed the conductor, leaning himself
+against the rail of the estrade, face to his audience, folding his arms
+and surveying them all one after the other with cold self-possession. It
+struck me that he despised them while he condescended to instruct them.
+The power of the man struck me again. I began to like him better. At
+least I venerated his thorough understanding of what was to me a
+splendid mystery. No softening appeared in the master's eyes in answer
+to the rows of pretty appealing faces turned to him; no smile upon his
+contemptuous lips responded to the eyes--black, brown, gray, blue,
+yellow--all turned with such affecting devotion to his own. Composing
+himself to an insouciant attitude, he began in a cool, indifferent
+voice, which had, however, certain caustic tones in it which stung me
+at least to the quick:
+
+"I never heard anything worse, even from you. My honored Fr�ulein, my
+_gn�digen Herren_, just try once to imagine what you are singing about!
+It is not an exercise--it is not a love song, either of which you would
+no doubt perform excellently. Conceive what is happening! Put yourself
+back into those mythical times. Believe, for this evening, in the story
+of the forfeited Paradise. There is strife between the Blessed and the
+Damned; the obedient and the disobedient. There are thick clouds in the
+heavens--smoke, fire, and sulphur--a clashing of swords in the serried
+ranks of the angels: can not you see Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, leading
+the heavenly host? Can not some of you sympathize a little with Satan
+and his struggle?"
+
+Looking at him, I thought they must indeed be an unimaginative set! In
+that dark face before them was Mephistopheles at least--_der Geist der
+stets verneint_--if nothing more violent. His cool, scornful features
+were lighted up with some of the excitement which he could not drill
+into the assemblage before him. Had he been gifted with the requisite
+organ he would have acted and sung the chief character in "Faust" _con
+amore_.
+
+"_Ach, um Gotteswillen!_" he went on, shrugging his shoulders, "try to
+forget what you are! Try to forget that none of you ever had a wicked
+thought or an unholy aspiration--"
+
+("Don't they see how he is laughing at them?" I wondered.)
+
+"You, Chorus of the Condemned, try to conjure up every wicked thought
+you can, and let it come out in your voices--you who sing the strains of
+the blessed ones, think of what blessedness is. Surely each of you has
+his own idea! Some of you may agree with Lenore:
+
+     "'Bei ihm, bei ihm ist Seligkeit,
+     Und ohne Wilhelm Holle!'
+
+"If so, think of him; think of her--only sing it, whatever it is.
+Remember the strongest of feelings:
+
+     "'Die Engel nennen es Himmelsfreude
+     Die Teufel nennen es H�llenqual,
+     Die Menschen nennen es--LIEBE!'
+
+"And sing it!"
+
+He had not become loud or excited in voice or gesticulation, but his
+words, flung at them like so many scornful little bullets, the
+indifferent resignation of his attitude, had their effect upon the crew
+of giggling, simpering girls and awkward, self-conscious young men. Some
+idea seemed vouchsafed to them that perhaps their performance had not
+been quite all that it might have been; they began in a little more
+earnest, and the chorus went better.
+
+For my own part, I was deeply moved. A vague excitement, a wild, and not
+altogether a holy one, had stolen over me. I understood now how the man
+might have influence. I bent to the power of his will, which reached me
+where I stood in the background, from his dark eyes, which turned for a
+moment to me now and then. It was that will of his which put me as it
+were suddenly into the spirit of the music, and revealed me depths in my
+own heart at which I had never even guessed. Excited, with cheeks
+burning and my heart hot within me, I followed his words and his
+gestures, and grew so impatient of the dull stupidity of the others that
+tears came to my eyes. How could that young woman, in the midst of a
+sublime chorus, deliberately pause, arrange the knot of her neck-tie,
+and then, after a smile and a side glance at the conductor, go on again
+with a more self-satisfied simper than ever upon her lips? What might
+not the thing be with a whole chorus of sympathetic singers? The very
+dullness which in face prevailed revealed to me great regions of
+possible splendor, almost too vast to think of.
+
+At last it was over. I turned to the direktor, who was still near the
+piano, and asked timidly:
+
+"Do you think I may join? Will my voice do?"
+
+An odd expression crossed his face; he answered, dryly:
+
+"You may join the verein, _mein Fr�ulein_--yes. Please come this way
+with me. Pardon, Fr�ulein Stockhausen--another time. I am sorry to say I
+have business at present."
+
+A black look from a pretty brunette, who had advanced with an engaging
+smile and an open score to ask him some question, greeted this very
+composed rebuff of her advance. The black look was directed at
+me--guiltless.
+
+Without taking any notice of the other, he led Anna and me to a small
+inner room, where there was a desk and writing materials.
+
+"Your name, if you will be good enough?"
+
+"Wedderburn."
+
+"Your _Vorname_, though--your first name."
+
+"My Christian name--oh, May."
+
+"M--a--_na_! Perhaps you will be so good as to write it yourself, and
+the street and number of the house in which you live."
+
+I complied.
+
+"Have you been here long?"
+
+"Not quite a week."
+
+"Do you intend to make any stay?"
+
+"Some months, probably."
+
+"Humph! If you wish to make any progress in music, you must stay much
+longer."
+
+"It--I--it depends upon other people how long I remain."
+
+He smiled slightly, and his smile was not unpleasant; it lighted up the
+darkness of his face in an agreeable manner.
+
+"So I should suppose. I will call upon you to-morrow at four in the
+afternoon. I should like to have a little conversation with you about
+your voice. Adieu, _meine Damen_."
+
+With a slight bow which sufficiently dismissed us, he turned to the desk
+again, and we went away.
+
+Our homeward walk was a somewhat silent one. Anna certainly asked me
+suddenly where I had learned to sing.
+
+"I have not learned properly. I can't help singing."
+
+"I did not know you had a voice like that," said she again.
+
+"Like what?"
+
+"Herr von Francius will tell you all about it to-morrow," said she,
+abruptly.
+
+"What a strange man Herr von Francius is!" said I. "Is he clever?"
+
+"Oh, very clever."
+
+"At first I did not like him. Now I think I do, though."
+
+She made no answer for a few minutes; then said:
+
+"He is an excellent teacher."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+HERR VON FRANCIUS.
+
+
+When Miss Hallam heard from Anna Sartorius that my singing had evidently
+struck Herr von Francius, and of his intended visit, she looked
+pleased--so pleased that I was surprised.
+
+He came the following afternoon, at the time he had specified. Now, in
+the broad daylight, and apart from his official, professional manner, I
+found the Herr Direktor still different from the man of last night, and
+yet the same. He looked even younger now than on the estrade last night,
+and quiet though his demeanor was, attuned to a gentlemanly calm and
+evenness, there was still the one thing, the cool, hard glance left, to
+unite him with the dark, somewhat sinister-looking personage who had
+cast his eyes round our circle last night, and told us to sing as if we
+were damned.
+
+"Miss Hallam, this is Herr von Francius," said I. "He speaks English," I
+added.
+
+Von Francius glanced from her to me with a somewhat inquiring
+expression.
+
+Miss Hallam received him graciously, and they talked about all sorts of
+trifles, while I sat by in seemly silence, till at last Miss Hallam
+said:
+
+"Can you give me any opinion upon Miss Wedderburn's voice?"
+
+"Scarcely, until I have given it another trial. She seems to have had no
+training."
+
+"No, that is true," she said, and proceeded to inform him casually that
+she wished me to have every advantage I could get from my stay in
+Elberthal, and must put the matter into his hands. Von Francius looked
+pleased.
+
+For my part, I was deeply moved. Miss Hallam's generosity to one so
+stupid and ignorant touched me nearly.
+
+Von Francius, pausing a short time, at last said:
+
+"I must try her voice again, as I remarked. Last night I was struck with
+her sense of the dramatic point of what we were singing--a quality which
+I do not too often find in my pupils. I think, _mein Fr�ulein_, that
+with care and study you might take a place on the stage."
+
+"The stage!" I repeated, startled, and thinking of Courvoisier's words.
+
+But von Francius had been reckoning without his host. When Miss Hallam
+spoke of "putting the matter into his hands," she understood the words
+in her own sense.
+
+"The stage!" said she, with a slight shiver. "That is quite out of the
+question. Miss Wedderburn is a young lady--not an actress."
+
+"So! Then it is impossible to be both in your country?" said he, with
+polite sarcasm. "I spoke as simple _K�nstler_--artist--I was not
+thinking of anything else. I do not think the _gn�diges Fr�ulein_ will
+ever make a good singer of mere songs. She requires emotion to bring out
+her best powers--a little passion--a little scope for acting and abandon
+before she can attain the full extent of her talent."
+
+He spoke in the most perfectly matter-of-fact way, and I trembled. I
+feared lest this display of what Miss Hallam would consider little short
+of indecent laxity and Bohemianism, would shock her so much that I
+should lose everything by it. It was not so, however.
+
+"Passion--abandon! I think you can not understand what you are talking
+about!" said she. "My dear sir, you must understand that those kind of
+things may be all very well for one set of people, but not for that
+class to which Miss Wedderburn belongs. Her father is a clergyman"--von
+Fraucius bowed, as if he did not quite see what that had to do with
+it--"in short, that idea is impossible. I tell you plainly. She may
+learn as much as she likes, but she will never be allowed to go upon the
+stage."
+
+"Then she may teach?" said he, inquiringly.
+
+"Certainly. I believe that is what she wishes to do, in case--if
+necessary."
+
+"She may teach, but she may not act," said he, reflectively. "So be it,
+then! Only," he added as if making a last effort, "I would just mention
+that, apart from artistic considerations, while a lady may wear herself
+out as a poorly paid teacher, a _prima donna_--"
+
+Miss Hallam smiled with calm disdain.
+
+"It is not of the least use to speak of such a thing. You and I look at
+the matter from quite different points of view, and to argue about it
+would only be to waste time."
+
+Von Francius, with a sarcastic, ambiguous smile, turned to me:
+
+"And you, _mein Fr�ulein_?"
+
+"I--no. I agree with Miss Hallam," I murmured, not really having found
+myself able to think about it at all, but conscious that opposition was
+useless. And, besides, I did shrink away from the ideas conjured up by
+that word, the "stage."
+
+"So!" said he, with a little bow and a half smile. "Also, I must try to
+make the round man fit into the square hole. The first thing will be
+another trial of your voice; then I must see how many lessons a week you
+will require, and must give you instructions about practicing. You must
+understand that it is not pleasure or child's play which you are
+undertaking. It is a work in order to accomplish which you must strain
+every nerve, and give up everything which in any way interferes with
+it."
+
+"I don't know whether I shall have time for it," I murmured, looking
+doubtfully toward Miss Hallam.
+
+"Yes, May; you will have time for it," was all she said.
+
+"Is there a piano in the house?" said von Francius. "But, yes,
+certainly. Fr�ulein Sartorius has one; she will lend it to us for half
+an hour. If you were at liberty, _mein Fr�ulein_, just now--"
+
+"Certainly," said I, following him, as he told Miss Hallam that he would
+see her again.
+
+As he knocked at the door of Anna's sitting-room she came out, dressed
+for walking.
+
+"_Ach, Fr�ulein!_ will you allow us the use of your piano for a few
+minutes?"
+
+"_Bitte!_" said she, motioning us into the room. "I am sorry I have an
+engagement, and must leave you."
+
+"Do not let us keep you on any account," said he, with touching
+politeness; and she went out.
+
+"_Desto besser!_" he observed, shrugging his shoulders.
+
+He pulled off his gloves with rather an impatient gesture, seated
+himself at the piano, and struck some chords, in an annoyed manner.
+
+"Who is that old lady?" he inquired, looking up at me. "Any relation of
+yours?"
+
+"No--oh, no! I am her companion."
+
+"So! And you mean to let her prevent you from following the career you
+have a talent for?"
+
+"If I do not do as she wishes, I shall have no chance of following any
+career at all," said I. "And, besides, how does any one know that I have
+a talent--for--for--what you say?"
+
+"I know it; that is why I said it. I wish I could persuade that old lady
+to my way of thinking!" he added. "I wish you were out of her hands and
+in mine. _Na!_ we shall see!"
+
+It was not a very long "trial" that he gave me; we soon rose from the
+piano.
+
+"To-morrow at eleven I come to give you a lesson," said he. "I am going
+to talk to Miss Hallam now. You please not come. I wish to see her
+alone; and I can manage her better by myself, _nicht wahr_!"
+
+"Thank you," said I in a subdued tone.
+
+"You must have a piano, too," he added; "and we must have the room to
+ourselves. I allow no third person to be present in my private lessons,
+but go on the principle of Paul Heyse's hero, Edwin, either in open
+lecture, or _unter vier Augen_."
+
+With that he held the door open for me, and as I turned into my room,
+shook hands with me in a friendly manner, bidding me expect him on the
+morrow.
+
+Certainly, I decided, Herr von Francius was quite unlike any one I had
+ever seen before; and how awfully cool he was and self-possessed. I
+liked him well, though.
+
+The next morning Herr von Francius gave me my first lesson, and after
+that I had one from him nearly every day. As teacher and as acquaintance
+he was, as it were, two different men. As teacher he was strict, severe,
+gave much blame and little praise; but when he did once praise me, I
+remember, I carried the remembrance of it with me for days as a ray of
+sunshine. He seemed never surprised to find how much work had been
+prepared for him, although he would express displeasure sometimes at its
+quality. He was a teacher whom it was impossible not to respect, whom
+one obeyed by instinct. As man, as acquaintance, I knew little of him,
+though I heard much--idle tales, which it would be as idle to repeat.
+They chiefly related to his domineering disposition and determination to
+go his own way and disregard that of others. In this fashion my life
+became busy enough.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+"LOHENGRIN."
+
+
+As time went on, the image of Eugen Courvoisier, my unspoken of,
+unguessed at, friend, did not fade from my memory. It grew stronger. I
+thought of him every day--never went out without a distinct hope that I
+might see him; never came in without vivid disappointment that I had not
+seen him. I carried three thalers ten groschen so arranged in my purse
+that I could lay my hand upon them at a moment's notice, for as the days
+went on it appeared that Herr Courvoisier had not made up his accounts,
+or if he had, had not chosen to claim that part of them owed by me.
+
+I did not see him. I began dismally to think that after all the whole
+thing was at an end. He did not live at Elberthal--he had certainly
+never told me that he did, I reminded myself. He had gone about his
+business and interests--had forgotten the waif he had helped one spring
+afternoon, and I should never see him again. My heart fell and sunk with
+a reasonless, aimless pang. What did it, could it, ought it to matter to
+me whether I ever saw him again or not? Nothing, certainly, and yet I
+troubled myself about it a great deal. I made little dramas in my mind
+of how he and I were to meet, and how I would exert my will and make him
+to take the money. Whenever I saw an unusually large or handsome house,
+I instantly fell to wondering if it were his, and sometimes made
+inquiries as to the owner of any particularly eligible residence. I
+heard of Brauns, M�llers, Piepers, Schmidts, and the like, as owners of
+the same--never the name Courvoisier. He had disappeared--I feared
+forever.
+
+Coming in weary one day from the town, where I had been striving to make
+myself understood in shops, I was met by Anna Sartorius on the stairs.
+She had not yet ceased to be civil to me--civil, that is, in her
+way--and my unreasoning aversion to her was as great as ever.
+
+"This is the last opera of the season," said she, displaying a pink
+ticket. "I am glad you will get to see one, as the theater closes after
+to-night."
+
+"But I am not going."
+
+"Yes, you are. Miss Hallam has a ticket for you. I am going to chaperon
+you."
+
+"I must go and see about that," said I, hastily rushing upstairs.
+
+The news, incredible though it seemed, was quite true. The ticket lay
+there. I picked it up and gazed at it fondly. Stadttheater zu Elberthal.
+Parquet, No. 16. As I had never been in a theater in my life, this
+conveyed no distinct idea to my mind, but it was quite enough for me
+that I was going. The rest of the party, I found, were to consist of
+Vincent, the Englishman, Anna Sartorius, and the Dutch boy, Brinks.
+
+It was Friday evening, and the opera was "Lohengrin." I knew nothing,
+then, about different operatic styles, and my ideas of operatic music
+were based upon duets upon selected airs from "La Traviata," "La
+Somnambula," and "Lucia." I thought the story of "Lohengrin," as related
+by Vincent, interesting. I was not in the least aware that my first
+opera was to be a different one from that of most English girls. Since,
+I have wondered sometimes what would be the result upon the musical
+taste of a person who was put through a course of Wagnerian opera first,
+and then turned over to the Italian school--leaving Mozart, Beethoven,
+Gluck, to take care of themselves, as they may very well do--thus
+exactly reversing the usual (English) process.
+
+Anna was very quiet that evening. Afterward I knew that she must have
+been observing me. We were in the first row of the parquet, with the
+orchestra alone between us and the stage. I was fully occupied in
+looking about me--now at the curtain hiding the great mystery, now
+behind and above me at the boxes, in a youthful state of ever-increasing
+hope and expectation.
+
+"We are very early," said Vincent, who was next to me, "very early, and
+very near," he added, but he did not seem much distressed at either
+circumstance.
+
+Then the gas was suddenly turned up quite high. The bustle increased
+cheerfully. The old, young, and middle-aged ladies who filled the
+_Logen_ in the _Erster Rang_--hardened theater-goers, who came as
+regularly every night in the week during the eight months of the season
+as they ate their breakfasts and went to their beds, were gossiping with
+the utmost violence, exchanging nods and odd little old-fashioned bows
+with other ladies in all parts of the house, leaning over to look
+whether the parquet was well filled, and remarking that there were
+more people in the _Balcon_ than usual. The musicians were dropping
+into the orchestra. I was startled to see a fair face I knew--that
+pleasant-looking young violinist with the brown eyes, whose name I had
+heard called out at the eye hospital. They all seemed very fond of him,
+particularly a man who struggled about with a violoncello, and who
+seemed to have a series of jokes to relate to Herr Helfen, exploding
+with laughter, and every now and then shaking the loose thick hair from
+his handsome, genial face. Helfen listened to him with a half smile,
+screwing up his violin and giving him a quiet look now and then. The
+inspiring noise of tuning up had begun, and I was on the very tiptoe of
+expectation.
+
+As I turned once more and looked round, Vincent said, laughing, "Miss
+Wedderburn, your hat has hit me three times in the face." It was, by the
+by, the brown hat which had graced my head that day at K�ln.
+
+"Oh, has it? I beg your pardon!" said I, laughing too, as I brought my
+eyes again to bear on the stage. "The seats are too near toge--"
+
+Further words were upon my lips, but they were never uttered. In roving
+across the orchestra to the foot-lights my eyes were arrested. In the
+well of the orchestra immediately before my eyes was one empty chair,
+that by right belonging to the leader of the first violins. Friedhelm
+Helfen sat in the one next below it. All the rest of the musicians were
+assembled. The conductor was in his place, and looked a little
+impatiently toward that empty chair. Through a door to the left of the
+orchestra there came a man, carrying a violin, and made his way, with
+a nod here, a half smile there, a tap on the shoulder in another
+direction. Arrived at the empty chair, he laid his hand upon Helfen's
+shoulder, and bending over him, spoke to him as he seated himself. He
+kept his hand on that shoulder, as if he liked it to be there. Helfen's
+eyes said as plainly as possibly that he liked it. Fast friends, on the
+face of it, were these two men. In this moment, though I sat still,
+motionless, and quiet, I certainly realized as nearly as possible that
+impossible sensation, the turning upside down of the world. I did not
+breathe. I waited, spell-bound, in the vague idea that my eyes might
+open and I find that I had been dreaming. After an earnest speech to
+Helfen the new-comer raised his head. As he shouldered his violin his
+eyes traveled carelessly along the first row of the parquet--our row. I
+did not awake; things did not melt away in a mist before my eyes. He
+was Eugen Courvoisier, and he looked braver, handsomer, gallanter, and
+more apart from the crowd of men now, in this moment, than even my
+sentimental dreams had pictured him. I felt it all: I also know now
+that it was partly the very strength of the feeling that I had--the very
+intensity of the admiration which took from me the reflection and reason
+for the moment. I felt as if every one must see how I felt. I remembered
+that no one knew what had happened; I dreaded lest they should. I did
+the most cowardly and treacherous thing that circumstances permitted to
+me--displayed to what an extent my power of folly and stupidity could
+carry me. I saw these strange bright eyes, whose power I felt, coming
+toward me. In one second they would be upon me. I felt myself white with
+anxiety. His eyes were coming--coming--slowly, surely. They had fallen
+upon Vincent, and he nodded to him. They fell upon me. It was for the
+tenth of a second only. I saw a look of recognition flash into his
+eyes--upon his face. I saw that he was going to bow to me. With (as it
+seemed to me) all the blood in my veins rushing to my face, my head
+swimming, my heart beating, I dropped my eyes to the play-bill upon my
+lap, and stared at the crabbed German characters--the names of the
+players, the characters they took. "Elsa--Lohengrin." I read them again
+and again, while my ears were singing, my heart beating so, and I
+thought every one in the theater knew and was looking at me.
+
+"Mind you listen to the overture, Miss Wedderburn," said Vincent,
+hastily, in my ear, as the first liquid, yearning, long-drawn notes
+sounded from the violins.
+
+"Yes," said I, raising my face at last, looking or rather feeling a
+look compelled from me, to the place where he sat. This time our eyes
+met fully. I do not know what I felt when I saw him look at me as
+unrecognizingly as if I had been a wooden doll in a shop window. Was he
+looking past me? No. His eyes met mine direct--glance for glance; not a
+sign, not a quiver of the mouth, not a waver of the eyelids. I heard no
+more of the overture. When he was playing, and so occupied with his
+music, I surveyed him surreptitiously; when he was not playing, I kept
+my eyes fixed firmly upon my play-bill. I did not know whether to be
+most distressed at my own disloyalty to a kind friend, or most appalled
+to find that the man with whom I had spent a whole afternoon in the firm
+conviction that he was outwardly, as well as inwardly, my equal and a
+gentleman--(how the tears, half of shame, half of joy, rise to my eyes
+now as I think of my poor, pedantic little scruples then!) the man of
+whom I had assuredly thought and dreamed many and many a time and oft
+was--a professional musician, a man in a band, a German band, playing in
+the public orchestra of a provincial town. Well! well!
+
+In our village at home, where the population consisted of clergymen's
+widows, daughters of deceased naval officers, and old women in general,
+and those old women ladies of the genteelest description--the Army and
+the Church (for which I had been brought up to have the deepest
+veneration and esteem, as the two head powers in our land--for we did
+not take Manchester, Birmingham, and Liverpool into account at
+Skernford)--the Army and the Church, I say, look down a little upon
+Medicine and the Law, as being perhaps more necessary, but less select
+factors in that great sum--the Nation, Medicine and the Law looked down
+very decidedly upon commercial wealth, and Commerce in her turn turned
+up her nose at retail establishments, while one and all--Church and
+Army, Law and Medicine, Commerce in the gross and Commerce in the
+little--united in pointing the finger at artists, musicians, literati,
+_et id omne genus_, considering them, with some few well-known and
+orthodox exceptions, as bohemians, and calling them "persons." They were
+a class with whom we had and could have nothing in common; so utterly
+outside our life that we scarcely ever gave a thought to their
+existence. We read of pictures, and wished to see them; heard of musical
+wonders, and desired to hear them--as pictures, as compositions. I do
+not think it ever entered our heads to remember that a man with a quick
+life throbbing in his veins, with feelings, hopes, and fears and
+thoughts, painted the picture, and that in seeing it we also saw
+him--that a consciousness, if possible, yet more keen and vivid produced
+the combinations of sound which brought tears to our eyes when we heard
+"the band"--beautiful abstraction--play them! Certainly we never
+considered the performers as anything more than people who could
+play--one who blew his breath into a brass tube; another into a wooden
+pipe; one who scraped a small fiddle with fine strings, another who
+scraped a big one with coarse strings.
+
+I was seventeen, and not having an original mind, had up to now judged
+things from earlier teachings and impressions. I do not ask to be
+excused. I only say that I was ignorant as ever even a girl of seventeen
+was. I did not know the amount of art and culture which lay among those
+rather shabby-looking members of the Elberthal _st�dtische Kapelle_--did
+not know that that little cherubic-faced man, who drew his bow
+so lovingly across his violin, had played under Mendelssohn's
+conductorship, and could tell tales about how the master had drilled his
+band, and what he had said about the first performance of the
+"Lobgesang." The young man to whom I had seen Courvoisier speaking
+was--I learned it later--a performer to ravish the senses, a conductor
+in the true sense--not a mere man who waves the stick up and down, but
+one who can put some of the meaning of the music into his gestures and
+dominate his players. I did not know that the musicians before me were
+nearly all true artists, and some of them undoubted gentlemen to boot,
+even if their income averaged something under that of a skilled
+Lancashire operative. But even if I had known it as well as possible,
+and had been aware that there could be nothing derogatory in my knowing
+or being known by one of them, I could not have been more wretched than
+I was in having been, as it were, false to a friend. The dreadful thing
+was, or ought to be--I could not quite decide which--that such a person
+should have been my friend.
+
+"How he must despise me!" I thought, my cheeks burning, my eyes fastened
+upon the play-bill. "I owe him ten shillings. If he likes he can
+point me out to them all and say, 'That is an English girl--lady I
+can not call her. I found her quite alone and lost at K�ln, and I did
+all I could to help her. I saved her a great deal of anxiety and
+inconvenience. She was not above accepting my assistance; she confided
+her story very freely to me; she is nothing very particular--has nothing
+to boast of--no money, no knowledge, nothing superior; in fact, she is
+simple and ignorant to quite a surprising extent; but she has just cut
+me dead. What do you think of her?'"
+
+Until the curtain went up, I sat in torture. When the play began,
+however, even my discomfort vanished in my wonder at the spectacle. It
+was the first I had seen. Try to picture it, oh, worn-out and _blas�_
+frequenter of play and opera! Try to realize the feelings of an
+impressionable young person of seventeen when "Lohengrin" was revealed
+to her for the first time--Lohengrin, the mystic knight, with the
+glamour of eld upon him--Lohengrin, sailing in blue and silver like a
+dream, in his swan-drawn boat, stepping majestic forth, and speaking in
+a voice of purest melody, as he thanks the bird and dismisses it:
+
+     "Dahin, woher mich trug dein Kahn
+     Kehr wieder mir zu unserm Gl�ck!
+     Drum sei getreu dein Dienst gethan,
+     Leb wohl, leb wohl, mein lieber Schwan."
+
+Elsa, with the wonder, the gratitude, the love, and alas! the weakness
+in her eyes! The astonished Brabantine men and women. They could not
+have been more astonished than I was. It was all perfectly real to me.
+What did I know about the stage? To me, yonder figure in blue mantle and
+glittering armor was Lohengrin, the son of Percivale, not Herr Siegel,
+the first tenor of the company, who acted stiffly, and did not know what
+to do with his legs. The lady in black velvet and spangles, who
+gesticulated in a corner, was an "Edelfrau" to me, as the programme
+called her, not the chorus leader, with two front teeth missing, an
+inartistically made-up countenance, and large feet. I sat through the
+first act with my eyes riveted upon the stage. What a thrill shot
+through me as the tenor embraced the soprano, and warbled melodiously,
+"_Elsa, ich liebe Dich!_" My mouth and eyes were wide open, I have no
+doubt, till at last the curtain fell. With a long sigh I slowly brought
+my eyes down and "Lohengrin" vanished like a dream. There was Eugen
+Courvoisier standing up--he had resumed the old attitude--was twirling
+his mustache and surveying the company. Some of the other performers
+were leaving the orchestra by two little doors. If only he would go too!
+As I nervously contemplated a graceful indifferent remark to Herr
+Brinks, who sat next to me, I saw Courvoisier step forward. Was he,
+could he be going to speak to me? I should have deserved it, I knew, but
+I felt as if I should die under the ordeal. I sat preternaturally still,
+and watched, as if mesmerized, the approach of the musician. He spoke
+again to the young man whom I had seen before, and they both laughed.
+Perhaps he had confided the whole story to him, and was telling him to
+observe what he was going to do. Then Herr Courvoisier tapped the young
+man on the shoulder and laughed again, and then he came on. He was not
+looking at me; he came up to the boarding, leaned his elbow upon it, and
+said to Eustace Vincent:
+
+"Good-evening: _wie geht's Ihnen?_"
+
+Vincent held out his hand. "Very well, thanks. And you? I haven't seen
+you lately."
+
+"Then you haven't been at the theater lately," he laughed. He never
+testified to me by word or look that he had ever seen me before. At last
+I got to understand as his eyes repeatedly fell upon me without the
+slightest sign of recognition, that he did not intend to claim my
+acquaintance. I do not know whether I was most wretched or most relieved
+at the discovery. It spared me a great deal of embarrassment; it filled
+me, too, with inward shame beyond all description. And then, too, I
+was dismayed to find how totally I had mistaken the position of the
+musician. Vincent was talking eagerly to him. They had moved a little
+nearer the other end of the orchestra. The young man, Helfen, had come
+up, others had joined them. I, meanwhile, sat still--heard every tone of
+his voice, and took in every gesture of his head or his hand, and I felt
+as I trust never to feel again--and yet I lived in some such feeling as
+that for what at least seemed to me a long time. What was the feeling
+that clutched me--held me fast--seemed to burn me? And what was that I
+heard? Vincent speaking:
+
+"Last Thursday week, Courvoisier--why didn't you come? We were waiting
+for you?"
+
+"I missed the train."
+
+Until now he had been speaking German, but he said this distinctly in
+English and I heard every word.
+
+"Missed the train?" cried Vincent in his cracked voice.
+
+"Nonsense, man! Helfen, here, and Alekotte were in time and they had
+been at the probe as much as you."
+
+"I was detained in K�ln and couldn't get back till evening," said he.
+"Come along, Friedel; there's the call-bell."
+
+I raised my eyes--met his. I do not know what expression was in mine.
+His never wavered, though he looked at me long and steadily--no glance
+of recognition--no sign still. I would have risked the astonishment of
+every one of them now, for a sign that he remembered me. None was given.
+
+"Lohengrin" had no more attraction for me. I felt in pain that was
+almost physical, and weak with excitement as at last the curtain fell
+and we left our places.
+
+"You were very quiet," said Vincent, as we walked home. "Did you not
+enjoy it?"
+
+"Very much, thank you. It was very beautiful," said I, faintly.
+
+"So Herr Courvoisier was not at the _soir�e_," said the loud, rough
+voice of Anna Sartorius.
+
+"No," was all Vincent said.
+
+"Did you have anything new? Was Herr von Francius there too?"
+
+"Yes; he was there too."
+
+I pondered. Brinks whistled loudly the air of Elsa's "Brautzug," as we
+paced across the Lindenall�e. We had not many paces to go. The lamps
+were lighted, the people were thronging thick as in the daytime. The air
+was full of laughter, talk, whistling and humming of the airs from the
+opera. My ear strained eagerly through the confusion. I could have
+caught the faintest sound of Courvoisier's voice had it been there,
+but it was not. And we came home; Vincent opened the door with his
+latch-key, said, "It has not been very brilliant, has it? That tenor is
+a stick," and we all went to our different rooms. It was in such wise
+that I met Eugen Courvoisier for the second time.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+"Will you sing?"
+
+
+The theater season closed with that evening on which "Lohengrin" was
+performed. I ran no risk of meeting Courvoisier face to face again in
+that alarming, sudden manner. But the subject had assumed diseased
+proportions in my mind. I found myself confronted with him yet, and week
+after week. My business in Elberthal was music--to learn as much music
+and hear as much music as I could: wherever there was music there was
+also Eugen Courvoisier--naturally. There was only one _st�dtische
+Kapelle_ in Elberthal. Once a week at least--each Saturday--I saw him,
+and he saw me at the unfailing instrumental concert to which every one
+in the house went, and to absent myself from which would instantly set
+every one wondering what could be my motive for it. My usual companions
+were Clara Steinmann, Vincent, the Englishman, and often Frau Steinmann
+herself. Anna Sartorius and some other girl students of art usually
+brought sketch-books, and were far too much occupied in making studies
+or caricatures of the audience to pay much attention to the music. The
+audience were, however, hardened; they were used to it. Anna and her
+friends were not alone in the practice. There were a dozen or more
+artists or _soi-disant_ artists busily engaged with their sketch-books.
+The concert-room offered a rich field to them. One could at least be
+sure of one thing--that they were not taking off the persons at whom
+they looked most intently. There must be quite a gallery hidden away in
+some old sketch-books--of portraits or wicked caricatures of the
+audience that frequented the concerts of the Instrumental Musik Verein.
+I wonder where they all are? Who has them? What has become of the
+light-hearted sketchers? I often recall those homely Saturday evening
+concerts; the long, shabby saal with its faded out-of-date decorations;
+its rows of small tables with the well-known groups around them; the
+mixed and motley audience. How easy, after a little while, to pick out
+the English, by their look of complacent pleasure at the delightful ease
+and unceremoniousness of the whole affair; their gladness at finding a
+public entertainment where one's clothes were not obliged to be selected
+with a view to outshining those of every one else in the room; the
+students shrouded in a mystery, secret and impenetrable, of tobacco
+smoke. The spruce-looking school-boys from the Gymnasium and Realschule,
+the old captains and generals, the Fr�ulein their daughters, the
+_gn�digen Frauen_ their wives; dressed in the disastrous plaids, checks,
+and stripes, which somehow none but German women ever got hold of.
+Shades of Le Follet! What costumes there were on young and old for an
+observing eye! What bonnets, what boots, what stupendously daring
+accumulation of colors and styles and periods of dress crammed and piled
+on the person of one substantial Frau Generalin, or Doctorin or
+Professorin! The low orchestra--the tall, slight, yet commanding figure
+of von Francius on the estrade; his dark face with its indescribable
+mixture of pride, impenetrability and insouciance; the musicians behind
+him--every face of them well known to the audience as those of the
+audience to them: it was not a mere "concert," which in England is
+another word for so much expense and so much vanity--it was a gathering
+of friends. We knew the music in which the Kapelle was most at home; we
+knew their strong points and their weak ones; the passage in the
+Pastoral Symphony where the second violins were a little weak; that
+overture where the blaseninstrumente came out so well--the symphonies
+one heard--the divine wealth of undying art and beauty! Those days are
+past: despite what I suffered in them they had their joys for me. Yes; I
+suffered at those concerts. I must ever see the one face which for me
+blotted out all others in the room, and endure the silent contempt which
+I believed I saw upon it. Probably it was my own feeling of inward
+self-contempt which made me believe I saw that expression there. His
+face had for me a miserable, basilisk-like attraction. When I was there
+he was there, I must look at him and endure the silent, smiling disdain
+which I at least believed he bestowed upon me. How did he contrive to do
+it? How often our eyes met, and every time it happened he looked me full
+in the face, and never would give me the faintest gleam of recognition!
+It was as though I looked at two diamonds, which returned my stare
+unwinkingly and unseeingly. I managed to make myself thoroughly
+miserable--pale and thin with anxiety and self-reproach I let this man,
+and the speculation concerning him, take up my whole thoughts, and I
+kept silence, because I dreaded so intensely lest any question should
+bring out the truth. I smiled drearily when I thought that there
+certainly was no danger of any one but Miss Hallam ever knowing it, for
+the only person who could have betrayed me chose now, of deliberate
+purpose, to cut me as completely as I had once cut him.
+
+As if to show very decidedly that he did intend to cut me, I met him one
+day, not in the street, but in the house, on the stairs. He sprung up
+the steps, two at a time, came to a momentary pause on the landing, and
+looked at me. No look of surprise, none of recognition. He raised his
+hat; that was nothing; in ordinary politeness he would have done it had
+he never seen me in his life before. The same cold, bright, hard glance
+fell upon me, keen as an eagle's, and as devoid of every gentle
+influence as the same.
+
+I silently held out my hand.
+
+He looked at it for a moment, then with a grave coolness which chilled
+me to the soul, murmured something about "not having the honor," bowed
+slightly, and stepping forward, walked into Vincent's room.
+
+I was going to the room in which my piano stood, where I had my music
+lessons, for they had told me that Herr von Francius was waiting. I
+looked at him as I went into the room. How different he was from that
+other man; darker, more secret, more scornful-looking, with not less
+power, but so much less benevolence.
+
+I was _distrait_, and sung exceedingly ill. We had been going through
+the solo soprano parts of the "Paradise Lost." I believe I sung vilely
+that morning. I was not thinking of Eva's sin and the serpent, but of
+other things, which, despite the story related in the Book of Genesis,
+touched me more nearly. Several times already had he made me sing
+through Eva's stammering answer to her God's question:
+
+     "Ah, Lord!... The Serpent!
+     The beautiful, glittering Serpent,
+     With his beautiful, glittering words,
+     He, Lord, did lead astray
+     The weak Woman!"
+
+"Bah!" exclaimed von Francius, when I had sung it some three or four
+times, each time worse, each time more distractedly. He flung the music
+upon the floor, and his eyes flashed, startling me from my uneasy
+thoughts back to the present. He was looking at me with a dark cloud
+upon his face. I stared, stooped meekly, and picked up the music.
+
+"Fr�ulein, what are you dreaming about?" he asked, impatiently. "You are
+not singing Eva's shame and dawning terror as she feels herself undone.
+You are singing--and badly, too--a mere sentimental song, such as any
+school-girl might stumble through. I am ashamed of you."
+
+"I--I," stammered I, crimsoning, and ashamed for myself too.
+
+"You were thinking of something else," he said, his brow clearing a
+little. "_Na!_ it comes so sometimes. Something has happened to distract
+your attention. The amiable Miss Hallam has been a little _more_ amiable
+than usual."
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, well. _'S ist mir egal._ But now, as you have wasted half an hour
+in vanity and vexation, will you be good enough to let your thoughts
+return here to me and to your duty? or else--I must go, and leave the
+lesson till you are in the right voice again."
+
+"I am all right--try me," said I, my pride rising in arms as I thought
+of Courvoisier's behavior a short time ago.
+
+"Very well. Now. You are Eva, please remember, the first woman, and you
+have gone wrong. Think of who is questioning you, and--"
+
+"Oh, yes, yes, I know. Please begin."
+
+He began the accompaniment, and I sung for the fifth time Eva's
+scattered notes of shame and excuse.
+
+"Brava!" said he, when I had finished, and I was the more startled as he
+had never before given me the faintest sign of approval, but had found
+such constant fault with me that I usually had a fit of weeping after my
+lesson; weeping with rage and disappointment at my own shortcomings.
+
+"At last you know what it means," said he. "I always told you your forte
+was dramatic singing."
+
+"Dramatic! But this is an oratorio."
+
+"It may be called an oratorio, but it is a drama all the same. What more
+dramatic, for instance, than what you have just sung, and all that goes
+before? Now suppose we go on. I will take Adam."
+
+Having given myself up to the music, I sung my best with earnestness.
+When we had finished von Francius closed the book, looked at me, and
+said:
+
+"Will you sing the 'Eva' music at the concert?"
+
+"I?"
+
+He bowed silently, and still kept his eyes fixed upon my face, as if to
+say, "Refuse if you dare."
+
+"I--I'm afraid I should make such a mess of it," I murmured at last.
+
+"Why any more than to-day?"
+
+"Oh! but all the people!" said I, expostulating; "it is so different."
+
+He gave a little laugh of some amusement.
+
+"How odd! and yet how like you!" said he. "Do you suppose that the
+people who will be at the concert will be half as much alive to your
+defects as I am? If you can sing before me, surely you can sing before
+so many rows of--"
+
+"Cabbages? I wish I could think they were."
+
+"Nonsense! What would be the use, where the pleasure, in singing to
+cabbages? I mean simply inhabitants of Elberthal. What can there be so
+formidable about them?"
+
+I murmured something.
+
+"Well, will you do it?"
+
+"I am sure I should break down," said I, trying to find some sign of
+relenting in his eyes. I discovered none. He was not waiting to hear
+whether I said "yes" or "no," he was waiting until I said "yes."
+
+"If you did," he replied, with a friendly smile, "I should never teach
+you another note."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because you would be a coward, and not worth teaching."
+
+"But Miss Hallam?"
+
+"Leave her to me."
+
+I still hesitated.
+
+"It is the _premier pas qui co�te_," said he, keeping a friendly but
+determined gaze upon my undecided face.
+
+"I want to accustom you to appearing in public," he added. "By degrees,
+you know. There is nothing unusual in Germany for one in your position
+to sing in such a concert."
+
+"I was not thinking of that; but that it is impossible that I can sing
+well enough--"
+
+"You sing well enough for my purpose. You will be amazed to find what an
+impetus to your studies, and what a filip to your industry will be given
+by once singing before a number of other people. And then, on the
+stage--"
+
+"But I am not going on the stage."
+
+"I think you are. At least, if you do otherwise you will do wrong. You
+have gifts which are in themselves a responsibility."
+
+"I--gifts--what gifts?" I asked, incredulously. "I am as stupid as a
+donkey. My sisters always said so, and sisters are sure to know; you may
+trust them for that."
+
+"Then you will take the soprano solos?"
+
+"Do you think I can?"
+
+"I don't think you can; I say you must. I will call upon Miss Hallam
+this afternoon. And the _gage_--fee--what you call it?--is fifty
+thalers."
+
+"What!" I cried, my whole attitude changing to one of greedy
+expectation. "Shall I be paid?"
+
+"Why, _nat�rlich_," said he, turning over sheets of music, and averting
+his face to hide a smile.
+
+"Oh! then I will sing."
+
+"Good! Only please to remember that it is my concert, and I am
+responsible for the soloists; and pray think rather more about the
+beautiful glittering serpent than about the beautiful glittering
+thalers."
+
+"I can think about both," was my unholy, time-serving reply.
+
+Fifty thalers. Untold gold!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+"Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter."
+
+
+It was the evening of the haupt-probe, a fine moonlight night in the
+middle of May--a month since I had come to Elberthal, and it seemed so
+much, so very much more.
+
+To my astonishment--and far from agreeable astonishment--Anna Sartorius
+informed me of her intention to accompany me to the probe. I put
+objections in her way as well as I knew how, and said I did not think
+outsiders were admitted. She laughed, and said:
+
+"That is too funny, that you should instruct me in such things. Why, I
+have a ticket for all the proben, as any one can have who chooses to pay
+two thalers at the _sasse_. I have a mind to hear this. They say the
+orchestra are going to rebel against von Francius. And I am going to the
+concert to-morrow, too. One can not hear too much of such fine music;
+and when one's friend sings, too--"
+
+"What friend of yours is going to sing?" I inquired, coldly.
+
+"Why, you, you _allerliebster kleiner Engel_," said she, in a tone of
+familiarity, to which I strongly objected.
+
+I could say no more against her going, but certainly displayed no
+enthusiastic desire for her company.
+
+The probe, we found, was to be in the great saal; it was half lighted,
+and there were perhaps some fifty people, holders of probe-tickets,
+seated in the parquet.
+
+"You are going to sing well to-night," said von Francius, as he handed
+me up the steps--"for my sake and your own, _nicht wahr_?"
+
+"I will try," said, I, looking round the great orchestra, and seeing how
+full it was--so many fresh faces, both in chorus and orchestra.
+
+And as I looked, I saw Courvoisier come in by the little door at the top
+of the orchestra steps and descend to his place. His face was
+clouded--very clouded; I had never seen him look thus before. He had no
+smile for those who greeted him. As he took his place beside Helfen, and
+the latter asked him some question, he stared absently at him, then
+answered with a look of absence and weariness.
+
+"Herr Courvoisier," said von Francius--and I, being near, heard the
+whole dialogue--"you always allow yourself to be waited for."
+
+Courvoisier glanced up. I with a new, sudden interest, watched the
+behavior of the two men. In the face of von Francius I thought to
+discover dislike, contempt.
+
+"I beg your pardon; I was detained," answered Courvoisier, composedly.
+
+"It is unfortunate that you should be so often detained at the time when
+your work should be beginning."
+
+Unmoved and unchanging, Courvoisier heard and submitted to the words,
+and to the tone in which they were spoken--sarcastic, sneering, and
+unbelieving.
+
+"Now we will begin," pursued von Francius, with a disagreeable smile, as
+he rapped with his baton upon the rail. I looked at Courvoisier--looked
+at his friend, Friedhelm Helfen. The former was sitting as quietly as
+possible, rather pale, and with the same clouded look, but not deeper
+than before; the latter was flushed, and eyed von Francius with no
+friendly glance.
+
+There seemed a kind of slumbering storm in the air. There was none of
+the lively discussion usual at the proben. Courvoisier, first of the
+first violins, and from whom all the others seemed to take their tone,
+sat silent, grave and still. Von Francius, though quiet, was biting. I
+felt afraid of him. Something must have happened to put him into that
+evil mood.
+
+My part did not come until late in the second part of the oratorio. I
+had almost forgotten that I was to sing at all, and was watching von
+Francius and listening to his sharp speeches. I remembered what Anna
+Sartorius had said in describing this haupt-probe to me. It was all just
+as she had said. He was severe; his speeches roused the phlegmatic
+blood, set the professional instrumentalists laughing at their amateur
+co-operators, but provoked no reply or resentment. It was extraordinary,
+the effect of this man's will upon those he had to do with--upon women
+in particular.
+
+There was one haughty-looking blonde--a Swede--tall, majestic, with long
+yellow curls, and a face full of pride and high temper, who gave herself
+decided airs, and trusted to her beauty and insolence to carry off
+certain radical defects of harshness of voice and want of ear. I never
+forgot how she stared me down from head to foot on the occasion of my
+first appearance alone, as if to say, "What do you want here?"
+
+It was in vain that she looked haughty and handsome. Addressing her as
+Fr�ulein Hulstrom, von Francius gave her a sharp lecture, and imitated
+the effect of her voice in a particularly soft passage with ludicrous
+accuracy. The rest of the chorus was tittering audibly, the musicians,
+with the exception of Courvoisier and his friend, nudging each other and
+smiling. She bridled haughtily, flashed a furious glance at her mentor,
+grew crimson, received a sarcastic smile which baffled her, and subsided
+again.
+
+So it was with them all. His blame was plentiful; his praise so rare as
+to be almost an unknown quantity. His chorus and orchestra were famed
+for the minute perfection and precision of their play and singing.
+Perhaps the performance lacked something else--passion, color. Von
+Francius, at that time at least, was no genius, though his talent, his
+power, and his method were undeniably great. He was, however, not
+popular--not the Harold, the "beloved leader" of his people.
+
+It was to-night that I was first shown how all was not smooth for him;
+that in this art union there were splits--"little rifts within the
+lute," which, should they extend, might literally in the end "make the
+music mute." I heard whispers around me. "Herr von Francius is
+angry."--"_Nicht wahr_?"--"Herr Courvoisier looks angry too."--"Yes, he
+does."--"There will be an open quarrel there soon."--"I think
+so."--"They are both clever; one should be less clever than the
+other."--"They are so opposed."--"Yes. They say Courvoisier has a party
+of his own, and that all the orchestra are on his side."--"So!" in
+accents of curiosity and astonishment--"_Ja wohl!_ And that if von
+Francius does not mind, he will see Herr Courvoisier in his place,"
+etc., etc., without end. All which excited me much, as the first glimpse
+into the affairs of those about whom we think much and know little (a
+form of life well known to women in general) always does interest us.
+
+These things made me forget to be nervous or anxious. I saw myself now
+as part of the whole, a unit in the sum of a life which interested me.
+Von Francius gave me a sign of approval when I had finished, but it was
+a mechanical one. He was thinking of other things.
+
+The probe was over. I walked slowly down the room looking for Anna
+Sartorius, more out of politeness than because I wished for her company.
+I was relieved to find that she had already gone, probably not finding
+all the entertainment she expected, and I was able, with a good
+conscience, to take my way home alone.
+
+My way home! not yet. I was to live through something before I could
+take my way home.
+
+I went out of the large saal through the long veranda into the street. A
+flood of moonlight silvered it. There was a laughing, chattering crowd
+about me--all the chorus; men and girls, going to their homes or their
+lodgings, in ones or twos, or in large cheerful groups. Almost opposite
+the Tonhalle was a tall house, one of a row, and of this house the
+lowest floor was used as a shop for antiquities, curiosities, and a
+thousand odds and ends useful or beautiful to artists, costumes, suits
+of armor, old china, anything and everything. The window was yet
+lighted. As I paused for a moment before taking my homeward way, I saw
+two men cross the moonlit street and go in at the open door of the shop.
+One was Courvoisier; in the other I thought to recognize Friedhelm
+Helfen, but was not quite sure about it. They did not go into the shop,
+as I saw by the bright large lamp that burned within, but along the
+passage and up the stairs. I followed them, resolutely beating down
+shyness, unwillingness, timidity. My reluctant steps took me to the
+window of the antiquity shop, and I stood looking in before I could make
+up my mind to enter. Bits of rococo ware stood in the window, majolica
+jugs, chased metal dishes and bowls, bits of Renaissance work, tapestry,
+carpet, a helm with the vizor up, gaping at me as if tired of being
+there. I slowly drew my purse from my pocket, put together three
+thalers and a ten groschen piece, and with lingering, unwilling steps,
+entered the shop. A pretty young woman in a quaint dress, which somehow
+harmonized with the place, came forward. She looked at me as if
+wondering what I could possibly want. My very agitation gave calmness to
+my voice as I inquired,
+
+"Does Herr Courvoisier, a musiker, live here?"
+
+"_Ja wohl!_" answered the young woman, with a look of still greater
+surprise. "On the third _�tage_, straight upstairs. The name is on the
+door."
+
+I turned away, and went slowly up the steep wooden uncarpeted staircase.
+On the first landing a door opened at the sound of my footsteps, and a
+head was popped out--a rough, fuzzy head, with a pale, eager-looking
+face under the bush of hair.
+
+"Ugh!" said the owner of this amiable visage, and shut the door with a
+bang. I looked at the plate upon it; it bore the legend, "Hermann
+Duntze, Maler." To the second _�tage_. Another door--another plate:
+"Bernhardt Knoop, Maler." The house seemed to be a resort of artists.
+There was a lamp burning on each landing; and now, at last, with breath
+and heart alike failing, I ascended the last flight of stairs, and found
+myself upon the highest _�tage_ before another door, on which was
+roughly painted up, "Eugen Courvoisier." I looked at it with my heart
+beating suffocatingly. Some one had scribbled in red chalk beneath the
+Christian name, "Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter." Had it been done in jest
+or earnest? I wondered, and then knocked. Such a knock!
+
+"_Herein!_"
+
+I opened the door, and stepped into a large, long, low room. On the
+table, in the center, burned a lamp, and sitting there, with the light
+falling upon his earnest young face, was Helfen, the violinist, and near
+to him sat Courvoisier, with a child upon his knee, a little lad with
+immense dark eyes, tumbled black hair, and flushed, just awakened face.
+He was clad in his night-dress and a little red dressing-gown, and
+looked like a spot of almost feverish, quite tropic brightness in
+contrast with the grave, pale face which bent over him. Courvoisier held
+the two delicate little hands in one of his own, and was looking down
+with love unutterable upon the beautiful, dazzling child-face. Despite
+the different complexion and a different style of feature too, there
+was so great a likeness in the two faces, particularly in the broad,
+noble brow, as to leave no doubt of the relationship. My musician and
+the boy were father and son.
+
+Courvoisier looked up as I came in. For one half moment there leaped
+into his eyes a look of surprise and of something more. If it had lasted
+a second longer I could have sworn it was welcome--then it was gone. He
+rose, turned the child over to Helfen, saying, "One moment, Friedel,"
+then turned to me as to some stranger who had come on an errand as yet
+unknown to him, and did not speak. The little one, from Helfen's knee,
+stared at me with large, solemn eyes, and Helfen himself looked scarcely
+less impressed.
+
+I have no doubt I looked frightened--I felt so--frightened out of my
+senses. I came tremulously forward, and offering my pieces of silver,
+said, in the smallest voice which I had ever used:
+
+"I have come to pay my debt. I did not know where you lived, or I should
+have done it long before."
+
+He made no motion to take the money, but said--I almost started, so
+altered was the voice from that of my frank companion at K�ln, to an icy
+coldness of ceremony:
+
+"_Mein Fr�ulein_, I do not understand."
+
+"You--you--the things you paid for. Do you not remember me?"
+
+"Remember a lady who has intimated that she wishes me to forget her? No,
+I do not."
+
+What a horribly complicated revenge! thought I, as I said, ever lower
+and lower, more and more shamedfacedly, while the young violinist sat
+with the child on his knee, and his soft brown eyes staring at me in
+wonder:
+
+"I think you must remember. You helped me at K�ln, and you paid for my
+ticket to Elberthal, and for something that I had at the hotel. You told
+me that was what I owed you."
+
+I again tendered the money; again he made no effort to receive it, but
+said:
+
+"I am sorry that I do not understand to what you refer. I only know it
+is impossible that I could ever have told you you owed me three thalers,
+or three anything, or that there could, under any circumstances, be any
+question of money between you and me. Suppose we consider the topic at
+an end."
+
+Such a voice of ice, and such a manner, to chill the boldest heart, I
+had never yet encountered. The cool, unspeakable disdain cut me to the
+quick.
+
+"You have no right to refuse the money," said I, desperately. "You have
+no right to insult me by--by--" An appropriate peroration refused
+itself.
+
+Again the sweet, proud, courteous smile; not only courteous, but
+courtly; again the icy little bow of the head, which would have done
+credit to a prince in displeasure, and which yet had the deference due
+from a gentleman to a lady.
+
+"You will excuse the semblance of rudeness which may appear if I say
+that if you unfortunately are not of a very decided disposition, I am.
+It is impossible that I should ever have the slightest intercourse with
+a lady who has once unequivocally refused my acquaintance. The lady may
+honor me by changing her mind; I am sorry that I can not respond. I do
+not change my mind."
+
+"You must let us part on equal terms," I reiterated. "It is unjust--"
+
+"Yourself closed all possibility of the faintest attempt at further
+acquaintance, _mein Fr�ulein_. The matter is at an end."
+
+"Herr Courvoisier, I--"
+
+"At an end," he repeated, calmly, gently, looking at me as he had often
+looked at me since the night of "Lohengrin," with a glance that baffled
+and chilled me.
+
+"I wish to apologize--"
+
+"For what?" he inquired, with the faintest possible look of indifferent
+surprise.
+
+"For my rudeness--my surprise--I--"
+
+"You refer to one evening at the opera. You exercised your privilege, as
+a lady, of closing an acquaintance which you did not wish to renew. I
+now exercise mine, as a gentleman, of saying that I choose to abide by
+that decision, now and always."
+
+I was surprised. Despite my own apologetic frame of mind, I was
+surprised at his hardness; at the narrowness and ungenerosity which
+could so determinedly shut the door in the face of an humble penitent
+like me. He must see how I had repented the stupid slip I had made;
+he must see how I desired to atone for it. It was not a slip of the
+kind one would name irreparable, and yet he behaved to me as if I
+had committed a crime; froze me with looks and words. Was he so
+self-conscious and so vain that he could not get over that small slight
+to his self-consequence, committed in haste and confusion by an ignorant
+girl? Even then, even in that moment I asked myself these questions, my
+astonishment being almost as great as my pain, for it was the very
+reverse, the very opposite of what I had pictured to myself. Once let me
+see him and speak to him, I had said to myself, and it would be all
+right; every lineament of his face, every tone of his voice, bespoke a
+frank, generous nature--one that could forgive. Alas! and alas! this was
+the truth!
+
+He had come to the door; he stood by it now, holding it open, looking at
+me so courteously, so deferentially, with a manner of one who had been a
+gentleman and lived with gentlemen all his life, but in a way which at
+the same time ordered me out as plainly as possible.
+
+I went to the door. I could no longer stand under that chilling glance,
+nor endure the cool, polished contempt of the manner. I behaved by no
+means heroically; neither flung my head back, nor muttered any defiance,
+nor in any way proved myself a person of spirit. All I could do was to
+look appealingly into his face; to search the bright, steady eyes,
+without finding in them any hint of softening or relenting.
+
+"Will you not take it, please?" I asked, in a quivering voice and with
+trembling lips.
+
+"Impossible, _mein Fr�ulein_," with the same chilly little bow as
+before.
+
+Struggling to repress my tears, I said no more, but passed out, cut to
+the heart. The door was closed gently behind me. I felt as if it had
+closed upon a bright belief of my youth. I leaned for a moment against
+the passage wall and pressed my hand against my eyes. From within came
+the sound of a child's voice, "_Mein vater_," and the soft, deep murmur
+of Eugen's answer; then I went down-stairs and into the open street.
+
+That hated, hateful three thalers ten groschen were still clasped in my
+hand. What was I to do with it? Throw it into the Rhine, and wash it
+away forever? Give it to some one in need? Fling it into the gutter?
+Send it him by post? I dismissed that idea for what it was worth. No; I
+would obey his prohibition. I would keep it--those very coins, and when
+I felt inclined to be proud and conceited about anything on my own
+account, or disposed to put down superhuman charms to the account of
+others, I would go and look at them, and they would preach me eloquent
+sermons.
+
+As I went into the house, up the stairs to my room, the front door
+opened again and Anna Sartorius overtook me.
+
+"I thought you had left the probe?" said I, staring at her.
+
+"So I had, _Herzchen_," said she, with her usual ambiguous, mocking
+laugh; "but I was not compelled to come home, like a good little girl,
+the moment I came out of the Tonhalle. I have been visiting a friend.
+But where have you been, for the probe must have been over for some
+time? We heard the people go past; indeed, some of them were staying in
+the house where I was. Did you take a walk in the moonlight?"
+
+"Good-night," said I, too weary and too indifferent even to answer her.
+
+"It must have been a tiring walk; you seem weary, quite _erm�det_," said
+she, mockingly, and I made no answer.
+
+"A haupt-probe is a dismal thing after all," she called out to me from
+the top of the stairs.
+
+From my inmost heart I agreed with her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+KAFFEEKLATSCH.
+
+
+ "_Phillis._ I want none o' thy friendship!
+ _Lesbia._ Then take my enmity!"
+
+"When a number of ladies meet together to discuss matters of importance,
+we call it 'Kaffeeklatsch,'" Courvoisier had said to me on that
+never-forgotten afternoon of my adventure at K�ln.
+
+It was my first kaffeeklatsch which, in a measure, decided my destiny.
+Hitherto, that is, up to the end of June, I had not been at any
+entertainment of this kind. At last there came an invitation to Frau
+Steinmann and to Anna Sartorius, to assist at a "coffee" of unusual
+magnitude, and Frau Steinmann suggested that I should go with them and
+see what it was like. Nothing loath, I consented.
+
+"Bring some work," said Anna Sartorius to me, "or you will find it
+_langweilig_--slow, I mean."
+
+"Shall we not have some music?"
+
+"Music, yes, the sweetest of all--that of our own tongues. You shall
+hear every one's candid opinion of every one else--present company
+always excepted, and you will see what the state of Elberthal society
+really is--present company still excepted. By a very strange chance the
+ladies who meet at a klatsch are always good, pious, virtuous, and,
+above all, charitable. It is wonderful how well we manage to keep the
+black sheep out, and have nothing but lambs immaculate."
+
+"Oh, don't!"
+
+"Oh, bah! I know the Elberthal _Klatscherei_. It has picked me to pieces
+many a time. After you have partaken to-day of its coffee and its cakes,
+it will pick you to pieces."
+
+"But," said I, arranging the ruffles of my very best frock, which I had
+been told it was _de rigueur_ to wear, "I thought women never gossiped
+so much among men."
+
+Fr�ulein Sartorius laughed loud and long.
+
+"The men! _Du meine G�te!_ Men at a kaffeeklatsch! Show me the one that
+a man dare even look into, and I'll crown you--and him too--with laurel,
+and bay, and the wild parsley. A man at a kaffee--_mag Gott es
+bewahren!_"
+
+"Oh!" said I, half disappointed, and with a very poor, mean sense of
+dissatisfaction at having put on my pretty new dress for the first time
+only for the edification of a number of virulent gossips.
+
+"Men!" she reiterated with a harsh laugh as we walked toward the
+Goldsternstrasse, our destination. "Men--no. We despise their company,
+you see. We only talk about them directly or indirectly from the moment
+of meeting to that of parting."
+
+"I'm sorry there are no gentlemen," said I, and I was. I felt I looked
+well.
+
+Arrived at the scene of the kaffee, we were conducted to a bedroom where
+we laid aside our hats and mantles. I was standing before the glass,
+drawing a comb through my upturned hair, and contemplating with
+irrepressible satisfaction the delicate lavender hue of my dress, when I
+suddenly saw reflected behind me the dark, harshly cut face of Anna
+Sartorius. She started slightly; then said, with a laugh which had in it
+something a little forced:
+
+"We are a contrast, aren't we? Beauty and the Beast, one might almost
+say. _Na! 's schad't nix._"
+
+I turned away in a little offended pride. Her familiarity annoyed me.
+What if she were a thousand times cleverer, wittier, better read than I?
+I did not like her. A shade crossed her face.
+
+"Is it that you are thoroughly unamiable?" said she, in a voice which
+had reproach in it, "or are all English girls so touchy that they
+receive a compliment upon their good looks as if it were an offense?"
+
+"I wish you would not talk of my 'good looks' as if I were a dog or a
+horse!" said I, angrily. "I hate to be flattered. I am no beauty, and do
+not wish to be treated as if I were."
+
+"Do you always hate it?" said she from the window, whither she had
+turned. "_Ach!_ there goes Herr Courvoisier!"
+
+The name startled me like a sudden report. I made an eager step forward
+before I had time to recollect myself--then stopped.
+
+"He is not out of sight yet," said she, with a curious look, "if you
+wish to see him."
+
+I sat down and made no answer. What prompted her to talk in such a
+manner? Was it a mere coincidence?
+
+"He is a handsome fellow, _nicht wahr_?" she said, still watching me,
+while I thought Frau Steinmann never would manage to arrange her cap in
+the style that pleased her. "But a _Taugenichts_ all the same," pursued
+Anna as I did not speak. "Don't you think so?" she added.
+
+"A _Taugenichts_--I don't know what that is."
+
+"What you call a good-for-nothing."
+
+"Oh."
+
+"_Nicht wahr?_" she persisted.
+
+"I know nothing about it."
+
+"I do. I will tell you all about him some time."
+
+"I don't wish to know anything about him."
+
+"So!" said she, with a laugh.
+
+Without further word or look I followed Frau Steinmann down-stairs.
+
+The lady of the house was seated in the midst of a large concourse of
+old and young ladies, holding her own with a well-seasoned hardihood in
+the midst of the awful Babel of tongues. What a noise! It smote upon and
+stunned my confounded ear. Our hostess advanced and led me with a wave
+of the hand into the center of the room, when she introduced me to about
+a dozen ladies: and every one in the room stopped talking and working,
+and stared at me intently and unwinkingly until my name had been
+pronounced, after which some continued still to stare at me, and
+commenting openly upon it. Meanwhile I was conducted to a sofa at the
+end of the room, and requested in a set phrase, "_Bitte, Fr�ulein,
+nehmen sie platz auf dem sofa_," with which long custom has since made
+me familiar, to take my seat upon it. I humbly tried to decline the
+honor, but Anna Sartorius, behind me, whispered:
+
+"Sit down directly, unless you want to be thought an utter barbarian.
+The place has been kept for you."
+
+Deeply impressed, and very uncomfortable, I sat down. First one and then
+another came and spoke and talked to me. Their questions and remarks
+were much in this style:
+
+"Do you like Elberthal? What is your Christian name? How old are you?
+Have you been or are you engaged to be married? They break off
+engagements in England for a mere trifle, don't they? _Schrecklich!_ Did
+you get your dress in Elberthal? What did it cost the _elle_? Young
+English ladies wear silk much more than young German ladies. You never
+go to the theater on Sunday in England--you are all _pietistisch_. How
+beautifully you speak our language! Really no foreign accent!" (This
+repeatedly and unblushingly, in spite of my most flagrant mistakes, and
+in the face of my most feeble, halting, and stammering efforts to make
+myself understood.) "Do you learn music? singing? From whom? Herr von
+Francius? _Ach, so!_" (Pause, while they all look impressively at me.
+The very name of von Francius calls up emotions of no common order.) "I
+believe I have seen you at the proben to the 'Paradise Lost.' Perhaps
+you are the lady who is to take the solos? Yes! _Du lieber Himmel!_ What
+do you think of Herr von Francius? Is he not nice?" (_Nett_, though,
+signifies something feminine and finikin.) "No? How odd! There is no
+accounting for the tastes of English women. Do you know many people in
+Elberthal? No? _Schade!_ No officers? not Hauptmann Sachse?" (with voice
+growing gradually shriller), "nor Lieutenant Pieper? Not know
+Lieutenant Pieper! _Um Gotteswillen!_ What do you mean? He is so
+handsome! such eyes! such a mustache! _Herrgott!_ And you do not know
+him? I will tell you something. When he went off to the autumn maneuvers
+at Frankfort (I have it on good authority), twenty young ladies went to
+see him off."
+
+"Disgusting!" I exclaimed, unable to control my feelings any longer. I
+saw Anna Sartorius malignantly smiling as she rocked herself in an
+American rocking-chair.
+
+"How! disgusting? You are joking. He had dozens of bouquets. All the
+girls are in love with him. They compelled the photographer to sell them
+his photograph, and they all believe he is in love with them. I believe
+Luise Breidenstein will die if he doesn't propose to her."
+
+"They ought to be ashamed of themselves."
+
+"But he is so handsome, so delightful. He dances divinely, and knows
+such good riddles, and acts--_ach, himmlisch!_"
+
+"But how absurd to make such a fuss of him!" I cried, hot and indignant.
+"The idea of going on so about a man!"
+
+A chorus, a shriek, a Babel of expostulations.
+
+"Listen, Thekla! Fr�ulein Wedderburn does not know Lieutenant Pieper,
+and does not think it right to _schw�rm_ for him."
+
+"The darling! No one can help it who knows him!" said another.
+
+"Let her wait till she does know him," said Thekla, a sentimental young
+woman, pretty in a certain sentimental way, and graceful too--also
+sentimentally--with the sentiment that lingers about young ladies'
+albums with leaves of smooth, various-hued note-paper, and about the
+sonnets which nestle within the same. There was a sudden shriek:
+
+"There he goes! There is the Herr Lieutenant riding by. Just come here,
+_mein Fr�ulein_! See him! Judge for yourself!"
+
+A strong hand dragged me, whether I would or not, to the window, and
+pointed out to me the Herr Lieutenant riding by. An adorable creature in
+a Hussar uniform; he had pink cheeks and a straight nose, and the
+loveliest little model of a mustache ever seen; tightly curling black
+hair, and the dearest little feet and hands imaginable.
+
+"Oh, the dear, handsome, delightful follow!" cried one enthusiastic
+young creature, who had scrambled upon a chair in the background and was
+gazing after him while another, behind me, murmured in tones of emotion:
+
+"Look how he salutes--divine, isn't it?"
+
+I turned away, smiling an irrepressible smile. My musician, with his
+ample traits and clear, bold eyes, would have looked a wild, rough,
+untamable creature by the side of that wax-doll beauty--that pretty
+little being who had just ridden by. I thought I saw them side by
+side--Herr Lieutenant Pieper and Eugen Courvoisier. The latter would
+have been as much more imposing than the former as an oak is more
+imposing than a spruce fir--as Gluck than Lortzing. And could these
+enthusiastic young ladies have viewed the two they would have been true
+to their lieutenant; so much was certain. They would have said that the
+other was a wild man, who did not cut his hair often enough, who had
+large hands, whose collar was perhaps chosen more with a view to ease
+and the free movement of the throat than to the smallest number of
+inches within which it was possible to confine that throat; who did not
+wear polished kid boots, and was not seen off from the station by twenty
+devoted admirers of the opposite sex, was not deluged with bouquets.
+With a feeling as of something singing at my heart I went back to my
+place, smiling still.
+
+"See! she is quite charmed with the Herr Lieutenant! Is he not
+delightful?"
+
+"Oh, very; so is a Dresden china shepherd, but if you let him fall he
+breaks."
+
+"_Wie komisch!_ how odd!" was the universal comment upon my
+eccentricity. The conversation had wandered off to other military stars,
+all of whom were _reizend_, _h�bsch_, or _nett_. So it went on until I
+got heartily tired of it, and then the ladies discussed their female
+neighbors, but I leave that branch of the subject to the intelligent
+reader. It was the old tune with the old variations, which were rattled
+over in the accustomed manner. I listened, half curious, half appalled,
+and thought of various speeches made by Anna Sartorius. Whether she were
+amiable or not, she had certainly a keen insight into the hearts and
+motives of her fellow-creatures. Perhaps the gift had soured her.
+
+Anna and I walked home alone. Frau Steinmann was, with other elderly
+ladies of the company, to spend the evening there. As we walked down the
+K�nigsall�e--how well to this day do I remember it! the chestnuts were
+beginning to fade, the road was dusty, the sun setting gloriously, the
+people thronging in crowds--she said suddenly, quietly, and in a tone of
+the utmost composure:
+
+"So you don't admire Lieutenant Pieper so much as Herr Courvoisier?"
+
+"What do you mean?" I cried, astonished, alarmed, and wondering what
+unlucky chance led her to talk to me of Eugen.
+
+"I mean what I say; and for my part I agree with you--partly.
+Courvoisier, bad though he may be, is a man; the other a mixture of doll
+and puppy."
+
+She spoke in a friendly tone; discursive, as if inviting confidence and
+comment on my part. I was not inclined to give either. I shrunk with
+morbid nervousness from owning to any knowledge of Eugen. My pride, nay,
+my very self-esteem, bled whenever I thought of him or heard him
+mentioned. Above all, I shrunk from the idea of discussing him, or
+anything pertaining to him, with Anna Sartorius.
+
+"It will be time for you to agree with me when I give you anything to
+agree about," said I, coldly. "I know nothing of either of the
+gentlemen, and wish to know nothing."
+
+There was a pause. Looking up, I found Anna's eyes fixed upon my face,
+amazed, reproachful. I felt myself blushing fierily. My tongue had led
+me astray; I had lied to her: I knew it.
+
+"Do not say you know nothing of either of the gentlemen. Herr
+Courvoisier was your first acquaintance in Elberthal."
+
+"What?" I cried, with a great leap of the heart, for I felt as if a veil
+had suddenly been rent away from before my eyes and I shown a precipice.
+
+"I saw you arrive with Herr Courvoisier," said Anna, calmly; "at least,
+I saw you come from the platform with him, and he put you into a drosky.
+And I saw you cut him at the opera; and I saw you go into his house
+after the general probe. Will you tell me again that you know nothing of
+him? I should have thought you too proud to tell lies."
+
+"I wish you would mind your own business," said I, heartily wishing that
+Anna Sartorius were at the antipodes.
+
+"Listen!" said she, very earnestly, and, I remember it now, though I did
+not heed it then, with wistful kindness. "I do not bear malice--you are
+so young and inexperienced. I wish you were more friendly, but I care
+for you too much to be rebuffed by a trifle. I will tell you about
+Courvoisier."
+
+"Thank you," said I, hastily, "I beg you will do no such thing."
+
+"I know his story. I can tell you the truth about him."
+
+"I decline to discuss the subject," said I, thinking of Eugen, and
+passionately refusing the idea of discussing him, gossiping about him,
+with any one.
+
+Anna looked surprised; then a look of anger crossed her face.
+
+"You can not be in earnest," said she.
+
+"I assure you I am. I wish you would leave me alone," I said,
+exasperated beyond endurance.
+
+"You don't wish to know what I can tell you about him?"
+
+"No, I don't. What is more, if you begin talking to me about him, I will
+put my fingers in my ears, and leave you."
+
+"Then you may learn it for yourself," said she, suddenly, in a voice
+little more than a whisper. "You shall rue your treatment of me. And
+when you know the lesson by heart, then you will be sorry."
+
+"You are officious and impertinent," said I, white with ire. "I don't
+wish for your society, and I will say good-evening to you."
+
+With that I turned down a side street leading into the All�estrasse, and
+left her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+   "So!
+ Another chapter read; with doubtful hand
+ I turn the page, with doubtful eye I scan
+ The heading of the next."
+
+
+From that evening Anna let me alone, as I thought, and I was glad of it,
+nor did I attempt any reconciliation, for the very good reason that I
+wished for none.
+
+Soon after our dispute I found upon my plate at breakfast, one morning,
+a letter directed in a bold though unformed hand, which I recognized as
+Stella's:
+
+     "DEAR MAY,--I dare say Adelaide will be writing to you, but I will
+     take time by the forelock, so to speak, and give you my views on
+     the subject first.
+
+     "There is news, strange to say that there is some news to tell you.
+     I shall give it without making any remarks. I shall not say whether
+     I think it good, bad, or indifferent. Adelaide is engaged to Sir
+     Peter Le Marchant. It was only made known two days ago. Adelaide
+     thinks he is in love with her. What a strange mistake for her to
+     make! She thinks she can do anything with him. Also a monstrous
+     misapprehension on her part. Seriously, May, I am rather
+     uncomfortable about it, or should be, if it were any one else but
+     Adelaide. But she knows so remarkably well what she is about, that
+     perhaps, after all, my fears are needless. And yet--but it is no
+     use speculating about it--I said I wouldn't.
+
+     "She is a queer girl. I don't know how she can marry Sir Peter, I
+     must say. I suppose he is awfully rich, and Adelaide has always
+     said that poverty was the most horrible thing in the world. I don't
+     know, I'm sure. I should be inclined to say that Sir Peter was the
+     most horrible thing in the world. Write soon, and tell me what you
+     think about it.
+
+                    "Thine, speculatively,
+                         "STELLA WEDDERBURN."
+
+I did not feel surprise at this letter. Foreboding, grief, shame, I did
+experience at finding that Adelaide was bent upon her own misery. But
+then, I reflected, she can not be very sensible to misery, or she would
+not be able to go through with such a purpose. I went upstairs to
+communicate this news to Miss Hallam. Soon the rapid movement of events
+in my own affairs completely drove thoughts of Adelaide for a time, at
+least, out of my mind.
+
+Miss Hallam received the information quietly and with a certain
+contemptuous indifference. I knew she did not like Adelaide, and I spoke
+of her as seldom as possible.
+
+I took up some work, glancing at the clock, for I expected von Francius
+soon to give me my lesson, and Miss Hallam sat still. I had offered to
+read to her, and she had declined. I glanced at her now and then. I had
+grown accustomed to that sarcastic, wrinkled, bitter face, and did not
+dislike it. Indeed, Miss Hallam had given me abundant proofs that,
+eccentric though she might be, pessimist in theory, merciless upon human
+nature, which she spoke of in a manner which sometimes absolutely
+appalled me, yet in fact, in deed, she was a warm-hearted, generous
+woman. She had dealt bountifully by me, and I knew she loved me, though
+she never said so.
+
+"May," she presently remarked, "yesterday, when you were out, I saw
+Doctor Mittendorf."
+
+"Did you, Miss Hallam?"
+
+"Yes. He says it is useless my remaining here any longer. I shall never
+see, and an operation might cost me my life!"
+
+Half-stunned, and not yet quite taking in the whole case, I held my work
+suspended, and looked at her. She went on:
+
+"I knew it would be so when I came. I don't intend to try any more
+experiments. I shall go home next week."
+
+Now I grasped the truth.
+
+"Go home, Miss Hallam!" I repeated, faintly.
+
+"Yes, of course. There is no reason why I should stay, is there?"
+
+"N--no, I suppose not," I admitted; and contrived to stammer out, "and I
+am very sorry that Doctor Mittendorf thinks you will not be better."
+
+Then I left the room quickly--I could not stay, I was overwhelmed. It
+was scarcely ten minutes since I had come upstairs to her. I could have
+thought it was a week.
+
+Outside the room, I stood on the landing with my hand pressed to my
+forehead, for I felt somewhat bewildered. Stella's letter was still in
+my hand. As I stood there Anna Sartorius came past.
+
+"_Guten Tag, Fr�ulein_," said she, with a mocking kind of good-nature
+when she had observed me for a few minutes. "What is the matter? Are you
+ill? Have you had bad news?"
+
+"Good-morning, Fr�ulein," I answered, quietly enough, dropping my hand
+from my brow.
+
+I went to my room. A maid was there, and the furniture might have stood
+as a type of chaos. I turned away, and went to the empty room, in which
+my piano stood, and where I had my music lessons. I sat down upon a
+stool in the middle of the room, folded my hands in my lap, and
+endeavored to realize what had happened--what was going to happen. There
+rang in my head nothing but the words, "I am going home next week."
+
+Home again! What a blank yawned before me at the idea! Leave
+Elberthal--leave this new life which had just begun to grow real to
+me! Leave it--go away; be whirled rapidly away back to Skernford--away
+from this vivid life, away from--Eugen. I drew a long breath, as the
+wretched, ignominious idea intruded itself, and I knew now what it was
+that gave terror to the prospect before me. My heart quailed and fainted
+at the bare idea of such a thing. Not even Hobson's choice was open to
+me. There was no alternative--I must go. I sat still, and felt myself
+growing gradually stiller and graver and colder as I looked mentally to
+every side of my horizon, and found it so bounded--myself shut in so
+fast.
+
+There was nothing for it but to return home, and spend the rest of my
+life at Skernford. I was in a mood in which I could smile. I smiled at
+the idea of myself growing older and older, and this six weeks that I
+had spent fading back and back into the distance, and the people into
+whose lives I had a cursory glance going on their way, and soon
+forgetting my existence. Truly, Anna! if you were anxious for me to be
+miserable, this moment, could you know it, should be sweet to you!
+
+My hands clasped themselves more closely upon my lap, and I sat staring
+at nothing, vaguely, until a shadow before me caused me to look up.
+Without knowing it, von Francius had come in, and was standing by,
+looking at me.
+
+"Good-morning!" said I, with a vast effort, partially collecting my
+scattered thoughts.
+
+"Are you ready for your lesson, _mein Fr�ulein_?"
+
+"N--no. I think, Herr Direktor, I will not take any lesson to-day, if
+you will excuse it."
+
+"But why? Are you ill?"
+
+"No," said I. "At least--perhaps I want to accustom myself to do without
+music lessons."
+
+"So?"
+
+"Yes, and without many other pleasant things," said I, wryly and
+decidedly.
+
+"I do not understand," said he, putting his hat down, and leaning one
+elbow upon the piano, while his deep eyes fixed themselves upon my face,
+and, as usual, began to compel my secrets from me.
+
+"I am going home," said I.
+
+A quick look of feeling--whether astonishment, regret, or dismay, I
+should not like to have said--flashed across his face.
+
+"Have you had bad news?"
+
+"Yes, very. Miss Hallam returns to England next week."
+
+"But why do you go? Why not remain here?"
+
+"Gladly, if I had any money," I said, with a dry smile. "But I have
+none, and can not get any."
+
+"You will return to England now? Do you know what you are giving up?"
+
+"Obligation has no choice," said I, gracefully. "I would give anything
+if I could stay here, and not go home again." And with that I burst into
+tears. I covered my face with my hands, and all the pent-up grief and
+pain of the coming parting streamed from my eyes. I wept uncontrollably.
+
+He did not interrupt my tears for some time. When he did speak, it was
+in a very gentle voice.
+
+"Miss Wedderburn, will you try to compose yourself, and listen to
+something I have to say?"
+
+I looked up. I saw his eyes fixed seriously and kindly upon me with an
+expression quite apart from their usual indifferent coolness--with the
+look of one friend to another--with such a look as I had seen and have
+since seen exchanged between Courvoisier and his friend Helfen.
+
+"See," said he, "I take an interest in you, Fr�ulein May. Why should I
+hesitate to say so? You are young--you do not know the extent of your
+own strength, or of your own weakness. I do. I will not flatter--it is
+not my way--as I think you know."
+
+I smiled. I remembered the plentiful blame and the scant praise which it
+had often fallen to my lot to receive from him.
+
+"I am a strict, sarcastic, disagreeable old pedagogue, as you and so
+many of my other fair pupils consider," he went on, and I looked up in
+amaze. I knew that so many of his "fair pupils" considered him exactly
+the reverse.
+
+"It is my business to know whether a voice is good for anything or not.
+Now yours, with training, will be good for a great deal. Have you the
+means, or the chance, or the possibility of getting that training in
+England?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I should like to help you, partly from the regard I have for you,
+partly for my own sake, because I think you would do me credit."
+
+He paused. I was looking at him with all my senses concentrated upon
+what he had said. He had been talking round the subject until he saw
+that he had fairly fixed my attention; then he said, sharply and
+rapidly:
+
+"Fr�ulein, it lies with you to choose. Will you go home and stagnate
+there, or will you remain here, fight down your difficulties, and become
+a worthy artist?"
+
+"Can there be any question as to which I should like to do?" said I,
+distracted at the idea of having to give up the prospect he held out.
+"But it is impossible. Miss Hallam alone can decide."
+
+"But if Miss Hallam consented, you would remain?"
+
+"Oh! Herr von Francius! You should soon see whether I would remain!"
+
+"Also! Miss Hallam shall consent. Now to our singing!"
+
+I stood up. A singular apathy had come over me; I felt no longer my old
+self. I had a kind of confidence in von Francius, and yet--Despite my
+recent trouble, I felt now a lightness and freedom, and a perfect
+ability to cast aside all anxieties, and turn to the business of the
+moment--my singing. I had never sung better. Von Francius condescended
+to say that I had done well. Then he rose.
+
+"Now I am going to have a private interview with Miss Hallam," said he,
+smiling. "I am always having private interviews with her, _nicht wahr_?
+Nay, Fr�ulein May, do not let your eyes fill with tears. Have confidence
+in yourself and your destiny, as I have."
+
+With that he was gone, leaving me to practice. How very kind von
+Francius was to me! I thought--not in the least the kind of man people
+called him. I had great confidence in him--in his will. I almost
+believed that he would know the right thing to say to Miss Hallam to get
+her to let me stay; but then, suppose she were willing, I had no
+possible means of support. Tired of conjecturing upon a subject upon
+which I was so utterly in the dark, I soon ceased that foolish pursuit.
+An hour had passed, when I heard von Francius' step, which I knew quite
+well, come down the stairs. My heart beat, but I could not move.
+
+Would he pass, or would he come and speak to me? He paused. His hand was
+on the lock. That was he standing before me, with a slight smile. He did
+not look like a man defeated--but then, could he look like a man
+defeated? My idea of him was that he held his own way calmly, and that
+circumstances respectfully bowed to him.
+
+"The day is gained," said he, and paused; but before I could speak he
+went on: "Go to Miss Hallam; be kind to her. It is hard for her to part
+from you, and she has behaved like a Spartan. I felt quite sorry to have
+to give her so much pain."
+
+Much wondering what could have passed between them, I left von Francius
+silently and sought Miss Hallam.
+
+"Are you there, May?" said she. "What have you been doing all the
+morning?"
+
+"Practicing--and having my lesson."
+
+"Practicing--and having your lesson--exactly what I have been doing.
+Practicing giving up my own wishes, and taking a lesson in the act of
+persuasion, by being myself persuaded. Your singing-master is a
+wonderful man. He has made me act against my principles."
+
+"Miss Hallam--"
+
+"You were in great trouble this morning when you heard you were to leave
+Elberthal. I knew it instantly. However, you shall not go unless you
+choose. You shall stay."
+
+Wondering, I held my tongue.
+
+"Herr von Francius has showed me my duty."
+
+"Miss Hallam," said I, suddenly, "I will do whatever you wish. After
+your kindness to me, you have the right to dispose of my doings. I shall
+be glad to do as you wish."
+
+"Well," said she, composedly, "I wish you to write a letter to your
+parents, which I will dictate; of course they must be consulted. Then,
+if they consent, I intend to provide you with the means of carrying on
+your studies in Elberthal under Herr von Francius."
+
+I almost gasped. Miss Hallam, who had been a by-word in Skernford, and
+in our own family, for eccentricity and stinginess, was indeed heaping
+coals of fire upon my head. I tried, weakly and ineffectually, to
+express my gratitude to her, and at last said:
+
+"You may trust me never to abuse your kindness, Miss Hallam."
+
+"I have trusted you ever since you refused Sir Peter Le Marchant, and
+were ready to leave your home to get rid of him," said she, with grim
+humor.
+
+She then told me that she had settled everything with von Francius, even
+that I was to remove to different lodgings, more suited for a solitary
+student than Frau Steinmann's busy house.
+
+"And," she added, "I shall ask Doctor Mittendorf to have an eye to you
+now and then, and to write to me of how you go on."
+
+I could not find many words in which to thank her. The feeling that I
+was not going, did not need to leave it all, filled my heart with a
+happiness as deep as it was unfounded and unreasonable.
+
+At my next lesson von Francius spoke to me of the future.
+
+"I want you to be a real student--no play one," said he, "or you will
+never succeed. And for that reason I told Miss Hallam that you had
+better leave this house. There are too many distractions. I am going to
+put you in a very different place."
+
+"Where? In which part of the town?"
+
+"Wehrhahn, 39, is the address," said he.
+
+I was not quite sure where that was, but did not ask further, for I was
+occupied in helping Miss Hallam, and wished to be with her as much as I
+could before she left.
+
+The day of parting came, as come it must. Miss Hallam was gone. I had
+cried, and she had maintained the grim silence which was her only way of
+expressing emotion.
+
+She was going back home to Skernford, to blindness, now known to be
+inevitable, to her saddened, joyless life. I was going to remain in
+Elberthal--for what? When I look back I ask myself--was I not as blind
+as she, in truth? In the afternoon of the day of Miss Hallam's
+departure, I left Frau Steinmann's house. Clara promised to come and
+see me sometimes. Frau Steinmann kissed me, and called me _liebes Kind_.
+I got into the cab and directed the driver to go to Wehrhahn, 39.
+He drove me along one or two streets into the one known as the
+Schadowstrasse, a long, wide street, in which stood the Tonhalle. A
+little past that building, round a corner, and he stopped, on the same
+side of the road.
+
+"Not here!" said I, putting my head out of the window when I saw the
+window of the curiosity shop exactly opposite. "Not here!"
+
+"Wehrhahn, 39, Fr�ulein?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"This is it."
+
+I stared around. Yes--on the wall stood in plainly to be read white
+letters, "Wehrhahn," and on the door of the house, 39. Yielding to a
+conviction that it was to be, I murmured "Kismet," and descended from my
+chariot. The woman of the house received me civilly. "The young lady for
+whom the Herr Direktor had taken lodgings? _Schon_! Please to come this
+way, Fr�ulein. The room was on the third _�tage_." I followed her
+upstairs--steep, dark, narrow stairs, like those of the opposite house.
+The room was a bare-looking, tolerably large one. There was a little
+closet of a bedroom opening from it--a scrap of carpet upon the floor,
+and open windows letting in the air. The woman chatted good-naturedly
+enough.
+
+"So! I hope the room will suit, Fr�ulein. It is truly not to be
+called richly furnished, but one doesn't need that when one is a
+_Sing-student_. I have had many in my time--ladies and gentlemen
+too--pupils of Herr von Francius often. _Na!_ what if they did make a
+great noise? I have no children--thank the good God! and one gets used
+to the screaming just as one gets used to everything else." Here she
+called me to the window.
+
+"You might have worse prospects than this, Fr�ulein, and worse neighbors
+than those over the way. See! there is the old furniture shop where so
+many of the Herren Maler go, and then there there is Herr Duntze, the
+landscape painter, and Herr Knoop who paints _Genrebilder_ and does not
+make much by it--so a picture of a child with a raveled skein of wool,
+or a little girl making ear-rings for herself with bunches of
+cherries--for my part I don't see much in them, and wonder that there
+are people who will lay down good hard thalers for them. Then there is
+Herr Courvoisier, the musiker--but perhaps you know who he is."
+
+"Yes," I assented.
+
+"And his little son!" Here she threw up her hands. "_Ach!_ the poor man!
+There are people who speak against him, and every one knows he and the
+Herr Direktor are not the best friends, but _sehn Sie wohl, Fr�ulein_,
+the Herr Direktor is well off, settled, provided for; Herr Courvoisier
+has his way to make yet, and the world before him; and what sort of a
+story it may be with the child, I don't know, but this I will say, let
+those dare to doubt it or question it who will, he is a good father--I
+know it. And the other young man with Herr Courvoisier--his friend, I
+suppose--he is a musiker too. I hear them practicing a good deal
+sometimes--things without any air or tune to them; for my part I wonder
+how they can go on with it. Give me a good song with a tune in
+it--'Drunten im Unterland,' or 'In Berlin, sagt er,' or something one
+knows. _Na!_ I suppose the fiddling all lies in the way of business, and
+perhaps they can fall asleep over it sometimes, as I do now and then
+over my knitting, when I'm weary. The young man, Herr Courvoisier's
+friend, looked ill when they first came; even now he is not to call a
+robust-looking person--but formerly he looked as if he would go out of
+the fugue altogether. _Entschuldigen_, Fr�ulein, if I use a few
+professional proverbs. My husband, the sainted man! was a piano-tuner by
+calling, and I have picked up some of his musical expressions and use
+them, more for his sake than any other reason--for I have heard too much
+music to believe in it so much as ignorant people do. _Nun!_ I will send
+Fr�ulein her box up, and then I hope she will feel comfortable and at
+home, and send for whatever she wants."
+
+In a few moments my luggage had come upstairs, and when they who brought
+it had finally disappeared, I went to the window again and looked out.
+Opposite, on the same _�tage_, were two windows, corresponding to my
+two, wide open, letting me see into an empty room, in which there seemed
+to be books and many sheets of white paper, a music-desk and a vase of
+flowers. I also saw a piano in the clare-obscure, and another door, half
+open, leading into the inner room. All the inhabitants of the rooms were
+out. No tone came across to me--no movement of life. But the influence
+of the absent ones was there. Strange concourse of circumstances which
+had placed me as the opposite neighbor, in the same profession too, of
+Eugen Courvoisier! Pure chance it certainly was, for von Francius had
+certainly had no motive in bringing me hither.
+
+"Kismet!" I murmured once again, and wondered what the future would
+bring.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+ "He looks his angel in the face
+ Without a blush: nor heeds disgrace,
+ Whom naught disgraceful done
+ Disgraces. Who knows nothing base
+   Fears nothing known."
+
+
+It was noon. The probe to "Tannhauser" was over, and we, the members of
+the kapelle, turned out, and stood in a knot around the orchestra
+entrance to the Elberthal Theater.
+
+It was a raw October noontide. The last traces of the by-gone summer
+were being swept away by equinoctial gales, which whirled the remaining
+yellowing leaves from the trees, and strewed with them the walks of the
+deserted Hofgarten; a stormy gray sky promised rain at the earliest
+opportunity; our Rhine went gliding by like a stream of ruffled lead.
+
+"Proper theater weather," observed one of my fellow-musicians; "but it
+doesn't seem to suit you, Friedhelm. What makes you look so down?"
+
+I shrugged my shoulders. Existence was not at that time very pleasant to
+me; my life's hues were somewhat of the color of the autumn skies and of
+the dull river. I scarcely knew why I stood with the others now; it was
+more a mechanical pause before I took my spiritless way home, than
+because I felt any interest in what was going on.
+
+"I should say he will be younger by a long way than old Kohler,"
+observed Karl Linders, one of the violoncellists, a young man with an
+unfailing flow of good nature, good spirits, and eagerness to enjoy
+every pleasure which came in his way, which qualities were the objects
+of my deep wonder and mild envy. "And they say," he continued, "that
+he's coming to-night; so Friedhelm, my boy, you may look out. Your
+master's on the way."
+
+"So!" said I, lending but an indifferent attention; "what is his name?"
+
+"That's his way of gently intimating that he hasn't got no master," said
+Karl, jocosely, but the general answer to my question was, "I don't
+know."
+
+"But they say," said a tall man who wore spectacles and sat behind me in
+the first violins--"they say that von Francius doesn't like the
+appointment. He wanted some one else, but Die Direktion managed to beat
+him. He dislikes the new fellow beforehand, whatever he may be."
+
+"So! Then he will have a roughish time of it!" agreed one or two others.
+
+The "he" of whom they spoke was the coming man who should take the place
+of the leader of the first violins--it followed that he would be at
+least an excellent performer--possibly a clever man in many other ways,
+for the post was in many ways a good one. Our kapelle was no mean
+one--in our own estimation at any rate. Our late first violinist, who
+had recently died, had been on visiting terms with persons of the
+highest respectability, had given lessons to the very best families, and
+might have been seen bowing to young ladies and important dowagers
+almost any day. No wonder his successor was speculated about with some
+curiosity.
+
+"_Alle Wetter!_" cried Karl Linders, impatiently--that young man was
+much given to impatience--"what does von Francius want? He can't have
+everything. I suppose this new fellow plays a little too well for his
+taste. He will have to give him a solo now and then instead of keeping
+them all for himself."
+
+"_Weiss 's nit_," said another, shrugging his shoulders, "I've only
+heard that von Francius had a row with the Direction, and was outvoted."
+
+"What a sweet temper he will be in at the probe to-morrow!" laughed
+Karl. "Won't he give it to the _M�dchen_ right and left!"
+
+"What time is he coming?" proceeded one of the oboists.
+
+"Don't know; know nothing about it; perhaps he'll appear in 'Tannhauser'
+to-night. Look out, Friedhelm."
+
+"Here comes little Luischen," said Karl, with a winning smile, a
+straightening of his collar, and a general arming-for-conquest
+expression, as some of the "ladies of the chorus and ballet," appeared
+from the side door. "Isn't she pretty?" he went on, in an audible aside
+to me. "I've a crow to pluck with her too. _Tag_, Fr�ulein!" he added,
+advancing to the young lady who had so struck him.
+
+He was "struck" on an average once a week, every time with the most
+beautiful and charming of her sex. The others, with one or two
+exceptions, also turned. I said good-morning to Linders, who wished,
+with a noble generosity, to make me a partaker in his cheerful
+conversation with Fr�ulein Luise of the first soprans, slipped from his
+grasp and took my way homeward. Fr�ulein Luischen was no doubt very
+pretty, and in her way a companionable person. Unfortunately I never
+could appreciate that way. With every wish to accommodate myself to the
+only society with which fortune supplied me, it was but ill that I
+succeeded.
+
+I, Friedhelm Helfen, was at that time a lonely, soured misanthrope of
+two-and-twenty. Let the announcement sound as absurd as it may, it is
+simply and absolutely true, I was literally alone in the world. My last
+relative had died and left me entirely without any one who could have
+even a theoretical reason for taking any interest in me. Gradually,
+during the last few months, I had fallen into evil places of thought and
+imagination. There had been a time before, as there has been a time
+since--as it is with me now--when I worshiped my art with all my
+strength as the most beautiful thing on earth; the art of arts--the most
+beautiful and perfect development of beauty which mankind has yet
+succeeded in attaining to, and when the very fact of its being so and of
+my being gifted with some poor power of expressing and interpreting that
+beauty was enough for me--gave me a place in the world with which I was
+satisfied, and made life understandable to me. At that time this
+belief--my natural and normal state--was clouded over; between me and
+the goddess of my idolatry had fallen a veil; I wasted my brain tissue
+in trying to philosophize--cracked my head, and almost my reason over
+the endless, unanswerable question, _Cui bono?_ that question which may
+so easily become the destruction of the fool who once allows himself to
+be drawn into dallying with it. _Cui bono?_ is a mental Delilah who will
+shear the locks of the most arrogant Samson. And into the arms and to
+the tender mercies of this Delilah I had given myself. I was in a fair
+way of being lost forever in her snares, which she sets for the feet of
+men. To what use all this toil? To what use--music? After by dint of
+hard twisting my thoughts and coping desperately with problems that I
+did not understand, having managed to extract a conviction that there
+was use in music--a use to beautify, gladden, and elevate--I began to
+ask myself further, "What is it to me whether mankind is elevated or
+not? made better or worse? higher or lower?"
+
+Only one who has asked himself that question, as I did, in bitter
+earnest, and fairly faced the answer, can know the horror, the
+blackness, the emptiness of the abyss into which it gives one a glimpse.
+Blackness of darkness--no standpoint, no vantage-ground--it is a horror
+of horrors; it haunted me then day and night, and constituted itself not
+only my companion but my tyrant.
+
+I was in bad health too. At night, when the joyless day was over, the
+work done, the play played out, the smell of the foot-lights and gas and
+the dust of the stage dispersed, a deadly weariness used to overcome me;
+an utter, tired, miserable apathy; and alone, surrounded by loneliness,
+I let my morbid thoughts carry me whither they would. It had gone so far
+that I had even begun to say to myself lately:
+
+"Friedhelm Helfen, you are not wanted. On the other side this life is a
+nothingness so large that you will be as nothing in it. Launch yourself
+into it. The story that suicide is wrong and immoral is, like other
+things, to be taken with reservation. There is no absolute right and
+wrong. Suicide is sometimes the highest form of right and reason."
+
+This mood was strong upon me on that particular day, and as I paced
+along the Schadowstrasse toward the Wehrhahn, where my lodging was, the
+very stones seemed to cry out, "The world is weary, and you are not
+wanted in it."
+
+A heavy, cold, beating rain began to fall. I entered the room which
+served me as living- and sleeping-room. From habit I ate and drank
+at the same restauration as that frequented by my _confr�res_ of the
+orchestra. I leaned my elbows upon the table, and listened drearily to
+the beat of the rain upon the pane. Scattered sheets of music
+containing, some great, others little thoughts, lay around me. Lately
+it seemed as if the flavor was gone from them. The other night Beethoven
+himself had failed to move me, and I accepted it as a sign that all
+was over with me. In an hour it would be time to go out and seek dinner,
+if I made up my mind to have any dinner. Then there would be the
+afternoon--the dreary, wet afternoon, the tramp through the soaking
+streets, with the lamp-light shining into the pools of water, to
+the theater; the lights, the people, the weary round of painted
+ballet-girls, and accustomed voices and faces of audience and
+performers. The same number of bars to play, the same to leave unplayed;
+the whole dreary story, gone through so often before, to be gone through
+so often again.
+
+The restauration did not see me that day; I remained in the house. There
+was to be a great concert in the course of a week or two; the "Tower of
+Babel" was to be given at it. I had the music. I practiced my part, and
+I remember being a little touched with the exquisite loveliness of one
+of the choruses, that sung by the "Children of Japhet" as they wander
+sadly away with their punishment upon them into the _Waldeinsamkeit_
+(that lovely and untranslatable word) one of the purest and most
+pathetic melodies ever composed.
+
+It was dark that afternoon. I had not stirred from my hole since coming
+in from the probe--had neither eaten nor drunk, and was in full
+possession of the uninterrupted solitude coveted by busy men. Once I
+thought that it would have been pleasant if some one had known and cared
+for me well enough to run up the stairs, put his head into the room, and
+talk to me about his affairs.
+
+To the sound of gustily blowing wind and rain beating on the pane, the
+afternoon hours dragged slowly by, and the world went on outside and
+around me until about five o'clock. Then there came a knock at my door,
+an occurrence so unprecedented that I sat and stared at the said door
+instead of speaking, as if Edgar Poe's raven had put in a sudden
+appearance and begun to croak its "never-more" at me.
+
+The door was opened. A dreadful, dirty-looking young woman, a servant of
+the house, stood in the door-way.
+
+"What do you want?" I inquired.
+
+A gentleman wished to speak to me.
+
+"Bring him in then," said I, somewhat testily.
+
+She turned and requested some one to come forward. There entered a tall
+and stately man, with one of those rare faces, beautiful in feature,
+bright in expression, which one meets sometimes, and, having once seen,
+never forgets. He carried what I took at first for a bundle done up in a
+dark-green plaid, but as I stood up and looked at him I perceived that
+the plaid was wrapped round a child. Lost in astonishment, I gazed at
+him in silence.
+
+"I beg you will excuse my intruding upon you thus," said he, bowing, and
+I involuntarily returned his bow, wondering more and more what he could
+be. His accent was none of the Elberthal one; it was fine, refined,
+polished.
+
+"How can I serve you?" I asked, impressed by his voice, manner, and
+appearance; agreeably impressed. A little masterful he looked--a little
+imperious, but not unapproachable, with nothing ungenial in his pride.
+
+"You could serve me very much by giving me one or two pieces of
+information. In the first place let me introduce myself; you, I think,
+are Herr Helfen?" I bowed. "My name is Eugen Courvoisier. I am the new
+member of your _st�dtisches Orchester_."
+
+"_O, was!_" said I, within myself. "That our new first violin!"
+
+"And this is my son," he added, looking down at the plaid bundle, which
+he held very carefully and tenderly. "If you will tell me at what time
+the opera begins, what it is to-night, and finally, if there is a room
+to be had, perhaps in this house, even for one night. I must find a nest
+for this _V�gelein_ as soon as I possibly can."
+
+"I believe the opera begins at seven," said I, still gazing at him in
+astonishment, with open mouth and incredulous eyes. Our orchestra
+contained among its sufficiently varied specimens of nationality and
+appearance nothing in the very least like this man, beside whom I felt
+myself blundering, clumsy, and unpolished. It was not mere natural grace
+of manner. He had that, but it had been cultivated somewhere, and
+cultivated highly.
+
+"Yes?" he said.
+
+"At seven--yes. It is 'Tannhauser' to-night. And the rooms--I believe
+they have rooms in the house."
+
+"Ah, then I will inquire about it," said he, with an exceedingly open
+and delightful smile. "I thank you for telling me. Adieu, _mein Herr_."
+
+"Is he asleep?" I asked, abruptly, and pointing to the bundle.
+
+"Yes; _armes Kerlchen_! just now he is," said the young man.
+
+He was quite young, I saw. In that half light I supposed him even
+younger than he really was. He looked down at the bundle again and
+smiled.
+
+"I should like to see him," said I, politely and gracefully, seized by
+an impulse of which I felt ashamed, but which I yet could not resist.
+
+With that I stepped forward and came to examine the bundle. He moved
+the plaid a little aside and showed me a child--a very young, small,
+helpless child, with closed eyes, immensely long, black, curving lashes,
+and fine, delicate black brows. The small face was flushed, but even in
+sleep this child looked melancholy. Yet he was a lovely child--most
+beautiful and most pathetic to see.
+
+I looked at the small face in silence, and a great desire came upon me
+to look at it oftener--to see it again, then up at that of the father.
+How unlike the two faces! Now that I fairly looked at the man I found he
+was different from what I had thought; older, sparer, with more sharply
+cut features. I could not tell what the child's eyes might be--those of
+the father were piercing as an eagle's; clear, open, strange. There was
+sorrow in the face, I saw, as I looked so earnestly into it; and it was
+worn as if with a keen inner life. This glance was one of those which
+penetrate deep, not the glance of a moment, but a revelation for life.
+
+"He is very beautiful," said I.
+
+"_Nicht wahr?_" said the other, softly.
+
+"Look here," I added, going to a sofa which was strewn with papers,
+books, and other paraphernalia; "couldn't we put him here, and then go
+and see about the rooms? Such a young, tender child must not be carried
+about the passages, and the house is full of draughts."
+
+I do not know what had so suddenly supplied me with this wisdom as to
+what was good for a "young, tender child," nor can I account for the
+sudden deep interest which possessed me. I dashed the things off the
+sofa, beat the dust from it, desired him to wait one moment while I
+rushed to my bed to ravish it of its pillow. Then with the sight of the
+bed (I was buying my experience) I knew that that, and not the sofa, was
+the place for the child, and said so.
+
+"Put him here, do put him here!" I besought, earnestly. "He will sleep
+for a time here, won't he?"
+
+"You are very good," said my visitor, hesitating a moment.
+
+"Put him there!" said I, flushed with excitement, and with the hitherto
+unknown joy of being able to offer hospitality.
+
+Courvoisier looked meditatively at me for a short time then laid the
+child upon the bed, and arranged the plaid around it as skillfully and
+as quickly as a woman would have done it.
+
+"How clever he must be," I thought, looking at him with awe, and with
+little less awe contemplating the motionless child.
+
+"Wouldn't you like something to put over him?" I asked, looking
+excitedly about. "I have an overcoat. I'll lend it you." And I was
+rushing off to fetch it, but he laughingly laid his hand upon my arm.
+
+"Let him alone," said he; "he's all right."
+
+"He won't fall off, will he?" I asked, anxiously.
+
+"No; don't be alarmed. Now, if you will be so good, we will see about
+the rooms."
+
+"Dare you leave him?" I asked, still with anxiety, and looking back as
+we went toward the door.
+
+"I dare because I must," replied he.
+
+He closed the door, and we went down-stairs to seek the persons in
+authority. Courvoisier related his business and condition, and asked
+to see rooms. The woman hesitated when she heard there was a child.
+
+"The child will never trouble you, madame," said he, quietly, but rather
+as if the patience of his look were forced.
+
+"No, never!" I added, fervently. "I will answer for that, Frau Schmidt."
+
+A quick glance, half gratitude, half amusement, shot from his eyes as
+the woman went on to say that she only took gentlemen lodgers, and could
+not do with ladies, children, and nurse-maids. They wanted so much
+attending to, and she did not profess to open her house to them.
+
+"You will not be troubled with either lady or nurse-maid," said he. "I
+take charge of the child myself. You will not know that he is in the
+house."
+
+"But your wife--" she began.
+
+"There will be no one but myself and my little boy," he replied, ever
+politely, but ever, as it seemed, to me, with repressed pain or
+irritation.
+
+"So!" said the woman, treating him to a long, curious, unsparing look
+of wonder and inquiry, which made me feel hot all over. He returned the
+glance quietly and unsmilingly. After a pause she said:
+
+"Well, I suppose I must see about it, but it will be the first child I
+ever took into the house, in that way, and only as a favor to Herr
+Helfen."
+
+I was greatly astonished, not having known before that I stood in such
+high esteem. Courvoisier threw me a smiling glance as we followed the
+woman up the stairs, up to the top of the house, where I lived. Throwing
+open a door, she said there were two rooms which must go together.
+Courvoisier shook his head.
+
+"I do not want two rooms," said he, "or rather, I don't think I can
+afford them. What do you charge?"
+
+She told him.
+
+"If it were so much," said he, naming a smaller sum, "I could do it."
+
+"_Nie!_" said the woman, curtly, "for that I can't do it. _Um
+Gotteswillen!_ One must live."
+
+She paused, reflecting, and I watched anxiously. She was going to
+refuse. My heart sunk. Rapidly reviewing my own circumstances and
+finances, and making a hasty calculation in my mind, I said:
+
+"Why can't we arrange it? Here is a big room and a little room. Make the
+little room into a bedroom, and use the big room for a sitting-room. I
+will join at it, and so it will come within the price you wish to pay."
+
+The woman's face cleared a little. She had listened with a clouded
+expression and her head on one side. Now she straightened herself, drew
+herself up, smoothed down her apron, and said:
+
+"Yes, that lets itself be heard. If Herr Helfen agreed to that, she
+would like it."
+
+"Oh, but I can't think of putting you to the extra expense," said
+Courvoisier.
+
+"I should like it," said I. "I have often wished I had a little more
+room, but, like you, I couldn't afford the whole expense. We can have a
+piano, and the child can play there. Don't you see?" I added, with great
+earnestness and touching his arm. "It is a large airy room; he can run
+about there, and make as much noise as he likes."
+
+He still seemed to hesitate.
+
+"I can afford it," said I. "I've no one but myself, unluckily. If you
+don't object to my company, let us try it. We shall be neighbors in the
+orchestra."
+
+"So!"
+
+"Why not at home too? I think it an excellent plan. Let us decide it
+so."
+
+I was very urgent about it. An hour ago I could not have conceived
+anything which could make me so urgent and set my heart beating so.
+
+"If I did not think it would inconvenience you," he began.
+
+"Then it is settled?" said I. "Now let us go and see what kind of
+furniture there is in that big room."
+
+Without allowing him to utter any further objection, I dragged him
+to the large room, and we surveyed it. The woman, who for some
+unaccountable reason appeared to have recovered her good-temper in a
+marvelous manner, said quite cheerfully that she would send the maid to
+make the smaller room ready as a bedroom for two. "One of us won't take
+much room," said Courvoisier with a laugh, to which she assented with a
+smile, and then left us. The big room was long, low, and rather dark.
+Beams were across the ceiling, and two not very large windows looked
+upon the street below, across to two similar windows of another
+lodging-house, a little to the left of which was the Tonhalle. The floor
+was carpetless, but clean; there was a big square table, and some
+chairs.
+
+"There," said I, drawing Courvoisier to the window, and pointing across:
+"there is one scene of your future exertions, the St�dtische Tonhalle."
+
+"So!" said he, turning away again from the window--it was as dark as
+ever outside--and looking round the room again. "This is a dull-looking
+place," he added, gazing around it.
+
+"We'll soon make it different," said I, rubbing my hands and gazing
+round the room with avidity. "I have long wished to be able to inhabit
+this room. We must make it more cheerful, though, before the child comes
+to it. We'll have the stove lighted, and we'll knock up some shelves
+and we'll have a piano in, and the sofa from my room, _nicht wahr?_ Oh,
+we'll make a place of it, I can tell you."
+
+He looked at me as if struck with my enthusiasm, and I bustled about.
+We set to work to make the room habitable. He was out for a short time
+at the station and returned with the luggage which he had left there.
+While he was away I stole into my room and took a good look at my new
+treasure; he still slept peacefully and calmly on. We were deep in
+impromptu carpentering and contrivances for use and comfort, when it
+occurred to me to look at my watch.
+
+"Five minutes to seven!" I almost yelled, dashing wildly into my room to
+wash my hands and get my violin. Courvoisier followed me. The child was
+awake. I felt a horrible sense of guilt as I saw it looking at me with
+great, soft, solemn, brown eyes, not in the least those of its father,
+but it did not move. I said apologetically that I feared I had awakened
+it.
+
+"Oh, no! He's been awake for some time," said Courvoisier. The child saw
+him, and stretched out its arms toward him.
+
+"_Na! junger Taugenichts!_" he said, taking it up and kissing it. "Thou
+must stay here till I come back. Wilt be happy till I come?"
+
+The answer made by the mournful-looking child was a singular one. It put
+both tiny arms around the big man's neck, laid its face for a moment
+against his, and loosed him again. Neither word nor sound did it emit
+during the process. A feeling altogether new and astonishing overcame
+me. I turned hastily away, and as I picked up my violin-case, was amazed
+to find my eyes dim. My visitors were something unprecedented to me.
+
+"You are not compelled to go to the theater to-night, you know, unless
+you like," I suggested, as we went down-stairs.
+
+"Thanks, it is as well to begin at once."
+
+On the lowest landing we met Frau Schmidt.
+
+"Where are you going, _mein Herren_?" she demanded.
+
+"To work, madame," he replied, lifting his cap with a courtesy which
+seemed to disarm her.
+
+"But the child?" she demanded.
+
+"Do not trouble yourself about him."
+
+"Is he asleep?"
+
+"Not just now. He is all right, though."
+
+She gave us a look which meant volumes. I pulled Courvoisier out.
+
+"Come along, do!" cried I. "She will keep you there for half an hour,
+and it is time now."
+
+We rushed along the streets too rapidly to have time or breath to speak,
+and it was five minutes after the time when we scrambled into the
+orchestra, and found that the overture was already begun.
+
+Though there is certainly not much time for observing one's fellows when
+one is helping in the overture to "Tannhauser," yet I saw the many
+curious and astonished glances which were cast toward our new member,
+glances of which he took no notice, simply because he apparently did not
+see them. He had the finest absence of self-consciousness that I ever
+saw.
+
+The first act of the opera was over, and it fell to my share to make
+Courvoisier known to his fellow-musicians. I introduced him to the
+director, who was not von Francius, nor any friend of his. Then we
+retired to one of the small rooms on one side of the orchestra.
+
+"_Hundewetter!_" said one of the men, shivering. "Have you traveled far
+to-day?" he inquired of Courvoisier, by way of opening the conversation.
+
+"From K�ln only."
+
+"Live there?"
+
+"No."
+
+The man continued his catechism, but in another direction.
+
+"Are you a friend of Helfen's?"
+
+"I rather think Helfen has been a friend to me," said Courvoisier,
+smiling.
+
+"Have you found lodgings already?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"So!" said his interlocutor, rather puzzled with the new arrival. I
+remember the scene well. Half a dozen of the men were standing in one
+corner of the room, smoking, drinking beer, and laughing over some not
+very brilliant joke; we three were a little apart. Courvoisier, stately
+and imposing-looking, and with that fine manner of his, politely
+answering his interrogator, a small, sharp-featured man, who looked up
+to him and rattled complacently away, while I sat upon the table among
+the fiddle-cases and beer-glasses, my foot on a chair, my chin in
+my hand, feeling my cheeks glow, and a strange sense of dizziness
+and weakness all over me, a lightness in my head which I could not
+understand. It had quite escaped me that I had neither eaten nor drunk
+since my breakfast at eight o'clock, on a cup of coffee and dry
+_Br�dchen_, and it was now twelve hours later.
+
+The pause was not a long one, and we returned to our places. But
+"Tannhauser" is not a short opera. As time went on my sensations of
+illness and faintness increased. During the second pause I remained in
+my place. Courvoisier presently came and sat beside me.
+
+"I'm afraid you feel ill," said he.
+
+I denied it. But though I struggled on to the end, yet at last a deadly
+faintness overcame me. As the curtain went down amid the applause,
+everything reeled around me. I heard the bustle of the others--of the
+audience going away. I myself could not move.
+
+"_Was ist denn mit ihm?_" I heard Courvoisier say as he stooped over me.
+
+"Is that Friedhelm Helfen?" asked Karl Linders, surveying me. "_Potz
+blitz!_ he looks like a corpse! he's been at his old tricks again,
+starving himself. I expect he has touched nothing the whole day."
+
+"Let's get him out and give him some brandy," said Courvoisier. "Lend
+him an arm, and I'll give him one on this side."
+
+Together they hauled me down to the retiring-room.
+
+"_Ei!_ he wants a schnapps, or something of the kind," said Karl, who
+seemed to think the whole affair an excellent joke. "Look here, _alter
+Narr!_" he added; "you've been going without anything to eat, _nicht_?"
+
+"I believe I have," I assented, feebly. "But I'm all right; I'll go
+home."
+
+Rejecting Karl's pressing entreaties to join him at supper at his
+favorite Wirthschaft, we went home, purchasing our supper on the way.
+Courvoisier's first step was toward the place where he had left the
+child. He was gone.
+
+"_Verschwunden!_" cried he, striding off to the sleeping-room, whither I
+followed him. The little lad had been undressed and put to bed in a
+small crib, and was sleeping serenely.
+
+"That's Frau Schmidt, who can't do with children and nurse-maids," said
+I, laughing.
+
+"It's very kind of her," said he, as he touched the child's cheek
+slightly with his little finger, and then, without another word,
+returned to the other room, and we sat down to our long-delayed supper.
+
+"What on earth made you spend more than twelve hours without food?" he
+asked me, laying down his knife and fork, and looking at me.
+
+"I'll tell you some time perhaps, not now," said I, for there had begun
+to dawn upon my mind, like a sun-ray, the idea that life held an
+interest for me--two interests--a friend and a child. To a miserable,
+lonely wretch like me, the idea was divine.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+ Though nothing can bring back the hour
+ Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower.
+ We will grieve not--rather find
+ Strength in what remains behind;
+ In the primal sympathy
+ Which having been, must ever be.
+ In the soothing thoughts that spring
+ Out of human suffering!
+ In the faith that looks through death--
+ In years, that bring the philosophic mind.
+                WORDSWORTH.
+
+
+From that October afternoon I was a man saved from myself. Courvoisier
+had said, in answer to my earnest entreaties about joining housekeeping:
+"We will try--you may not like it, and if so, remember you are at
+liberty to withdraw when you will." The answer contented me, because I
+knew that I should not try to withdraw.
+
+Our friendship progressed by such quiet, imperceptible degrees, each one
+knotting the past more closely and inextricably with the present, that I
+could by no means relate them if I wished it. But I do not wish it. I
+only know, and am content with it, that it has fallen to my lot to be
+blessed with that most precious of all earthly possessions, the
+"friend" that "sticketh closer than a brother." Our union has grown and
+remained not merely "_fest und treu_," but immovable, unshakable.
+
+There was first the child. He was two years old; a strange, weird,
+silent child, very beautiful--as the son of his father could scarcely
+fail to be--but with a different kind of beauty. How still he was, and
+how patient! Not a fretful child, not given to crying or complaint; fond
+of resting in one place, with solemn, thoughtful eyes fixed, when his
+father was there, upon him; when his father was not there, upon the
+strip of sky which was to be seen, through the window above the
+house-tops.
+
+The child's name was Sigmund; he displayed a friendly disposition toward
+me, indeed, he was passively friendly and--if one may say such a thing
+of a baby--courteous to all he came in contact with. He had inherited
+his father's polished manner; one saw that when he grew up he would be a
+"gentleman," in the finest outer sense of the word. His inner life he
+kept concealed from us. I believe he had some method of communicating
+his ideas to Eugen, even if he never spoke. Eugen never could conceal
+his own mood from the child; it knew--let him feign otherwise never so
+cunningly--exactly what he felt, glad or sad, or between the two, and no
+acting could deceive him. It was a strange, intensely interesting study
+to me; one to which I daily returned with fresh avidity. He would let me
+take him in my arms and talk to him; would sometimes, after looking at
+me long and earnestly, break into a smile--a strange, grave, sweet
+smile. Then I could do no otherwise than set him hastily down and look
+away, for so unearthly a smile I had never seen. He was, though fragile,
+not an unhealthy child; though so delicately formed, and intensely
+sensitive to nervous shocks, had nothing of the coward in him, as was
+proved to us in a thousand ways; shivered through and through his little
+frame at the sight of a certain picture to which he had taken a great
+antipathy, a picture which hung in the public gallery at the Tonhalle;
+he hated it, because of a certain evil-looking man portrayed in it; but
+when his father, taking his hand, said to him, "Go, Sigmund, and look at
+that man; I wish thee to look at him," went without turn or waver, and
+gazed long and earnestly at the low type, bestial visage portrayed to
+him. Eugen had trodden noiselessly behind him; I watched, and he
+watched, how his two little fists clinched themselves at his sides,
+while his gaze never wavered, never wandered, till at last Eugen, with a
+strange expression, caught him in his arms and half killed him with
+kisses.
+
+"_Mein liebling!_" he murmured, as if utterly satisfied with him.
+
+Courvoisier himself? There were a great many strong and positive
+qualities about this man, which in themselves would have set him
+somewhat apart from other men. Thus he had crotchety ideas about truth
+and honor, such as one might expect from so knightly looking a
+personage. It was Karl Linders, who, at a later period of our
+acquaintance, amused himself by chalking up, "Prinz Eugen, der edle
+Ritter," beneath his name. His musical talent--or rather genius, it was
+more than talent--was at that time not one fifth part known to me, yet
+even what I saw excited my wonder. But these, and a long list of other
+active characteristics, all faded into insignificance before the
+towering passion of his existence--his love for his child. It was
+strange, it was touching, to see the bond between father and son. The
+child's thoughts and words, as told in his eyes and from his lips,
+formed the man's philosophy. I believe Eugen confided everything to his
+boy. His first thought in the morning, his last at night, was for _der
+Kleine_. His leisure was--I can not say "given up" to the boy--but it
+was always passed with him.
+
+Courvoisier soon gained a reputation among our comrades for being a sham
+and a delusion. They said that to look at him one would suppose that no
+more genial, jovial fellow could exist--there was kindliness in his
+glance, _bon camaraderie_ in his voice, a genial, open, human
+sympathetic kind of influence in his nature, and in all he did. "And
+yet," said Karl Linders to me, with gesticulation, "one never can get
+him to go anywhere. One may invite him, one may try to be friends with
+him, but, no! off he goes home! What does the fellow want at home? He
+behaves like a young miss of fifteen, whose governess won't let her mix
+with vulgar companions."
+
+I laughed, despite myself, at this tirade of Karl. So that was how
+Eugen's behavior struck outsiders!
+
+"And you are every bit as bad as he is, and as soft--he has made you
+so," went on Linders, vehemently. "It isn't right. You two ought to be
+leaders outside as well as in, but you walk yourselves away, and stay at
+home! At home, indeed! Let green goslings and grandfathers stay at
+home."
+
+Indeed, Herr Linders was not a person who troubled home much; spending
+his time between morning and night between the theater and concert-room,
+restauration and verein.
+
+"What do you do at home?" he asked, irately.
+
+"That's our concern, _mein lieber_," said I, composedly, thinking of
+young Sigmund, whose existence was unknown except to our two selves, and
+laughing.
+
+"Are you composing a symphony? or an opera buffa? You might tell a
+fellow."
+
+I laughed again, and said we led a peaceable life, as honest citizens
+should; and added, laying my hand upon his shoulder, for I had more of a
+leaning toward Karl, scamp though he was, than to any of the others,
+"You might do worse than follow our example, old fellow."
+
+"Bah!" said he, with unutterable contempt. "I'm a man; not a milksop.
+Besides, how do I know what your example is? You say you behave
+yourselves; but how am I to know it? I'll drop upon you unawares and
+catch you, some time. See if I don't."
+
+The next evening, by a rare chance with us, was a free one--there was no
+opera and no concert; we had had probe that morning, and were at liberty
+to follow the devices and desires of our own hearts that evening.
+
+These devices and desires led us straight home, followed by a sneering
+laugh from Herr Linders, which vastly amused me. The year was drawing to
+a close. Christmas was nigh; the weather was cold and unfriendly. Our
+stove was lighted; our lamp burned pleasantly on the table; our big room
+looked homely and charming by these evening lights. Master Sigmund was
+wide awake in honor of the occasion, and sat upon my knee while his
+father played the fiddle. I have not spoken of his playing before--it
+was, in its way, unique. It was not a violin that he played--it was a
+spirit that he invoked--and a strange answer it sometimes gave forth to
+his summons. To-night he had taken it up suddenly, and sat playing,
+without book, a strange melody which wrung my heart--full of minor
+cadences, with an infinite wail and weariness in it. I closed my eyes
+and listened. It was sad, but it was absorbing. When I opened my eyes
+again and looked down, I found that tears were running from Sigmund's
+eyes. He was sobbing quietly, his head against my breast.
+
+"I say, Eugen! Look here!"
+
+"Is he crying? Poor little chap! He'll have a good deal to go through
+before he has learned all his lessons," said Eugen, laying down his
+violin.
+
+"What was that? I never heard it before."
+
+"I have, often," said he, resting his chin upon his hand, "in the sound
+of streams--in the rush of a crowd--upon a mountain--yes, even alone
+with the woman I--" He broke off abruptly.
+
+"But never on a violin before?" said I, significantly.
+
+"No, never."
+
+"Why don't you print some of those impromptus that you are always
+making?" I asked.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders. Ere I could pursue the question some one
+knocked at the door, and in answer to our _herein!_ appeared a handsome,
+laughing face, and a head of wavy hair, which, with a tall, shapely
+figure, I recognized as those of Karl Linders.
+
+"I told you fellows I'd hunt you up, and I always keep my word," said
+he, composedly. "You can't very well turn me out for calling upon you."
+
+He advanced. Courvoisier rose, and with a courteous cordiality offered
+his hand and drew a chair up. Karl came forward, looking round, smiling
+and chuckling at the success of his experiment, and as he came opposite
+to me his eyes fell upon those of the child, who had raised his head and
+was staring gravely at him.
+
+Never shall I forget the start--the look of amaze, almost of fear, which
+shot across the face of Herr Linders. Amazement would be a weak word in
+which to describe it. He stopped, stood stock-still in the middle of the
+room; his jaw fell--he gazed from one to the other of us in feeble
+astonishment, then said, in a whisper:
+
+"_Donnerwetter!_ A child!"
+
+"Don't use bad language before the little innocent," said I, enjoying
+his confusion.
+
+"Which of you does it belong to? Is it he or she?" he inquired in an
+awe-struck and alarmed manner.
+
+"His name is Sigmund Courvoisier," said I, with difficulty preserving my
+gravity.
+
+"Oh, indeed! I--I wasn't aware--" began Karl, looking at Eugen in such a
+peculiar manner--half respectful, half timid, half ashamed--that I could
+no longer contain my feelings, but burst into such a shout of laughter
+as I had not enjoyed for years. After a moment, Eugen joined in; we
+laughed peal after peal of laughter, while poor Karl stood feebly
+looking from one to the other of the company--speechless--crestfallen.
+
+"I beg your pardon." he said, at last, "I won't intrude any longer.
+Good--"
+
+He was making for the door, but Eugen made a dash after him, turned him
+round, and pushed him into a chair.
+
+"Sit down, man," said he, stifling his laughter. "Sit down, man; do you
+think the poor little chap will hurt you?"
+
+Karl cast a distrustful glance sideways at my nursling and spoke not.
+
+"I'm glad to see you," pursued Eugen. "Why didn't you come before?"
+
+At that Karl's lips began to twitch with a humorous smile; presently he
+too began to laugh, and seemed not to know how or when to stop.
+
+"It beats all I ever saw or heard or dreamed of," said he, at last.
+"That's what brought you home in such a hurry every night. Let me
+congratulate you, Friedel! You make a first-rate nurse; when everything
+else fails I will give you a character as _Kinderm�dchen_; clean, sober,
+industrious, and not given to running after young men." With which he
+roared again, and Sigmund surveyed him with a somewhat severe, though
+scarcely a disapproving, expression. Karl seated himself near him, and,
+though not yet venturing to address him, cast various glances of
+blandishment and persuasion upon him.
+
+Half an hour passed thus, and a second knock was followed by the
+entrance of Frau Schmidt.
+
+"Good evening, gentlemen," she remarked, in a tone which said
+unutterable things--scorn, contempt, pity--all finely blended into a
+withering sneer, as she cast her eyes around, and a slight but awful
+smile played about her lips. "Half past eight, and that blessed
+baby not in bed yet. I knew how it would be. And you all smoking,
+too--_nat�rlich!_ You ought to know better, Herr Courvoisier--you ought,
+at any rate," she added, scorn dropping into heart-piercing reproach.
+"Give him to me," she added, taking him from me, and apostrophizing him.
+"You poor, blessed lamb! Well for you that I'm here to look after you,
+that have had children of my own, and know a little about the sort of
+way that you ought to be brought up in."
+
+Evident signs of uneasiness on Karl's part, as Frau Schmidt, with the
+same extraordinary contortion of the mouth--half smile, half
+sneer--brought Sigmund to his father, to say good-night. That process
+over, he was brought to me, and then, as if it were a matter which
+"understood itself," to Karl. Eugen and I, like family men, as we were,
+had gone through the ceremony with willing grace. Karl backed his chair
+a little, looked much alarmed, shot a queer glance at us, at the child,
+and then appealingly up into the woman's face. We, through our smoke,
+watched him.
+
+"He looks so very--very--" he began.
+
+"Come, come, _mein Herr_, what does that mean? Kiss the little angel,
+and be thankful you may. The innocent! You ought to be delighted," said
+she, standing with grenadier-like stiffness beside him.
+
+"He won't bite you, Karl," I said, reassuringly. "He's quite harmless."
+
+Thus encouraged, Herr Linders stooped forward and touched the cheek of
+the child with his lips; then, as if surprised, stroked it with his
+finger.
+
+"_Lieber Himmel!_ how soft! Like satin, or rose leaves!" he murmured, as
+the woman carried the child away, shut the door and disappeared.
+
+"Does she tackle you in that way every night?" he inquired next.
+
+"Every evening," said Eugen. "And I little dare open my lips before her.
+You would notice how quiet I kept. It's because I am afraid of her."
+
+Frau Schmidt, who had at first objected so strongly to the advent of the
+child, was now devoted to it, and would have resented exceedingly the
+idea of allowing any one but herself to put it to bed, dress or undress
+it, or look after it in general. This state of things had crept on very
+gradually; she had never said how fond she was of the child, but put
+her kindness upon the ground that as a Christian woman she could not
+stand by and see it mishandled by a couple of _men_, and oh! the
+unutterable contempt upon the word "men." Under this disguise she
+attempted to cover the fact that she delighted to have it with her, to
+kiss it, fondle it, admire it, and "do for it." We knew now that no
+sooner had we left the house than the child would be brought down, and
+would never leave the care of Frau Schmidt until our return, or until he
+was in bed and asleep. She said he was a quiet child, and "did not give
+so much trouble." Indeed, the little fellow won a friend in whoever saw
+him. He had made another conquest to-night. Karl Linders, after puffing
+away for some time, inquired, with an affectation of indifference:
+
+"How old is he--_der kleine Bengel_?"
+
+"Two--a little more."
+
+"Handsome little fellow!"
+
+"Glad you think so."
+
+"Sure of it. But I didn't know, Courvoisier--so sure as I live, I knew
+nothing about it!"
+
+"I dare say not. Did I ever say you did?"
+
+I saw that Karl wished to ask another question; one which had trembled
+upon my own lips many a time, but which I had never asked--which I knew
+that I never should ask. "The mother of that child--is she alive or
+dead? Why may we never hear one word of her? Why this silence, as of the
+grave? Was she your wife? Did you love her? Did she love you?"
+
+Questions which could not fail to come to me, and about which my
+thoughts would hang for hours. I could imagine a woman being very deeply
+in love with Courvoisier. Whether he would love very deeply himself,
+whether love would form a mainspring of his life and actions, or whether
+it took only a secondary place--I speak of the love of woman--I could
+not guess. I could decide upon many points of his character. He was a
+good friend, a high-minded and a pure-minded man; his every-day life,
+the turn of his thoughts and conversation, showed me that as plainly as
+any great adventure could have done. That he was an ardent musician, an
+artist in the truest and deepest sense, of a quixotically generous and
+unselfish nature--all this I had already proved. That he loved his child
+with a love not short of passion was patent to me every day. But upon
+the past, silence so utter as I never before met with. Not a hint; not
+an allusion; not one syllable.
+
+Little Sigmund was not yet two and a half. The story upon which his
+father maintained so deep a silence was not, could not, be a very old
+one. His behavior gave me no clew as to whether it had been a joyful or
+a sorrowful one. Mere silence could tell me nothing. Some men are silent
+about their griefs; some about their joys. I knew not in which direction
+his disposition lay.
+
+I saw Karl look at him that evening once or twice, and I trembled lest
+the blundering, good-natured fellow should make the mistake of asking
+some question. But he did not; I need not have feared. People were not
+in the habit of putting obtrusive questions to Eugen Courvoisier. The
+danger was somehow quietly tided over, the delicate ground avoided.
+
+The conversation wandered quietly off to commonplace topics--the state
+of the orchestra; tales of its doings; the tempers of our different
+conductors--Malperg of the opera; Woelff of the ordinary concerts, which
+took place two or three times a week, when we fiddled and the public
+ate, drank, and listened; lastly, von Francius, _k�niglicher
+Musik-direktor_.
+
+Karl Linders gave his opinion freely upon the men in authority. He had
+nothing to do with them, nothing to hope or fear from them; he filled a
+quiet place among the violoncellists, and had attained his twenty-eighth
+year without displaying any violent talent or tendency to distinguish
+himself, otherwise than by getting as much mirth out of life as possible
+and living in a perpetual state of "carlesse contente."
+
+He desired to know what Courvoisier thought of von Francius; for
+curiosity--the fault of those idle persons who afterward develop into
+busybodies--was already beginning to leave its traces on Herr Linders.
+It was less known than guessed that the state of things between
+Courvoisier and von Francius was less peace than armed neutrality. The
+intense politeness of von Francius to his first violinist, and the
+punctilious ceremoniousness of the latter toward his chief, were topics
+of speculation and amusement to the whole orchestra.
+
+"I think von Francius would be a fiend if he could," said Karl,
+comfortably. "I wouldn't stand it if he spoke to me as he speaks to some
+people."
+
+"Oh, they like it!" said Courvoisier; and Karl stared. "Girls don't
+object to a little bullying; anything rather than be left quite alone,"
+Courvoisier went on, tranquilly.
+
+"Girls!" ejaculated Karl.
+
+"You mean the young ladies in the chorus, don't you?" asked Courvoisier,
+unmovedly. "He does bully them, I don't deny; but they come back again."
+
+"Oh, I see!" said Karl, accepting the rebuff.
+
+He had not referred to the young ladies of the chorus.
+
+"Have you heard von Francius play?" he began next.
+
+"_Nat�rlich!_"
+
+"What do you think of it?"
+
+"I think it is superb!" said Courvoisier.
+
+Baffled again, Karl was silent.
+
+"The power and the daring of it are grand," went on Eugen, heartily. "I
+could listen to him for hours. To see him seat himself before the piano,
+as if he were sitting down to read a newspaper, and do what he does,
+without moving a muscle, is simply superb--there's no other word. Other
+men may play the piano; he takes the key-board and plays with it, and it
+says what he likes."
+
+I looked at him, and was satisfied. He found the same want in von
+Francius' "superb" manipulation that I did--the glitter of a diamond,
+not the glow of a fire.
+
+Karl had not the subtlety to retort, "Ay, but does it say what we like?"
+He subsided again, merely giving a meek assent to the proposition, and
+saying, suggestively:
+
+"He's not liked, though he is such a popular fellow."
+
+"The public is often a great fool."
+
+"Well, but you can't expect it to kiss the hand that slaps it in the
+face, as von Francius does," said Karl, driven to metaphor, probably for
+the first time in his life, and seeming astonished at having discovered
+a hitherto unknown mental property pertaining to himself.
+
+Courvoisier laughed.
+
+"I'm certain of one thing: von Francius will go on slapping the public's
+face. I won't say how it will end; but it would not surprise me in the
+least to see the public at his feet, as it is now at those of--"
+
+"Humph!" said Karl, reflectively.
+
+He did not stay much longer, but having finished his cigar, rose. He
+seemed to feel very apologetic, and out of the fullness of his heart his
+mouth spake.
+
+"I really wouldn't have intruded if I had known--"
+
+"Known what?" inquired Eugen, with well-assumed surprise.
+
+"I thought you were just by yourselves, you know, and--"
+
+"So we are; but we can do with other society. Friedel here gets very
+tedious sometimes--in fact, _langweilig_. Come again, _nicht wahr_?"
+
+"If I sha'n't be in your way," said Karl, looking round the room with
+somewhat wistful eyes.
+
+We assured him to the contrary, and he promised, with unnecessary
+emphasis, to come again.
+
+"He will return; I know he will!" said Eugen, after he had gone.
+
+The next time that Herr Linders arrived, which was ere many days had
+passed, he looked excited and important; and after the first greetings
+were over, he undid a great number of papers which wrapped and infolded
+a parcel of considerable dimensions, and displayed to our enraptured
+view of a white woolly animal of stupendous dimensions, fastened upon a
+green stand, which stand, when pressed, caused the creature to give
+forth a howl like unto no lowing of oxen nor bleating of sheep ever
+heard on earth. This inviting-looking creature he held forth toward
+Sigmund, who stared at it.
+
+"Perhaps he's got one already?" said Karl, seeing that the child did not
+display any violent enthusiasm about the treasure.
+
+"Oh, no!" said Eugen, promptly.
+
+"Perhaps he doesn't know what it is," I suggested, rather unkindly,
+scarcely able to keep my countenance at the idea of that baby playing
+with such a toy.
+
+"Perhaps not," said Karl, more cheerfully, kneeling down by my
+side--Sigmund sat on my knee--and squeezing the stand, so that the
+woolly animal howled. "_Sieh!_ Sigmund! Look at the pretty lamb!"
+
+"Oh, come, Karl! Are you a lamb? Call it an eagle at once," said I,
+skeptically.
+
+"It is a lamb, ain't it?" said he, turning it over. "They called it a
+lamb at the shop."
+
+"A very queer lamb; not a German breed, anyhow."
+
+"Now I think of it, my little sister has one, but she calls it a rabbit,
+I believe."
+
+"Very likely. You might call that anything, and no one could contradict
+you."
+
+"Well, _der Kleine_ doesn't know the difference; it's a toy," said Karl,
+desperately.
+
+"Not a toy that seems to take his fancy much," said I, as Sigmund, with
+evident signs of displeasure, turned away from the animal on the green
+stand, and refused to look at it. Karl looked despondent.
+
+"He doesn't like the look of it," said he, plaintively.
+
+"I thought I was sure to be right in this. My little sister" (Karl's
+little sister had certainly never been so often quoted by her brother
+before) "plays for hours with that thing that she calls a rabbit."
+
+Eugen had come to the rescue, and grasped the woolly animal which Karl
+had contemptuously thrown aside. After convincing himself by near
+examination as to which was intended for head and which for tail, he
+presented it to his son, remarking that it was "a pretty toy."
+
+"I'll pray for you after that, Eugen--often and earnestly," said I.
+
+Sigmund looked appealingly at him, but seeing that his father appeared
+able to endure the presence of the beast, and seemed to wish him to do
+the same, from some dark and inscrutable reason not to be grasped by so
+young a mind--for he was modest as to his own intelligence--he put out
+his small arm, received the creature into it, and embracing it round the
+body, held it to his side, and looked at Eugen with a pathetic
+expression.
+
+"Pretty plaything, _nicht wahr_?" said Eugen, encouragingly.
+
+Sigmund nodded silently. The animal emitted a howl; the child winced,
+but looked resigned. Eugen rose and stood at some little distance,
+looking on. Sigmund continued to embrace the animal with the same
+resigned expression, until Karl, stooping, took it away.
+
+"You mustn't _make_ him, just because I brought it," said he. "Better
+luck next time. I see he's not a common child. I must try to think of
+something else."
+
+We commanded our countenances with difficulty, but preserved them.
+Sigmund's feelings had been severely wounded. For many days he eyed Karl
+with a strange, cold glance, which the latter used every art in his
+power to change, and at last succeeded. Woolly lambs became a forbidden
+subject. Nothing annoyed Karl more than for us to suggest, if Sigmund
+happened to be a little cross or mournful, "Suppose you just go home,
+Karl, and fetch the 'lamb-rabbit-lion.' I'm sure he would like it." From
+that time the child had another worshiper, and we a constant visitor in
+Karl Linders.
+
+We sat together one evening--Eugen and I, after Sigmund had been in bed
+a long time, after the opera was over--chatting, as we often did, or as
+often remained silent. He had been reading, and the book from which he
+read was a volume of English poetry. At last, laying the book aside, he
+said:
+
+"The first night we met, you fainted away from exhaustion and long
+fasting. You said you would tell me why you had allowed yourself to do
+so, but you have never kept your word."
+
+"I didn't care to eat. People eat to live--except those who live to eat,
+and I was not very anxious to live, I didn't care for my life, in fact,
+I wished I was dead."
+
+"Why? An unlucky love?"
+
+"_I, bewahre!_ I never knew what it was to be in love in my life," said
+I, with perfect truth.
+
+"Is that true, Friedel?" he asked, apparently surprised.
+
+"As true as possible. I think a timely love affair, however unlucky,
+would have roused me and brought me to my senses again."
+
+"General melancholy?"
+
+"Oh, I was alone in the world. I had been reading, reading, reading; my
+brain was one dark and misty muddle of Kant, Schopenhauer, von Hartmann,
+and a few others. I read them one after another, as quickly as possible;
+the mixture had the same effect upon my mind as the indiscriminate
+contents of taffy-shop would have upon Sigmund's stomach--it made it
+sick. In my crude, ungainly, unfinished fashion I turned over my
+information, laying down big generalizations upon a foundation of
+experience of the smallest possible dimensions, and all upon one side."
+
+He nodded. "_Ei!_ I know it."
+
+"And after considering the state of the human race--that is to say the
+half dozen people I knew, and the miseries of the human lot as set forth
+in the books I had read, and having proved to myself, all up in that
+little room, you know"--I pointed to my bedroom--"that there neither was
+nor could be heaven or hell or any future state, and having decided,
+also from that room, that there was no place for me in the world, and
+that I was very likely actually filling the place of some other man,
+poorer than I was, and able to think life a good thing" (Eugen was
+smiling to himself in great amusement), "I came to the conclusion that
+the best thing I could do was to leave the world."
+
+"Were you going to starve yourself to death? That is rather a tedious
+process, _nicht wahr_?"
+
+"Oh, no! I had not decided upon any means of effacing myself; and it was
+really your arrival which brought on that fainting fit, for if you
+hadn't turned up when you did I should probably have thought of my
+interior some time before seven o'clock. But you came. Eugen, I wonder
+what sent you up to my room just at that very time, on that very day!"
+
+"Von Francius," said Eugen, tranquilly. "I had seen him, and he was very
+busy and referred me to you--that's all."
+
+"Well--let us call it von Francius."
+
+"But what's the end of it? Is that the whole story?"
+
+"I thought I might as well help you a bit," said I, rather awkwardly.
+"You were not like other people, you see--it was the child, I think. I
+was as much amazed as Karl, if I didn't show it so much, and after
+that--"
+
+"After that?"
+
+"Well. There was the child, you see, and things seemed quite different
+somehow. I've been very comfortable" (this was my way of putting it)
+"ever since, and I am curious to see what the boy will be like in a few
+years. Shall you make him into a musician too?"
+
+Courvoisier's brow clouded a little.
+
+"I don't know," was all he said. Later, I learned the reason of that
+"don't know."
+
+"So it was no love affair," said Eugen again. "Then I have been wrong
+all the time. I quite fancied it was some girl--"
+
+"What could make you think so?" I asked, with a whole-hearted laugh. "I
+tell you I don't know what it is to be in love. The other fellows are
+always in love. They are in a constant state of _Schw�ramerei_ about
+some girl or other. It goes in epidemics. They have not each a separate
+passion. The whole lot of them will go mad about one young woman. I
+can't understand it. I wish I could, for they seem to enjoy it so much."
+
+"You heathen!" said he, but not in a very bantering tone.
+
+"Why, Eugen, do you mean to say that you are so very susceptible? Oh, I
+beg your pardon," I added, hastily, shocked and confused to find that I
+had been so nearly overstepping the boundary which I had always marked
+out for myself. And I stopped abruptly.
+
+"That's like you, Friedhelm," said he, in a tone which was in some way
+different from his usual one. "I never knew such a ridiculous,
+chivalrous, punctilious fellow as you are. Tell me something--did you
+never speculate about me?"
+
+"Never impertinently, I assure you, Eugen," said I, earnestly.
+
+He laughed.
+
+"You impertinent! That is amusing, I must say. But surely you have given
+me a thought now and then, have wondered whether I had a history, or
+sprung out of nothing?"
+
+"Certainly, and wondered what your story was; but I do not need to know
+it to--"
+
+"I understand. Well, but it is rather difficult to say this to such an
+unsympathetic person; you won't understand it. I have been in love,
+Friedel."
+
+"So I can suppose."
+
+I waited for the corollary, "and been loved in return," but it did not
+come. He said, "And received as much regard in return as I
+deserved--perhaps more."
+
+As I could not cordially assent to this proposition, I remained silent.
+
+After a pause he went on: "I am eight-and-twenty, and have lived my
+life. The story won't bear raking up now--perhaps never. For a long time
+I went on my own way, and was satisfied with it--blindly, inanely,
+densely satisfied with it; then all at once I was brought to reason--"
+He laughed, not a very pleasant laugh. "Brought to reason," he resumed,
+"but how? By waking one morning to find myself a spoiled man, and
+spoiled by myself, too."
+
+A pause, while I turned this information over in my mind, and then said,
+composedly:
+
+"I don't quite believe in your being a spoiled man. Granted that you
+have made some _fiasco_--even a very bad one--what is to prevent your
+making a life again?"
+
+"Ha, ha!" said he, ungenially. "Things not dreamed of, Friedel, by your
+straightforward philosophy. One night I was, take it all in all,
+straight with the world and my destiny; the next night I was an outcast,
+and justly so. I don't complain. I have no right to complain."
+
+Again he laughed.
+
+"I once knew some one," said I, "who used to say that many a good man
+and many a great man was lost to the world simply because nothing
+interrupted the course of his prosperity."
+
+"Don't suppose that I am an embryo hero of any description," said he,
+bitterly. "I am merely, as I said, a spoiled man, brought to his senses
+and with life before him to go through as best he may, and the knowledge
+that his own fault has brought him to what he is."
+
+"But look here! If it is merely a question of name or money," I began.
+
+"It is not merely that; but suppose it were, what then?"
+
+"It lies with yourself. You may make a name either as a composer or
+performer--your head or your fingers will secure you money and fame."
+
+"None the less should I be, as I said, a spoiled man," he said, quietly.
+"I should be ashamed to come forward. It was I myself who sent myself
+and my prospects _caput_;[A] and for that sort of obscurity is the best
+taste and the right sphere."
+
+[Footnote A: _Caput_--a German slang expression with the general
+significance of the English "gone to smash," but also a hundred other
+and wider meanings, impossible to render in brief.]
+
+"But there's the boy," I suggested. "Let him have the advantage."
+
+"Don't, don't!" he said, suddenly, and wincing visibly, as if I had
+touched a raw spot. "No; my one hope for him is that he may never be
+known as my son."
+
+"But--but--"
+
+"Poor little beggar! I wonder what will become of him," he uttered,
+after a pause, during which I did not speak again.
+
+Eugen puffed fitfully at his cigar, and at last knocking the ash from it
+and avoiding my eyes, he said, in a low voice:
+
+"I suppose some time I must leave the boy."
+
+"Leave him!" I echoed, intelligently.
+
+"When he grows a little older--before he is old enough to feel it very
+much, though, I must part from him. It will be better."
+
+Another pause. No sign of emotion, no quiver of the lips, no groan,
+though the heart might be afaint. I sat speechless.
+
+"I have not come to the conclusion lately. I've always known it," he
+went on, and spoke slowly. "I have known it--and have thought about
+it--so as to get accustomed to it--see?"
+
+I nodded.
+
+"At that time--as you seem to have a fancy for the child--will you give
+an eye to him--sometimes, Friedel--that is, if you care enough for me--"
+
+For a moment I did not speak. Then I said:
+
+"You are quite sure the parting must take place?"
+
+He assented.
+
+"When it does, will you give him to me--to my charge altogether?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"If he must lose one father, let me grow as like another to him as I
+can."
+
+"Friedhelm--"
+
+"On no other condition," said I. "I will not 'have an eye' to him
+occasionally. I will not let him go out alone among strangers, and give
+a look in upon him now and then."
+
+Eugen had covered his face with his hands, but spoke not.
+
+"I will have him with me altogether, or not at all," I finished, with a
+kind of jerk.
+
+"Impossible!" said he, looking up with a pale face, and eyes full of
+anguish--the more intense in that he uttered not a word of it.
+"Impossible! You are no relation--he has not a claim--there is not a
+reason--not the wildest reason for such a--"
+
+"Yes, there is; there is the reason that I won't have it otherwise,"
+said I, doggedly.
+
+"It is fantastic, like your insane self," he said, with a forced smile,
+which cut me, somehow, more than if he had groaned.
+
+"Fantastic! I don't know what you mean. What good would it be to me to
+see him with strangers? I should only make myself miserable with wishing
+to have him. I don't know what you mean by fantastic."
+
+He drew a long breath. "So be it, then," said he, at last. "And he need
+know nothing about his father. I may even see him from time to time
+without his knowing--see him growing into a man like you, Friedel; it
+would be worth the separation, even if one had not to make a merit of
+necessity; yes, well worth it."
+
+"Like me? _Nie, mein lieber_; he shall be something rather better than I
+am, let us hope," said I; "but there is time enough to talk about it."
+
+"Oh, yes! In a year or two from now," said he, almost inaudibly. "The
+worst of it is that in a case like this, the years go so fast, so
+cursedly fast."
+
+I could make no answer to this, and he added, "Give me thy hand upon it,
+Friedel."
+
+I held out my hand. We had risen, and stood looking steadfastly into
+each other's eyes.
+
+"I wish I were--what I might have been--to pay you for this," he said,
+hesitatingly, wringing my hand and laying his left for a moment on my
+shoulder; then, without another word, went into his room, shutting the
+door after him.
+
+I remained still--sadder, gladder than I had ever been before. Never had
+I so intensely felt the deep, eternal sorrow of life--that sorrow which
+can be avoided by none who rightly live; yet never had life towered
+before me so rich and so well worth living out, so capable of high
+exultation, pure purpose, full satisfaction, and sufficient reward. My
+quarrel with existence was made up.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+ "The merely great are, all in all,
+ No more than what the merely small
+   Esteem them. Man's opinion
+ Neither conferred nor can remove
+   _This_ man's dominion."
+
+
+Three years passed--an even way. In three years there happened little of
+importance--little, that is, of open importance--to either of us. I read
+that sentence again, and can not help smiling; "to either of us." It
+shows the progress that our friendship has made. Yes, it had grown every
+day.
+
+I had no past, painful or otherwise, which I could even wish to conceal;
+I had no thought that I desired hidden from the man who had become my
+other self. What there was of good in me, what of evil, he saw. It was
+laid open to him, and he appeared to consider that the good predominated
+over the bad; for, from that first day of meeting, our intimacy went on
+steadily in one direction--increasing, deepening. He was six years
+older than I was. At the end of this time of which I speak he was
+one-and-thirty, I five-and-twenty; but we met on equal ground--not that
+I had anything approaching his capacities in any way. I do not think
+that had anything to do with it. Our happiness did not depend on
+mental supremacy. I loved him--because I could not help it; he me,
+because--upon my word, I can think of no good reason--probably because
+he did.
+
+And yet we were as unlike as possible. He had habits of reckless
+extravagance, or what seemed to me reckless extravagance, and a lordly
+manner (when he forgot himself) of speaking of things, which absolutely
+appalled my economical burgher soul. I had certain habits, too, the
+outcomes of my training, and my sparing, middle-class way of living,
+which I saw puzzled him very much. To cite only one insignificant
+incident. We were both great readers, and, despite our sometimes arduous
+work, contrived to get through a good amount of books in the year. One
+evening he came home with a brand-new novel, in three volumes, in his
+hands.
+
+"Here, Friedel; here is some mental dissipation for to-night. Drop that
+Schopenhauer, and study Heyse. Here is 'Die Kinder der Welt;' it will
+suit our case exactly, for it is what we are ourselves."
+
+"How clean it looks!" I observed, innocently.
+
+"So it ought, seeing that I have just paid for it."
+
+"Paid for it!" I almost shouted. "Paid for it! You don't mean that you
+have bought the book!"
+
+"Calm thy troubled spirit! You don't surely mean that you thought me
+capable of stealing the book?"
+
+"You are hopeless. You have paid at least eighteen marks for it."
+
+"That's the figure to a pfennig."
+
+"Well," said I, with conscious superiority, "you might have had the
+whole three volumes from the library for five or six groschen."
+
+"I know. But their copy looked so disgustingly greasy I couldn't have
+touched it; so I ordered a new one."
+
+"Very well. Your accounts will look well when you come to balance and
+take stock," I retorted.
+
+"What a fuss about a miserable eighteen marks!" said he, stretching
+himself out, and opening a volume. "Come, Sig, learn how the children of
+the world are wiser in their generation than the children of light, and
+leave that low person to prematurely age himself by beginning to balance
+his accounts before they are ripe for it."
+
+"I don't know whether you are aware that you are talking the wildest and
+most utter rubbish that was ever conceived," said I, nettled. "There is
+simply no sense in it. Given an income of--"
+
+"_Aber, ich bitte Dich!_" he implored, though laughing; and I was
+silent.
+
+But his three volumes of "Die Kinder der Welt" furnished me with many an
+opportunity to "point a moral or adorn a tale," and I believe really
+warned him off one or two other similar extravagances. The idea of men
+in our position recklessly ordering three-volume novels because the
+circulating library copy happened to be greasy, was one I could not get
+over for a long time.
+
+We still inhabited the same rooms at No. 45, in the Wehrhahn. We had
+outstayed many other tenants; men had come and gone, both from our
+house and from those rooms over the way whose windows faced ours. We
+passed our time in much the same way--hard work at our profession, and,
+with Eugen at least, hard work out of it; the education of his boy,
+whom he made his constant companion in every leisure moment, and
+taught, with a wisdom that I could hardly believe--it seemed so like
+inspiration--composition, translation, or writing of his own--incessant
+employment of some kind. He never seemed able to pass an idle moment;
+and yet there were times when, it seemed to me, his work did not satisfy
+him, but rather seemed to disgust him.
+
+Once when I asked him if it were so, he laid down his pen and said,
+"Yes."
+
+"Then why do you do it?"
+
+"Because--for no reason that I know; but because I am an unreasonable
+fool."
+
+"An unreasonable fool to work hard?"
+
+"No; but to go on as if hard work now can ever undo what years of
+idleness have done."
+
+"Do you believe in work?" I asked.
+
+"I believe it is the very highest and holiest thing there is, and the
+grandest purifier and cleanser in the world. But it is not a panacea
+against every ill. I believe that idleness is sometimes as strong as
+work, and stronger. You may do that in a few years of idleness which a
+life-time of afterwork won't cover, mend, or improve. You may make holes
+in your coat from sheer laziness, and then find that no amount of
+stitching will patch them up again."
+
+I seldom answered these mystic monologues. Love gives a wonderful
+sharpness even to dull wits; it had sharpened mine so that I often felt
+he indulged in those speeches out of sheer desire to work off some grief
+or bitterness from his heart, but that a question might, however
+innocent, overshoot the mark, and touch a sore spot--the thing I most
+dreaded. And I did not feel it essential to my regard for him to know
+every item of his past.
+
+In such cases, however, when there is something behind--when one knows
+it, only does not know what it is (and Eugen had never tried to conceal
+from me that something had happened to him which he did not care to
+tell)--then, even though one accept the fact, as I accepted it, without
+dispute or resentment, one yet involuntarily builds theories, has ideas,
+or rather the ideas shape themselves about the object of interest, and
+take their coloring from him, one can not refrain from conjectures,
+surmises. Mine were necessarily of the most vague and shadowy
+description; more negative than active, less theories as to what he had
+been or done than inferences from what he let fall in talk or conduct as
+to what he had not been or done.
+
+In our three years' acquaintance, it is true, there had not been much
+opportunity for any striking display on his part of good or bad
+qualities; but certainly ample opportunity of testing whether he were,
+taken all in all, superior, even with, or inferior to the average man
+of our average acquaintance. And, briefly speaking, to me he had become
+a standing model of a superior man.
+
+I had by this time learned to know that when there were many ways of
+looking at a question, that one, if there were such an one, which was
+less earthily practical, more ideal and less common than the others,
+would most inevitably be the view taken by Eugen Courvoisier, and
+advocated by him with warmth, energy, and eloquence to the very last.
+The point from which he surveyed the things and the doings of life was,
+taken all in all, a higher one than that of other men, and was illumined
+with something of the purple splendor of that "light that never was on
+sea or land." A less practical conduct, a more ideal view of right and
+wrong--sometimes a little fantastic even--always imbued with something
+of the knightliness which sat upon him as a natural attribute.
+_Ritterlich_, Karl Linders called him, half in jest, half in earnest;
+and _ritterlich_ he was.
+
+In his outward demeanor to the world with which he came in contact, he
+was courteous to men; to a friend or intimate, as myself, an ever-new
+delight and joy; to all people, truthful to fantasy; and to women, on
+the rare occasions on which I ever saw him in their company, he was
+polite and deferential--but rather overwhelmingly so; it was a
+politeness which raised a barrier, and there was a glacial surface to
+the manner. I remarked this, and speculated about it. He seemed to have
+one manner to every woman with whom he had anything to do; the
+maid-servant who, at her leisure or pleasure, was supposed to answer our
+behests (though he would often do a thing himself, alleging that he
+preferred doing so to "seeing that poor creature's apron"), old Frau
+Henschel who sold the programmes at the kasse at the concerts, to the
+young ladies who presided behind a counter, to every woman to whom he
+spoke a chance word, up to Frau Sybel, the wife of the great painter,
+who came to negotiate about lessons for the lovely Fr�ulein, her
+daughter, who wished to play a different instrument from that affected
+by every one else. The same inimitable courtesy, the same unruffled,
+unrufflable quiet indifference, and the same utter unconsciousness that
+he, or his appearance, or behavior, or anything about him, could
+possibly interest them. And yet he was a man eminently calculated to
+attract women, only he never to this day has been got to believe so, and
+will often deprecate his poor power of entertaining ladies.
+
+I often watched this little by-play of behavior from and to the fairer
+sex with silent amusement, more particularly when Eugen and I made
+shopping expeditious for Sigmund's benefit. We once went to buy
+stockings--winter stockings for him; it was a large miscellaneous and
+smallware shop, full of young women behind the counters and ladies of
+all ages before them.
+
+We found ourselves in the awful position of being the only male
+creatures in the place. Happy in my insignificance and plainness, I
+survived the glances that were thrown upon us; I did not wonder that
+they fell upon my companions. Eugen consulted a little piece of paper on
+which Frau Schmidt had written down what we were to ask for, and,
+marching straight up to a disengaged shop-woman, requested to be shown
+colored woolen stockings.
+
+"For yourself, _mein Herr_?" she inquired, with a fascinating smile.
+
+"No, thank you; for my little boy," says Eugen, politely, glancing
+deferentially round at the piles of wool and packets of hosen around.
+
+"Ah, so! For the young gentleman? _Bitte, meine Herren_, be seated." And
+she gracefully pushes chairs for us; on one of which I, unable to resist
+so much affability, sit down.
+
+Eugen remains standing; and Sigmund, desirous of having a voice in the
+matter, mounts upon his stool, kneels upon it, and leans his elbows on
+the counter.
+
+The affable young woman returns, and with a glance at Eugen that speaks
+of worlds beyond colored stockings, proceeds to untie a packet and
+display her wares. He turns them over. Clearly he does not like them,
+and does not understand them. They are striped; some are striped
+latitudinally, others longitudinally. Eugen turns them over, and the
+young woman murmurs that they are of the best quality.
+
+"Are they?" says he, and his eyes roam round the shop. "Well, Sigmund,
+wilt thou have legs like a stork, as these long stripes will inevitably
+make them, or wilt thou have legs like a zebra's back?"
+
+"I should like legs like a little boy, please," is Sigmund's modest
+expression of a reasonable desire.
+
+Eugen surveys them.
+
+"_Von der besten Qualit�t_," repeats the young woman, impressively.
+
+"Have you no blue ones?" demands Eugen. "All blue, you know. He wears
+blue clothes."
+
+"Assuredly, _mein Herr_, but of a much dearer description; real English,
+magnificent."
+
+She retires to find them, and a young lady who has been standing near us
+turns and observes:
+
+"Excuse me--you want stockings for your little boy?"
+
+We both assent. It is a joint affair, of equal importance to both of us.
+
+"I wouldn't have those," says she, and I remark her face.
+
+I have seen her often before--moreover, I have seen her look very
+earnestly at Eugen. I learned later that her name was Anna Sartorius.
+Ere she can finish, the shop-woman with wreathed smiles still lingering
+about her face, returns and produces stockings--fine, blue-ribbed
+stockings, such as the children of rich English parents wear. Their
+fineness, and the smooth quality of the wool, and the good shape appear
+to soothe Eugen's feelings. He pushes away his heap of striped ones,
+which look still coarser and commoner now, observing hopefully and
+cheerily:
+
+"_Ja wohl!_ That is more what I mean." (The poor dear fellow had meant
+nothing, but he knew what he wanted when he saw it.) "These look more
+like thy legs, Sigmund, _nicht wahr_? I'll take--"
+
+I dug him violently in the ribs.
+
+"Hold on, Eugen! How much do they cost the pair, Fr�ulein?"
+
+"Two thalers twenty-five; the very best quality," she says, with a
+ravishing smile.
+
+"There! eight shillings a pair!" say I. "It is ridiculous."
+
+"Eight shillings!" he repeats, ruefully. "That is too much."
+
+"They are real English, _mein Herr_," she says, feelingly.
+
+"But, _um Gotteswillen_! don't we make any like them in Germany?"
+
+"Oh, sir!" she says, reproachfully.
+
+"Those others are such brutes," he remarks, evidently wavering.
+
+I am in despair. The young woman is annoyed to find that he does not
+even see the amiable looks she has bestowed upon him, so she sweeps back
+the heap of striped stockings and announces that they are only three
+marks the pair--naturally inferior, but you can not have the best
+article for nothing.
+
+Fr�ulein Sartorius, about to go, says to Eugen:
+
+"_Mein Herr_, ask for such and such an article. I know they keep them,
+and you will find it what you want."
+
+Eugen, much touched and much surprised (as he always is and has been)
+that any one should take an interest in him, makes a bow, and a speech,
+and rushes off to open the door for Fr�ulein Sartorius, thanking her
+profusely for her goodness. The young lady behind the counter smiles
+bitterly, and now looks as if butter would not melt in her mouth. I,
+assuming the practical, mention the class of goods referred to by
+Fr�ulein Sartorius, which she unwillingly brings forth, and we
+straightway purchase. The errand accomplished, Eugen takes Sigmund by
+the hand, makes a grand bow to the young woman, and instructs his son to
+take off his hat, and, this process being complete, we sally forth
+again, and half-way home Eugen remarks that it was very kind of that
+young lady to help us.
+
+"Very," I assent, dryly, and when Sigmund has contributed the artless
+remark that all the ladies laughed at us and looked at us, and has been
+told by his father not to be so self-conceited, for that no one can
+possibly wish to look at us, we arrive at home, and the stockings are
+tried on.
+
+Constantly I saw this willingness to charm on the part of women;
+constantly the same utter ignorance of any such thought on the part of
+Eugen, who was continually expressing his surprise at the kindness of
+people, and adding with the gravest simplicity that he had always found
+it so, at which announcement Karl laughed till he had to hold his sides.
+
+And Sigmund? Since the day when Courvoisier had said to me, slowly and
+with difficulty, the words about parting, he had mentioned the subject
+twice--always with the same intention expressed. Once it was when I had
+been out during the evening, and he had not. I came into our
+sitting-room, and found it in darkness. A light came from the inner
+room, and, going toward it, I found that he had placed the lamp upon a
+distant stand, and was sitting by the child's crib, his arms folded, his
+face calm and sad. He rose when he saw me, brought the lamp into the
+parlor again, and said:
+
+"Pardon, Friedel, that I left you without light. The time of parting
+will come, you know, and I was taking a look in anticipation of the time
+when there will be no one there to look at."
+
+I bowed. There was a slight smile upon his lips, but I would rather have
+heard a broken voice and seen a mien less serene.
+
+The second, and only time, up to now, and the events I am coming to, was
+once when he had been giving Sigmund a music lesson, as we called
+it--that is to say, Eugen took his violin and played a melody, but
+incorrectly, and Sigmund told him every time a wrong note was played, or
+false time kept. Eugen sat, giving a look now and then at the boy, whose
+small, delicate face was bright with intelligence, whose dark eyes
+blazed with life and fire, and whose every gesture betrayed spirit,
+grace, and quick understanding. A child for a father to be proud of. No
+meanness there; no littleness in the fine, high-bred features;
+everything that the father's heart could wish, except perhaps some
+little want of robustness; one might have desired that the limbs were
+less exquisitely graceful and delicate--more stout and robust.
+
+As Eugen laid aside his violin, he drew the child toward him, and asked
+(what I had never heard him ask before):
+
+"What wilt thou be, Sigmund, when thou art a man?"
+
+"_Ja, lieber Vater_, I will be just like thee."
+
+"How just like me?"
+
+"I will do what thou dost."
+
+"So! Thou wilt be a musiker like me and Friedel?"
+
+"_Ja wohl!_" said Sigmund, but something else seemed to weigh upon his
+small mind. He eyed his father with a reflective look, then looked down
+at his own small hands and slender limbs (his legs were cased in the new
+stockings).
+
+"How?" inquired his father.
+
+"I should like to be a musician," said Sigmund, who had a fine
+confidence in his sire, and confided his every thought to him.
+
+"I don't know how to say it," he went on, resting his elbows upon
+Eugen's knee, and propping his chin upon his two small fists, he looked
+up into his father's face.
+
+"Friedhelm is a musician, but he is not like thee," he pursued. Eugen
+reddened; I laughed.
+
+"True as can be, Sigmund," I said.
+
+"'I would I were as honest a man,'" said Eugen, slightly altering
+"Hamlet;" but as he spoke English I contented myself with shaking my
+head at him.
+
+"I like Friedel," went on Sigmund. "I love him; he is good. But thou,
+_mein Vater_--"
+
+"Well?" asked Eugen again.
+
+"I will be like thee," said the boy, vehemently, his eyes filling with
+tears. "I will. Thou saidst that men who try can do all they will--and I
+will, I will."
+
+"Why, my child?"
+
+It was a long earnest look that the child gave the man. Eugen had said
+to me some few days before, and I had fully agreed with him:
+
+"That child's life is one strife after the beautiful in art, and nature,
+and life--how will he succeed in the search?"
+
+I thought of this--it flashed subtly through my mind as Sigmund gazed at
+his father with a childish adoration--then, suddenly springing round his
+neck, said, passionately:
+
+"Thou art so beautiful--so beautiful! I must be like thee."
+
+Eugen bit his lip momentarily, saying to me in English:
+
+"I am his God, you see, Friedel. What will he do when he finds out what
+a common clay figure it was he worshiped?"
+
+But he had not the heart to banter the child; only held the little
+clinging figure to his breast; the breast which Sigmund recognized as
+his heaven.
+
+It was after this that Eugen said to me when we were alone:
+
+"It must come before he thinks less of me than he does now, Friedel."
+
+To these speeches I could never make any answer, and he always had the
+same singular smile--the same paleness about the lips and unnatural
+light in the eyes when he spoke so.
+
+He had accomplished one great feat in those three years--he had won over
+to himself his comrades, and that without, so to speak, actively laying
+himself out to do so. He had struck us all as something so very
+different from the rest of us, that, on his arrival and for some time
+afterward, there lingered some idea that he must be opposed to us. But I
+very soon, and the rest by gradual degrees, got to recognize that though
+in, not of us, yet he was no natural enemy of ours; if he made no
+advances, he never avoided or repulsed any, but on the very contrary,
+seemed surprised and pleased that any one should take an interest in
+him. We soon found that he was extremely modest as to his own merits and
+eager to acknowledge those of other people.
+
+"And," said Karl Linders once, twirling his mustache, and smiling in the
+consciousness that his own outward presentment was not to be called
+repulsive, "he can't help his looks; no fellow can."
+
+At the time of which I speak, his popularity was much greater than he
+knew, or would have believed if he had been told of it.
+
+Only between him and von Francius there remained a constant gulf and a
+continual coldness. Von Francius never stepped aside to make friends;
+Eugen most certainly never went out of his way to ingratiate himself
+with von Francius. Courvoisier had been appointed contrary to the wish
+of von Francius, which perhaps caused the latter to regard him a little
+coldly--even more coldly than was usual with him, and he was never
+enthusiastic about any one or anything, while to Eugen there was
+absolutely nothing in von Francius which attracted him, save the
+magnificent power of his musical talent--a power which was as calm and
+cold as himself.
+
+Max von Francius was a man about whom there were various opinions,
+expressed and unexpressed; he was a person who never spoke of himself,
+and who contrived to live a life more isolated and apart than any one I
+have ever known, considering that he went much into society, and mixed a
+good deal with the world. In every circle in Elberthal which could by
+any means be called select, his society was eagerly sought, nor did he
+refuse it. His days were full of engagements; he was consulted, and his
+opinion deferred to in a singular manner--singular, because he was no
+sayer of smooth things, but the very contrary; because he hung upon no
+patron, submitted to no dictation, was in his way an autocrat. This
+state of things he had brought about entirely by force of his own will
+and in utter opposition to precedent, for the former directors had been
+notoriously under the thumb of certain influential outsiders, who were
+in reality the directors of the director. It was the universal feeling
+that though the Herr Direktor was the busiest man, and had the largest
+circle of acquaintance of any one in Elberthal, yet that he was less
+really known than many another man of half his importance. His business
+as musik-direktor took up much of his time; the rest might have been
+filled to overflowing with private lessons, but von Francius was not a
+man to make himself cheap; it was a distinction to be taught by him, the
+more so as the position or circumstances of a would-be pupil appeared to
+make not the very smallest impression upon him. Distinguished for hard,
+practical common sense, a ready sneer at anything high-flown or
+romantic, discouraging not so much enthusiasm as the outward
+manifestation of it, which he called melodrama, Max von Francius was the
+cynosure of all eyes in Elberthal, and bore the scrutiny with glacial
+indifference.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+FRIEDHELM'S STORY.
+
+
+[Illustration: Music, JOACHIM, RAFF. _Op._ 177.]
+
+"Make yourself quite easy, Herr Concertmeister. No child that was left
+to my charge was ever known to come to harm."
+
+Thus Frau Schmidt to Eugen, as she stood with dubious smile and folded
+arms in our parlor, and harangued him, while he and I stood,
+violin-cases in our hands, in a great hurry, and anxious to be off.
+
+"You are very kind, Frau Schmidt, I hope he will not trouble you."
+
+"He is a well-behaved child, and not nearly so disagreeable and bad to
+do with as most. And at what time will you be back?"
+
+"That is uncertain. It just depends upon the length of the probe."
+
+"Ha! It is all the same. I am going out for a little excursion this
+afternoon, to the Grafenberg, and I shall take the boy with me."
+
+"Oh, thank you," said Eugen; "that will be very kind. He wants some
+fresh air, and I've had no time to take him out. You are very kind."
+
+"Trust to me, Herr Concertmeister--trust to me," said she, with the
+usual imperial wave of her hand, as she at last moved aside from the
+door-way which she had blocked up and allowed us to pass out. A last
+wave of the hand from Eugen to Sigmund, and then we hurried away to the
+station. We were bound for Cologne, where that year the Lower Rhine
+Musikfest was to be held. It was then somewhat past the middle of April,
+and the fest came off at Whitsuntide, in the middle of May. We, among
+others, were engaged to strengthen the Cologne orchestra for the
+occasion, and we were bidden this morning to the first probe.
+
+We just caught our train, seeing one or two faces of comrades we knew,
+and in an hour were in K�ln.
+
+"The Tower of Babel," and Raff's Fifth Symphonie, that called "Lenore,"
+were the subjects we had been summoned to practice. They, together with
+Beethoven's "Choral Fantasia" and some solos were to come off on the
+third evening of the fest.
+
+The probe lasted a long time; it was three o'clock when we left the
+concert-hall, after five hours' hard work.
+
+"Come along, Eugen," cried I, "we have just time to catch the three-ten,
+but only just."
+
+"Don't wait for me," he answered, with an absent look. "I don't think I
+shall come by it. Look after yourself, Friedel, and _auf wiedersehen_!"
+
+I was scarcely surprised, for I had seen that the music had deeply moved
+him, and I can understand the wish of any man to be alone with the
+remembrance or continuance of such emotions. Accordingly I took my way
+to the station, and there met one or two of my Elberthal comrades, who
+had been on the same errand as myself, and, like me, were returning
+home.
+
+Lively remarks upon the probable features of the coming fest, and the
+circulation of any amount of loose and hazy gossip respecting composers
+and soloists followed, and we all went to our usual restauration and
+dined together. There was an opera that night to which we had probe that
+afternoon, and I scarcely had time to rush home and give a look at
+Sigmund before it was time to go again to the theater.
+
+Eugen's place remained empty. For the first time since he had come into
+the orchestra he was absent from his post, and I wondered what could
+have kept him.
+
+Taking my way home, very tired, with fragments of airs from "Czar und
+Zimmermann," in which I had just been playing, the "March" from
+"Lenore," and scraps of choruses and airs from the "Thurm zu Babel," all
+ringing in my head in a confused jumble, I sprung up the stairs (up
+which I used to plod so wearily and so spiritlessly), and went into the
+sitting-room. Darkness! After I had stood still and gazed about for a
+time, my eyes grew accustomed to the obscurity. I perceived that a dim
+gray light still stole in at the open window, and that some one reposing
+in an easy-chair was faintly shadowed out against it.
+
+"Is that you, Friedhelm?" asked Eugen's voice.
+
+"_Lieber Himmel!_ Are you there? What are you doing in the dark?"
+
+"Light the lamp, my Friedel! Dreams belong to darkness, and facts to
+light. Sometimes I wish light and facts had never been invented."
+
+I found the lamp and lighted it, carried it up to him, and stood before
+him, contemplating him curiously. He lay back in our one easy-chair, his
+hands clasped behind his head, his legs outstretched. He had been idle
+for the first time, I think, since I had known him. He had been sitting
+in the dark, not even pretending to do anything.
+
+"There are things new under the sun," said I, in mingled amusement and
+amaze. "Absent from your post, to the alarm and surprise of all who know
+you, here I find you mooning in the darkness, and when I illuminate you,
+you smile up at me in a somewhat imbecile manner, and say nothing. What
+may it portend?"
+
+He roused himself, sat up, and looked at me with an ambiguous half
+smile.
+
+"Most punctual of men! most worthy, honest, fidgety old friend," said
+he, with still the same suppressed smile, "how I honor you! How I wish
+I could emulate you! How I wish I were like you! and yet, Friedel, old
+boy, you have missed something this afternoon."
+
+"So! I should like to know what you have been doing. Give an account of
+yourself."
+
+"I have erred and gone astray, and have found it pleasant. I have done
+that which I ought not to have done, and am sorry, for the sake of
+morality and propriety, to have to say that it was delightful; far more
+delightful than to go on doing just what one ought to do. Say, good
+Mentor, does it matter? For this occasion only. Never again, as I am a
+living man."
+
+"I wish you would speak plainly," said I, first putting the lamp and
+then myself upon the table. I swung my legs about and looked at him.
+
+"And not go on telling you stories like that of Munchausen, in Arabesks,
+eh? I will be explicit; I will use the indicative mood, present tense.
+Now then. I like Cologne; I like the cathedral of that town; I like the
+Hotel du Nord; and, above all, I love the railway station."
+
+"Are you raving?"
+
+"Did you ever examine the Cologne railway station?" he went on, lighting
+a cigar. "There is a great big waiting-room, which they lock up; there
+is a delightful place in which you may get lost, and find yourself
+suddenly alone in a deserted wing of the building, with an impertinent
+porter, who doesn't understand one word of Eng--of your native tongue--"
+
+"Are you mad?" was my varied comment.
+
+"And while you are in the greatest distress, separated from your
+friends, who have gone on to Elberthal (like mine), and struggling to
+make this porter understand you, you may be encountered by a mooning
+individual--a native of the land--and you may address him. He drives the
+fumes of music from his brain, and looks at you, and finds you
+charming--more than charming. My dear Friedhelm, the look in your eyes
+is quite painful to see. By the exercise of a little diplomacy, which,
+as you are charmingly na�ve, you do not see through, he manages to seal
+an alliance by which you and he agree to pass three or four hours in
+each other's society, for mutual instruction and entertainment. The
+entertainment consists of cutlets, potatoes--the kind called kartoffeln
+frittes, which they give you very good at the Nord--and the wine known
+to us as Doctorberger. The instruction is varied, and is carried on
+chiefly in the aisle of the K�lner Dom, to the sound of music. And when
+he is quite spell-bound, in a magic circle, a kind of golden net or
+cloud, he pulls out an earthly watch, made of dust and dross ('More fool
+he,' your eye says, and you are quite right), and sees that time is
+advancing. A whole army of horned things with stings, called feelings of
+propriety, honor, correctness, the right thing, etc., come in thick
+battalions in _sturmschritt_ upon him, and with a hasty word he hurries
+her--he gets off to the station. There is still an hour, for both are
+coming to Elberthal--an hour of unalloyed delight; then"--he snapped his
+fingers--"a drosky, an address, a crack of the whip, and _ade_!"
+
+I sat and stared at him while he wound up this rhodomontade by singing:
+
+       "Ade, ade, ade!
+     Ja, Scheiden und Meiden thut Weh!"
+
+"You are too young and fair," he presently resumed, "too slight and
+sober for apoplexy; but a painful fear seizes me that your mental
+faculties are under some slight cloud. There is a vacant look in your
+usually radiant eyes; a want of intelligence in the curve of your rosy
+lips--"
+
+"Eugen! Stop that string of fantastic rubbish! Where have you been, and
+what have you been doing?"
+
+"I have not deserved that from you. Haven't I been telling you all this
+time where I have been and what I have been doing? There is a brutality
+in your behavior which is to a refined mind most lamentable."
+
+"But where have you been, and what have you done?"
+
+"Another time, _mein lieber_--another time!"
+
+With this misty promise I had to content myself. I speculated upon the
+subject for that evening, and came to the conclusion that he had
+invented the whole story, to see whether I would believe it (for we had
+all a reprehensible habit of that kind), and very soon the whole
+circumstance dropped from my memory.
+
+On the following morning I had occasion to go to the public eye
+hospital. Eugen and I had interested ourselves to procure a ticket for
+free, or almost free, treatment as an out-patient for a youth whom we
+knew--one of the second violins--whose sight was threatened, and who,
+poor boy, could not afford to pay for proper treatment. Eugen being
+busy, I went to receive the ticket.
+
+It was the first time I had been in the place. I was shown into a room
+with the light somewhat obscured, and there had to wait some few
+minutes. Every one had something the matter with his or her eyes--at
+least so I thought, until my own fell upon a girl who leaned, looking a
+little tired and a little disappointed, against a tall desk at one side
+of the room.
+
+She struck me on the instant as no feminine appearance had ever struck
+me before. She, like myself, seemed to be waiting for some one or
+something. She was tall and supple in figure, and her face was girlish
+and very innocent-looking; and yet, both in her attitude and countenance
+there was a little pride, some hauteur. It was evidently natural to her,
+and sat well upon her. A slight but exquisitely molded figure, different
+from those of our stalwart Elberthaler _M�dchen_--finer, more refined
+and distinguished, and a face to dream of. I thought it then, and I say
+it now. Masses, almost too thick and heavy, of dark auburn hair, with
+here and there a glint of warmer hue, framed that beautiful face--half
+woman's, half child's. Dark-gray eyes, with long dark lashes and brows;
+cheeks naturally very pale, but sensitive, like some delicate alabaster,
+showing the red at every wave of emotion; something racy, piquant,
+unique, enveloped the whole appearance of this young girl. I had never
+seen anything at all like her before.
+
+She looked wearily round the room, and sighed a little. Then her eyes
+met mine; and seeing the earnestness with which I looked at her, she
+turned away, and a slight, very slight, flush appeared in her cheek.
+
+I had time to notice (for everything about her interested me) that her
+dress was of the very plainest and simplest kind, so plain as to be
+almost poor, and in its fashion not of the newest, even in Elberthal.
+
+Then my name was called out. I received my ticket, and went to the probe
+at the theater.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+"Wishes are pilgrims to the vale of tears."
+
+
+A week--ten days passed. I did not see the beautiful girl again--nor
+did I forget her. One night at the opera I found her. It was
+"Lohengrin"--but she has told all that story herself--how Eugen came in
+late (he had a trick of never coming in till the last minute, and I used
+to think he had some reason for it)--and the recognition and the cut
+direct, first on her side, then on his.
+
+Eugen and I walked home together, arm in arm, and I felt provoked with
+him.
+
+"I say, Eugen, did you see the young lady with Vincent and the others in
+the first row of the parquet?"
+
+"I saw some six or eight ladies of various ages in the first row of the
+parquet. Some were old and some were young. One had a knitted shawl over
+her head, which she kept on during the whole of the performance."
+
+"Don't be so maddening. I said the young lady with Vincent and Fr�ulein
+Sartorius. By the bye, Eugen, do you know, or have you ever known her?"
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Fr�ulein Sartorius."
+
+"Who is she?"
+
+"Oh, bother! The young lady I mean sat exactly opposite to you and me--a
+beautiful young girl; an _Engl�nderin_--fair, with that hair that we
+never see here, and--"
+
+"In a brown hat--sitting next to Vincent. I saw her--yes."
+
+"She saw you too."
+
+"She must have been blind if she hadn't."
+
+"Have you seen her before?"
+
+"I have seen her before--yes."
+
+"And spoken to her?"
+
+"Even spoken to her."
+
+"Do tell me what it all means."
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"But, Eugen--"
+
+"Are you so struck with her, Friedel? Don't lose your heart to her, I
+warn you."
+
+"Why?" I inquired, wilily, hoping the answer would give me some clew to
+his acquaintance with her.
+
+"Because, _mein Bester_, she is a cut above you and me, in a different
+sphere, one that we know nothing about. What is more, she knows it, and
+shows it. Be glad that you can not lay yourself open to the snub that I
+got to-night."
+
+There was so much bitterness in his tone that I was surprised. But a
+sudden remembrance flushed into my mind of his strange remarks after I
+had left him that day at Cologne, and I laughed to myself, nor, when he
+asked me, would I tell him why. That evening he had very little to say
+to Karl Linders and myself.
+
+Eugen never spoke to me of the beautiful girl who had behaved so
+strangely that evening, though we saw her again and again.
+
+Sometimes I used to meet her in the street, in company with the dark,
+plain girl, Anna Sartorius, who, I fancied, always surveyed Eugen with a
+look of recognition. The two young women formed in appearance an almost
+startling contrast. She came to all the concerts, as if she made music a
+study--generally she was with a stout, good-natured-looking German
+Fr�ulein, and the young Englishman, Vincent. There was always something
+rather melancholy about her grace and beauty.
+
+Most beautiful she was; with long, slender, artist-like hands, the face
+a perfect oval, but the features more piquant than regular; sometimes a
+subdued fire glowed in her eyes and compressed her lips, which removed
+her altogether from the category of spiritless beauties--a genus for
+which I never had the least taste.
+
+One morning Courvoisier and I, standing just within the entrance to the
+theater orchestra, saw two people go by. One, a figure well enough known
+to every one in Elberthal, and especially to us--that of Max von
+Francius. Did I ever say that von Francius was an exceedingly handsome
+fellow, in a certain dark, clean-shaved style? On that occasion he was
+speaking with more animation than was usual with him, and the person to
+whom he had unbent so far was the fair English woman--that enigmatical
+beauty who had cut my friend at the opera. She also was looking animated
+and very beautiful; her face turned to his with a smile--a glad,
+gratified smile. He was saying:
+
+"But in the next lesson, you know--"
+
+They passed on. I turned to ask Eugen if he had seen. I needed not to
+put the question. He had seen. There was a forced smile upon his lips.
+Before I could speak he had said:
+
+"It's time to go in, Friedel; come along!" With which he turned into the
+theater, and I followed thoughtfully.
+
+Then it was rumored that at the coming concert--the benefit of von
+Francius--a new soprano was to appear--a young lady of whom report used
+varied tones; some believable facts at least we learned about her. Her
+name, they said was Wedderburn; she was an English woman, and had a most
+wonderful voice. The Herr Direktor took a very deep interest in her; he
+not only gave her lessons; he had asked to give her lessons, and
+intended to form of her an artiste who should one day be to the world a
+kind of Patti, Lucca, or Nilsson.
+
+I had no doubt in my own mind as to who she was, but for all that I felt
+considerable excitement on the evening of the haupt-probe to the
+"Verlorenes Paradies."
+
+Yes, I was right. Miss Wedderburn, the pupil of von Francius, of whom so
+much was prophesied, was the beautiful, forlorn-looking English girl.
+The feeling which grew upon me that evening, and which I never found
+reason afterward to alter, was that she was modest, gentle, yet
+spirited, very gifted, and an artiste by nature and gift, yet sadly ill
+at ease and out of place in that world into which von Francius wished to
+lead her.
+
+She sat quite near to Eugen and me, and I saw how alone she was, and how
+she seemed to feel her loneliness. I saw how certain young ladies drew
+themselves together, and looked at her (it was on this occasion that I
+first began to notice the silent behavior of women toward each other,
+and the more I have observed, the more has my wonder grown and
+increased), and whispered behind their music, and shrugged their
+shoulders when von Francius, seeing how isolated she seemed, bent
+forward and said a few kind words to her.
+
+I liked him for it. After all, he was a man. But his distinguishing the
+child did not add to the delights of her position--rather made it worse.
+I put myself in her place as well as I could, and felt her feelings when
+von Francius introduced her to one of the young ladies near her, who
+first stared at him, then at her, then inclined her head a little
+forward and a little backward, turned her back upon Miss Wedderburn,
+and appeared lost in conversation of the deepest importance with her
+neighbor. And I thought of the words which Karl Linders had said to us
+in haste and anger, and after a disappointment he had lately had, "_Das
+weib ist der teufel._" Yes, woman is the devil sometimes, thought I, and
+a mean kind of devil too. A female Mephistopheles would not have damned
+Gretchen's soul, nor killed her body, she would have left the latter on
+this earthly sphere, and damned her reputation.
+
+Von Francius was a clever man, but he made a grand mistake that night,
+unless he were desirous of making his prot�g�e as uncomfortable as
+possible. How could those ladies feel otherwise than insulted at seeing
+the man of ice so suddenly attentive and bland to a nobody, an upstart,
+and a beautiful one?
+
+The probe continued, and still she sat alone and unspoken to, her only
+acquaintance or companion seeming to be Fr�ulein Sartorius, with whom
+she had come in. I saw how, when von Francius called upon her to do her
+part, and the looks which had hitherto been averted from her were now
+turned pitilessly and unwinkingly upon her, she quailed. She bit her
+lip; her hand trembled. I turned to Eugen with a look which said
+volumes. He sat with his arms folded, and his face perfectly devoid of
+all expression, gazing straight before him.
+
+Miss Wedderburn might have been satisfied to the full with her revenge.
+That was a voice! such a volume of pure, exquisite melody as I had
+rarely heard. After hearing that, all doubts were settled. The gift
+might be a blessing or a curse--let every one decide that for himself,
+according to his style of thinking--but it was there. She possessed the
+power which put her out of the category of commonplace, and had the most
+melodious "Open, Sesame!" with which to besiege the doors of the courts
+in which dwell artists--creative and interpretative.
+
+The performance finished the gap between her and her companions. Their
+looks said, "You are not one of us." My angry spirit said, "No; you can
+never be like her."
+
+She seemed half afraid of what she had done when it was over, and shrunk
+into herself with downcast eyes and nervous quivering of the lips at the
+subdued applause of the men. I wanted to applaud too, but I looked at
+Eugen. I had instinctively given him some share in the affairs of this
+lovely creature--a share, which he always strenuously repudiated, both
+tacitly and openly.
+
+Nevertheless, when I saw him I abstained from applauding, knowing, by a
+lightning-quick intuition, that it would be highly irritating to him. He
+showed no emotion; if he had done, I should not have thought the
+occasion was anything special to him. It was his absurd gravity, stony
+inexpressiveness, which impressed me with the fact that he was
+moved--moved against his will and his judgment. He could no more help
+approving both of her and her voice than he could help admiring a
+perfect, half-opened rose.
+
+It was over, and we went out of the saal, across the road, and home.
+
+Sigmund, who had not been very well that day, was awake, and restless.
+Eugen took him up, wrapped him in a little bed-gown, carried him into
+the other room, and sat down with him. The child rested his head on the
+loved breast, and was soothed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+She had gone; the door had closed after her. Eugen turned to me, and
+took Sigmund into his arms again.
+
+"_Mein Vater_, who is the beautiful lady, and why did you speak so
+harshly to her? Why did you make her cry?"
+
+The answer, though ostensibly spoken to Sigmund, was a revelation to me.
+
+"That I may not have to cry myself," said Eugen, kissing him.
+
+"Could the lady make thee cry?" demanded Sigmund, sitting up, much
+excited at the idea.
+
+Another kiss and a half laugh was the answer. Then he bade him go to
+sleep, as he did not understand what he was talking about.
+
+By and by Sigmund did drop to sleep. Eugen carried him to his bed,
+tucked him up, and returned. We sat in silence--such an uncomfortable
+constrained silence, as had never before been between us. I had a book
+before me. I saw no word of it. I could not drive the vision away--the
+lovely, pleading face, the penitence. Good heavens! How could he repulse
+her as he had done? Her repeated request that he would take that
+money--what did it all mean? And, moreover, my heart was sore that he
+had concealed it all from me. About the past I felt no resentment;
+there was a secret there which I respected; but I was cut up at this.
+The more I thought of it, the keener was the pain I felt.
+
+"Friedel!"
+
+I looked up. Eugen was leaning across the table and his hand was
+stretched toward me; his eyes looked full into mine. I answered his
+look, but I was not clear yet.
+
+"Forgive me!"
+
+"Forgive thee what?"
+
+"This playing with thy confidence."
+
+"Don't mention it," I forced myself to say, but the sore feeling still
+remained. "You have surely a right to keep your affairs to yourself if
+you choose."
+
+"You will not shake hands? Well, perhaps I have no right to ask it; but
+I should like to tell you all about it."
+
+I put my hand into his.
+
+"I was wounded," said I, "it is true. But it is over."
+
+"Then listen, Friedel."
+
+He told me the story of his meeting with Miss Wedderburn. All he said of
+the impression she had made upon him was:
+
+"I thought her very charming, and the loveliest creature I had ever
+seen. And about the trains. It stands in this way. I thought a few hours
+of her society would make me very happy, and would be like--oh, well! I
+knew that in the future, if she ever should see me again, she would
+either treat me with distant politeness as an inferior, or, supposing
+she discovered that I had cheated her, would cut me dead. And as it did
+not matter, as I could not possibly be an acquaintance of hers in the
+future, I gave myself that pleasure then. It has turned out a mistake
+on my part, but that is nothing new; my whole existence has been a
+monstrous mistake. However, now she sees what a churl's nature was under
+my fair-seeming exterior, her pride will show her what to do. She will
+take a wrong view of my character, but what does that signify? She will
+say that to be deceitful first and uncivil afterward are the main
+features of the German character, and when she is at Cologne on her
+honey-moon, she will tell her bride-groom about this adventure, and he
+will remark that the fellow wanted horsewhipping, and she--"
+
+"There! You have exercised your imagination quite sufficiently. Then
+you intend to keep up this farce of not recognizing her. Why?"
+
+He hesitated, looked as nearly awkward as he could, and said, a little
+constrainedly:
+
+"Because I think it will be for the best."
+
+"For you or for her?" I inquired, not very fairly, but I could not
+resist it.
+
+Eugen flushed all over his face.
+
+"What a question!" was all he said.
+
+"I do not think it such a remarkable question. Either you have grown
+exceedingly nervous as to your own strength of resistance or your fear
+for hers."
+
+"Friedhelm," said he, in a cutting voice, "that is a tone which I should
+not have believed you capable of taking. It is vulgar, my dear fellow,
+and uncalled for; and it is so unlike you that I am astonished. If you
+had been one of the other fellows--"
+
+I fired up.
+
+"Excuse me, Eugen, it might be vulgar if I were merely chaffing you, but
+I am not; and I think, after what you have told me, that I have said
+very little. I am not so sure of her despising you. She looks much more
+as if she were distressed at your despising her."
+
+"Pre--pos--ter--ous!"
+
+"If you can mention an instance in her behavior this evening which
+looked as if she were desirous of snubbing you, I should be obliged by
+your mentioning it," I continued:
+
+"Well--well--"
+
+"Well--well. If she had wished to snub you she would have sent you that
+money through the post, and made an end of it. She simply desired, as
+was evident all along, to apologize for having been rude to a person who
+had been kind to her. I can quite understand it, and I am not sure that
+your behavior will not have the very opposite effect to that you
+expect."
+
+"I think you are mistaken. However, it does not matter; our paths lie
+quite apart. She will have plenty of other things to take up her time
+and thoughts. Anyhow I am glad that you and I are quits once more."
+
+So was I. We said no more upon the subject, but I always felt as if a
+kind of connecting link existed between my friend and me, and that
+beautiful, solitary English girl.
+
+The link was destined to become yet closer. The concert was over at
+which she sung. She had a success. I see she has not mentioned it; a
+success which isolated her still more from her companions, inasmuch as
+it made her more distinctly professional and them more severely
+virtuous.
+
+One afternoon when Eugen and I happened to have nothing to do, we took
+Sigmund to the Grafenberg. We wandered about in the fir wood, and at
+last came to a pause and rested. Eugen lay upon his back and gazed up
+into the thickness of brown-green fir above, and perhaps guessed at the
+heaven beyond the dark shade. I sat and stared before me through the
+straight red-brown stems across the ground,
+
+     "With sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged,"
+
+to an invisible beyond which had charms for me, and was a kind of
+symphonic beauty in my mind. Sigmund lay flat upon his stomach, kicked
+his heels and made intricate patterns with the fir needles, while he
+hummed a gentle song to himself in a small, sweet voice, true as a
+lark's, but sadder. There was utter stillness and utter calm all round.
+
+Presently Eugen's arm stole around Sigmund and drew him closer and
+closer to him, and they continued to look at each other until a mutual
+smile broke upon both faces, and the boy said, his whole small frame as
+well as his voice quivering (the poor little fellow had nerves that
+vibrated to the slightest emotion): "I love thee."
+
+A light leaped into the father's eyes; a look of pain followed it
+quickly.
+
+"And I shall never leave thee," said Sigmund.
+
+Eugen parried the necessity of speaking by a kiss.
+
+"I love thee too, Friedel," continued he, taking my hand. "We are very
+happy together, aren't we?" And he laughed placidly to himself.
+
+Eugen, as if stung by some tormenting thought, sprung up and we left the
+wood.
+
+Oh, far back, by-gone day! There was a soft light over you shed by a
+kindly sun. That was a time in which joy ran a golden thread through the
+gray homespun of every-day life.
+
+Back to the restauration at the foot of the _berg_, where Sigmund was
+supplied with milk and Eugen and I with beer, where we sat at a little
+wooden table in a garden and the pleasant clack of friendly conversation
+sounded around; where the women tried to make friends with Sigmund, and
+the girls whispered behind their coffee-cups or (_pace_, elegant
+fiction!) their beer-glasses, and always happened to be looking up if
+our eyes roved that way. Two poor musiker and a little boy; persons of
+no importance whatever, who could scrape their part in the symphony with
+some intelligence and feel they had done their duty. Well, well! it is
+not all of us who can do even so much. I know some instruments that are
+always out of tune. Let us be complacent where we justly can. The
+opportunities are few.
+
+We took our way home. The days were long, and it was yet light when we
+returned and found the reproachful face of Frau Schmidt looking for us,
+and her arms open to receive the weary little lad who had fallen asleep
+on his father's shoulder.
+
+I went upstairs, and, by a natural instinct, to the window. Those facing
+it were open; some one moved in the room. Two chords of a piano were
+struck. Some one came and stood by the window, shielded her eyes from
+the rays of the setting sun which streamed down the street and looked
+westward. Eugen was passing behind me. I pulled him to the window, and
+we both looked--silently, gravely.
+
+The girl dropped her hand; her eyes fell upon us. The color mounted to
+her cheek; she turned away and went to the interior of the room. It was
+May Wedderburn.
+
+"Also!" said Eugen, after a pause. "A new neighbor; it reminds me of one
+of Andersen's 'M�rchen,' but I don't know which."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+ "For though he lived aloof from ken,
+ The world's unwitnessed denizen,
+   The love within him stirs
+ Abroad, and with the hearts of men
+   His own confers."
+
+
+The story of my life from day to day was dull enough, same enough for
+some time after I went to live at the Wehrhahn. I was studying hard, and
+my only variety was the letters I had from home; not very cheering,
+these. One, which I received from Adelaide, puzzled me somewhat. After
+speaking of her coming marriage in a way which made me sad and
+uncomfortable, she condescended to express her approval of what I was
+doing, and went on:
+
+     "I am catholic in my tastes. I suppose all our friends would faint
+     at the idea of there being a 'singer' in the family. Now, I should
+     rather like you to be a singer--only be a great one--not a little
+     twopenny-halfpenny person who has to advertise for engagements.
+
+     "Now I am going to give you some advice. This Herr von
+     Francius--your teacher or whatever he is. Be cautious what you are
+     about with him. I don't say more, but I say that again. Be
+     cautious! Don't burn your fingers. Now, I have not much time, and I
+     hate writing letters, as you know. In a week I am to be married,
+     and then--_nous verrons_. We go to Paris first, and then on to
+     Rome, where we shall winter--to gratify my taste, I wonder, or Sir
+     Peter's for moldering ruins, ancient pictures, and the Coliseum by
+     moonlight? I have no doubt that we shall do our duty by the
+     respectable old structures. Remember what I said, and write to me
+     now and then.
+
+                    "A."
+
+I frowned and puzzled a little over this letter. Be cautious? In what
+possible way could I be cautious? What need could there be for it when
+all that passed between me and von Francius was the daily singing lesson
+at which he was so strict and severe, sometimes so sharp and cutting
+with me. I saw him then; I saw him also at the constant proben to
+concerts whose season had already begun; proben to the "Passions-musik,"
+the "Messiah," etc. At one or two of these concerts I was to sing. I did
+not like the idea, but I could not make von Francius see it as I did. He
+said I must sing--it was part of my studies, and I was fain to bend to
+his will.
+
+Von Francius--I looked at Adelaide's letter, and smiled again. Von
+Francius had kept his word; he had behaved to me as a kind elder
+brother. He seemed instinctively to understand the wish, which was very
+strong on my part, not to live entirely at Miss Hallam's expense--to
+provide, partially at any rate, for myself, if possible. He helped me to
+do this. Now he brought me some music to be copied; now he told me of a
+young lady who wanted lessons in English--now of one little thing--now
+of another, which kept me, to my pride and joy, in such slender
+pocket-money as I needed. Truly, I used to think in those days, it does
+not need much money nor much room for a person like me to keep her place
+in the world. I wished to trouble no one--only to work as hard as I
+could, and do the work that was set for me as well as I knew how. I had
+my wish and so far was not unhappy.
+
+But what did Adelaide mean? True, I had once described von Francius to
+her as young, that is youngish, clever and handsome. Did she,
+remembering my well-known susceptibility, fear that I might fall in love
+with him and compromise myself by some silly _Schw�rmerei_? I laughed
+about all by myself at the very idea of such a thing. Fall in love with
+von Francius, and--my eyes fell upon the two windows over the way. No;
+my heart was pure of the faintest feeling for him, save that of respect,
+gratitude, and liking founded at that time more on esteem than
+spontaneous growth. And he--I smiled at that idea, too.
+
+In all my long interviews with von Francius throughout our intercourse
+he maintained one unvaried tone, that of a kind, frank, protecting
+interest, with something of the patron on his part. He would converse
+with me about Schiller and Goethe, true; he would also caution me
+against such and such shop-keepers as extortioners, and tell me the
+place where they gave the largest discount on music paid for on the
+spot; would discuss the "Waldstein" or "Appassionata" with me, or the
+beauties of Rubinstein or the deep meanings of Schumann, also the
+relative cost of living _en pension_ or providing for one's self.
+
+No. Adelaide was mistaken. I wished, parenthetically, that she could
+make the acquaintance of von Francius, and learn how mistaken--and again
+my eyes fell upon the opposite windows. Friedhelm Helfen leaned from
+one, holding fast Courvoisier's boy. The rich Italian coloring of the
+lovely young face; the dusky hair; the glow upon the cheeks, the deep
+blue of his serge dress, made the effect of a warmly tinted southern
+flower; it was a flower-face too; delicate and rich at once.
+
+Adelaide's letter dropped unheeded to the floor. Those two could not see
+me, and I had a joy in watching them.
+
+To say, however, that I actually watched my opposite neighbors would not
+be true. I studiously avoided watching them; never sat in the window;
+seldom showed myself at it, though in passing I sometimes allowed myself
+to linger, and so had glimpses of those within. They were three and I
+was one. They were the happier by two. Or if I knew that they were out,
+that a probe was going on, or an opera or concert, there was nothing I
+liked better than to sit for a time and look to the opposite windows.
+They were nearly always open, as were also mine, for the heat of the
+stove was oppressive to me, and I preferred to temper it with a little
+of the raw outside air. I used sometimes to hear from those opposite
+rooms the practicing or playing of passages on the violin and
+violoncello--scales, shakes, long complicated flourishes and phrases.
+Sometimes I heard the very strains that I had to sing to: airs, scraps
+of airs, snatches from operas, concerts and symphonies. They were always
+humming and singing things. They came home haunted with "The Last Rose,"
+from "Marta"--now some air from "Faust," "Der Freisch�tz," or
+"Tannhauser."
+
+But one air was particular to Eugen, who seemed to be perfectly
+possessed by it--that which I had heard him humming when I first met
+him--the March from "Lenore." He whistled it and sung it; played it on
+violin, 'cello and piano; hummed it first thing in the morning and last
+thing at night; harped upon it until in despair his companion threw
+books and music at him, and he, dodging them, laughed, begged pardon,
+was silent for five minutes, and then the March _da Capo_ set in a
+halting kind of measure to the ballad.
+
+By way of a slight and wholesome variety there was the whole repertory
+of "Volkslieder," from
+
+     "Du, du, liegst mir im Herzen;
+     Du, du, liegst mir im Sinn,"
+
+up to
+
+     "M�dele, ruck, ruck, ruck
+     An meine gr�ne Seite."
+
+Sometimes they--one or both of them with the boy--might be seen at the
+window leaning out, whistling or talking. When doors banged and quick
+steps rushed up or down the stairs two steps at a time I knew it was
+Courvoisier. Friedhelm Helfen's movements were slower and more sedate.
+I grew to know his face as well as Eugen's, and to like it better the
+more I saw of it. A quite young, almost boyish face, with an
+inexpressibly pure, true, and good expression upon the mouth and in the
+dark-brown eyes. Reticent, as most good faces are, but a face which made
+you desire to know the owner of it, made you feel that you could trust
+him in any trial. His face reminded me in a distant manner of two
+others, also faces of musicians, but greater in their craft than he,
+they being creators and pioneers, while he was only a disciple, of
+Beethoven and of the living master, Rubinstein. A gentle, though far
+from weak face, and such a contrast in expression and everything else to
+that of my musician, as to make me wonder sometimes whether they had
+been drawn to each other from very oppositeness of disposition and
+character. That they were very great friends I could not doubt; that the
+leadership was on Courvoisier's side was no less evident. Eugen's
+affection for Helfen seemed to have something fatherly in it, while I
+could see that both joined in an absorbing worship of the boy, who was a
+very Croesus in love if in nothing else. Sigmund had, too, an adorer
+in a third musician, a violoncellist, one of their comrades, who
+apparently spent much of his spare substance in purchasing presents of
+toys and books and other offerings, which he laid at the shrine of St.
+Sigmund, with what success I could not tell. Beyond this young fellow,
+Karl Linders, they had not many visitors. Young men used occasionally to
+appear with violin-cases in their hands, coming for lessons, probably.
+
+All these things I saw without absolutely watching for them; they made
+that impression upon me which the most trifling facts connected with a
+person around whom cling all one's deepest pleasures and deepest pains
+ever do and must make. I was glad to know them, but at the same time
+they impressed the loneliness and aloofness of my own life more
+decidedly upon me.
+
+I remember one small incident which at the time it happened struck home
+to me. My windows were open; it was an October afternoon, mild and
+sunny. The yellow light shone with a peaceful warmth upon the afternoon
+quietness of the street. Suddenly that quietness was broken. The sound
+of music, the peculiar blatant noise of trumpets smote the air. It came
+nearer, and with it the measured tramp of feet. I rose and went to look
+out. A Hussar regiment was passing; before them was borne a soldier's
+coffin; they carried a comrade to his grave. The music they played was
+the "Funeral March for the Death of a Hero," from the "Sinfonia Eroica."
+Muffled, slow, grand and mournful, it went wailing and throbbing by. The
+procession passed slowly on in the October sunshine, along the
+Schadowstrasse, turning off by the Hofgarten, and so on to the cemetery.
+I leaned out of the window and looked after it--forgetting all outside,
+till just as the last of the procession passed by my eyes fell upon
+Courvoisier going into his house, and who presently entered the room. He
+was unperceived by Friedhelm and Sigmund, who were looking after the
+procession. The child's face was earnest, almost solemn--he had not seen
+his father come up. I saw Helfen's lip caress Sigmund's loose black hair
+that waved just beneath them.
+
+Then I saw a figure--only a black shadow to my eyes which were dazzled
+by the sun--come behind them. One hand was laid upon Helfen's shoulder,
+another turned the child's chin. What a change! Friedhelm's grave face
+smiled: Sigmund sprung aside, made a leap to his father, who stooped to
+him, and clasping his arms tight round his neck was raised up in his
+arms.
+
+They were all satisfied--all smiling--all happy. I turned away. That was
+a home--that was a meeting of three affections. What more could they
+want? I shut the window--shut it all out, and myself with it into the
+cold, feeling my lips quiver. It was very fine, this life of
+independence and self-support, but it was dreadfully lonely.
+
+The days went on. Adelaide was now Lady Le Marchant. She had written to
+me again, and warned me once more to be careful what I was about. She
+had said that she liked her life--at least she said so in her first two
+or three letters, and then there fell a sudden utter silence about
+herself, which seemed to me ominous.
+
+Adelaide had always acted upon the assumption that Sir Peter was a far
+from strong-minded individual, with a certain hardness and cunning
+perhaps in relation to money matters, but nothing that a clever wife
+with a strong enough sense of her own privileges could not overcome.
+
+She said nothing to me about herself. She told me about Rome; who was
+there; what they did and looked like; what she wore; what compliments
+were paid to her--that was all.
+
+Stella told me my letters were dull--and I dare say they were--and that
+there was no use in her writing, because nothing ever happened in
+Skernford, which was also true. And for Eugen, we were on exactly the
+same terms--or rather no terms--as before. Opposite neighbors, and as
+far removed as if we had lived at the antipodes.
+
+My life, as time went on, grew into a kind of fossilized dream, in which
+I rose up and lay down, practiced so many hours a day, ate and drank and
+took my lesson, and it seemed as if I had been living so for years, and
+should continue to live on so to the end of my days--until one morning
+my eyes would not open again, and for me the world would have come to an
+end.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+ "And nearer still shall further be,
+ And words shall plague and vex and buffet thee."
+
+
+It was December, close upon Christmas. Winter at last in real earnest. A
+black frost. The earth bound in fetters of iron. The land gray; the sky
+steel; the wind a dagger. The trees, leafless and stark, rattled their
+shriveled boughs together in that wind.
+
+It met you at corners and froze the words out of your mouth; it whistled
+a low, fiendish, malignant whistle round the houses; as vicious and
+little louder than the buzz of a mosquito. It swept, thin, keen and
+cutting, down the K�nigsall�e, and blew fine black dust into one's face.
+
+It cut up the skaters upon the pond in the Neue Anlage, which was in the
+center of the town, and comparatively sheltered; but it was in its glory
+whistling across the flat fields leading to the great skating-ground of
+Elberthal in general--the Schwanenspiegel at the Grafenbergerdahl.
+
+The Grafenberg was a low chain of what, for want of a better name, may
+be called hills, lying to the north of Elberthal. The country all around
+this unfortunate apology for a range of hills was, if possible, flatter
+than ever. The Grafenbergerdahl was, properly, no "dale" at all, but a
+broad plain of meadows, with the railway cutting them at one point, then
+diverging and running on under the Grafenberg.
+
+One vast meadow which lay, if possible, a trifle lower than the rest,
+was flooded regularly by the autumn rains, but not deeply. It was frozen
+over now, and formed a model skating place, and so, apparently, thought
+the townspeople, for they came out, singly or in bodies, and from nine
+in the morning till dusk the place was crowded, and the merry music of
+the iron on the ice ceased not for a second.
+
+I discovered this place of resort by accident one day when I was taking
+a constitutional, and found myself upon the borders of the great frozen
+mere covered with skaters. I stood looking at them, and my blood warmed
+at the sight. If there were one thing--one accomplishment upon which I
+prided myself, it was this very one--skating.
+
+In a drawing-room I might feel awkward--confused among clever people,
+bashful among accomplished ones; shy about music and painting, diffident
+as to my voice, and deprecatory in spirit as to the etiquette to be
+observed at a dinner-party. Give me my skates and put me on a sheet of
+ice, and I was at home.
+
+As I paused and watched the skaters, it struck me that there was no
+reason at all why I should deny myself that seasonable enjoyment. I had
+my skates, and the mere was large enough to hold me as well as the
+others--indeed, I saw in the distance great tracts of virgin ice to
+which no skater seemed yet to have reached.
+
+I went home, and on the following afternoon carried out my resolution;
+though it was after three o'clock before I could set out.
+
+A long, bleak way. First up the merry J�gerhofstrasse, then through the
+Malkasten garden, up a narrow lane, then out upon the open, bleak road,
+with that bitter wind going ping-ping at one's ears and upon one's
+cheek. Through a big gate-way, and a court-yard pertaining to an orphan
+asylum--along a lane bordered with apple-trees, through a rustic arch,
+and, hurrah! the field was before me--not so thickly covered as
+yesterday, for it was getting late, and the Elberthalers did not seem to
+understand the joy of careering over the black ice by moonlight, in the
+night wind. It was, however, as yet far from dark, and the moon was
+rising in silver yonder, in a sky of a pale but clear blue.
+
+I quickly put on my skates--stumbled to the edge, and set off. I took a
+few turns, circling among the people--then, seeing several turn to look
+at me, I fixed my eyes upon a distant clump of reeds rising from the
+ice, and resolved to make it my goal. I could only just see it, even
+with my long-sighted eyes, but struck out for it bravely. Past group
+after group of the skaters who turned to look at my scarlet shawl as it
+flashed past. I glanced at them and skimmed smoothly on, till I came to
+the outside circle where there was a skater all alone, his hands thrust
+deep into his great-coat pockets, the collar of the same turned high
+about his ears, and the inevitable little gray cloth _Studentenhut_
+crowning the luxuriance of waving dark hair. He was gliding round in
+complicated figures and circles, doing the outside edge for his own
+solitary gratification, so far as I could see; active, graceful, and
+muscular, with practiced ease and assured strength in every limb. It
+needed no second glance on my part to assure me who he was--even if the
+dark bright eyes had not been caught by the flash of my cloak, and
+gravely raised for a moment as I flew by. I dashed on, breasting the
+wind. To reach the bunch of reeds seemed more than ever desirable now. I
+would make it my sole companion until it was time to go away. At least
+he had seen me, and I was safe from any _contretemps_--he would avoid me
+as strenuously as I avoided him. But the first fresh lust after pleasure
+was gone. Just one moment's glance into a face had had the power to
+alter everything so much. I skated on, as fast, as surely as ever, but,
+
+     "A joy has taken flight."
+
+The pleasant sensation of solitude, which I could so easily have felt
+among a thousand people had he not been counted among them, was gone.
+The roll of my skates upon the ice had lost its music for me; the wind
+felt colder--I sadder. At least I thought so. Should I go away again now
+that this disturbing element had appeared upon the scene? No, no, no,
+said something eagerly within me, and I bit my lip, and choked back a
+kind of sob of disgust as I realized that despite my gloomy reflections
+my heart was beating a high, rapid march of--joy! as I skimmed, all
+alone, far away from the crowd, among the dismal withered reeds, and
+round the little islets of stiffened grass and rushes which were frozen
+upright in their places.
+
+The daylight faded, and the moon rose. The people were going away. The
+distant buzz of laughter had grown silent. I could dimly discern some
+few groups, but very few, still left, and one or two solitary figures.
+Even my preternatural eagerness could not discern who they were! The
+darkness, the long walk home, the probe at seven, which I should be too
+tired to attend, all had quite slipped from my mind; it was possible
+that among those figures which I still dimly saw, was yet remaining that
+of Courvoisier, and surely there was no harm in my staying here.
+
+I struck out in another direction, and flew on in the keen air; the
+frosty moon shedding a weird light upon the black ice; I saw the railway
+lines, polished, gleaming too in the light; the belt of dark firs to my
+right; the red sand soil frozen hard and silvered over with frost. Flat
+and tame, but still beautiful. I felt a kind of rejoicing in it; I felt
+it home. I was probably the first person who had been there since the
+freezing of the mere, thought I, and that idea was soon converted to a
+certainty in my mind, for in a second my rapid career was interrupted.
+At the furthest point from help or human presence the ice gave way with
+a crash, and I shrieked aloud at the shock of the bitter water. Oh, how
+cold it was! how piercing, frightful, numbing! It was not deep--scarcely
+above my knees, but the difficulty was how to get out. Put my hand where
+I would the ice gave way. I could only plunge in the icy water, feeling
+the sodden grass under my feet. What sort of things might there not be
+in that water? A cold shudder, worse than any ice, shot through me at
+the idea of newts and rats and water-serpents, absurd though it was. I
+screamed again in desperation, and tried to haul myself out by catching
+at the rushes. They were rotten with the frost and gave way in my hand.
+I made a frantic effort at the ice again; stumbled and fell on my knees
+in the water. I was wet all over now, and I gasped. My limbs ached
+agonizingly with the cold. I should be, if not drowned, yet benumbed,
+frozen to death here alone in the great mere, among the frozen reeds and
+under the steely sky.
+
+I was pausing, standing still, and rapidly becoming almost too benumbed
+to think or hold myself up, when I heard the sound of skates and the
+weird measure of the "Lenore March" again. I held my breath; I desired
+intensely to call out, shriek aloud for help, but I could not. Not a
+word would come.
+
+"I did hear some one," he muttered, and then in the moonlight he came
+skating past, saw me, and stopped.
+
+"_Sie_, Fr�ulein!" he began, quickly, and then altering his tone. "The
+ice has broken. Let me help you."
+
+"Don't come too near; the ice is very thin--it doesn't hold at all," I
+chattered, scarcely able to get the words out.
+
+"You are cold?" he asked, and smiled. I felt the smile cruel; and
+realized that I probably looked rather ludicrous.
+
+"Cold!" I repeated, with an irrepressible short sob.
+
+He knelt down upon the ice at about a yard's distance from me.
+
+"Here it is strong," said he, holding out his arms. "Lean this way,
+_mein Fr�ulein_, and I will lift you out."
+
+"Oh, no! You will certainly fall in yourself."
+
+"Do as I tell you," he said, imperatively, and I obeyed, leaning a
+little forward. He took me round the waist, lifted me quietly out of the
+water, and placed me upon the ice at a discreet distance from the hole
+in which I had been stuck, then rose himself, apparently undisturbed by
+the effort.
+
+Miserable, degraded object that I felt! My clothes clinging round me;
+icy cold, shivering from head to foot; so aching with cold that I could
+no longer stand. As he opened his mouth to say something about its being
+"happily accomplished," I sunk upon my knees at his feet. My strength
+had deserted me; I could no longer support myself.
+
+"Frozen!" he remarked to himself, as he stooped and half raised me. "I
+see what must be done. Let me take off your skates--_sonst geht's
+nicht_."
+
+I sat down upon the ice, half hysterical, partly from the sense of the
+degrading, ludicrous plight I was in, partly from intense yet painful
+delight at being thus once more with him, seeing some recognition in his
+eyes again, and hearing some cordiality in his voice.
+
+He unfastened my skates deftly and quickly, slung them over his arm, and
+helped me up again. I essayed feebly to walk, but my limbs were numb
+with cold. I could not put one foot before the other, but could only
+cling to his arm in silence.
+
+"So!" said he, with a little laugh. "We are all alone here! A fine time
+for a moonlight skating."
+
+"Ah! yes," said I, wearily, "but I can't move."
+
+"You need not," said he. "I am going to carry you away in spite of
+yourself, like a popular preacher."
+
+He put his arm round my waist and bade me hold fast to his shoulder. I
+obeyed, and directly found myself carried along in a swift, delightful
+movement, which seemed to my drowsy, deadened senses, quick as the
+nimble air, smooth as a swallow's flight. He was a consummate master in
+the art of skating--that was evident. A strong, unfailing arm held me
+fast. I felt no sense of danger, no fear lest he should fall or stumble;
+no such idea entered my head.
+
+We had far to go--from one end of the great Schwanenspiegel to the
+other. Despite the rapid motion, numbness overcame me; my eyes closed,
+my head sunk upon my hands, which were clasped over his shoulder. A sob
+rose to my throat. In the midst of the torpor that was stealing over me,
+there shot every now and then a shiver of ecstasy so keen as to almost
+terrify me. But then even that died away. Everything seemed to whirl
+round me--the meadows and trees, the stiff rushes and the great black
+sheet of ice, and the white moon in the inky heavens became only a
+confused dream. Was it sleep or faintness, or coma? What was it that
+seemed to make my senses as dull as my limbs, and as heavy? I scarcely
+felt the movement, as he lifted me from the ice to the ground. His shout
+did not waken me, though he sent the full power of his voice ringing out
+toward the pile of buildings to our left.
+
+With the last echo of his voice I lost consciousness entirely; all
+failed and faded, and then vanished before me, until I opened my eyes
+again feebly, and found myself in a great stony-looking room, before a
+big black stove, the door of which was thrown open. I was lying upon a
+sofa, and a woman was bending over me. At the foot of the sofa, leaning
+against the wall, was Courvoisier, looking down at me, his arms folded,
+his face pensive.
+
+"Oh, dear!" cried I, starting up. "What is the matter? I must go home."
+
+"You shall--when you can," said Courvoisier, smiling as he had smiled
+when I first knew him, before all these miserable misunderstandings had
+come between us.
+
+My apprehensions were stilled. It did me good, warmed me, sent the tears
+trembling to my eyes, when I found that his voice had not resumed the
+old accent of ice, nor his eyes that cool, unrecognizing stare which had
+frozen me so many a time in the last few weeks.
+
+"_Trinken sie 'mal, Fr�ulein_," said the woman, holding a glass to my
+lips; it held hot spirits and water, which smoked.
+
+"Bah!" replied I, gratefully, and turning away. "_Nie, nie!_" she
+repeated. "You must drink just a _Schn�ppschen_, Fr�ulein."
+
+I pushed it away with some disgust. Courvoisier took it from her hand
+and held it to me.
+
+"Don't be so foolish and childish. Think of your voice after this," said
+he, smiling kindly; and I, with an odd sensation, choked down my tears
+and drank it. It was bad--despite my desire to please, I found it very
+bad.
+
+"Yes, I know," said he, with a sympathetic look, as I made a horrible
+face after drinking it, and he took the glass. "And now this woman will
+lend you some dry things. Shall I go straight to Elberthal and send a
+drosky here for you, or will you try to walk home?"
+
+"Oh, I will walk. I am sure it would be the best--if--do you think it
+would?"
+
+"Do you feel equal to it? is the question," he answered, and I was
+surprised to see that though I was looking hard at him he did not look
+at me, but only into the glass he held.
+
+"Yes," said I. "And they say that people who have been nearly drowned
+should always walk; it does them good."
+
+"In that case then," said he, repressing a smile, "I should say it would
+be better for you to try. But pray make haste and get your wet things
+off, or you will come to serious harm."
+
+"I will be as quick as ever I can."
+
+"Now hurry," he replied, sitting down, and pulling one of the woman's
+children toward him. "Come, _mein Junge_, tell me how old you are?"
+
+I followed the woman to an inner room, where she divested me of my
+dripping things, and attired me in a costume consisting of a short full
+brown petticoat, a blue woolen jacket, thick blue knitted stockings, and
+a pair of wide low shoes, which habiliments constituted the uniform of
+the orphan asylum of which she was matron, and belonged to her niece.
+
+She expatiated upon the warmth of the dress, and did not produce any
+outer wrap or shawl, and I, only anxious to go, said nothing, but
+twisted up my loose hair, and went back into the large stony room before
+spoken of, from which a great noise had been proceeding for some time.
+
+I stood in the door-way and saw Eugen surrounded by other children, in
+addition to the one he had first called to him. There were likewise two
+dogs, and they--the children, the dogs, and Herr Concertmeister
+Courvoisier most of all--were making as much noise as they possibly
+could. I paused for a moment to have the small gratification of watching
+the scene. One child on his knee and one on his shoulder pulling his
+hair, which was all ruffled and on end, a laugh upon his face, a dancing
+light in his eyes as if he felt happy and at home among all the little
+flaxen heads.
+
+Could he be the same man who had behaved so coldly to me? My heart went
+out to him in this kinder moment. Why was he so genial with those
+children and so harsh to me, who was little better than a child myself?
+
+His eye fell upon me as he held a shouting and kicking child high in the
+air, and his own face laughed all over in mirth and enjoyment.
+
+"Come here, Miss Wedderburn; this is Hans, there is Fritz, and here is
+Franz--a jolly trio; aren't they?"
+
+He put the child into his mother's arms, who regarded him with an eye of
+approval, and told him that it was not every one who knew how to
+ingratiate himself with her children, who were uncommonly spirited.
+
+"Ready?" he asked, surveying me and my costume and laughing. "Don't you
+feel a stranger in these garments?"
+
+"No! Why?"
+
+"I should have said silk and lace and velvet, or fine muslins and
+embroideries, were more in your style."
+
+"You are quite mistaken. I was just thinking how admirably this costume
+suits me, and that I should do well to adopt it permanently."
+
+"Perhaps there was a mirror in the inner room," he suggested.
+
+"A mirror! Why?"
+
+"Then your idea would quite be accounted for. Young ladies must of
+course wish to wear that which becomes them."
+
+"Very becoming!" I sneered, grandly.
+
+"Very," he replied, emphatically. "It makes me wish to be an orphan."
+
+"Ah, _mein Herr_," said the woman, reproachfully, for he had spoken
+German. "Don't jest about that. If you have parents--"
+
+"No, I haven't," he interposed, hastily.
+
+"Or children either?"
+
+"I should not else have understood yours so well," he laughed. "Come,
+my--Miss Wedderburn, if you are ready."
+
+After arranging with the woman that she should dry my things and return
+them, receiving her own in exchange, we left the house.
+
+It was quite moonlight now; the last faint streak of twilight had
+disappeared. The way that we must traverse to reach the town stretched
+before us, long, straight, and flat.
+
+"Where is your shawl?" he asked, suddenly.
+
+"I left it; it was wet through."
+
+Before I knew what he was doing, he had stripped off his heavy overcoat,
+and I felt its warmth and thickness about my shoulders.
+
+"Oh, don't!" I cried, in great distress, as I strove to remove it again,
+and looked imploringly into his face.
+
+"Don't do that. You will get cold; you will--"
+
+"Get cold!" he laughed, as if much amused, as he drew the coat around me
+and fastened it, making no more ado of my resisting hands than if they
+had been bits of straw.
+
+"So!" said he, pushing one of my arms through the sleeve. "Now," as he
+still held it fastened together, and looked half laughingly at me, "do
+you intend to keep it on or not?"
+
+"I suppose I must."
+
+"I call that gratitude. Take my arm--so. You are weak yet."
+
+We walked on in silence for some time. I was happy; for the first time
+since the night I had heard "Lohengrin" I was happy and at rest. True,
+no forgiveness had been asked or extended; but he had ceased to behave
+as if I were not forgiven.
+
+"Am I not going too fast?" he inquired.
+
+"N--no."
+
+"Yes, I am, I see. We will moderate the pace a little."
+
+We walked more slowly. Physically I was inexpressibly weary. The
+reaction after my drenching had set in; I felt a languor which amounted
+to pain, and an aching and weakness in every limb. I tried to regret the
+event, but could not; tried to wish it were not such a long walk to
+Elberthal, and found myself perversely regretting that it was such a
+short one.
+
+At length the lights of the town came in sight. I heaved a deep sigh.
+Soon it would be over--"the glory and the dream."
+
+"I think we are exactly on the way to your house, _nicht wahr_?" said
+he.
+
+"Yes; and to yours since we are opposite neighbors."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You are not as lonely as I am, though; you have companions."
+
+"I--oh--Friedhelm; yes."
+
+"And--your little boy."
+
+"Sigmund also," was all he said.
+
+But "_auch_ Sigmund" may express much more in German than in English. It
+did so then.
+
+"And you?" he added.
+
+"I am alone," said I.
+
+I did not mean to be foolishly sentimental. The sigh that followed my
+words was involuntary.
+
+"So you are. But I suppose you like it?"
+
+"Like it? What can make you think so?"
+
+"Well, at least you have good friends."
+
+"Have I? Oh, yes, of course!" said I, thinking of von Francius.
+
+"Do you get on with your music?" he next inquired.
+
+"I hope so. I--do you think it strange that I should live there all
+alone?" I asked, tormented with a desire to know what he did think of
+me, and crassly ready to burst into explanations on the least
+provocation. I was destined to be undeceived.
+
+"I have not thought about it at all; it is not my business."
+
+Snub number one. He had spoken quickly, as if to clear himself as much
+as possible from any semblance of interest to me.
+
+I went on, rashly plunging into further intricacies of conversation:
+
+"It is curious that you and I should not only live near to each other,
+but actually have the same profession at last."
+
+"How?"
+
+Snub number two. But I persevered.
+
+"Music. Your profession is music, and mine will be."
+
+"I do not see the resemblance. There is little point of likeness between
+a young lady who is in training for a prima-donna and an obscure
+musiker, who contributes his share of shakes and runs to the symphony."
+
+"I in training for a prima-donna! How can you say so?"
+
+"Do we not all know the forte of Herr von Francius? And--excuse me--are
+not your windows opposite to ours, and open as a rule? Can I not hear
+the music you practice, and shall I not believe my own ears?"
+
+"I am sure your own ears do not tell you that a future prima-donna lives
+opposite to you," said I, feeling most insanely and unreasonably hurt
+and cut up at the idea.
+
+"Will you tell me that you are not studying for the stage?"
+
+"I never said I was not. I said I was not a future prima-donna. My voice
+is not half good enough. I am not clever enough, either."
+
+He laughed.
+
+"As if voice or cleverness had anything to do with it. Personal
+appearance and friends at court are the chief things. I have known
+prime-donne--seen them, I mean--and from my place below the foot-lights
+I have had the impertinence to judge them upon their own merits.
+Provided they were handsome, impudent, and unscrupulous enough, their
+public seemed gladly to dispense with art, cultivation, or genius in
+their performances and conceptions."
+
+"And you think that I am, or shall be in time, handsome, impudent, and
+unscrupulous enough," said I, in a low choked tone.
+
+My fleeting joy was being thrust back by hands most ruthless. Unmixed
+satisfaction for even the brief space of an hour or so was not to be
+included in my lot.
+
+"_O, bewahre!_" said he, with a little laugh, that chilled me still
+further. "I think no such thing. The beauty is there, _mein
+Fr�ulein_--pardon me for saying so--"
+
+Indeed, I was well able to pardon it. Had he been informing his
+grandmother that there were the remains of a handsome woman to be traced
+in her, he could not have spoken more unenthusiastically.
+
+"The beauty is there. The rest, as I said, when one has friends, these
+things are arranged for one."
+
+"But I have no friends."
+
+"No," with again that dry little laugh. "Perhaps they will be provided
+at the proper time, as Elijah was fed by the ravens. Some fine
+night--who knows--I may sit with my violin in the orchestra at your
+benefit, and one of the bouquets with which you are smothered may fall
+at my feet and bring me _aus der fuge_. When that happens, will you
+forgive me if I break a rose from the bouquet before I toss it on to the
+feet of its rightful owner? I promise that I will seek for no note, nor
+spy out any ring or bracelet. I will only keep the rose in remembrance
+of the night when I skated with you across the Schwanenspiegel, and
+prophesied unto you the future. It will be a kind of 'I told you so,' on
+my part."
+
+Mock sentiment, mock respect, mock admiration; a sneer in the voice, a
+dry sarcasm in the words. What was I to think? Why did he veer round in
+this way, and from protecting kindness return to a raillery which was
+more cruel than his silence? My blood rose, though, at the mockingness
+of his tone.
+
+"I don't know what you mean," said I, coldly. "I am studying operatic
+music. If I have any success in that line, I shall devote myself to it.
+What is there wrong in it? The person who has her living to gain must
+use the talents that have been given her. My talent is my voice;
+it is the only thing I have--except, perhaps, some capacity to
+love--those--who are kind to me. I can do that, thank God! Beyond that
+I have nothing, and I did not make myself."
+
+"A capacity to love those who are kind to you," he said, hastily. "And
+do you love all who are kind to you?"
+
+"Yes," said I, stoutly, though I felt my face burning.
+
+"And hate them that despitefully use you?"
+
+"Naturally," I said, with a somewhat unsteady laugh. A rush of my ruling
+feeling--propriety and decent reserve--tied my tongue, and I could not
+say, "Not all--not always."
+
+He, however, snapped, as it were, at my remark or admission, and chose
+to take it as if it were in the deepest earnest; for he said, quickly,
+decisively, and, as I thought, with a kind of exultation:
+
+"Ah, then I will be disagreeable to you."
+
+This remark, and the tone in which it was uttered, came upon me with a
+shock which I can not express. He would be disagreeable to me because I
+hated those who were disagreeable to me, _ergo_, he wished me to hate
+him. But why? What was the meaning of the whole extraordinary
+proceeding?
+
+"Why?" I asked, mechanically, and asked nothing more.
+
+"Because then you will hate me, unless you have the good sense to do so
+already."
+
+"Why? What effect will my hatred have upon you?"
+
+"None. Not a jot. _Gar keine._ But I wish you to hate me, nevertheless."
+
+"So you have begun to be disagreeable to me by pulling me out of the
+water, lending me your coat, and giving me your arm all along this hard,
+lonely road," said I, composedly.
+
+He laughed.
+
+"That was before I knew of your peculiarity. From to-morrow morning on I
+shall begin. I will make you hate me. I shall be glad if you hate me."
+
+I said nothing. My head felt bewildered; my understanding benumbed. I
+was conscious that I was very weary--conscious that I should like to
+cry, so bitter was my disappointment.
+
+As we came within the town, I said:
+
+"I am very sorry, Herr Courvoisier, to have given you so much trouble."
+
+"That means that I am to put you into a cab and relieve you of my
+company."
+
+"It does not," I ejaculated, passionately, jerking my hand from his arm.
+"How can you say so? How dare you say so?"
+
+"You might meet some of your friends, you know."
+
+"And I tell you I have no friends except Herr von Francius, and I am not
+accountable to him for my actions."
+
+"We shall soon be at your house now."
+
+"Herr Courvoisier, have you forgiven me?"
+
+"Forgiven you what?"
+
+"My rudeness to you once."
+
+"Ah, _mein Fr�ulein_," said he, shrugging his shoulders a little and
+smiling slightly, "you are under a delusion about that circumstance. How
+can I forgive that which I never resented?"
+
+This was putting the matter in a new, and, for me, an humbling light.
+
+"Never resented!" I murmured, confusedly.
+
+"Never. Why should I resent it? I forgot myself, _nicht wahr_! and you
+showed me at one and the same time my proper place and your own
+excellent good sense. You did not wish to know me, and I did not resent
+it. I had no right to resent it."
+
+"Excuse me," said I, my voice vibrating against my will; "you are wrong
+there, and either you are purposely saying what is not true, or you have
+not the feelings of a gentleman." His arm sprung a little aside as I
+went on, amazed at my own boldness. "I did not show you your 'proper
+place.' I did not show my own good sense. I showed my ignorance, vanity,
+and surprise. If you do not know that, you are not what I take you
+for--a gentleman."
+
+"Perhaps not," said he, after a pause. "You certainly did not take me
+for one then. Why should I be a gentleman? What makes you suppose I am
+one?"
+
+Questions which, however satisfactorily I might answer them to myself, I
+could not well reply to in words. I felt that I had rushed upon a topic
+which could not be explained, since he would not own himself offended. I
+had made a fool of myself and gained nothing by it. While I was racking
+my brain for some satisfactory closing remark, we turned a corner and
+came into the Wehrhahn. A clock struck seven.
+
+"_Gott im Himmel!_" he exclaimed. "Seven o'clock! The opera--_da geht's
+schon an!_ Excuse me, Fr�ulein, I must go. Ah, here is your house."
+
+He took the coat gently from my shoulders, wished me _gute besserung_,
+and ringing the bell, made me a profound bow, and either not noticing or
+not choosing to notice the hand which I stretched out toward him, strode
+off hastily toward the theater, leaving me cold, sick, and miserable, to
+digest my humble pie with what appetite I might.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+CUI BONO?
+
+
+Christmas morning. And how cheerfully I spent it! I tried first of all
+to forget that it was Christmas, and only succeeded in impressing the
+fact more forcibly and vividly upon my mind, and with it others; the
+fact that I was alone especially predominating. And a German Christmas
+is not the kind of thing to let a lonely person forget his loneliness
+in; its very bustle and union serves to emphasize their solitude to
+solitary people.
+
+I had seen such quantities of Christmas-trees go past the day before.
+One to every house in the neighborhood. One had even come here, and the
+widow of the piano-tuner had hung it with lights and invited some
+children to make merry for the feast of Weihnachten Abend.
+
+Every one had a present except me. Every one had some one with whom to
+spend their Christmas--except me. A little tiny Christmas-tree had gone
+to the rooms whose windows faced mine. I had watched its arrival; for
+once I had broken through my rule of not deliberately watching my
+neighbors, and had done so. The tree arrived in the morning. It was kept
+a profound mystery from Sigmund, who was relegated, much to his disgust,
+to the society of Frau Schmidt down-stairs, who kept a vigilant watch
+upon him and would not let him go upstairs on any account.
+
+The afternoon gradually darkened down. My landlady invited me to join
+her party down-stairs; I declined. The rapturous, untutored joy of half
+a dozen children had no attraction for me; the hermit-like watching of
+the scene over the way had. I did not light my lamp. I was secure of
+not being disturbed; for Frau Lutzler, when I would not come to her, had
+sent my supper upstairs, and said she would not be able to come to me
+again that evening.
+
+"So much the better!" I murmured, and put myself in a window corner.
+
+The lights over the way were presently lighted. For a moment I trembled
+lest the blinds were going to be put down, and all my chance of spying
+spoiled. But no; my neighbors were careless fellows--not given to
+watching their neighbors themselves nor to suspecting other people of
+it. The blinds were left up, and I was free to observe all that passed.
+
+Toward half past five I saw by the light of the street-lamp, which
+was just opposite, two people come into the house; a young man who
+held the hand of a little girl. The young man was Karl Linders, the
+violoncellist; the little girl, I supposed, must be his sister. They
+went upstairs, or rather Karl went upstairs; his little sister remained
+below.
+
+There was a great shaking of hands and some laughing when Karl came into
+the room. He produced various packages which were opened, their contents
+criticised, and hung upon the tree. Then the three men surveyed their
+handiwork with much satisfaction. I could see the whole scene. They
+could not see my watching face pressed against the window, for they were
+in light and I was in darkness.
+
+Friedhelm went out of the room, and, I suppose, exerted his lungs from
+the top of the stairs, for he came back, flushed and laughing, and
+presently the door opened, and Frau Schmidt, looking like the mother
+of the Gracchi, entered, holding a child by each hand. She never
+moved a muscle. She held a hand of each, and looked alternately
+at them. Breathless, I watched. It was almost as exciting as if I
+had been joining in the play--more so, for to me everything was
+_sur l'impr�vu_--revealed piecemeal, while to them some degree of
+foreknowledge must exist, to deprive the ceremony of some of its charms.
+
+There was awed silence for a time. It was a pretty scene. In the middle
+of the room a wooden table; upon it the small green fir, covered with
+little twinkling tapers; the orthodox waxen angels, and strings of balls
+and bonbons hanging about--the white _Christ-kind_ at the top in the
+arms of Father Christmas. The three men standing in a semi-circle at one
+side; how well I could see them! A suppressed smile upon Eugen's face,
+such as it always wore when pleasing other people. Friedhelm not
+allowing the smile to fully appear upon his countenance, but with a
+grave delight upon his face, and with great satisfaction beaming from
+his luminous brown eyes. Karl with his hands in his pockets, and an
+attitude by which I knew he said, "There! what do you think of that?"
+Frau Schmidt and the two children on the other side.
+
+The tree was not a big one. The wax-lights were probably cheap ones; the
+gifts that hung upon the boughs or lay on the table must have been
+measured by the available funds of three poor musicians. But the whole
+affair did its mission admirably--even more effectively than an official
+commission to (let us say) inquire into the cause of the loss of an
+ironclad. It--the tree I mean, not the commission--was intended to
+excite joy and delight, and it did excite them to a very high extent. It
+was meant to produce astonishment in unsophisticated minds--it did that
+too, and here it has a point in common with the proceedings of the
+commission respectfully alluded to.
+
+The little girl who was a head taller than Sigmund, had quantities of
+flaxen hair plaited in a pigtail and tied with light blue ribbon--new;
+and a sweet face which was a softened girl miniature of her brother's.
+She jumped for joy, and eyed the tree and the bonbons, and everything
+else with irrepressible rapture. Sigmund was not given to effusive
+declaration of his emotion, but after gazing long and solemnly at the
+show, his eyes turned to his father, and the two smiled in the odd
+manner they had, as if at some private understanding existing between
+themselves. Then the festivities were considered inaugurated.
+
+Friedhelm Helfen took the rest of the proceedings into his own hands;
+and distributed the presents exactly as if he had found them all growing
+on the tree, and had not the least idea what they were nor whence they
+came. A doll which fell to the share of the little Gretchen was from
+Sigmund, as I found from the lively demonstrations that took place.
+Gretchen kissed him, at which every one laughed, and made him kiss the
+doll, or receive a kiss from it--a waxy salute which did not seem to
+cause him much enthusiasm.
+
+I could not see what the other things were, only it was evident that
+every one gave every one else something, and Frau Schmidt's face relaxed
+into a stern smile on one or two occasions, as the young men presented
+her one after the other with some offering, accompanied with speeches
+and bows and ceremony. A conspicuous parcel done up in white paper was
+left to the last. Then Friedhelm took it up, and apparently made a long
+harangue, for the company--especially Karl Linders--became attentive. I
+saw a convulsive smile twitch Eugen's lips now and then, as the oration
+proceeded. Karl by and by grew even solemn, and it was with an almost
+awe-struck glance that he at last received the parcel from Friedhelm's
+hands, who gave it as if he were bestowing his blessing.
+
+Great gravity, eager attention on the part of the children, who pressed
+up to him as he opened it; then the last wrapper was torn off, and to my
+utter amazement and bewilderment Karl drew forth a white woolly animal
+of indefinite race, on a green stand. The look which crossed his face
+was indescribable; the shout of laughter which greeted the discovery
+penetrated even to my ears.
+
+With my face pressed against the window I watched; it was really too
+interesting. But my spying was put an end to. A speech appeared to be
+made to Frau Schmidt, to which she answered by a frosty smile and an
+elaborate courtesy. She was apparently saying good-night, but, with the
+instinct of a housekeeper, set a few chairs straight, pulled a
+table-cloth, and pushed a footstool to its place, and in her tour round
+the room her eyes fell upon the windows. She came and put the shutters
+to. In one moment it had all flashed from my sight--tree and faces and
+lamp-light and brightness.
+
+I raised my chin from my hands, and found that I was cold, numb, and
+stiff. I lighted the lamp, and passed my hands over my eyes; but could
+not quite find myself, and instead of getting to some occupation of my
+own, I sat with Richter's "Through Bass and Harmony" before me and a pen
+in my hand, and wondered what they were doing now.
+
+It was with the remembrance of this evening in my mind to emphasize my
+loneliness that I woke on Christmas morning.
+
+At post-time my landlady brought me a letter, scented, monogrammed,
+with the Roman post-mark. Adelaide wrote:
+
+     "I won't wish you a merry Christmas. I think it is such nonsense.
+     Who does have a merry Christmas now, except children and paupers?
+     And, all being well--or rather ill, so far as I am concerned--we
+     shall meet before long. We are coming to Elberthal. I will tell you
+     why when we meet. It is too long to write--and too vexatious" (this
+     word was half erased), "troublesome. I will let you know when we
+     come, and our address. How are you getting on?
+
+                    "ADELAIDE."
+
+I was much puzzled with this letter, and meditated long over it.
+Something lay in the background. Adelaide was not happy. It surely could
+not be that Sir Peter gave her any cause for discomfort. Impossible! Did
+he not dote upon her? Was not the being able to "turn him round her
+finger" one of the principal advantages of her marriage? And yet, that
+she should be coming to Elberthal of her own will, was an idea which my
+understanding declined to accept. She must have been compelled to
+it--and by nothing pleasant. This threw another shadow over my spirit.
+
+Going to the window, I saw again how lonely I was. The people were
+passing in groups and throngs; it was Christmas-time; they were glad.
+They had nothing in common with me. I looked inside my room--bare,
+meager chamber that it was--the piano the only thing in it that was more
+than barely necessary, and a great wonder came over me.
+
+"What is the use of it all? What is the use of working hard? Why am I
+leading this life? To earn money, and perhaps applause--some time. Well,
+and when I have got it--even supposing, which is extremely improbable,
+that I win it while I am young and can enjoy it--what good will it do
+me? I don't believe it will make me very happy. I don't know that I long
+for it very much. I don't know why I am working for it, except because
+Herr von Francius has a stronger will than I have, and rather compels me
+to it. Otherwise--
+
+"Well, what should I like? What do I wish for?" At the moment I seemed
+to feel myself free from all prejudice and all influence, and surveying
+with a calm, impartial eye possibilities and prospects, I could not
+discover that there was anything I particularly wished for. Had
+something within me changed during the last night?
+
+I had been so eager before; I felt so apathetic now. I looked across the
+way. I dimly saw Courvoisier snatch up his boy, hold him in the air, and
+then, gathering him to him, cover him with kisses. I smiled. At the
+moment I felt neutral--experienced neither pleasure nor pain from the
+sight. I had loved the man so eagerly and intensely--with such warmth,
+fervor, and humility. It seemed as if now a pause had come (only for a
+time, I knew, but still a pause) in the warm current of delusion, and I
+contemplated facts with a dry, unmoved eye. After all--what was he? A
+man who seemed quite content with his station--not a particularly good
+or noble man that I could see; with some musical talent which he turned
+to account to earn his bread. He had a fine figure, a handsome face, a
+winning smile, plenty of presence of mind, and an excellent opinion of
+himself.
+
+Stay! Let me be fair--he had only asserted his right to be treated as a
+gentleman by one whom he had treated in every respect as a lady. He did
+not want me--nor to know anything about me--else, why could he laugh for
+very glee as his boy's eyes met his? Want me? No! he was rich already.
+What he had was sufficient for him, and no wonder, I thought, with a
+jealous pang.
+
+Who would want to have anything to do with grown-up people, with their
+larger selfishnesses, more developed self-seeking--robust jealousies and
+full-grown exactions and sophistications, when they had a beautiful
+little one like that? A child of one's own--not any child, but that very
+child to love in that ideal way. It was a relation that one scarcely
+sees out of a romance; it was the most beautiful thing I ever saw.
+
+His life was sufficient to him. He did not suffer as I had been
+suffering. Suppose some one were to offer him a better post than that he
+now had. He would be glad, and would take it without a scruple. Perhaps,
+for a little while some casual thought of me might now and then cross
+his mind--but not for long; certainly in no importunate or troublesome
+manner. While I--why was I there, if not for his sake? What, when I
+accepted the proposal of von Francius, had been my chief thought? It
+had been, though all unspoken, scarcely acknowledged--yet a whispered
+force--"I shall not lose sight of him--of Eugen Courvoisier." I was
+rightly punished.
+
+I felt no great pain just now in thinking of this. I saw myself, and
+judged myself, and remembered how Faust had said once, in an immortal
+passage, half to himself, half to Mephisto:
+
+     "Entbehren sollst du; sollst entbehren."
+
+And that read both ways, it comes to the same thing.
+
+     "Entbehren sollst du; sollst entbehren."
+
+It flitted rhythmically through my mind on this dreamful morning, when I
+seemed a stranger to myself; or rather, when I seemed to stand outside
+myself, and contemplate, calmly and judicially, the heart which had of
+late beaten and throbbed with such vivid, and such unreasoning,
+unconnected pangs. It is as painful and as humiliating a description of
+self-vivisection as there is, and one not without its peculiar merits.
+
+The end of my reflections was the same as that which is, I believe,
+often arrived at by the talented class called philosophers, who spend
+much learning and science in going into the questions about whose skirts
+I skimmed; many of them, like me, after summing up, say, _Cui bono?_
+
+So passed the morning, and the gray cloud still hung over my spirits. My
+landlady brought me a slice of _kuchen_ at dinner-time, for Christmas,
+and wished me _guten appetit_ to it, for which I thanked her with
+gravity.
+
+In the afternoon I turned to the piano. After all it was Christmas-day.
+After beginning a bravura singing exercise, I suddenly stopped myself,
+and found myself, before I knew what I was about, singing the "Adeste
+Fidelis"--till I could not sing any more. Something rose in my
+throat--ceasing abruptly, I burst into tears, and cried plentifully over
+the piano keys.
+
+"In tears, Fr�ulein May! _Aber_--what does that mean?"
+
+I looked up. Von Francius stood in the door-way, looking not unkindly at
+me, with a bouquet in his hand of Christmas roses and ferns.
+
+"It is only because it is Christmas," said I.
+
+"Are you quite alone?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"So am I."
+
+"You! But you have so many friends."
+
+"Have I? It is true, that if friends count by the number of invitations
+that one has, I have many. Unfortunately I could not make up my mind to
+accept any. As I passed through the flower-market this morning I thought
+of you--naturally. It struck me that perhaps you had no one to come and
+wish you the Merry Christmas and Happy New-year which belongs to you of
+right, so I came, and have the pleasure to wish it you now, with these
+flowers, though truly they are not _Maibl�mchen_."
+
+He raised my hand to his lips, and I was quite amazed at the sense of
+strength, healthiness, and new life which his presence brought.
+
+"I am very foolish," I remarked; "I ought to know better. But I am
+unhappy about my sister, and also I have been foolishly thinking of old
+times, when she and I were at home together."
+
+"_Ei!_ That is foolish. Those things--old times and all that--are the
+very deuce for making one miserable. Strauss--he who writes dance
+music--has made a waltz, and called it 'The Good Old times.' _Lieber
+Himmel!_ Fancy waltzing to the memory of old times. A requiem or a
+funeral march would have been intelligible."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, you must not sit here and let these old times say what they like
+to you. Will you come out with me?"
+
+"Go out!" I echoed, with an unwilling shrinking from it. My soul
+preferred rather to shut herself up in her case and turn surlily away
+from the light outside. But, as usual, he had his way.
+
+"Yes--out. The two loneliest people in Elberthal will make a little
+zauberfest for themselves. I will show you some pictures. There are some
+new ones at the exhibition. Make haste."
+
+So calm, so matter-of-fact was his manner, so indisputable did he seem
+to think his proposition, that I half rose; then I sat down again.
+
+"I don't want to go out, Herr von Francius."
+
+"That is foolish. Quick! before the daylight fades and it grows too dark
+for the pictures."
+
+Scarcely knowing why I complied, I went to my room and put on my
+things. What a shabby sight I looked! I felt it keenly; so much, that
+when I came back and found him seated at the piano, and playing a
+wonderful in-and-out fugue of immense learning and immense difficulty,
+and quite without pathos or tenderness, I interrupted him incontinently.
+
+"Here I am, Herr von Francius. You have asked the most shabbily dressed
+person in Elberthal to be your companion. I have a mind to make you hold
+to your bargain, whether you like it or not."
+
+Von Francius turned, surveying me from head to foot, with a smile. All
+the pedagogue was put off. It was holiday-time. I was half vexed at
+myself for beginning to feel as if it were holiday-time with me too.
+
+We went out together. The wind was raw and cold, the day dreary, the
+streets not so full as they had been. We went along the street past
+the Tonhalle, and there we met Courvoisier alone. He looked at us,
+but though von Francius raised his hat, he did not notice us. There
+was a pallid change upon his face, a fixed look in his eyes, a strange,
+drawn, subdued expression upon his whole countenance. My heart leaped
+with an answering pang. That mood of the morning had fled. I had
+"found myself again," but again not "happily."
+
+I followed von Francius up the stairs of the picture exhibition. No one
+was in the room. All the world had other occupations on Christmas
+afternoon, or preferred the stove-side and the family circle.
+
+Von Francius showed me a picture which he said every one was talking
+about.
+
+"Why?" I inquired when I had contemplated it, and failed to find it
+lovely.
+
+"The drawing, the grouping, are admirable, as you must see. The art
+displayed is wonderful. I find the picture excellent."
+
+"But the subject?" said I.
+
+It was not a large picture, and represented the interior of an artist's
+atelier. In the foreground a dissipated-looking young man tilted his
+chair backward as he held his gloves in one hand, and with the other
+stroked his mustache, while he contemplated a picture standing on an
+easel before him. The face was hard, worn, _blas�_; the features,
+originally good, and even beautiful, had had all the latent loveliness
+worn out of them by a wrong, unbeautiful life. He wore a tall hat, very
+much to one side, as if to accent the fact that the rest of the company,
+upon whom he had turned his back, certainly did not merit that he should
+be at the trouble of baring his head to them. And the rest of the
+company--a girl, a model, seated on a chair upon a raised dais, dressed
+in a long, flounced white skirt, not of the freshest, some kind
+of Oriental wrap falling negligently about it--arms, models of
+shapeliness, folded, and she crouching herself together as if
+wearied, or contemptuous, or perhaps a little chilly. Upon a divan
+near her a man--presumably the artist to whom the establishment
+pertained--stretched at full length, looking up carelessly into
+her face, a pipe in his mouth, with indifference and--scarcely
+impertinence--it did not take the trouble to be a fully developed
+impertinence--in every gesture. This was the picture; faithful to life,
+significant in its very insignificance, before which von Francius sat,
+and declared that the drawing, coloring, and grouping were perfect.[B]
+
+[Footnote B: The original is by Charles Herman, of Brussels.]
+
+"The subject?" he echoed, after a pause. "It is only a scrap of
+artist-life."
+
+"Is that artist-life?" said I, shrugging my shoulders. "I do not like it
+at all; it is common, low, vulgar. There is no romance about it; it only
+reminds one of stale tobacco and flat champagne."
+
+"You are too particular," said von Francius, after a pause, and with a
+flavor of some feeling which I did not quite understand tincturing his
+voice.
+
+For my part, I was looking at the picture and thinking of what
+Courvoisier had said: "Beauty, impudence, assurance, and an admiring
+public." That the girl was beautiful--at least, she had the battered
+remains of a decided beauty; she had impudence certainly, and assurance
+too, and an admiring public, I supposed, which testified its admiration
+by lolling on a couch and staring at her, or keeping its hat on and
+turning its back to her.
+
+"Do you really admire the picture, Herr von Francius?" I inquired.
+
+"Indeed I do. It is so admirably true. That is the kind of life into
+which I was born, and in which I was for a long time brought up; but I
+escaped from it."
+
+I looked at him in astonishment. It seemed so extraordinary that
+that model of reticence should speak to me, above all, about himself.
+It struck me for the very first time that no one ever spoke of von
+Francius as if he had any one belonging to him. Calm, cold, lonely,
+self-sufficing--and self-sufficing, too, because he must be so, because
+he had none other to whom to turn--that was his character, and viewing
+him in that manner I had always judged him. But what might the truth be?
+
+"Were you not happy when you were young?" I asked, on a quick impulse.
+
+"Happy! Who expects to be happy? If I had been simply not miserable, I
+should have counted my childhood a good one; but--"
+
+He paused a moment, then went on:
+
+"Your great novelist, Dickens, had a poor, sordid kind of childhood
+in outward circumstances. But mine was spiritually sordid--hideous,
+repulsive. There are some plants which spring from and flourish in mud
+and slime; they are but a flabby, pestiferous growth, as you may
+suppose. I was, to begin with, a human specimen of that kind; I was in
+an atmosphere of moral mud, an intellectual hot-bed. I don't know what
+there was in me that set me against the life; that I never can tell. It
+was a sort of hell on earth that I was living in. One day something
+happened--I was twelve years old then--something happened, and it seemed
+as if all my nature--its good and its evil, its energies and indolence,
+its pride and humility--all ran together, welded by the furnace of
+passion into one furious, white-hot rage of anger, rebellion. In an
+instant I had decided my course; in an hour I had acted upon it. I am an
+odd kind of fellow, I believe. I quitted that scene and have never
+visited it since. I can not describe to you the anger I then felt, and
+to which I yielded. Twelve years old I was then. I fought hard for
+many years; but, _mein Fr�ulein_"--(he looked at me, and paused a
+moment)--"that was the first occasion upon which I ever was really
+angry; it has been the last. I have never felt the sensation of anger
+since--I mean personal anger. Artistic anger I have known; the anger at
+bad work, at false interpretations, at charlatanry in art; but I have
+never been angry with the anger that resents. I tell you this as a
+curiosity of character. With that brief flash all resentment seemed to
+evaporate from me--to exhaust itself in one brief, resolute, effective
+attempt at self-cleansing, self-government."
+
+He paused.
+
+"Tell me more, Herr von Francius," I besought. "Do not leave off there.
+Afterward?"
+
+"You really care to hear? Afterward I lived through hardships in plenty;
+but I had effectually severed the whole connection with that which
+dragged me down. I used all my will to rise. I am not boasting, but
+simply stating a peculiarity of my temperament when I tell you that what
+I determine upon I always accomplish. I determined upon rising, and I
+have risen to what I am. I set it, or something like it, before me as my
+goal, and I have attained it."
+
+"Well?" I asked, with some eagerness; for I, after all my unfulfilled
+strivings, had asked myself _Cui bono?_ "And what is the end of it? Are
+you satisfied?"
+
+"How quickly and how easily you see!" said he, with a smile. "I value
+the position I have, in a certain way--that is, I see the advantage it
+gives me, and the influence. But that deep inner happiness, which lies
+outside of condition and circumstances--that feeling of the poet in
+'Faust'--don't you remember?--
+
+     "'I nothing had, and yet enough'--
+
+all that is unknown to me. For I ask myself, _Cui bono?_"
+
+"Like me," I could not help saying.
+
+He added:
+
+"Fr�ulein May, the nearest feeling I have had to happiness has been the
+knowing you. Do you know that you are a person who makes joy?"
+
+"No, indeed I did not."
+
+"It is true, though. I should like, if you do not mind--if you can say
+it truly--to hear from your lips that you look upon me as your friend."
+
+"Indeed, Herr von Francius, I feel you my very best friend, and I would
+not lose your regard for anything," I was able to assure him.
+
+And then, as it was growing dark, the woman from the receipt of custom
+by the door came in and told us that she must close the rooms.
+
+We got up and went out. In the street the lamps were lighted, and the
+people going up and down.
+
+Von Francius left me at the door of my lodgings.
+
+"Good-evening, _liebes Fr�ulein_; and thank you for your company this
+afternoon."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A light burned steadily all evening in the sitting-room of my opposite
+neighbors; but the shutters were closed. I only saw a thin stream coming
+through a chink.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+ "Es ist bestimmt, in Gottes Rath,
+ Dass man vom Liebsten was man hat
+   Muss scheiden."
+
+
+Our merry little zauberfest of Christmas-eve was over. Christmas morning
+came. I remember that morning well--a gray, neutral kind of day, whose
+monotony outside emphasized the keenness of emotion within.
+
+On that morning the postman came--a rather rare occurrence with us; for,
+except with notes from pupils, notices of proben, or other official
+communications, he seldom troubled us.
+
+It was Sigmund who opened the door; it was he who took the letter, and
+wished the postman "good-morning" in his courteous little way. I dare
+say that the incident gave an additional pang afterward to the father,
+if he marked it, and seldom did the smallest act or movement of his
+child escape him.
+
+"Father, here is a letter," he said, giving it into Eugen's hand.
+
+"Perhaps it is for Friedel; thou art too ready to think that everything
+appertains to thy father," said Eugen, with a smile, as he took the
+letter and looked at it; but before he had finished speaking the smile
+had faded. There remained a whiteness, a blank, a haggardness.
+
+I had caught a glimpse of the letter; it was large, square, massive, and
+there was a seal upon the envelope--a regular letter of fate out of a
+romance.
+
+Eugen took it into his hand, and for once he made no answer to the
+caress of his child, who put his arms round his neck and wanted to climb
+upon his knee. He allowed the action, but passively.
+
+"Let me open it!" cried Sigmund. "Let me open thy letter!"
+
+"No, no, child!" said Eugen, in a sharp, pained tone. "Let it alone."
+
+Sigmund looked surprised, and recoiled a little; a shock clouding his
+eyes. It was all right if his father said no, but a shade presently
+crossed his young face. His father did not usually speak so; did not
+usually have that white and pallid look about the eyes--above all, did
+not look at his son with a look that meant nothing.
+
+Eugen was usually prompt enough in all he did, but he laid aside that
+letter, and proposed in a subdued tone that we should have breakfast.
+Which we had, and still the letter lay unopened. And when breakfast
+was over he even took up his violin and played runs and shakes and
+scales--and the air of a drinking song, which sounded grotesque in
+contrast with the surroundings. This lasted for some time, and yet the
+letter was not opened. It seemed as if he could not open it. I knew that
+it was with a desperate effort that he at last took it up, and--went
+into his room and shut the door.
+
+I was reading--that is, I had a book in my hands, and was stretched out
+in the full luxury of an unexpected holiday upon the couch; but I could
+no more have read under the new influence, could no more have helped
+watching Sigmund, than I could help breathing and feeling.
+
+He, Sigmund, stood still for a moment, looking at the closed door;
+gazing at it as if he expected it to open, and a loved hand to beckon
+him within. But it remained pitilessly shut, and the little boy had to
+accommodate himself as well as he could to a new phase in his mental
+history--the being excluded--left out in the cold. After making an
+impulsive step toward the door he turned, plunged his hands into his
+pockets as if to keep them from attacking the handle of that closed
+door, and walking to the window, gazed out, silent and motionless. I
+watched; I was compelled to watch. He was listening with every faculty,
+every fiber, for the least noise, the faintest movement from the room
+from which he was shut out. I did not dare to speak to him. I was very
+miserable myself; and a sense of coming loss and disaster was driven
+firmly into my mind and fixed there--a heavy prevision of inevitable
+sorrow and pain overhung my mind. I turned to my book and tried to read.
+It was one of the most delightful of romances that I held--no other than
+"Die Kinder der Welt"--and the scene was that in which Edwin and
+Toinette make that delightful, irregular Sunday excursion to the
+Charlottenburg, but I understood none of it. With that pathetic little
+real figure taking up so much of my consciousness, and every moment more
+insistently so, I could think of nothing else.
+
+Dead silence from the room within; utter and entire silence, which
+lasted so long that my misery grew acute, and still that little figure,
+which was now growing terrible to me, neither spoke nor stirred. I do
+not know how long by the clock we remained in these relative positions;
+by my feelings it was a week; by those of Sigmund, I doubt not, a
+hundred years. But he turned at last, and with a face from which all
+trace of color had fled walked slowly toward the closed door.
+
+"Sigmund!" I cried, in a loud whisper. "Come here, my child! Stay here,
+with me."
+
+"I must go in," said he. He did not knock. He opened the door softly,
+and went in, closing it after him. I know not what passed. There was
+silence as deep as before, after one short, inarticulate murmur. There
+are some moments in this our life which are at once sacrificial,
+sacramental, and strong with the virtue of absolution for sins past;
+moments which are a crucible from which a stained soul may come out
+white again. Such were these--I know it now--in which father and son
+were alone together.
+
+After a short silence, during which my book hung unheeded from my hand,
+I left the house, out of a sort of respect for my two friends. I had
+nothing particular to do, and so strolled aimlessly about, first into
+the Hofgarten, where I watched the Rhine, and looked Hollandward along
+its low, flat shores, to where there was a bend, and beyond the bend,
+Kaiserswerth. It is now long since I saw the river. Fair are his banks
+higher up--not at Elberthal would he have struck the stranger as being a
+stream for which to fight and die; but to me there is no part of his
+banks so lovely as the poor old Sch�ne Aussicht in the Elberthal
+Hofgarten, from whence I have watched the sun set flaming over the broad
+water, and felt my heart beat to the sense of precious possessions in
+the homely town behind. Then I strolled through the town, and coming
+down the K�nigsall�e, beheld some bustle in front of a large,
+imposing-looking house, which had long been shut up and uninhabited. It
+had been a venture by a too shortly successful banker. He had built the
+house, lived in it three months, and finding himself bankrupt, had one
+morning disposed of himself by cutting his throat. Since then the house
+had been closed, and had had an ill name, though it was the handsomest
+building in the most fashionable part of the town, with a grand
+_porte-coch�re_ in front, and a pleasant, enticing kind of bowery garden
+behind--the house faced the Exerzierplatz, and was on the promenade of
+Elberthal. A fine chestnut avenue made the street into a pleasant wood,
+and yet K�nigsall�e No. 3 always looked deserted and depressing. I
+paused to watch the workmen who were throwing open the shutters and
+uncovering the furniture. There were some women-servants busy with brush
+and duster in the hall, and a splendid barouche was being pushed through
+the _porte-coch�re_ into the back premises; a couple of trim-looking
+English grooms with four horses followed.
+
+"Is some one coming to live here?" I demanded of a workman, who made
+answer:
+
+"_Ja wohl!_ A rich English milord has taken the house furnished for six
+months--Sir Le Marchant, _oder so etwas_. I do not know the name quite
+correctly. He comes in a few days."
+
+"So!" said I, wondering what attraction Elberthal could offer to a
+rich English sir or milord, and feeling at the same time a mild
+glow of curiosity as to him and his circumstances, for I humbly confess
+it--I had never seen an authentic milord. Elberthal and K�ln were
+almost the extent of my travels, and I only remembered that at the
+Niederrheinisches Musikfest last year some one had pointed out to me a
+decrepit-looking old gentleman, with a bottle-nose and a meaningless
+eye, as a milord--very, very rich, and exceedingly good. I had sorrowed
+a little at the time in thinking that he did not personally better grace
+his circumstances and character, but until this moment I had never
+thought of him again.
+
+"That is his secretary," pursued the workman to me, in an under-tone, as
+he pointed out a young man who was standing in the middle of the hall,
+note-book in hand. "Herr Arkwright. He is looking after us."
+
+"When does the _Engl�nder_ come?"
+
+"In a few days, with his servants and milady, and milady's maid and dogs
+and bags and everything. And she--milady--is to have those rooms"--he
+pointed overhead, and grinned--"those where Banquier Klein was found
+with his throat cut. _H�!_"
+
+He laughed, and began to sing lustily, "In Berlin, sagt' er."
+
+After giving one more short survey to the house, and wondering why the
+apartments of a suicide should be assigned to a young and beautiful
+woman (for I instinctively judged her to be young and beautiful), I went
+on my way, and my thoughts soon returned to Eugen and Sigmund, and that
+trouble which I felt was hanging inevitably over us.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Eugen was, that evening, in a mood of utter, cool aloofness. His trouble
+did not appear to be one that he could confide--at present, at least. He
+took up his violin and discoursed most eloquent music, in the dark, to
+which music Sigmund and I listened. Sigmund sat upon my knee, and Eugen
+went on playing--improvising, or rather speaking the thoughts which were
+uppermost in his heart. It was wild, strange, melancholy, sometimes
+sweet, but ever with a ringing note of woe so piercing as to stab,
+recurring perpetually--such a note as comes throbbing to life now and
+then in the "Sonate Pathetique," or in Raff's Fifth Symphony.
+
+Eugen always went to Sigmund after he had gone to bed, and talked to him
+or listened to him. I do not know if he taught him something like a
+prayer at such times, or spoke to him of supernatural things, or upon
+what they discoursed. I only know that it was an interchange of soul,
+and that usually he came away from it looking glad. But to-night, after
+remaining longer than usual, he returned with a face more haggard than I
+had seen it yet.
+
+He sat down opposite me at the table, and there was silence, with an
+ever-deepening, sympathetic pain on my part. At last I raised my eyes to
+his face; one elbow rested upon the table, and his head leaned upon his
+hand. The lamp-light fell full upon his face, and there was that in it
+which would let me be silent no longer, any more than one could see a
+comrade bleeding to death, and not try to stanch the wound. I stepped up
+to him and laid my hand upon his shoulder. He looked up drearily,
+unrecognizingly, unsmilingly at me.
+
+"Eugen, what hast thou?"
+
+"_La mort dans l'�me_," he answered, quoting from a poem which we had
+both been reading.
+
+"And what has caused it?"
+
+"Must you know, friend?" he asked. "If I did not need to tell it, I
+should be very glad."
+
+"I must know it, or--or leave you to it!" said I, choking back some
+emotion. "I can not pass another day like this."
+
+"And I had no right to let you spend such a day as this," he answered.
+"Forgive me once again, Friedel--you who have forgiven so much and so
+often."
+
+"Well," said I, "let us have the worst, Eugen. It is something about--"
+
+I glanced toward the door, on the other side of which Sigmund was
+sleeping.
+
+His face became set, as if of stone. One word, and one alone, after a
+short pause, passed his lips--"_Ja!_"
+
+I breathed again. It was so then.
+
+"I told you, Friedel, that I should have to leave him?"
+
+The words dropped out one by one from his lips, distinct, short, steady.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"That was bad, very bad. The worst, I thought, that could befall; but it
+seems that my imagination was limited."
+
+"Eugen, what is it?"
+
+"I shall not have to leave him. I shall have to send him away from me."
+
+As if with the utterance of the words, the very core and fiber of
+resolution melted away and vanished, and the broken spirit turned
+writhing and shuddering from the phantom that extended its arms for the
+sacrifice, he flung his arms upon the table; his shoulders heaved. I
+heard two suppressed, choked-down sobs--the sobs of a strong man--strong
+alike in body and mind; strongest of all in the heart and spirit and
+purpose to love and cherish.
+
+"_La mort dans l'�me_," indeed! He could have chosen no fitter
+expression.
+
+"Send him away!" I echoed, beneath my breath.
+
+"Send my child away from me--as if I--did not--want him," said
+Courvoisier, slowly, and in a voice made low and halting with anguish,
+as he lifted his gaze, dim with the desperate pain of coming parting,
+and looked me in the face.
+
+I had begun in an aimless manner to pace the room, my heart on fire,
+my brain reaching wildly after some escape from the fetters of
+circumstance, invisible but iron strong, relentless as cramps and
+glaives of tempered steel. I knew no reason, of course. I knew no
+outward circumstances of my friend's life or destiny. I did not wish to
+learn any. I did know that since he said it was so it must be so.
+Sigmund must be sent away! He--we--must be left alone; two poor men,
+with the brightness gone from our lives.
+
+The scene does not let me rightly describe it. It was an anguish allied
+in its intensity to that of Gethsemane. Let me relate it as briefly as I
+can.
+
+I made no spoken assurance of sympathy. I winced almost at the idea of
+speaking to him. I knew then that we may contemplate, or believe we
+contemplate, some coming catastrophe for years, believing that so the
+suffering, when it finally falls, will be lessened. This is a delusion.
+Let the blow rather come short, sharp, and without forewarning;
+preparation heightens the agony.
+
+"Friedel," said he at last, "you do not ask why must this be."
+
+"I do not need to ask why. I know that it must be, or you would not do
+it."
+
+"I would tell you if I could--if I might."
+
+"For Heaven's sake, don't suppose that I wish to pry--" I began. He
+interrupted me.
+
+"You will make me laugh in spite of myself," said he. "You wish to pry!
+Now, let me see how much more I can tell you. You perhaps think it
+wrong, in an abstract light, for a father to send his young son away
+from him. That is because you do not know what I do. If you did, you
+would say, as I do, that it must be so--I never saw it till now. That
+letter was a revelation. It is now all as clear as sunshine."
+
+I assented.
+
+"Then you consent to take my word that it must be so, without more."
+
+"Indeed, Eugen, I wish for no more."
+
+He looked at me. "If I were to tell you," said he, suddenly, and an
+impulsive light beamed in his eyes. A look of relief--it was nothing
+else--of hope, crossed his face. Then he sunk again into his former
+attitude--as if tired and wearied with some hard battle; exhausted, or
+what we more expressively call _niedergeschlagen_.
+
+"Now something more," he went on; and I saw the frown of desperation
+that gathered upon his brow. He went on quickly, as if otherwise he
+could not say what had to be said: "When he goes from me, he goes to
+learn to become a stranger to me. I promise not to see him, nor write to
+him, nor in any way communicate with him, or influence him. We
+part--utterly and entirely."
+
+"Eugen! Impossible! _Herrgott!_ Impossible!" cried I, coming to a stop,
+and looking incredulously at him. That I did not believe. "Impossible!"
+I repeated, beneath my breath.
+
+"By faith men can move mountains," he retorted.
+
+This, then, was the flavoring which made the cup so intolerable.
+
+"You say that that is and must be wrong under all circumstances," said
+Eugen, eying me steadily.
+
+I paused. I could almost have found it in my heart to say, "Yes, I do."
+But my faith in and love for this man had grown with me; as a daily
+prayer grows part of one's thoughts, so was my confidence in him part of
+my mind. He looked as if he were appealing to me to say that it must be
+wrong, and so give him some excuse to push it aside. But I could not.
+After wavering for a moment, I answered:
+
+"No. I am sure you have sufficient reasons."
+
+"I have. God knows I have."
+
+In the silence that ensued my mind was busy. Eugen Courvoisier was not a
+religious man, as the popular meaning of religious runs. He did not say
+of his misfortune, "It is God's will," nor did he add, "and therefore
+sweet to me." He said nothing of whose will it was; but I felt that had
+that cause been a living thing--had it been a man, for instance, he
+would have gripped it and fastened to it until it lay dead and impotent,
+and he could set his heel upon it.
+
+But it was no strong, living, tangible thing. It was a breathless
+abstraction--a something existing in the minds of men, and which they
+call "Right!" and being that--not an outside law which an officer of
+the law could enforce upon him; being that abstraction, he obeyed it.
+
+As for saying that because it was right he liked it, or felt any
+consolation from the knowledge--he never once pretended to any such
+thing; but, true to his character of Child of the World, hated it with
+a hatred as strong as his love for the creature which it deprived him
+of. Only--he did it. He is not alone in such circumstances. Others have
+obeyed and will again obey this invisible law in circumstances as
+anguishing as those in which he stood, will steel their hearts to
+hardness while every fiber cries out, "Relent!" or will, like him,
+writhe under the lash, shake their chained hands at Heaven, and--submit.
+
+"One more question, Eugen. When?"
+
+"Soon."
+
+"A year would seem soon to any of us three."
+
+"In a very short time. It may be in weeks; it may be in days. Now,
+Friedhelm, have a little pity and don't probe any further."
+
+But I had no need to ask any more questions. The dreary evening passed
+somehow over, and bed-time came, and the morrow dawned.
+
+For us three it brought the knowledge that for an indefinite time
+retrospective happiness must play the part of sun on our mental horizon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+"My Lady's Glory."
+
+
+"K�nigsall�e, No. 3," wrote Adelaide to me, "is the house which has been
+taken for us. We shall be there on Tuesday evening."
+
+I accepted this communication in my own sense, and did not go to meet
+Adelaide, nor visit her that evening, but wrote a card, saying I would
+come on the following morning. I had seen the house which had been taken
+for Sir Peter and Lady Le Marchant--a large, gloomy-looking house, with
+a tragedy attached to it, which had stood empty ever since I had come to
+Elberthal.
+
+Up to the fashionable K�nigsall�e, under the naked chestnut avenue, and
+past the great long Caserne and Exerzierplatz--a way on which I did not
+as a rule intrude my ancient and poverty-stricken garments, I went on
+the morning after Adelaide's arrival. Lady Le Marchant had not yet left
+her room, but if I were Miss Wedderburn I was to be taken to her
+immediately. Then I was taken upstairs, and had time to remark upon the
+contrast between my sister's surroundings and my own, before I was
+delivered over to a lady's-maid--French in nationality--who opened a
+door and announced me as Mlle. Veddairebairne. I had a rapid, dim
+impression that it was quite the chamber of a _grande dame_, in the
+midst of which stood my lady herself, having slowly risen as I came in.
+
+"At last you have condescended to come," said the old proud, curt voice.
+
+"How are you, Adelaide?" said I, originally, feeling that any display of
+emotion would be unwelcome and inappropriate, and moreover, feeling any
+desire to indulge in the same suddenly evaporate.
+
+She took my hand loosely, gave me a little chilly kiss on the cheek, and
+then held me off at arms'-length to look at me.
+
+I did not speak. I could think of nothing agreeable to say. The only
+words that rose to my lips were, "How very ill you look!" and I wisely
+concluded not to say them. She was very beautiful, and looked prouder
+and more imperious than ever. But she was changed. I could not tell what
+it was. I could find no name for the subtle alteration; ere long I knew
+only too well what it was. Then, I only knew that she was different from
+what she had been, and different in a way that aroused tenfold all my
+vague forebodings.
+
+She was wasted too--had gone, for her, quite thin; and the repressed
+restlessness of her eyes made a disagreeable impression upon me. Was she
+perhaps wasted with passion and wicked thoughts? She looked as if it
+would not have taken much to bring the smoldering fire into a blaze of
+full fury--as if fire and not blood ran in her veins.
+
+She was in a loose silk dressing-gown, which fell in long folds about
+her stately figure. Her thick black hair was twisted into a knot about
+her head. She was surrounded on all sides with rich and costly things.
+All the old severe simplicity of style had vanished--it seemed as if she
+had gratified every passing fantastic wish or whim of her restless,
+reckless spirit, and the result was a curious medley of the ugly,
+grotesque, ludicrous and beautiful--a feverish dream of Cleopatra-like
+luxury, in the midst of which she stood, as beautiful and sinuous as a
+serpent, and looking as if she could be, upon occasion, as poisonous as
+the same.
+
+She looked me over from head to foot with piercing eyes, and then said
+half scornfully, half enviously:
+
+"How well a stagnant life seems to suit some people! Now you--you are
+immensely improved--unspeakably improved. You have grown into a pretty
+woman--more than a pretty woman. I shouldn't have thought a few months
+could make such an alteration in any one."
+
+Her words struck me as a kind of satire upon herself.
+
+"I might say the same to you," said I, constrainedly. "I think you are
+very much altered."
+
+Indeed I felt strangely ill at ease with the beautiful creature who, I
+kept trying to convince myself, was my sister Adelaide, but who seemed
+further apart from me than ever. But the old sense of fascination which
+she had been wont to exercise over me returned again in all or in more
+than its primitive strength.
+
+"I want to talk to you," said she, forcing me into a deep easy-chair. "I
+have millions of things to ask you. Take off your hat and mantle. You
+must stay all day. Heavens! how shabby you are! I never saw anything so
+worn out--and yet your dress suits you, and you look nice in it." (She
+sighed deeply.) "Nothing suits me now. Formerly I looked well in
+everything. I should have looked well in rags, and people would have
+turned to look after me. Now, whatever I put on makes me look hideous."
+
+"Nonsense!"
+
+"It does--And I am glad of it," she added, closing her lips as if she
+closed in some bitter joy.
+
+"I wish you would tell me why you have come here," I inquired,
+innocently. "I was so astonished. It was the last place I should have
+thought of your coming to."
+
+"Naturally. But you see Sir Peter adores me so that he hastens to
+gratify my smallest wish. I expressed a desire one day to see you, and
+two days afterward we were _en route_. He said I should have my wish.
+Sisterly love was a beautiful thing, and he felt it his duty to
+encourage it."
+
+I looked at her, and could not decide whether she were in jest or
+earnest. If she were in jest, it was but a sorry kind of joke--if in
+earnest, she chose a disagreeably flippant manner of expressing herself.
+
+"Sir Peter has great faith in annoying and thwarting me," she went on.
+"He has been looking better and more cheerful ever since we left Rome."
+
+"But Adelaide--if you wished to leave Rome--"
+
+"But I did not wish to leave Rome. I wished to stay--so we came away,
+you know."
+
+The suppressed rage and hatred in her tone made me feel uncomfortable. I
+avoided speaking, but I could not altogether avoid looking at her. Our
+eyes met, and Adelaide burst into a peal of harsh laughter.
+
+"Oh, your face, May! It is a study! I had a particular objection to
+coming to Elberthal, therefore Sir Peter instantly experienced a
+particular desire to come. When you are married you will understand
+these things. I was almost enjoying myself in Rome; I suppose Sir
+Peter was afraid that familiarity might bring dislike, or that if we
+stayed too long I might feel it dull. This is a gay, lively place, I
+believe--we came here, and for aught I know we are going to stay here."
+
+She laughed again, and I sat aghast. I had been miserable about
+Adelaide's marriage, but I had very greatly trusted in what she had
+prognosticated about being able to do what she liked with him. I began
+now to think that there must have been some miscalculation--that she
+had mistaken the metal and found it not quite so ductile as she had
+expected. I knew enough of her to be aware that I was probably the first
+person to whom she had spoken in such a manner, and that not even to me
+would she have so spoken unless some strong feeling had prompted her to
+it. This made me still more uneasy. She held so fast by the fine polish
+of the outside of the cup and platter. Very likely the world in general
+supposed that she and Sir Peter were a model couple.
+
+"I am glad you are here," she pursued. "It is a relief to have some one
+else than Arkwright to speak to."
+
+"Who is Arkwright?"
+
+"Sir Peter's secretary--a very good sort of boy. He knows all about our
+domestic bliss and other concerns--because he can't help. Sir Peter
+tells him--"
+
+A hand on the door-handle outside. A pause ere the persons came in, for
+Sir Peter's voice was audible, giving directions to some one, probably
+the secretary of whom Adelaide had spoken. She started violently; the
+color fled from her face; pale dismay painted itself for a moment upon
+her lips, but only for a moment. In the next she was outwardly herself
+again. But the hand trembled which passed her handkerchief over her
+lips.
+
+The door was fully opened, and Sir Peter came in.
+
+Yes; that was the same face, the same pent-house of ragged eyebrow over
+the cold and snaky eye beneath, the same wolfish mouth and permanent
+hungry smile. But he looked better, stouter, stronger; more cheerful. It
+seemed as if my lady's society had done him a world of good, and acted
+as a kind of elixir of life.
+
+I observed Adelaide. As he came in her eyes dropped; her hand closed
+tightly over the handkerchief she held, crushing it together in her
+grasp; she held her breath; then, recovered, she faced him.
+
+"Heyday! Whom have we here?" he asked, in a voice which time and a
+residence in hearing of the language of music had not mollified. "Whom
+have we here? Your dress-maker, my lady? Have you had to send for a
+dress-maker already? Ha! what? Your sister? Impossible! Miss May,
+I am delighted to see you again! Are you very well? You look a
+little--a--shabby, one might almost say, my dear--a little seedy, hey?"
+
+I had no answer ready for this winning greeting.
+
+"Rather like my lady before she was my lady," he continued, pleasantly,
+as his eyes roved over the room, over its furniture, over us.
+
+There was power--a horrible kind of strength and vitality in that
+figure--a crushing impression of his potency to make one miserable,
+conveyed in the strong, rasping voice. Quite a different Sir Peter
+from my erstwhile wooer. He was a masculine, strong, planning creature,
+whose force of will was able to crush that of my sister as easily as
+her forefinger might crush a troublesome midge. He was not blind or
+driveling; he could reason, plot, argue, concoct a systematic plan for
+revenge, and work it out fully and in detail; he was able at once to
+grasp the broadest bearing and the minute details of a position, and to
+act upon their intimations with crushing accuracy. He was calm, decided,
+keen, and all in a certain small, bounded, positive way which made him
+all the more efficient as a ruling factor in this social sphere, where
+small, bounded, positive strength, without keen sympathies save in the
+one direction--self--and without idea of generosity, save with regard to
+its own merits, pays better than a higher kind of strength--better than
+the strength of Joan of Arc, or St. Stephen, or Christ.
+
+This was the real Sir Peter, and before the revelation I stood aghast.
+And that look in Adelaide's eyes, that tone in her voice, that
+restrained spring in her movements, would have been rebellion,
+revolution, but in the act of breaking forth it became--fear. She had
+been outwitted, most thoroughly and completely. She had got a jailer and
+a prison. She feared the former, and every tradition of her life bade
+her remain in the latter.
+
+Sir Peter, pleasantly exhilarated by my confusion and my lady's sullen
+silence, proceeded with an agreeable smile:
+
+"Are you never coming down-stairs, madame? I have been deprived long
+enough of the delights of your society. Come down! I want you to read to
+me."
+
+"I am engaged, as you may see," she answered in a low voice of
+opposition.
+
+"Then the engagement must be deferred. There is a great deal of reading
+to do. There is the 'Times' for a week."
+
+"I hate the 'Times,' and I don't understand it."
+
+"So much the more reason why you should learn to do so. In half an
+hour," said Sir Peter, consulting his watch, "I shall be ready, or say
+in quarter of an hour."
+
+"Absurd! I can not be ready in quarter of an hour. Where is Mr.
+Arkwright?"
+
+"What is Mr. Arkwright to you, my dear? You may be sure that Mr.
+Arkwright's time is not being wasted. If his mamma knew what he was
+doing she would be quite satisfied--oh, quite. In quarter of an hour."
+
+He was leaving the room, but paused at the door, with a suspicious look.
+
+"Miss May, it is a pity for you to go away. It will do you good to see
+your sister, I am sure. Pray spend the day with us. Now, my lady, waste
+no more time."
+
+With that he finally departed. Adelaide's face was white, but she did
+not address me. She rang for her maid.
+
+"Dress my hair, Toinette, and do it as quickly as possible. Is my dress
+ready?" was all she said.
+
+"_Mais oui, madame._"
+
+"Quick!" she repeated. "You have only quarter of an hour."
+
+Despite the suppressed cries, expostulations, and announcements that it
+was impossible, Adelaide was dressed in quarter of an hour.
+
+"You will stay, May?" said she; and I knew it was only the presence of
+Toinette which restrained her from urgently imploring me to stay.
+
+I remained, though not all day; only until it was time to go and have my
+lesson from von Francius. During my stay, however, I had ample
+opportunity to observe how things were.
+
+Sir Peter appeared to have lighted upon a congenial occupation somewhat
+late in life, or perhaps previous practice had made him an adept in it.
+His time was fully occupied in carrying out a series of experiments upon
+his wife's pride, with a view to humble and bring it to the ground. If
+he did not fully succeed in that, he succeeded in making her hate him as
+scarcely ever was man hated before.
+
+They had now been married some two or three months, and had forsworn all
+semblance of a pretense at unity or concord. She thwarted him as much as
+she could, and defied him as far as she dared. He played round and round
+his victim, springing upon her at last, with some look, or word, or
+hint, or smile, which meant something--I know not what--that cowed her.
+
+Oh, it was a pleasant household!--a cheerful, amiable scene of connubial
+love, in which this fair woman of two-and-twenty found herself, with
+every prospect of its continuing for an indefinite number of years; for
+the Le Marchants were a long-lived family, and Sir Peter ailed nothing.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+ "Wenn Menschen aus einander gehen,
+ So sagen sie, Auf Wiedersehen!
+   Auf Wiedersehen!"
+
+
+Eugen had said, "Very soon--it may be weeks, it may be days," and had
+begged me not to inquire further into the matter. Seeing his anguish, I
+had refrained; but when two or three days had passed, and nothing was
+done or said, I began to hope that the parting might not be deferred
+even a few weeks; for I believe the father suffered, and with him the
+child, enough each day to wipe out years of transgression.
+
+It was impossible to hide from Sigmund that some great grief threatened,
+or had already descended upon his father, and therefore upon him. The
+child's sympathy with the man's nature, with every mood and feeling--I
+had almost said his intuitive understanding of his father's very
+thoughts, was too keen and intense to be hoodwinked or turned aside. He
+did not behave like other children, of course--_versteht sich_, as Eugen
+said to me with a dreary smile. He did not hang about his father's neck,
+imploring to hear what was the matter; he did not weep or wail, or make
+complaints. After that first moment of uncontrollable pain and anxiety,
+when he had gone into the room whose door was closed upon him, and
+in which Eugen had not told him all that was coming, he displayed
+no violent emotion; but he did what was to Eugen and me much more
+heart-breaking--brooded silently; grew every day wanner and thinner, and
+spent long intervals in watching his father, with eyes which nothing
+could divert and nothing deceive. If Eugen tried to be cheerful, to put
+on a little gayety of demeanor which he did not feel in his heart,
+Sigmund made no answer to it, but continued to look with the same
+solemn, large and mournful gaze.
+
+His father's grief was eating into his own young heart. He asked not
+what it was; but both Eugen and I knew that in time, if it went on
+long enough, he would die of it. The picture, "Innocence Dying of
+Blood-stain," which Hawthorne has suggested to us, may have its
+prototypes and counterparts in unsuspected places. Here was one. Nor did
+Sigmund, as some others, children both of larger and smaller growth,
+might have done, turn to me and ask me to tell him the meaning of the
+sad change which had crept silently and darkly into our lives. He
+outspartaned the Spartan in many ways. His father had not chosen to tell
+him; he would die rather than ask the meaning of the silence.
+
+One night--when some three days had passed since the letter had come--as
+Eugen and I sat alone, it struck me that I heard a weary turning over in
+the little bed in the next room, and a stifled sob coming distinctly to
+my ears. I lifted my head. Eugen had heard too; he was looking, with an
+expression of pain and indecision, toward the door. With a vast
+effort--the greatest my regard for him had yet made--I took it upon
+myself, laid my hand on his arm, and coercing him again into the chair
+from which he had half risen, whispered:
+
+"I will tell him. You can not. _Nicht wahr?_"
+
+A look was the only, but a very sufficient answer.
+
+I went into the inner room and closed the door. A dim whiteness of
+moonlight struggled through the shutters, and very, very faintly showed
+me the outline of the child who was dear to me. Stooping down beside
+him, I asked if he were awake.
+
+"_Ja, ich wache_," he replied, in a patient, resigned kind of small
+voice.
+
+"Why dost thou not sleep, Sigmund? Art thou not well?"
+
+"No, I am not well," he answered; but with an expression of double
+meaning. "_Mir ist's nicht wohl._"
+
+"What ails thee?"
+
+"If you know what ails him, you know what ails me."
+
+"Do you not know yourself?" I asked.
+
+"No," said Sigmund, with a short sob. "He says he can not tell me."
+
+I slipped upon my knees beside the little bed, and paused a moment. I am
+not ashamed to say that I prayed to something which in my mind existed
+outside all earthly things--perhaps to the "Freude" which Schiller sung
+and Beethoven composed to--for help in the hardest task of my life.
+
+"Can not tell me." No wonder he could not tell that soft-eyed,
+clinging warmth; that subtle mixture of fire and softness, spirit and
+gentleness--that spirit which in the years of trouble they had passed
+together had grown part of his very nature--that they must part! No
+wonder that the father, upon whom the child built his every idea of what
+was great and good, beautiful, right and true in every shape and form,
+could not say, "You shall not stay with me; you shall be thrust forth to
+strangers; and, moreover, I will not see you nor speak to you, nor shall
+you hear my name; and this I will do without telling you why"--that he
+could not say this--what had the man been who could have said it?
+
+As I knelt in the darkness by Sigmund's little bed, and felt his pillow
+wet with his silent tears, and his hot cheek touching my hand, I knew it
+all. I believe I felt for once as a man who has begotten a child and
+must hurt it, repulse it, part from it, feels.
+
+"No, my child, he can not tell thee, because he loves thee so dearly,"
+said I. "But I can tell thee; I have his leave to tell thee, Sigmund."
+
+"Friedel?"
+
+"Thou art a very little boy, but thou art not like other boys; thy
+father is not just like other fathers."
+
+"I know it."
+
+"He is very sad."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And his life which he has to live will be a sad one."
+
+The child began to weep again. I had to pause. How was I to open my lips
+to instruct this baby upon the fearful, profound abyss of a subject--the
+evil and the sorrow that are in the world--how, how force those little
+tender, bare feet, from the soft grass on to the rough up-hill path all
+strewed with stones, and all rugged with ups and downs? It was horribly
+cruel.
+
+"Life is very sad sometimes, _mein_ Sigmund."
+
+"Is it?"
+
+"Yes. Some people, too, are much sadder than others. I think thy father
+is one of those people. Perhaps thou art to be another."
+
+"What my father is I will be," said he, softly; and I thought that it
+was another and a holier version of Eugen's words to me, wrung out of
+the inner bitterness of his heart. "The sins of the fathers shall be
+visited upon the children, even unto the third and fourth generation,
+whether they deserve it or not." The child, who knew nothing of the
+ancient saying, merely said with love and satisfaction swelling his
+voice to fullness, "What my father is, I will be."
+
+"Couldst thou give up something very dear for his sake?"
+
+"What a queer question!" said Sigmund. "I want nothing when I am with
+him."
+
+"_Ei! mein kind!_ Thou dost not know what I mean. What is the greatest
+joy of thy life? To be near thy father and see him, hear his voice, and
+touch him, and feel him near thee; _nicht?_"
+
+"Yes," said he, in a scarcely audible whisper.
+
+There was a pause, during which I was racking my brains to think of some
+way of introducing the rest without shocking him too much, when suddenly
+he said, in a clear, low voice:
+
+"That is it. He would never let me leave him, and he would never leave
+me."
+
+Silence again for a few moments, which seemed to deepen some sneaking
+shadow in the boy's mind, for he repeated through clinched teeth, and in
+a voice which fought hard against conviction, "Never, never, never!"
+
+"Sigmund--never of his own will. But remember what I said, that he is
+sad, and there is something in his life which makes him not only unable
+to do what he likes, but obliged to do exactly what he does not
+like--what he most hates and fears--to--to part from thee."
+
+"_Nein, nein, nein!_" said he. "Who can make him do anything he does not
+wish? Who can take me away from him?"
+
+"I do not know. I only know that it must be so. There is no escaping
+from it, and no getting out of it. It is horrible, but it is so.
+Sometimes, Sigmund, there are things in the world like this."
+
+"The world must be a very cruel place," he said, as if first struck with
+that fact.
+
+"Now dost thou understand, Sigmund, why he did not speak? Couldst thou
+have told him such a thing?"
+
+"Where is he?"
+
+"There, in the next room, and very sad for thee."
+
+Sigmund, before I knew what he was thinking of, was out of bed and had
+opened the door. I saw that Eugen looked up, saw the child standing in
+the door-way, sprung up, and Sigmund bounded to meet him. A cry as of a
+great terror came from the child. Self-restraint, so long maintained,
+broke down; he cried in a loud, frightened voice:
+
+"_Mein Vater_, Friedel says I must leave thee!" and burst into a storm
+of sobs and crying such as I had never before known him yield to. Eugen
+folded him in his arms, laid his head upon his breast, and clasping him
+very closely to him, paced about the room with him in silence, until the
+first fit of grief was over. I, from the dark room, watched them in a
+kind of languor, for I was weary, as though I had gone through some
+physical struggle.
+
+They passed to and fro like some moving dream. Bit by bit the child
+learned from his father's lips the pitiless truth, down to the last
+bitter drop; that the parting was to be complete, and they were not to
+see each other.
+
+"But never, never?" asked Sigmund, in a voice of terror and pain
+mingled.
+
+"When thou art a man that will depend upon thyself," said Eugen. "Thou
+wilt have to choose."
+
+"Choose what?"
+
+"Whether thou wilt see me again."
+
+"When I am a man may I choose?" he asked, raising his head with sudden
+animation.
+
+"Yes; I shall see to that."
+
+"Oh, very well. I have chosen now," said Sigmund, and the thought gave
+him visible joy and relief.
+
+Eugen kissed him passionately. Blessed ignorance of the hardening
+influences of the coming years! Blessed tenderness of heart
+and singleness of affection which could see no possibility that
+circumstances might make the acquaintance of a now loved and adored
+superior being appear undesirable! And blessed sanguineness of five
+years old, which could bridge the gulf between then and manhood, and
+cry, _Auf wiedersehen!_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+During the next few days more letters were exchanged. Eugen received one
+which he answered. Part of the answer he showed to me, and it ran thus:
+
+"I consent to this, but only upon one condition, which is that when my
+son is eighteen years old, you tell him all, and give him his choice
+whether he see me again or not. My word is given not to interfere in the
+matter, and I can trust yours when you promise that it shall be as I
+stipulate. I want your answer upon this point, which is very simple, and
+the single condition I make. It is, however, one which I can not and
+will not waive."
+
+"Thirteen years, Eugen," said I.
+
+"Yes; in thirteen years I shall be forty-three."
+
+"You will let me know what the answer to that is," I went on.
+
+He nodded. By return of post the answer came.
+
+"It is 'yes,'" said he, and paused. "The day after to-morrow he is to
+go."
+
+"Not alone, surely?"
+
+"No; some one will come for him."
+
+I heard some of the instructions he gave his boy.
+
+"There is one man where you are going, whom I wish you to obey as you
+would me, Sigmund," he told him.
+
+"Is he like thee?"
+
+"No; much better and wiser than I am. But, remember, he never commands
+twice. Thou must not question and delay as thou dost with thy
+weak-minded old father. He is the master in the place thou art going
+to."
+
+"Is it far from here?"
+
+"Not exceedingly far."
+
+"Hast thou been there?"
+
+"Oh, yes," said Eugen, in a peculiar tone, "often."
+
+"What must I call this man?" inquired Sigmund.
+
+"He will tell thee that. Do thou obey him and endeavor to do what he
+wishes, and so thou mayst know thou art best pleasing me."
+
+"And when I am a man I can choose to see thee again. But where wilt thou
+be?"
+
+"When the time comes thou wilt soon find me if it is necessary--And
+thy music," pursued Eugen. "Remember that in all troubles that may come
+to thee, and whatever thou mayst pass through, there is one great,
+beautiful goddess who abides above the troubles of men, and is often
+most beautiful in the hearts that are most troubled. Remember--whom?"
+
+"Beethoven," was the prompt reply.
+
+"Just so. And hold fast to the service of the goddess Music, the most
+beautiful thing in the world."
+
+"And thou art a musician," said Sigmund, with a little laugh, as if it
+"understood itself" that his father should naturally be a priest of "the
+most beautiful thing in the world."
+
+I hurry over that short time before the parting came. Eugen said to me:
+
+"They are sending for him--an old servant. I am not afraid to trust him
+with him."
+
+And one morning he came--the old servant. Sigmund happened at the moment
+not to be in the sitting-room; Eugen and I were. There was a knock, and
+in answer to our _Herein!_ there entered an elderly man of soldierly
+appearance, with a grizzled mustache, and stiff, military bearing; he
+was dressed in a very plain, but very handsome livery, and on entering
+the room and seeing Eugen, he paused just within the door, and saluted
+with a look of deep respect; nor did he attempt to advance further.
+Eugen had turned very pale.
+
+It struck me that he might have something to say to this messenger of
+fate, and with some words to that effect I rose to leave them together.
+Eugen laid his hand upon my arm.
+
+"Sit still, Friedhelm." And turning to the man, he added: "How were all
+when you left, Heinrich?"
+
+"Well, Herr Gr--"
+
+"Courvoisier."
+
+"All were well, _mein Herr_."
+
+"Wait a short time," said he.
+
+A silent inclination on the part of the man. Eugen went into the inner
+room where Sigmund was, and closed the door. There was silence. How long
+did it endure? What was passing there? What throes of parting? What
+grief not to be spoken or described?
+
+Meanwhile the elderly man-servant remained in his sentinel attitude, and
+with fixed expressionless countenance, within the door-way. Was the time
+long to him, or short?
+
+At last the door opened, and Sigmund came out alone. God help us all! It
+is terrible to see such an expression upon a child's soft face. White
+and set and worn as if with years of suffering was the beautiful little
+face. The elderly man started, surprised from his impassiveness, as the
+child came into the room. An irrepressible flash of emotion crossed his
+face; he made a step forward. Sigmund seemed as if he did not see us. He
+was making a mechanical way to the door, when I interrupted him.
+
+"Sigmund, do not forget thy old Friedhelm!" I cried, clasping him in my
+arms, and kissing his little pale face, thinking of the day, three years
+ago, when his father had brought him wrapped up in the plaid on that wet
+afternoon, and my heart had gone out to him.
+
+"_Lieber_ Friedhelm!" he said, returning my embrace, "Love my father
+when I--am gone. And--_auf--auf--wiedersehen_!"
+
+He loosed his arms from round my neck and went up to the man, saying:
+
+"I am ready."
+
+The large horny hand clasped round the small delicate one. The
+servant-man turned, and with a stiff, respectful bow to me, led Sigmund
+from the room. The door closed after him--he was gone. The light of two
+lonely lives was put out. Was our darling right or wrong in that
+persistent _auf wiedersehen_ of his?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+Resignation! Welch' elendes Hulfsmittel! und doch bleibt es mir das
+einzig Uebrige--_Briefe_ BEETHOVEN'S.
+
+
+Several small events which took place at this time had all their
+indirect but strong bearing on the histories of the characters in this
+veracious narrative. The great concert of the "Passions-musik" of Bach
+came off on the very evening of Sigmund's departure. It was, I confess,
+with some fear and trembling that I went to call Eugen to his duties,
+for he had not emerged from his own room since he had gone into it to
+send Sigmund away.
+
+He raised his face as I came in; he was sitting looking out of the
+window, and told me afterward that he had sat there, he believed, ever
+since he had been unable to catch another glimpse of the carriage which
+bore his darling away from him.
+
+"What is it, Friedel?" he asked, when I came in.
+
+I suggested in a subdued tone that the concert began in half an hour.
+
+"Ah, true!" said he, rising; "I must get ready. Let me see, what is it?"
+
+"The 'Passions-musik.'"
+
+"To be sure! Most appropriate music! I feel as if I could write a
+Passion Music myself just now."
+
+We had but to cross the road from our dwelling to the concert-room. As
+we entered the corridor two ladies also stepped into it from a very
+grand carriage. They were accompanied by a young man, who stood a little
+to one side to let them pass; and as they came up and we came up, von
+Francius came up too.
+
+One of the ladies was May Wedderburn, who was dressed in black, and
+looked exquisitely lovely to my eyes, and, I felt, to some others, with
+her warm auburn hair in shining coils upon her head. The other was a
+woman in whose pale, magnificent face I traced some likeness to our
+fair singer, but she was different; colder, grander, more severe. It
+so happened that the ladies barred the way as we arrived, and we had
+to stand by for a few moments as von Francius shook hands with Miss
+Wedderburn, and asked her smilingly if she were in good voice.
+
+She answered in the prettiest broken German I ever heard, and then
+turned to the lady, saying:
+
+"Adelaide, may I introduce Herr von Francius--Lady Le Marchant."
+
+A stately bow from the lady--a deep reverence, with a momentary glance
+of an admiration warmer than I had ever seen in his eyes, on the part
+of von Francius--a glance which was instantly suppressed to one of
+conventional inexpressiveness. I was pleased and interested with this
+little peep at a rank which I had never seen, and could have stood
+watching them for a long time; the splendid beauty and the great pride
+of bearing of the English lady were a revelation to me, and opened quite
+a large, unknown world before my mental eyes. Romances and poems, and
+men dying of love, or killing each other for it, no longer seemed
+ridiculous; for a smile or a warmer glance from that icily beautiful
+face must be something not to forget.
+
+It was Eugen who pushed forward, with a frown on his brow, and less than
+his usual courtesy. I saw his eyes and Miss Wedderburn's meet; I saw the
+sudden flush that ran over her fair face; the stern composure of his. He
+would own nothing; but I was strangely mistaken if he could say that it
+was merely because he had nothing to own.
+
+The concert was a success, so far as Miss Wedderburn went. If von
+Francius had allowed repetitions, one song at least would have been
+encored. As it was, she was a success. And von Francius spent his time
+in the pauses with her and her sister; in a grave, sedate way he and the
+English lady seemed to "get on."
+
+The concert was over. The next thing that was of any importance to
+us occurred shortly afterward. Von Francius had long been somewhat
+unpopular with his men, and at silent enmity with Eugen, who was, on the
+contrary, a universal favorite. There came a crisis, and the men sent a
+deputation to Eugen to say that if he would accept the post of leader
+they would strike, and refuse to accept any other than he.
+
+This was an opportunity for distinguishing himself. He declined the
+honor; his words were few; he said something about how kind we had all
+been to him, "from the time when I arrived; when Friedhelm Helfen, here,
+took me in, gave me every help and assistance in his power, and showed
+how appropriate his name was;[C] and so began a friendship which, please
+Heaven, shall last till death divides us, and perhaps go on afterward."
+He ended by saying some words which made a deep impression upon me.
+After saying that he might possibly leave Elberthal, he added: "Lastly,
+I can not be your leader because I never intend to be any one's
+leader--more than I am now," he added, with a faint smile. "A kind of
+deputy, you know. I am not fit to be a leader. I have no gift in that
+line--"
+
+[Footnote C: _Helfen_--to help.]
+
+"_Doch!_" from half a dozen around.
+
+"None whatever. I intend to remain in my present condition--no lower if
+I can help it, but certainly no higher. I have good reasons for knowing
+it to be my duty to do so."
+
+And then he urged them so strongly to stand by Herr von Francius that we
+were quite astonished. He told them that von Francius would some time
+rank with Schumann, Raff, or Rubinstein, and that the men who rejected
+him now would then be pointed out as ignorant and prejudiced.
+
+And amid the silence that ensued, he began to direct us--we had a probe
+to Liszt's "Prometheus," I remember.
+
+He had won the day for von Francius, and von Francius, getting to hear
+of it, came one day to see him and frankly apologized for his prejudice
+in the past, and asked Eugen for his friendship in the future. Eugen's
+answer puzzled me.
+
+"I am glad, you know, that I honor your genius, and wish you well," said
+he, "and your offer of friendship honors me. Suppose I say I accept
+it--until you see cause to withdraw it."
+
+"You are putting rather a remote contingency to the front," said von
+Francius.
+
+"Perhaps--perhaps not," said Eugen, with a singular smile. "At least I
+am glad to have had this token of your sense of generosity. We are on
+different paths, and my friends are not on the same level as yours--"
+
+"Excuse me; every true artist must be a friend of every other true
+artist. We recognize no division of rank or possession."
+
+Eugen bowed, still smiling ambiguously, nor could von Francius prevail
+upon him to say anything nearer or more certain. They parted, and long
+afterward I learned the truth, and knew the bitterness which must have
+been in Eugen's heart; the shame, the gloom; the downcast sorrow, as he
+refused indirectly but decidedly the thing he would have liked so
+well--to shake the hand of a man high in position and honorable in
+name--look him in the face and say, "I accept your friendship--nor need
+you be ashamed of wearing mine openly."
+
+He refused the advance; he refused that and every other opening for
+advancement. The man seemed to have a horror of advancement, or of
+coming in any way forward. He rejected even certain offers which were
+made that he should perform some solos at different concerts in
+Elberthal and the neighborhood. I once urged him to become rich and have
+Sigmund back again. He said: "If I had all the wealth in Germany, it
+would divide us further still."
+
+I have said nothing about the blank which Sigmund's absence made in our
+lives, simply because it was too great a blank to describe. Day after
+day we felt it, and it grew keener, and the wound smarted more sharply.
+One can not work all day long, and in our leisure hours we learned to
+know only too well that he was gone--and gone indeed. That which
+remained to us was the "Resignation," the "miserable assistant" which
+poor Beethoven indicated with such a bitter smile. We took it to us as
+inmate and _Hausfreund_, and made what we could of it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+"So runs the world away."
+
+
+K�nigsall�e, No. 3, could scarcely be called a happy establishment. I
+saw much of its inner life, and what I saw made me feel mortally
+sad--envy, hatred, and malice; no hour of satisfaction; my sister's
+bitter laughs and sneers and jibes at men and things; Sir Peter's calm
+consciousness of his power, and his no less calm, crushing, unvarying
+manner of wielding it--of silently and horribly making it felt.
+Adelaide's very nature appeared to have changed. From a lofty
+indifference to most things, to sorrow and joy, to the hopes, fears,
+and feelings of others, she had become eager, earnest, passionate,
+resenting ill-usage, strenuously desiring her own way, deeply angry when
+she could not get it. To say that Sir Peter's influence upon her was
+merely productive of a negative dislike would be ridiculous. It was
+productive of an intense, active hatred, a hatred which would gladly, if
+it could, have vented itself in deeds. That being impossible, it showed
+itself in a haughty, unbroken indifference of demeanor which it seemed
+to be Sir Peter's present aim in some way to break down, for not only
+did she hate him--he hated her.
+
+She used to the utmost what liberty she had. She was not a woman to talk
+of regret for what she had done, or to own that she had miscalculated
+her game. Her life was a great failure, and that failure had been
+brought home to her mind in a mercilessly short space of time; but of
+what use to bewail it? She was not yet conquered. The bitterness of
+spirit which she carried about with her took the form of a scoffing
+pessimism. A hard laugh at the things which made other people shake
+their heads and uplift their hands; a ready scoff at all tenderness; a
+sneer at anything which could by any stretch of imagination be called
+good; a determined running up of what was hard, sordid, and worldly, and
+a persistent and utter skepticism as to the existence of the reverse of
+those things; such was now the yea, yea, and nay, nay, of her
+communication.
+
+To a certain extent she had what she had sold herself for; outside pomp
+and show in plenty--carriages, horses, servants, jewels, and clothes.
+Sir Peter liked, to use his own expression, "to see my lady blaze
+away"--only she must blaze away in his fashion, not hers. He declared he
+did not know how long he might remain in Elberthal; spoke vaguely of
+"business at home," about which he was waiting to hear, and said that
+until he heard the news he wanted, he could not move from the place he
+was in. He was in excellent spirits at seeing his wife chafing under the
+confinement to a place she detested, and appeared to find life sweet.
+
+Meanwhile she, using her liberty, as I said, to the utmost extent, had
+soon plunged into the midst of the fastest set in Elberthal.
+
+There was a fast set there as there was a musical set, an artistic set,
+a religious set, a free-thinking set; for though it was not so large or
+so rich as many dull, wealthy towns in England, it presented from its
+mixed inhabitants various phases of society.
+
+This set into which Adelaide had thrown herself was the fast one; a
+coterie of officers, artists, the richer merchants and bankers, medical
+men, literati, and the young (and sometimes old) wives, sisters and
+daughters of the same; many of them priding themselves upon not being
+natives of Elberthal, but coming from larger and gayer towns--Berlin,
+Dresden, Hamburg, Frankfurt, and others.
+
+They led a gay enough life among themselves--a life of theater, concert,
+and opera-going, of dances, private at home, public at the Malkasten or
+Artists' Club, flirtations, marriages, engagements, disappointments, the
+usual dreary and monotonous round. They considered themselves the only
+society worthy the name in Elberthal, and whoever was not of their set
+was _niemand_.
+
+I was partly dragged, partly I went to a certain extent of my own will,
+into this vortex. I felt myself to have earned a larger experience now
+of life and life's realities. I questioned when I should once have
+discreetly inclined the head and held my peace. I had a mind to examine
+this clique and the characters of some of its units, and see in what it
+was superior to some other acquaintances (in an humbler sphere) with
+whom my lot had been cast. As time went on I found the points of
+superiority to decrease--those of inferiority rapidly to increase.
+
+I troubled myself little about them and their opinions. My joys and
+griefs, hopes and fears, lay so entirely outside their circle that I
+scarce noticed whether they noticed me or not. I felt and behaved coldly
+toward them! to the women because their voices never had the ring of
+genuine liking in speaking to me; to the men because I found them as a
+rule shallow, ignorant, and pretentious; repellent to me, as I dare say
+I, with my inability to understand them, was to them. I saw most men and
+things through a distorting glass; that of contrast, conscious or
+unconscious, with Courvoisier.
+
+My musician, I reasoned, wrongly or rightly, had three times their wit,
+three times their good looks, manners and information, and many times
+three times their common sense, as well as a juster appreciation of
+his own merits; besides which, my musician was not a person whose
+acquaintance and esteem were to be had for the asking--or even for a
+great deal more than the asking, while it seemed that these young
+gentleman gave their society to any one who could live in a certain
+style and talk a certain _argot_, and their esteem to every one who
+could give them often enough the savory meat that their souls loved, and
+the wine of a certain quality which made glad their hearts, and rendered
+them of a cheerful countenance.
+
+But my chief reason for mixing with people who were certainly as a rule
+utterly distasteful and repugnant to me, was because I could not bear to
+leave Adelaide alone. I pitied her in her lonely and alienated misery;
+and I knew that it was some small solace to her to have me with her.
+
+The tale of one day will give an approximate idea of most of the days I
+spent with her. I was at the time staying with her. Our hours were late.
+Breakfast was not over till ten, that is by Adelaide and myself. Sir
+Peter was an exceedingly active person, both in mind and body, who saw
+after the management of his affairs in England in the minutest manner
+that absence would allow. Toward half past eleven he strolled into the
+room in which we were sitting, and asked what we were doing.
+
+"Looking over costumes," said I, as Adelaide made no answer, and I
+raised my eyes from some colored illustrations.
+
+"Costumes--what kind of costumes?"
+
+"Costumes for the maskenball," I answered, taking refuge in brevity of
+reply.
+
+"Oh!" He paused. Then, turning suddenly to Adelaide:
+
+"And what is this entertainment, my lady?"
+
+"The Carnival Ball," said she, almost inaudibly, between her closed
+lips, as she shut the book of illustrations, pushed it away from her,
+and leaned back in her chair.
+
+"And you think you would like to go to the Carnival Ball, hey?"
+
+"No, I do not," said she, as she stroked her lap-dog with a long, white
+hand on which glittered many rings, and steadily avoided looking at him.
+She did wish to go to the ball, but she knew that it was as likely as
+not that if she displayed any such desire he would prevent it. Despite
+her curt reply she foresaw impending the occurrence which she most of
+anything disliked--a conversation with Sir Peter. He placed himself in
+our midst, and requested to look at the pictures. In silence I handed
+him the book. I never could force myself to smile when he was there, nor
+overcome a certain restraint of demeanor which rather pleased and
+flattered him than otherwise. He glanced sharply round in the silence
+which followed his joining our company, and turning over the
+illustrations, said:
+
+"I thought I heard some noise when I came in. Don't let me interrupt the
+conversation."
+
+But the conversation was more than interrupted; it was dead--the life
+frozen out of it by his very appearance.
+
+"When is the carnival, and when does this piece of tomfoolery come off?"
+he inquired, with winning grace of diction.
+
+"The carnival begins this year on the 26th of February. The ball is on
+the 27th," said I, confining myself to facts and figures.
+
+"And how do you get there? By paying?"
+
+"Well, you have to pay--yes. But you must get your tickets from some
+member of the Malkasten Club. It is the artists' ball, and they arrange
+it all."
+
+"H'm! Ha! And as what do you think of going, Adelaide?" he inquired,
+turning with suddenness toward her.
+
+"I tell you I had not thought of going--nor thought anything about it.
+Herr von Francius sent us the pictures, and we were looking over them.
+That is all."
+
+Sir Peter turned over the pages and looked at the commonplace costumes
+therein suggested--Joan of Arc, Cleopatra, Picardy Peasant, Maria
+Stuart, a Snow Queen, and all the rest of them.
+
+"Well, I don't see anything here that I would wear if I were a woman,"
+he said, as he closed the book. "February, did you say?"
+
+"Yes," said I, as no one else spoke.
+
+"Well, it is the middle of January now. You had better be looking out
+for something; but don't let it be anything in those books. Let the
+beggarly daubers see how English women do these things."
+
+"Do you intend me to understand that you wish us to go to the ball?"
+inquired Adelaide, in an icy kind of voice.
+
+"Yes, I do," almost shouted Sir Peter. Adelaide could, despite the whip
+and rein with which he held her, exasperate and irritate him--by no
+means more thoroughly than by pretending that she did not understand
+his grandiloquent allusions, and the vague grandness of the commands
+which he sometimes gave. "I mean you to go, and your little sister here,
+and Arkwright too. I don't know about myself. Now, I am going to ride.
+Good-morning."
+
+As Sir Peter went out, von Francius came in. Sir Peter greeted him with
+a grin and exaggerated expressions of affability at which von Francius
+looked silently scornful. Sir Peter added:
+
+"Those two ladies are puzzled to know what they shall wear at the
+Carnival Ball. Perhaps you can give them your assistance."
+
+Then he went away. It was as if a half-muzzled wolf had left the room.
+
+Von Francius had come to give me my lesson, which was now generally
+taken at my sister's house and in her presence, and after which von
+Francius usually remained some half hour or so in conversation with one
+or both of us. He had become an _intime_ of the house. I was glad of
+this, and that without him nothing seemed complete, no party rounded,
+scarcely an evening finished.
+
+When he was not with us in the evening, we were somewhere where he was;
+either at a concert or a probe, or at the theater or opera, or one of
+the fashionable lectures which were then in season.
+
+It could hardly be said that von Francius was a more frequent visitor
+than some other men at the house, but from the first his attitude with
+regard to Adelaide had been different. Some of those other men were, or
+professed to be, desperately in love with the beautiful English woman;
+there was always a half gallantry in their behavior, a homage which
+might not be very earnest, but which was homage all the same, to a
+beautiful woman. With von Francius it had never been thus, but there had
+been a gravity and depth about their intercourse which pleased me. I had
+never had the least apprehension with regard to those other people; she
+might amuse herself with them; it would only be amusement, and some
+contempt.
+
+But von Francius was a man of another mettle. It had struck me almost
+from the first that there might be some danger, and I was unfeignedly
+thankful to see that as time went on and his visits grew more and more
+frequent and the intimacy deeper, not a look, not a sign occurred to
+hint that it ever was or would be more than acquaintance, liking,
+appreciation, friendship, in successive stages. Von Francius had never
+from the first treated her as an ordinary person, but with a kind of
+tacit understanding that something not to be spoken of lay behind all
+she did and said, with the consciousness that the skeleton in Adelaide's
+cupboard was more ghastly to look upon than most people's secret
+specters, and that it persisted, with an intrusiveness and want of
+breeding peculiar to guests of that caliber, in thrusting its society
+upon her at all kinds of inconvenient times.
+
+I enjoyed these music lessons, I must confess. Von Francius had begun to
+teach me music now, as well as singing. By this time I had resigned
+myself to the conviction that such talent as I might have lay in my
+voice, not my fingers, and accepted it as part of the conditions which
+ordain that in every human life shall be something _manqu�_, something
+incomplete.
+
+The most memorable moments with me have been those in which pain and
+pleasure, yearning and satisfaction, knowledge and seeking, have been so
+exquisitely and so intangibly blended, in listening to some deep sonata,
+some stately and pathetic old _ciacconna_ or gavotte, some concerto or
+symphony; the thing nearest heaven is to sit apart with closed eyes
+while the orchestra or the individual performer interprets for one the
+mystic poetry, or the dramatic fire, or the subtle cobweb refinements of
+some instrumental poem.
+
+I would rather have composed a certain little "Traumerei" of Schumann's
+or a "Barcarole" of Rubinstein's, or a sonata of Schubert's than have
+won all the laurels of Grisi, all the glory of Malibran and Jenny Lind.
+
+But it was not to be. I told myself so, and yet I tried so hard in my
+halting, bungling way to worship the goddess of my idolatry, that my
+master had to restrain me.
+
+"Stop!" said he this morning, when I had been weakly endeavoring to
+render a _ciacconna_ from a suite of Lachner's, which had moved me to
+thoughts too deep for tears at the last symphonie concert. "Stop,
+Fr�ulein May! Duty first; your voice before your fingers."
+
+"Let me try once again!" I implored.
+
+He shut up the music and took it from the desk.
+
+"_Entbehren sollst du; sollst entbehren!_" said he, dryly.
+
+I took my lesson and then practiced shakes for an hour, while he talked
+to Adelaide; and then, she being summoned to visitors, he went away.
+
+Later I found Adelaide in the midst of a lot of visitors--Herr Hauptmann
+This, Herr Lieutenant That, Herr Maler The Other, Herr Concertmeister
+So-and-So--for von Francius was not the only musician who followed in
+her train. But there I am wrong. He did not follow in her train; he
+might stand aside and watch the others who did; but following was not in
+his line.
+
+There were ladies there too--gay young women, who rallied round Lady Le
+Marchant as around a master spirit in the art of _Zeitvertreib_.
+
+This lev�e lasted till the bell rang for lunch, when we went into the
+dining-room, and found Sir Peter and his secretary, young Arkwright,
+already seated. He--Arkwright--was a good-natured, tender-hearted lad,
+devoted to Adelaide. I do not think he was very happy or very well
+satisfied with his place, but from his salary he half supported a mother
+and sister, and so was fain to "grin and bear it."
+
+Sir Peter was always exceedingly affectionate to me. I hated to be in
+the same room with him, and while I detested him, was also conscious of
+an unheroic fear of him. For Adelaide's sake I was as attentive to him
+as I could make myself, in order to free her a little from his
+surveillance, for poor Adelaide Wedderburn, with her few pounds of
+annual pocket-money, and her proud, restless, ambitious spirit, had been
+a free, contented woman in comparison with Lady Le Marchant.
+
+On the day in question he was particularly amiable, called me "my dear"
+every time he spoke to me, and complimented me upon my good looks,
+telling me I was growing monstrous handsome--ay, devilish handsome, by
+Gad! far outstripping my lady, who had gone off dreadfully in her good
+looks, hadn't she, Arkwright?
+
+Poor Arkwright, tingling with a scorching blush, and ready to sink
+through the floor with confusion, stammered out that he had never
+thought of venturing to remark upon my Lady Le Marchant's looks.
+
+"What a lie, Arkwright! You know you watch her as if she was the apple
+of your eye," chuckled Sir Peter, smiling round upon the company with
+his cold, glittering eyes. "What are you blushing so for, my pretty
+May? Isn't there a song something about my pretty May, my dearest May,
+eh?"
+
+"My pretty Jane, I suppose you mean," said I, nobly taking his attention
+upon myself, while Adelaide sat motionless and white as marble, and
+Arkwright cooled down somewhat from his state of shame and anguish at
+being called upon to decide which of us eclipsed the other in good
+looks.
+
+"Pretty Jane! Whoever heard of a pretty Jane?" said Sir Peter. "If it
+isn't May, it ought to be. At any rate, there was a Charming May."
+
+"The month--not a person."
+
+"Pretty Jane, indeed! You must sing me that after lunch, and then we can
+see whether the song was pretty or not, my dear, eh?"
+
+"Certainly, Sir Peter, if you like."
+
+"Yes, I do like. My lady here seems to have lost her voice lately. I
+can't imagine the reason. I am sure she has everything to make her sing
+for joy; have you not, my dear?"
+
+"Everything, and more than everything," replies my lady, laconically.
+
+"And she has a strong sense of duty, too; loves those whom she ought to
+love, and despises those whom she ought to despise. She always has done,
+from her infancy up to the time when she loved me and despised public
+opinion for my sake."
+
+The last remark was uttered in tones of deeper malignity, while the eyes
+began to glare, and the under lip to droop, and the sharp eye-teeth,
+which lent such a very emphatic point to all Sir Peter's smiles, sneers,
+and facial movements in general, gleamed.
+
+Adelaide's lip quivered for a second; her color momentarily faded.
+
+In this kind of light and agreeable badinage the meal passed over, and
+we were followed into the drawing-room by Sir Peter, loudly demanding
+"'My Pretty Jane'--or May, or whatever it was."
+
+"We are going out," said my lady. "You can have it another time. May can
+not sing the moment she has finished lunch."
+
+"Hold your tongue, my dear," said Sir Peter; and inspired by an
+agreeable and playful humor, he patted his wife's shoulder and pinched
+her ear.
+
+The color fled from her very lips and she stood pale and rigid with a
+look in her eyes which I interpreted to mean a shuddering recoil,
+stopped by sheer force of will.
+
+Sir Peter turned with an engaging laugh to me:
+
+"Miss May--bonny May--made me a promise, and she must keep it; or if she
+doesn't I shall take the usual forfeit. We know what that is. Upon my
+word, I almost wish she would break her promise."
+
+"I have no wish to break my promise," said I, hastening to the piano,
+and then and there singing "My Pretty Jane," and one or two others,
+after which he released us, chuckling at having contrived to keep my
+lady so long waiting for her drive.
+
+The afternoon's programme was, I confess, not without attraction to me;
+for I knew that I was pretty, and I had not one of the strong and
+powerful minds which remained unelated by admiration and undepressed by
+the absence of it.
+
+We drove to the picture exhibitions, and at both of them had a little
+crowd attending us. That crowd consisted chiefly of admirers, or
+professed admirers, of my sister, with von Francius in addition, who
+dropped in at the first exhibition.
+
+Von Francius did not attend my sister; it was by my side that he
+remained and it was to me that he talked. He looked on at the men who
+were around her, but scarcely addressed her himself.
+
+There was a clique of young artists who chose to consider the wealth of
+Sir Peter Le Marchant as fabulous, and who paid court to his wife from
+mixed motives; the prevailing one being a hope that she would be smitten
+by some picture of theirs at a fancy price, and order it to be sent
+home--as if she ever saw with anything beyond the most superficial
+outward eye those pictures, and as if it lay in her power to order any
+one, even the smallest and meanest of them. These ingenuous artists had
+yet to learn that Sir Peter's picture purchases were formed from his own
+judgment, through the medium of himself or his secretary, armed with
+strict injunctions as to price, and upon the most purely practical and
+business-like principles--not in the least at the caprice of his wife.
+
+We went to the larger gallery last. As we entered it I turned aside with
+von Francius to look at a picture in a small back room, and when we
+turned to follow the others, they had all gone forward into the large
+room; but standing at the door by which we had entered, and looking
+calmly after us, was Courvoisier.
+
+A shock thrilled me. It was some time since I had seen him; for I had
+scarcely been at my lodgings for a fortnight, and we had had no
+haupt-proben lately. I had heard some rumor that important things--or,
+as Frau Lutzler gracefully expressed it, _was wichtiges_--had taken
+place between von Francius and the kapelle, and that Courvoisier had
+taken a leading part in the affair. To-day the greeting between the two
+men was a cordial if a brief one.
+
+Eugen's eyes scarcely fell upon me; he included me in his bow--that was
+all. All my little day-dream of growing self-complacency was shattered,
+scattered; the old feeling of soreness, smallness, wounded pride, and
+bruised self-esteem came back again. I felt a wild, angry desire to
+compel some other glance from those eyes than that exasperating one of
+quiet indifference. I felt it like a lash every time I encountered it.
+Its very coolness and absence of emotion stung me and made me quiver.
+
+We and Courvoisier entered the large room at the same time. While
+Adelaide was languidly making its circuit, von Francius and I sat upon
+the ottoman in the middle of the room. I watched Eugen, even if he took
+no notice of me--watched him till every feeling of rest, every hard-won
+conviction of indifference to him and feeling of regard conquered came
+tumbling down in ignominious ruins. I knew he had had a fiery trial. His
+child, for whom I used to watch his adoration with a dull kind of envy,
+had left him. There was some mystery about it, and much pain. Frau
+Lutzler had begun to tell me a long story culled from one told her by
+Frau Schmidt, and I had stopped her, but knew that "Herr Courvoisier was
+not like the same man any more."
+
+That trouble was visible in firmly marked lines, even now; he looked
+subdued, older, and his face was thin and worn. Yet never had I noticed
+so plainly before the bright light of intellect in his eye; the noble
+stamp of mind upon his brow. There was more than the grace of a kindly
+nature in the pleasant curve of the lips--there was thought, power,
+intellectual strength. I compared him with the young men who were at
+this moment dangling round my sister. Not one among them could approach
+him--not merely in stature and breadth and the natural grace and dignity
+of carriage, but in far better things--in the mind that dominates sense;
+the will that holds back passion with a hand as strong and firm as that
+of a master over the dog whom he chooses to obey him. This man--I write
+from knowledge--had the capacity to appreciate and enjoy life--to taste
+its pleasures--never to excess, but with no ascetic's lips. But the
+natural prompting--the moral "eat, drink, and be merry," was held back
+with a ruthless hand, with chain of iron, and biting thong to chastise
+pitilessly each restive movement. He dreed out his weird most
+thoroughly, and drank the cup presented to him to the last dregs.
+
+When the weird is very long and hard--when the flavor of the cup is
+exceeding bitter, this process leaves its effects in the form of sobered
+mien, gathering wrinkles, and a permanent shadow on the brow, and in the
+eyes. So it was with him.
+
+He went round the room, looking at a picture here and there with the eye
+of a connoisseur--then pausing before the one which von Francius had
+brought me to look at on Christmas-day, Courvoisier, folding his arms,
+stood before it and surveyed it, straightly, and without moving a
+muscle; coolly, criticisingly and very fastidiously. The _blas�_-looking
+individual in the foreground received, I saw, a share of his
+attention--the artist, too, in the background; the model, with the white
+dress, oriental fan, bare arms, and half-bored, half-cynic look. He
+looked at them all long--attentively--then turned away; the only token
+of approval or disapproval which he vouchsafed being a slight smile and
+a slight shrug, both so very slight as to be almost imperceptible. Then
+he passed on--glanced at some other pictures--at my sister, on whom his
+eyes dwelt for a moment as if he thought that she at least made a very
+beautiful picture; then out of the room.
+
+"Do you know him?" said von Francius, quite softly, to me.
+
+I started violently. I had utterly forgotten that he was at my side, and
+I know not what tales my face had been telling. I turned to find the
+dark and impenetrable eyes of von Francius fixed on me.
+
+"A little," I said.
+
+"Then you know a generous, high-minded man--a man who has made me feel
+ashamed of myself--and a man to whom I made an apology the other day
+with pleasure."
+
+My heart warmed. This praise of Eugen by a man whom I admired so
+devotedly as I did Max von Francius seemed to put me right with myself
+and the world.
+
+Soon afterward we left the exhibition, and while the others went away it
+appeared somehow by the merest casualty that von Francius was asked to
+drive back with us and have afternoon tea, _englischerweise_--which he
+did, after a moment's hesitation.
+
+After tea he left for an orchestra probe to the next Saturday's concert;
+but with an _auf wiedersehen_, for the probe will not last long, and we
+shall meet again at the opera and later at the Malkasten Ball.
+
+I enjoyed going to the theater. I knew my dress was pretty. I knew that
+I looked nice, and that people would look at me, and that I, too, should
+have my share of admiration and compliments as a _sch�ne Engl�nderin_.
+
+We were twenty minutes late--naturally. All the people in the place
+stare at us and whisper about us, partly because we have a conspicuous
+place--the proscenium loge to the right of the stage, partly because we
+are in full toilet--an almost unprecedented circumstance in that homely
+theater--partly, I suppose, because Adelaide is supremely beautiful.
+
+Mr. Arkwright was already with us. Von Francius joined us after the
+first act, and remained until the end. Almost the only words he
+exchanged with Adelaide were:
+
+"Have you seen this opera before, Lady Le Marchant?"
+
+"No; never."
+
+It was Auber's merry little opera, "Des Teufels Antheil." The play was
+played. Von Francius was beside me. Whenever I looked down I saw Eugen,
+with the same calm, placid indifference upon his face; and again I felt
+the old sensation of soreness, shame, and humiliation. I feel wrought
+up to a great pitch of nervous excitement when we leave the theater and
+drive to the Malkasten, where there is more music--dance music, and
+where the ball is at its height. And in a few moments I find myself
+whirling down the room in the arms of von Francius, to the music of
+"Mein sch�nster Tag in Baden," and wishing very earnestly that the
+heart-sickness I feel would make me ill or faint, or anything that would
+send me home to quietness and--him. But it does not have the desired
+effect. I am in a fever; I am all too vividly conscious, and people tell
+me how well I am looking, and that rosy cheeks become me better than
+pale ones.
+
+They are merry parties, these dances at the Malkasten, in the quaintly
+decorated saal of the artists' club-house. There is a certain license in
+the dress. Velvet coats, and coats, too, in many colors, green and prune
+and claret, vying with black, are not tabooed. There are various
+uniforms of hussars, infantry, and uhlans, and some of the women, too,
+are dressed in a certain fantastically picturesque style to please their
+artist brothers or _fianc�s_.
+
+The dancing gets faster, and the festivities are kept up late. Songs are
+sung which perhaps would not be heard in a quiet drawing-room; a little
+acting is done with them. Music is played, and von Francius, in a
+vagrant mood, sits down and improvises a fitful, stormy kind of
+fantasia, which in itself and in his playing puts me much in mind of the
+weird performances of the Abbate Liszt.
+
+I at least hear another note than of yore, another touch. The soul that
+it wanted seems gradually creeping into it. He tells a strange story
+upon the quivering keys--it is becoming tragic, sad, pathetic. He says
+hastily to me and in an under-tone: "Fr�ulein May, this is a thought of
+one of your own poets:
+
+     "'How sad, and mad, and bad it was,
+     And yet how it was sweet.'"
+
+I am almost in tears, and every face is affording illustrations for "The
+Expressions of the Emotions in Men and Women," when it suddenly breaks
+off with a loud, Ha! ha! ha! which sounds as if it came from a human
+voice, and jars upon me, and then he breaks into a waltz, pushing the
+astonished musicians aside, and telling the company to dance while he
+pipes.
+
+A mad dance to a mad tune. He plays and plays on, ever faster, and ever
+a wilder measure, with strange eerie clanging chords in it which are not
+like dance notes, until Adelaide prepares to go, and then he suddenly
+ceases, springs up, and comes with us to our carriage. Adelaide looks
+white and worn.
+
+Again at the carriage door, "a pair of words" passes between them.
+
+"Milady is tired?" from him, in a courteous tone, as his dark eyes dwell
+upon her face.
+
+"Thanks, Herr Direktor, I am generally tired," from her, with a slight
+smile, as she folds her shawl across her breast with one hand, and
+extends the other to him.
+
+"Milady, adieu."
+
+"Adieu, Herr von Francius."
+
+The ball is over, and I think we have all had enough of it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+THE CARNIVAL BALL.
+
+
+"Aren't you coming to the ball, Eugen?"
+
+"I? No."
+
+"I would if I were you."
+
+"But you are yourself, you see, and I am I. What was it that Heinrich
+Mohr in 'The Children of the World' was always saying? _Ich bin ich,
+und setze mich selbst._ Ditto me, that's all."
+
+"It is no end of a lark," I pursued.
+
+"My larking days are over."
+
+"And you can talk to any one you like."
+
+"I am going to talk to myself, thanks. I have long wanted a little
+conversation with that interesting individual, and while you are
+masquerading, I will be doing the reverse. By the time you come home I
+shall be so thoroughly self-investigated and set to rights that a mere
+look at me will shake all the frivolity out of you."
+
+"Miss Wedderburn will be there."
+
+"I hope she may enjoy it."
+
+"At least she will look so lovely that she will make others enjoy it."
+
+He made no answer.
+
+"You won't go--quite certain?"
+
+"Quite certain, _mein lieber_. Go yourself, and may you have much
+pleasure."
+
+Finding that he was in earnest, I went out to hire one domino and
+purchase one mask, instead of furnishing myself, as I had hoped, with
+two of each of those requisites.
+
+It was Sunday, the first day of the carnival, and that devoted to the
+ball of the season. There were others given, but this was the Malerball,
+or artists' ball. It was considered rather select, and had I not been
+lucky enough to have one or two pupils, members of the club, who had
+come forward with offerings of tickets, I might have tried in vain to
+gain admittance.
+
+Everybody in Elherthal who was anybody would be at this ball. I had
+already been at one like it, as well as at several of the less select
+and rougher entertainments, and I found a pleasure which was somewhat
+strange even to myself in standing to one side and watching the motley
+throng and the formal procession which was every year organized by the
+artists who had the management of the proceedings.
+
+The ball began at the timely hour of seven; about nine I enveloped
+myself in my domino, and took my way across the road to the scene of the
+festivities, which took up the whole three saals of the Tonhalle.
+
+The night was bitter cold, but cold with that rawness which speaks of a
+coming thaw. The lamps were lighted, and despite the cold there was a
+dense crowd of watchers round the front of the building and in the
+gardens, with cold, inquisitive noses flattened against the long glass
+doors through which I have seen the people stream in the pleasant May
+evenings after the concert or musikfest into the illuminated gardens.
+
+The last time I had been in the big saal had been to attend a dry probe
+to a dry concert--the "Erste Walpurgisnacht" of Mendelssohn. The scene
+was changed now; the whole room was a mob--"motley the only wear." It
+was full to excess, so that there was scarcely room to move about, much
+less for dancing. For that purpose the middle saal of the three had been
+set aside, or rather a part of it railed off.
+
+I felt a pleasant sense of ease and well-being--a security that I should
+not be recognized, as I had drawn the pointed hood of my domino over my
+head, and enveloped myself closely in its ample folds, and thus I could
+survey the brilliant Maskenball as I surveyed life from a quiet,
+unnoticed obscurity, and without taking part in its active affairs.
+
+There was music going on as I entered. It could scarcely be heard above
+the Babel of tongues which was sounding. People were moving as well as
+they could. I made my way slowly and unobtrusively toward the upper end
+of the saal, intending to secure a place on the great orchestra, and
+thence survey the procession.
+
+I recognized dozens of people whom I knew personally, or by sight, or
+name, transformed from sober Rhenish burger, or youths of the period,
+into persons and creatures whose appropriateness or inappropriateness to
+their every-day character it gave me much joy to witness. The most
+foolish young man I knew was attired as Cardinal Richelieu; the wisest,
+in certain respects, had a buffoon's costume, and plagued the statesman
+and churchman grievously.
+
+By degrees I made my way through the mocking, taunting, flouting,
+many-colored crowd, to the orchestra, and gradually up its steps until I
+stood upon a fine vantage-ground. Near me were others; I looked round.
+One party seemed to keep very much together--a party which for richness
+and correctness of costume outshone all others in the room. Two ladies,
+one dark and one fair, were dressed as Elsa and Ortrud. A man, whose
+slight, tall, commanding figure I soon recognized, was attired in the
+blue mantle, silver helm and harness of Lohengrin the son of Percivale;
+and a second man, too boyish-looking for the character, was masked as
+Frederic of Telramund. Henry the Fowler was wanting, but the group was
+easily to be recognized as personating the four principal characters
+from Wagner's great opera.
+
+They had apparently not been there long, for they had not yet unmasked.
+I had, however, no difficulty in recognizing any of them. The tall, fair
+girl in the dress of Elsa was Miss Wedderburn; the Ortrud was Lady Le
+Marchant, and right well she looked the character. Lohengrin was von
+Francius, and Friedrich von Telramund was Mr. Arkwright, Sir Peter's
+secretary. Here was a party in whom I could take some interest, and I
+immediately and in the most unprincipled manner devoted myself to
+watching them--myself unnoticed.
+
+"Who in all that motley crowd would I wish to be?" I thought, as my eyes
+wandered over them.
+
+The procession was just forming; the voluptuous music of "Die Tausend
+und eine Nacht" waltzes was floating from the gallery and through the
+room. They went sweeping past--or running, or jumping; a ballet-girl
+whose mustache had been too precious to be parted with and a lady of the
+_vielle cour_ beside her, nuns and corpses; Christy Minstrels (English,
+these last, whose motives were constantly misunderstood), fools and
+astrologers, Gretchens, Cl�rchens, devils, Egmonts, Joans of Arc enough
+to have rescued France a dozen times, and peasants of every race: Turks
+and Finns; American Indians and Alfred the Great--it was tedious and
+dazzling.
+
+Then the procession was got into order; a long string of German legends,
+all the misty chronicle of Gudrun, the "Nibelungenlied" and the
+Rheingold--Siegfried and Kriemhild--those two everlasting figures of
+beauty and heroism, love and tragedy, which stand forth in hues of pure
+brightness that no time can dim; Brunhild and von Tronje-Hagen--this was
+before the days of Bayreuth and the Tetralogy--Tannhauser and Lohengrin,
+the Loreley, Walther von der Vogelweide, the two Elizabeths of the
+Wartburg, dozens of obscure legends and figures from "Volkslieder" and
+Folklore which I did not recognize; "Dornroschen," Rubezahl; and the
+music to which they marched, was the melancholy yet noble measure, "The
+Last Ten of the Fourth Regiment."
+
+I surveyed the masks and masquerading for some time, keeping my eye all
+the while upon the party near me. They presently separated. Lady Le
+Marchant took the arm which von Francius offered her, and they went down
+the steps. Miss Wedderburn and the young secretary were left alone. I
+was standing near them, and two other masks, both in domino, hovered��
+about. One wore a white domino with a scarlet rosette on the breast. The
+other was a black domino, closely disguised, who looked long after von
+Francius and Lady Le Marchant, and presently descended the orchestra
+steps and followed in their wake.
+
+"Do not remain with me, Mr. Arkwright," I heard Miss Wedderburn say.
+"You want to dance. Go and enjoy yourself."
+
+"I could not think of leaving you alone, Miss Wedderburn."
+
+"Oh, yes, you could, and can. I am not going to move from here. I want
+to look on--not to dance. You will find me here when you return."
+
+Again she urged him not to remain with her, and finally he departed in
+search of amusement among the crowd below.
+
+Miss Wedderburn was now alone. She turned; her eyes, through her mask,
+met mine through my mask, and a certain thrill shot through me. This was
+such an opportunity as I had never hoped for, and I told myself that I
+should be a great fool if I let it slip. But how to begin? I looked at
+her. She was very beautiful, this young English girl, with the wonderful
+blending of fire and softness which had made me from the first think her
+one of the most attractive women I had ever seen.
+
+As I stood, awkward and undecided, she beckoned me to her. In an instant
+I was at her side, bowing but maintaining silence.
+
+"You are Herr Helfen, _nicht wahr_?" said she, inquiringly.
+
+"Yes," said I, and removed my mask. "How did you know it?"
+
+"Something in your figure and attitude. Are you not dancing?"
+
+"I--oh, no!"
+
+"Nor I--I am not in the humor for it. I never felt less like dancing,
+nor less like a masquerade." Then--hesitatingly--"Are you alone
+to-night?"
+
+"Yes. Eugen would not come."
+
+"He will not be here at all?"
+
+"Not at all?"
+
+"I am surprised."
+
+"I tried to persuade him to come," said I, apologetically. "But he would
+not. He said he was going to have a little conversation at home with
+himself."
+
+"So!" She turned to me with a mounting color, which I saw flush to her
+brow above her mask, and with parted lips.
+
+"He has never cared for anything since Sigmund left us," I continued.
+
+"Sigmund--was that the dear little boy?"
+
+"You say very truly."
+
+"Tell me about him. Was not his father very fond of him?"
+
+"Fond! I never saw a man idolize his child so much. It was only
+need--the hardest need that made them part."
+
+"How--need? You do not mean poverty?" said she, somewhat awe-struck.
+
+"Oh, no! Moral necessity. I do not know the reason. I have never asked.
+But I know it was like a death-blow."
+
+"Ah!" said she, and with a sudden movement removed her mask, as if she
+felt it stifling her, and looked me in the face with her beautiful clear
+eyes.
+
+"Who could oblige him to part with his own child?" she asked.
+
+"That I do not know, _mein Fr�ulein_. What I do know is that some shadow
+darkens my friend's life and imbitters it--that he not only can not do
+what he wishes, but is forced to do what he hates--and that parting was
+one of the things."
+
+She looked at me with eagerness for some moments; then said, quickly:
+
+"I can not help being interested in all this, but I fancy I ought not to
+listen to it, for--for--I don't think he would like it. He--he--I
+believe he dislikes me, and perhaps you had better say no more."
+
+"Dislikes you!" I echoed. "Oh, no!"
+
+"Oh, yes! he does," she repeated, with a faint smile, which struggled
+for a moment with a look of pain, and then was extinguished. "I
+certainly was once very rude to him, but I should not have thought he
+was an ungenerous man--should you?"
+
+"He is not ungenerous; the very reverse; he is too generous."
+
+"It does not matter, I suppose," said she, repressing some emotion. "It
+can make no difference, but it pains me to be so misunderstood and so
+behaved to by one who was at first so kind to me--for he was very kind."
+
+"_Mein Fr�ulein_," said I, eager, though puzzled, "I can not explain
+it; it is as great a mystery to me as to you. I know nothing of his
+past--nothing of what he has been or done; nothing of who he is--only
+of one thing I am sure--that he is not what he seems to be. He may be
+called Eugen Courvoisier, or he may call himself Eugen Courvoisier; he
+was once known by some name in a very different world to that he lives
+in now. I know nothing about that, but I know this--that I believe in
+him. I have lived more than three years with him; he is true and
+honorable; fantastically, chivalrously honorable" (her eyes were
+downcast and her cheeks burning). "He never did anything false or
+dishonest--"
+
+A slight, low, sneering laugh at my right hand caused me to look up.
+That figure in a white domino with a black mask, and a crimson rosette
+on the breast, stood leaning up against the foot of the organ, but other
+figures were near; the laugh might have come from one of them; it might
+have nothing to do with us or our remarks. I went on in a vehement and
+eager tone:
+
+"He is what we Germans call a _ganzer kerl_--thorough in all--out and
+out good. Nothing will ever make me believe otherwise. Perhaps the
+mystery will never be cleared up. It doesn't matter to me. It will make
+no difference in my opinion of the only man I love."
+
+A pause. Miss Wedderburn was looking at me; her eyes were full of tears;
+her face strangely moved. Yes--she loved him. It stood confessed in the
+very strength of the effort she made to be calm and composed. As she
+opened her lips to speak, that domino that I mentioned glided from her
+place and stooping down between us, whispered or murmured:
+
+"You are a fool for your pains. Believe no one--least of all those who
+look most worthy of belief. He is not honest; he is not honorable. It is
+from shame and disgrace that he hides himself. Ask him if he remembers
+the 20th of April five years ago; you will hear what he has to say about
+it, and how brave and honorable he looks."
+
+Swift as fire the words were said, and rapidly as the same she had
+raised herself and disappeared. We were left gazing at each other. Miss
+Wedderburn's face was blanched--she stared at me with large dilated
+eyes, and at last in a low voice of anguish and apprehension said:
+
+"Oh, what does it mean?"
+
+Her voice recalled me to myself.
+
+"It may mean what it likes," said I, calmly. "As I said, it makes no
+difference to me. I do not and will not believe that he ever did
+anything dishonorable."
+
+"Do you not?" said she, tremulously. "But--but--Anna Sartorius does know
+something of him."
+
+"Who is Anna Sartorius?"
+
+"Why, that domino who spoke to us just now. But I forgot. You will not
+know her. She wanted long ago to tell me about him, and I would not let
+her, so she said I might learn for myself, and should never leave off
+until I knew the lesson by heart. I think she has kept her word," she
+added, with a heartsick sigh.
+
+"You surely would not believe her if she said the same thing fifty times
+over," said I, not very reasonably, certainly.
+
+"I do not know," she replied, hesitatingly. "It is very difficult to
+know."
+
+"Well, I would not. If the whole world accused him I would believe
+nothing except from his own lips."
+
+"I wish I knew all about Anna Sartorius," said she, slowly, and she
+looked as if seeking back in her memory to remember some dream. I stood
+beside her; the motley crowd ebbed and flowed beneath us, but the
+whisper we had heard had changed everything; and yet, no--to me not
+changed, but only darkened things.
+
+In the meantime it had been growing later. Our conversation, with its
+frequent pauses, had taken a longer time than we had supposed. The crowd
+was thinning. Some of the women were going.
+
+"I wonder where my sister is!" observed Miss Wedderburn, rather wearily.
+Her face was pale, and her delicate head drooped as if it were
+overweighed and pulled down by the superabundance of her beautiful
+chestnut hair, which came rippling and waving over her shoulders. A
+white satin petticoat, stiff with gold embroidery; a long trailing blue
+mantle of heavy brocade, fastened on the shoulders with golden clasps; a
+golden circlet in the gold of her hair; such was the dress, and right
+royally she became it. She looked a vision of loveliness. I wondered if
+she would ever act Elsa in reality; she would be assuredly the loveliest
+representative of that fair and weak-minded heroine who ever trod the
+boards. Supposing it ever came to pass that she acted Elsa to some one
+else's Lohengrin, would she think of this night? Would she remember the
+great orchestra--and me, and the lights, and the people--our words--a
+whisper? A pause.
+
+"But where can Adelaide be?" she said, at last. "I have not seen them
+since they left us."
+
+"They are there," said I, surveying from my vantage-ground the thinning
+ranks. "They are coming up here too. And there is the other gentleman,
+Graf von Telramund, following them."
+
+They drew up to the foot of the orchestra, and then Mr. Arkwright came
+up to seek us.
+
+"Miss Wedderburn, Lady Le Marchant is tired and thinks it is time to be
+going."
+
+"So am I tired," she replied. I stepped back, but before she went away
+she turned to me, holding out her hand:
+
+"Good-night, Herr Helfen. I, too, will not believe without proof."
+
+We shook hands, and she went away.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The lamp still burning, the room cold, the stove extinct. Eugen seated
+motionless near it.
+
+"Eugen, art thou asleep?"
+
+"I asleep, my dear boy! Well, how was it?"
+
+"Eugen, I wish you had been there."
+
+"Why?" He roused himself with an effort and looked at me. His brow was
+clouded, his eyes too.
+
+"Because you would have enjoyed it. I did. I saw Miss Wedderburn, and
+spoke to her. She looked lovely."
+
+"In that case it would have been odd indeed if you had not enjoyed
+yourself."
+
+"You are inexplicable."
+
+"It is bed-time," he remarked, rising and speaking, as I thought,
+coldly.
+
+We both retired. As for the whisper, frankly and honestly, I did not
+give it another thought.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+MAY'S STORY.
+
+
+[Illustration: Music, SCHUMANN]
+
+Following Arkwright, I joined Adelaide and von Francius at the foot of
+the orchestra. She had sent word that she was tired. Looking at her, I
+thought indeed she must be very tired, so white, so sad she looked.
+
+"Adelaide," I expostulated, "why did you remain so long?"
+
+"Oh, I did not know it was so late. Come!"
+
+We made our way out of the hall through the veranda to the entrance.
+Lady Le Merchant's carriage, it seemed, was ready and waiting. It was
+a pouring night. The thaw had begun. The steady downpour promised a
+cheerful ending to the carnival doings of the Monday and Tuesday; all
+but a few homeless or persevering wretches had been driven away. We
+drove away too. I noticed that the "good-night" between Adelaide and
+von Francius was of the most laconical character. They barely spoke, did
+not shake hands, and he turned and went to seek his cab before we had
+all got into the carriage.
+
+Adelaide uttered not a word during our drive home, and I, leaning back,
+shut my eyes and lived the evening over again. Eugen's friend had
+laughed the insidious whisper to scorn. I could not deal so summarily
+with it; nor could I drive the words of it out of my head. They set
+themselves to the tune of the waltz, and rang in my ears:
+
+"He is not honest; he is not honorable. It is from shame and disgrace
+that he is hiding. Ask him if he remembers the 20th of April five years
+ago."
+
+The carriage stopped. A sleepy servant let us in. Adelaide, as we went
+upstairs, drew me into her dressing-room.
+
+"A moment, May. Have you enjoyed yourself?"
+
+"H'm--well--yes and no. And you, Adelaide?"
+
+"I never enjoy myself now," she replied, very gently. "I am getting used
+to that, I think."
+
+She clasped her jeweled hands and stood by the lamp, whose calm light
+lighted her calm face, showing it wasted and unutterably sad.
+
+Something--a terror, a shrinking as from a strong menacing hand--shook
+me.
+
+"Are you ill, Adelaide?" I cried.
+
+"No. Good-night, dear May. _Schlaf' wohl_, as they say here."
+
+To my unbounded astonishment, she leaned forward and gave me a gentle
+kiss; then, still holding my hand, asked: "Do you still say your
+prayers, May?"
+
+"Sometimes."
+
+"What do you say?"
+
+"Oh! the same that I always used to say; they are better than any I can
+invent."
+
+"Yes. I never do say mine now. I rather think I am afraid to begin
+again."
+
+"Good-night, Adelaide," I said, inaudibly; and she loosed my hand.
+
+At the door I turned. She was still standing by the lamp; still her face
+wore the same strange, subdued look. With a heart oppressed by new
+uneasiness, I left her.
+
+It must have been not till toward dawn that I fell into a sleep, heavy,
+but not quiet--filled with fantastic dreams, most of which vanished as
+soon as they had passed my mind. But one remained. To this day it is as
+vivid before me, as if I had actually lived through it.
+
+Meseemed again to be at the Grafenbergerdahl, again to be skating, again
+rescued--and by Eugen Courvoisier. But suddenly the scene changed; from
+a smooth sheet of ice, across which the wind blew nippingly, and above
+which the stars twinkled frostily, there was a huge waste of water which
+raged, while a tempest howled around--the clear moon was veiled, all was
+darkness and chaos. He saved me, not by skating with me to the shore,
+but by clinging with me to some floating wood until we drove upon a bank
+and landed. But scarcely had we set foot upon the ground, than all was
+changed again. I was alone, seated upon a bench in the Hofgarten, on a
+spring afternoon. It was May; the chestnuts and acacias were in full
+bloom, and the latter made the air heavy with their fragrance. The
+nightingales sung richly, and I sat looking, from beneath the shade of
+a great tree, upon the fleeting Rhine, which glided by almost past my
+feet. It seemed to me that I had been sad--so sad as never before. A
+deep weight appeared to have been just removed from my heart, and yet so
+heavy had it been that I could not at once recover from its pressure;
+and even then, in the sunshine, and feeling that I had no single cause
+for care or grief, I was unhappy, with a reflex mournfulness.
+
+And as I sat thus, it seemed that some one came and sat beside me
+without speaking, and I did not turn to look at him; but ever as I sat
+there and felt that he was beside me, the sadness lifted from my heart,
+until it grew so full of joy that tears rose to my eyes. Then he who was
+beside me placed his hand upon mine, and I looked at him. It was Eugen
+Courvoisier. His face and his eyes were full of sadness; but I knew
+that he loved me, though he said but one word, "Forgive!" to which I
+answered, "Can you forgive?" But I knew that I alluded to something much
+deeper than that silly little episode of having cut him at the theater.
+He bowed his head; and then I thought I began to weep, covering my face
+with my hands; but they were tears of exquisite joy, and the peace at my
+heart was the most entire I had ever felt. And he loosened my hands, and
+drew me to him and kissed me, saying "My love!" And as I felt--yes,
+actually felt--the pressure of his lips upon mine, and felt the spring
+shining upon me, and heard the very echo of the twitter of the birds,
+saw the light fall upon the water, and smelled the scent of the acacias,
+and saw the Lotus-blume as she--
+
+     "Duftet und weinet und zittert
+     Vor Liebe und Liebesweh,"
+
+I awoke, and confronted a gray February morning, felt a raw chilliness
+in the air, heard a cold, pitiless rain driven against the window; knew
+that my head ached, my heart harmonized therewith; that I was awake, not
+in a dream; that there had been no spring morning, no acacias, no
+nightingales; above all, no love--remembered last night, and roused to
+the consciousness of another day, the necessity of waking up and living
+on.
+
+Nor could I rest or sleep. I rose and contemplated through the window
+the driving rain and the soaking street, the sorrowful naked trees, the
+plain of the parade ground, which looked a mere waste of mud and
+half-melted ice; the long plain line of the Caserne itself--a cheering
+prospect truly!
+
+When I went down-stairs I found Sir Peter, in heavy traveling overcoat,
+standing in the hall; a carriage stood at the door; his servant was
+putting in his master's luggage and rugs. I paused in astonishment. Sir
+Peter looked at me and smiled with the dubious benevolence which he was
+in the habit of extending to me.
+
+"I am very sorry to be obliged to quit your charming society, Miss
+Wedderburn, but business calls me imperatively to England; and, at
+least, I am sure that my wife can not be unhappy with such a companion
+as her sister."
+
+"You are going to England?"
+
+"I am going to England. I have been called so hastily that I can make no
+arrangements for Adelaide to accompany me, and indeed it would not be at
+all pleasant for her, as I am only going on business; but I hope to
+return for her and bring her home in a few weeks. I am leaving Arkwright
+with you. He will see that you have all you want."
+
+Sir Peter was smiling, ever smiling, with the smile which was my horror.
+
+"A brilliant ball, last night, was it not?" he added, extending his
+hand to me, in farewell, and looking at me intently with eyes that
+fascinated and repelled me at once.
+
+"Very, but--but--you were not there?"
+
+"Was I not? I have a strong impression that I was. Ask my lady if she
+thinks I was there. And now good-bye, and _au revoir_!"
+
+He loosened my hand, descended the steps, entered the carriage, and was
+driven away. His departure ought to have raised a great weight from my
+mind, but it did not; it impressed me with a sense of coming disaster.
+
+Adelaide breakfasted in her room. When I had finished I went to her. Her
+behavior puzzled me. She seemed elated, excited, at the absence of Sir
+Peter, and yet, suddenly turning to me, she exclaimed, eagerly:
+
+"Oh, May! I wish I had been going to England, too! I wish I could leave
+this place, and never see it again."
+
+"Was Sir Peter at the ball, Adelaide?" I asked.
+
+She turned suddenly pale; her lip trembled; her eye wavered, as she said
+in a low, uneasy voice:
+
+"I believe he was--yes; in domino."
+
+"What a sneaking thing to do!" I remarked, candidly. "He had told us
+particularly that he was not coming."
+
+"That very statement should have put us on our guard," she remarked.
+
+"On our guard? Against what?" I asked, unsuspectingly.
+
+"Oh, nothing--nothing! I wonder when he will return! I would give a
+world to be in England!" she said, with a heartsick sigh; and I, feeling
+very much bewildered, left her.
+
+In the afternoon, despite wind and weather, I sallied forth, and took my
+way to my old lodgings in the Wehrhahn. Crossing a square leading to the
+street I was going to, I met Anna Sartorius. She bowed, looking at me
+mockingly. I returned her salutation, and remembered last night again
+with painful distinctness. The air seemed full of mysteries and
+uncertainties; they clung about my mind like cobwebs, and I could not
+get rid of their soft, stifling influence.
+
+Having arrived at my lodgings, I mounted the stairs. Frau Lutzler met
+me.
+
+"_Na_, _na_, Fr�ulein! You do not patronize me much now. My rooms are
+becoming too small for you, I reckon."
+
+"Indeed, Frau Lutzler, I wish I had never been in any larger ones," I
+answered her, earnestly.
+
+"So! Well, 'tis true you look thin and worn--not as well as you used to.
+And were you--but I heard you were, so where's the use of telling lies
+about it--at the Maskenball last night? And how did you like it?"
+
+"Oh, it was all very new to me. I never was at one before."
+
+"_Nicht?_ Then you must have been astonished. They say there was a
+Mephisto so good he would have deceived the devil himself. And you,
+Fr�ulein--I heard that you looked very beautiful."
+
+"So! It must have been a mistake."
+
+"_Doch nicht!_ I have always maintained that at certain times you were
+far from bad-looking, and dressed and got up for the stage, would be
+absolutely handsome. Nearly any one can be that--if you are not too
+near the foot-lights, that is, and don't go behind the scenes."
+
+With which neat slaying of a particular compliment by a general one, she
+released me, and let me go on my way upstairs.
+
+Here I had some books and some music. But the room was cold; the books
+failed to interest me, and the music did not go--the piano was like
+me--out of tune. And yet I felt the need of some musical expression
+of the mood that was upon me. I bethought myself of the Tonhalle,
+next door, almost, and that in the rittersaal it would be quiet and
+undisturbed, as the ball that night was not to be held there, but in
+one of the large rooms of the Caserne.
+
+Without pausing to think a second time of the plan, I left the house and
+went to the Tonhalle, only a few steps away. In consequence of the rain
+and bad weather almost every trace of the carnival had disappeared. I
+found the Tonhalle deserted save by a bar-maid at the restauration. I
+asked her if the rittersaal were open, and she said yes. I passed on. As
+I drew near the door I heard music; the piano was already being played.
+Could it be von Francius who was there? I did not think so. The touch
+was not his--neither so practiced, so brilliant, nor so sure.
+
+Satisfied, after listening a moment, that it was not he, I resolved to
+go in and pass through the room. If it were any one whom I could send
+away I would do so, if not, I could go away again myself.
+
+I entered. The room was somewhat dark, but I went in and had almost
+come to the piano before I recognized the player--Courvoisier. Overcome
+with vexation and confusion at the _contretemps_, I paused a moment,
+undecided whether to turn back and go out again. In any case I resolved
+not to remain in the room. He was seated with his back to me, and still
+continued to play. Some music was on the desk of the piano before him.
+
+I might turn back without being observed. I would do so. Hardly,
+though--a mirror hung directly before the piano, and I now saw that
+while he continued to play, he was quietly looking at me, and that his
+keen eyes--that hawk's glance which I knew so well--must have recognized
+me. That decided me. I would not turn back. It would be a silly,
+senseless proceeding, and would look much more invidious than my
+remaining. I walked up to the piano, and he turned, still playing.
+
+"_Guten Tag, mein Fr�ulein._"
+
+I merely bowed, and began to search through a pile of songs and music
+upon the piano. I would at any rate take some away with me to give some
+color to my proceedings. Meanwhile he played on.
+
+I selected a song, not in the least knowing what it was, and rolling it
+up, was turning away.
+
+"Are you busy, Miss Wedderburn?"
+
+"N--no."
+
+"Would it be asking too much of you to play the pianoforte
+accompaniment?"
+
+"I will try," said I, speaking briefly, and slowly drawing off my
+gloves.
+
+"If it is disagreeable to you, don't do it," said he, pausing.
+
+"Not in the very least," said I, avoiding looking at him.
+
+He opened the music. It was one of Jensen's "Wanderbilder" for piano and
+violin--the "Kreuz am Wege."
+
+"I have only tried it once before," I remarked, "and I am a dreadful
+bungler."
+
+"_Bitte sehr!_" said he, smiling, arranging his own music on one of the
+stands and adding, "Now I am ready."
+
+I found my hands trembling so much that I could scarcely follow the
+music. Truly this man, with his changes from silence to talkativeness,
+from ironical hardness to cordiality, was a puzzle and a trial to me.
+
+"Das Kreuz am Wege" turned out rather lame. I said so when it was over.
+
+"Suppose we try it again," he suggested, and we did so. I found my
+fingers lingering and forgetting their part as I listened to the
+piercing beauty of his notes.
+
+"That is dismal," said he.
+
+"It is a dismal subject, is it not?"
+
+"Suggestive, at least. 'The Cross by the Wayside.' Well, I have a mind
+for something more cheerful. Did you leave the ball early last night?"
+
+"No; not very early."
+
+"Did you enjoy it?"
+
+"It was all new to me--very interesting--but I don't think I quite
+enjoyed it."
+
+"Ah, you should see the balls at Florence, or Venice, or Vienna!"
+
+He smiled as he leaned back, as if thinking over past scenes.
+
+"Yes," said I, dubiously, "I don't think I care much for such things,
+though it is interesting to watch the little drama going on around."
+
+"And to act in it," I also thought, remembering Anna Sartorius and her
+whisper, and I looked at him. "Not honest, not honorable. Hiding from
+shame and disgrace."
+
+I looked at him and did not believe it. For the moment the torturing
+idea left me. I was free from it and at peace.
+
+"Were you going to practice?" he asked. "I fear I disturb you."
+
+"Oh, no! It does not matter in the least. I shall not practice now."
+
+"I want to try some other things," said he, "and Friedhelm's and my
+piano was not loud enough for me, nor was there sufficient space between
+our walls for the sounds of a symphony. Do you not know the mood?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But I am afraid to ask you to accompany me."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"You seem unwilling."
+
+"I am not: but I should have supposed that my unwillingness--if I had
+been unwilling--would have been an inducement to you to ask me."
+
+"_Herrgott!_ Why?"
+
+"Since you took a vow to be disagreeable to me, and to make me hate
+you."
+
+A slight flush passed rapidly over his face, as he paused for a moment
+and bit his lips.
+
+"_Mein Fr�ulein_--that night I was in bitterness of spirit--I hardly
+knew what I was saying--"
+
+"I will accompany you," I interrupted him, my heart beating. "Only how
+can I begin unless you play, or tell me what you want to play?"
+
+"True," said he, laughing, and yet not moving from his place beside
+the piano, upon which he had leaned his elbow, and across which he now
+looked at me with the self-same kindly, genial glance as that he had
+cast upon me across the little table at the K�ln restaurant. And yet not
+the self-same glance, but another, which I would not have exchanged for
+that first one.
+
+If he would but begin to play I felt that I should not mind so much; but
+when he sat there and looked at me and half smiled, without beginning
+anything practical, I felt the situation at least trying.
+
+He raised his eyes as the door opened at the other end of the saal.
+
+"Ah, there is Friedhelm," said he, "now he will take seconds."
+
+"Then I will not disturb you any longer."
+
+"On the contrary," said he, laying his hand upon my wrist. (My dream of
+the morning flashed into my mind.) "It would be better if you remained,
+then we could have a trio. Friedel, come here! You are just in time.
+Fr�ulein Wedderburn will be good enough to accompany us, and we can try
+the Fourth Symphony."
+
+"What you call 'Spring'?" inquired Helfen, coming up smilingly. "With
+all my heart. Where is the score?"
+
+"What you call Spring?" Was it possible that in winter--on a cold and
+unfriendly day--we were going to have spring, leafy bloom, the desert
+filled with leaping springs, and blossoming like a rose? Full of wonder,
+surprise, and a certain excitement at the idea, I sat still and thought
+of my dream, and the rain beat against the windows, and a draughty wind
+fluttered the tinselly decorations of last night. The floor was strewed
+with fragments of garments torn in the crush--paper and silken flowers,
+here a rosette, there a buckle, a satin bow, a tinsel spangle. Benches
+and tables were piled about the room, which was half dark; only to
+westward, through one window, was visible a paler gleam, which might by
+comparison be called light.
+
+The two young men turned over the music, laughing at something, and
+chaffing each other. I never in my life saw two such entire friends as
+these; they seemed to harmonize most perfectly in the midst of their
+unlikeness to each other.
+
+"Excuse that we kept you waiting, _mein Fr�ulein_," said Courvoisier,
+placing some music before me. "This fellow is so slow, and will put
+everything into order as he uses it."
+
+"Well for you that I am, _mein lieber_," said Helfen, composedly. "If
+any one had the enterprise to offer a prize to the most extravagant,
+untidy fellow in Europe, the palm would be yours--by a long way too."
+
+"Friedel binds his music and numbers it," observed Courvoisier. "It is
+one of the most beautiful and affecting of sights to behold him with
+scissors, paste-pot, brush and binding. It occurs periodically about
+four times a year, I think, and moves me almost to tears when I see it."
+
+"_Der edle Ritter_ leaves his music unbound, and borrows mine on every
+possible occasion when his own property is scattered to the four winds
+of heaven."
+
+"_Aber! aber!_" cried Eugen. "That is too much! I call Frau Schmidt to
+witness that all my music is put in one place."
+
+"I never said it wasn't. But you never can find it when you want it, and
+the confusion is delightfully increased by your constantly rushing off
+to buy a new _partitur_ when you can't find the old one; so you have
+three or four of each."
+
+"This is all to show off what he considers his own good qualities; a
+certain slow, methodical plodding and a good memory, which are natural
+gifts, but which he boasts of as if they were acquired virtues. He binds
+his music because he is a pedant and a prig, and can't help it; a bad
+fellow to get on with. Now, _mein bester_, for the 'Fruhling.'"
+
+"But the Fr�ulein ought to have it explained," expostulated Helfen,
+laughing. "Every one has not the misfortune to be so well acquainted
+with you as I am. He has rather insane fancies sometimes," he added,
+turning to me, "without rhyme or reason that I am aware, and he chooses
+to assert that Beethoven's Fourth Symphony, or the chief motive of it,
+occurred to him on a spring day, when the master was, for a time, quite
+charmed from his bitter humor, and had, perhaps, some one by his side
+who put his heart in tune with the spring songs of the birds, the green
+of the grass, the scent of the flowers. So he calls it the 'Fruhling
+Symphonie,' and will persist in playing it as such. I call the idea
+rather far-fetched, but then that is nothing unusual with him."
+
+"Having said your remarkably stupid say, which Miss Wedderburn has far
+too much sense to heed in the least, suppose you allow us to begin,"
+said Courvoisier, giving the other a push toward his violin.
+
+But we were destined to have yet another coadjutor in the shape of Karl
+Linders, who at that moment strolled in, and was hailed by his friends
+with jubilation.
+
+"Come and help! Your 'cello will give just the mellowness that is
+wanted," said Eugen.
+
+"I must go and get it then," said Karl, looking at me.
+
+Eugen, with an indescribable expression as he intercepted the glance,
+introduced us to one another. Karl and Friedhelm Helfen went off to
+another part of the Tonhalle to fetch Karl's violoncello, and we were
+left alone again.
+
+"Perhaps I ought not to have introduced him. I forgot 'Lohengrin,'" said
+Eugen.
+
+"You know that you did not," said I, in a low voice.
+
+"No," he answered, almost in the same tone. "It was thinking of that
+which led me to introduce poor old Karl to you. I thought, perhaps, that
+you would accept it as a sign--will you?"
+
+"A sign of what?"
+
+"That I feel myself to have been in the wrong throughout--and forgive."
+
+As I sat, amazed and a little awed at this almost literal fulfillment of
+my dream, the others returned.
+
+Karl contributed the tones of his mellowest of instruments, which he
+played with a certain pleasant breadth and brightness of coloring, and
+my dream came ever truer and truer. The symphony was as spring-like
+as possible. We tried it nearly all through; the hymn-like and yet
+fairy-like first movement; the second, that song of universal love,
+joy, and thanksgiving, with Beethoven's masculine hand evident
+throughout. To the notes there seemed to fall a sunshine into the room,
+and we could see the fields casting their covering of snow, and withered
+trees bursting into bloom; brooks swollen with warm rain, birds busy at
+nest-making; clumps of primroses on velvet leaves, and the subtle scent
+of violets; youths and maidens with love in their eyes; and even a hint
+of later warmth, when hedges should be white with hawthorn, and the
+woodland slopes look, with their sheets of hyacinths, as if some of
+heaven's blue had been spilled upon earth's grass.
+
+As the last strong, melodious modulations ceased, Courvoisier pointed to
+one of the windows.
+
+"Friedhelm, you wretched unbeliever, behold the refutation of your
+theories. The symphony has brought the sun out."
+
+"For the first time," said Friedhelm, as he turned his earnest young
+face with its fringe of loose brown hair toward the sneaking sun-ray,
+which was certainly looking shyly in. "As a rule the very heavens weep
+at the performance. Don't you remember the last time we tried it, it
+began to rain instantly?"
+
+"Miss Wedderburn's co-operation must have secured its success then on
+this occasion," said Eugen, gravely, glancing at me for a moment.
+
+"Hear! hear!" murmured Karl, screwing up his violoncello and smiling
+furtively.
+
+"Oh, I am afraid I hindered rather than helped," said I, "but it is very
+beautiful."
+
+"But not like spring, is it?" asked Friedhelm.
+
+"Well, I think it is."
+
+"There! I knew she would declare for me," said Courvoisier, calmly, at
+which Karl Linders looked up in some astonishment.
+
+"Shall we try this 'Traumerei,' Miss Wedderburn, if you are not too
+tired?"
+
+I turned willingly to the piano, and we played Schumann's little
+"Dreams."
+
+"Ah," said Eugen, with a deep sigh (and his face had grown sad), "isn't
+that the essence of sweetness and poetry? Here's another which is
+lovely. 'Noch ein Paar,' _nicht wahr?_"
+
+"And it will be 'noch ein Paar' until our fingers drop off," scolded
+Friedhelm, who seemed, however, very willing to await that consummation.
+We went through many of the Kinderscenen and some of the Kreissleriana,
+and just as we finished a sweet little "Bittendes Kind," the twilight
+grew almost into darkness, and Courvoisier laid his violin down.
+
+"Miss Wedderburn, thank you a thousand times!"
+
+"Oh, _bitte sehr_!" was all I could say. I wanted to say so much more;
+to say that I had been made happy; my sadness dispelled, a dream half
+fulfilled, but the words stuck, and had they come ever so flowingly I
+could not have uttered them with Friedhelm Helfen, who knew so much,
+looking at us, and Karl Linders on his best behavior in what he
+considered superior company.
+
+I do not know how it was that Karl and Friedhelm, as we all came from
+the Tonhalle, walked off to the house, and Eugen and I were left to walk
+alone through the soaking streets, emptied of all their revelers, and
+along the dripping K�nigsall�e, with its leafless chestnuts, to Sir
+Peter's house. It was cold, it was wet--cheerless, dark, and dismal, and
+I was very happy--very insanely so. I gave a glance once or twice at my
+companion. The brightness had left his face; it was stern and worn
+again, and his lips set as if with the repression of some pain.
+
+"Herr Courvoisier, have you heard from your little boy?"
+
+"No."
+
+"No?"
+
+"I do not expect to hear from him, _mein Fr�ulein_. When he left me we
+parted altogether."
+
+"Oh, how dreadful!"
+
+No answer. And we spoke no more until he said "Good-evening" to me at
+the door of No. 3. As I went in I reflected that I might never meet him
+thus face to face again. Was it an opportunity missed, or was it a brief
+glimpse of unexpected joy?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+THE TRUTH.
+
+
+As days went on and grew into weeks, and weeks paired off until a month
+passed, and I still saw the same stricken look upon my sister's face,
+my heart grew full of foreboding.
+
+One morning the astonishing news came that Sir Peter had gone to
+America.
+
+"America!" I ejaculated (it was always I who acted the part of chorus
+and did the exclamations and questioning), and I looked at Harry
+Arkwright, who had communicated the news, and who held an open letter in
+his hand.
+
+"Yes, to America, to see about a railway which looks very bad. He has no
+end of their bonds," said Harry, folding up the letter.
+
+"When will he return?"
+
+"He doesn't know. Meanwhile we are to stay where we are."
+
+Adelaide, when we spoke of this circumstance, said, bitterly:
+
+"Everything is against me!"
+
+"Against you, Adelaide?" said I, looking apprehensively at her.
+
+"Yes, everything!" she repeated.
+
+She had never been effusive in her behavior to others; she was now, if
+possible, still less so, but the uniform quietness and gentleness with
+which she now treated all who came in contact with her, puzzled and
+troubled me. What was it that preyed upon her mind? In looking round for
+a cause my thoughts lighted first on one person, then on another; I
+dismissed the idea of all, except von Francius, with a smile. Shortly I
+abandoned that idea too. True, he was a man of very different caliber
+from the others; a man, too, for whom Adelaide had conceived a decided
+friendship, though in these latter days even that seemed to be dying
+out. He did not come so often; when he did come they had little to say
+to each other. Perhaps, after all, the cause of her sadness lay no
+deeper than her every-day life, which must necessarily grow more
+mournful day by day. She could feel intensely, as I had lately become
+aware, and had, too, a warm, quick imagination. It might be that a
+simple weariness of life and the anticipation of long years to come of
+such a life lay so heavily upon her soul as to have wrought that gradual
+change.
+
+Sometimes I was satisfied with this theory; at others it dwindled into a
+miserably inadequate measure. When Adelaide once or twice kissed me,
+smiled at me, and called me "dear," it was on my lips to ask the
+meaning of the whole thing, but it never passed them. I dared not speak
+when it came to the point.
+
+One day, about this time, I met Anna Sartorius in one of the picture
+exhibitions. I would have bowed and passed her, but she stopped and
+spoke to me.
+
+"I have not seen you often lately," said she; "but I assure you, you
+will hear more of me some time--and before long."
+
+Without replying, I passed on. Anna had ceased even to pretend to look
+friendly upon me, and I did not feel much alarm as to her power for or
+against my happiness or peace of mind.
+
+Regularly, once a month, I wrote to Miss Hallam and occasionally had a
+few lines from Stella, who had become a prot�g�e of Miss Hallam's too.
+They appeared to get on very well together, at which I did not wonder;
+for Stella, with all her youthfulness, was of a cynical turn of mind,
+which must suit Miss Hallam well.
+
+My greatest friend in Elberthal was good little Dr. Mittendorf, who had
+brought his wife to call upon me, and to whose house I had been invited
+several times since Miss Hallam's departure.
+
+During this time I worked more steadily than ever, and with a deeper
+love of my art for itself. Von Francius was still my master and my
+friend. I used to look back upon the days, now nearly a year ago, when I
+first saw him, and seeing him, distrusted and only half liked him, and
+wondered at myself; for I had now as entire a confidence in him as can
+by any means be placed in a man. He had thoroughly won my esteem,
+respect, admiration--in a measure, too, my affection. I liked the power
+of him; the strong hand with which he carried things in his own way; the
+idiomatic language, and quick, curt sentences in which he enunciated his
+opinions. I felt him like a strong, kind, and thoughtful elder brother,
+and have had abundant evidence in his deeds and in some brief
+unemotional words of his that he felt a great regard of the fraternal
+kind for me. It has often comforted me, that friendship--pure,
+disinterested and manly on his side, grateful and unwavering on mine.
+
+I still retained my old lodgings in the Wehrhahn, and was determined to
+do so. I would not be tied to remain in Sir Peter Le Marchant's house
+unless I choose. Adelaide wished me to come and remain with her
+altogether. She said Sir Peter wished it too; he had written and said
+she might ask me. I asked what was Sir Peter's motive in wishing it? Was
+it not a desire to humiliate both of us, and to show us that we--the
+girl who had scorned him, and the woman who had sold herself to
+him--were in the end dependent upon him, and must follow his will and
+submit to his pleasure?
+
+She reddened, sighed, and owned that it was true; nor did she press me
+any further.
+
+A month, then, elapsed between the carnival in February and the next
+great concert in the latter end of March. It was rather a special
+concert, for von Francius had succeeded, in spite of many obstacles, in
+bringing out the Choral Symphony.
+
+He conducted well that night; and he, Courvoisier, Friedhelm Helfen,
+Karl Linders, and one or two others, formed in their white heat of
+enthusiasm a leaven which leavened the whole lump. Orchestra and chorus
+alike did a little more than their possible, without which no great
+enthusiasm can be carried out. As I watched von Francius, it seemed to
+me that a new soul had entered into the man. I did not believe that a
+year ago he could have conducted the Choral Symphony as he did that
+night. Can any one enter into the broad, eternal clang of the great
+"world-story" unless he has a private story of his own which may serve
+him in some measure as a key to its mystery? I think not. It was a night
+of triumph for Max von Francius. Not only was the glorious music cheered
+and applauded, he was called to receive a meed of thanks for having once
+more given to the world a never-dying joy and beauty.
+
+I was in the chorus. Down below I saw Adelaide and her devoted
+attendant, Harry Arkwright. She looked whiter and more subdued than
+ever. All the splendor of the praise of "joy" could not bring joy to her
+heart--
+
+     "Diesen Kuss der ganzen Welt"
+
+brought no warmth to her cheek, nor lessened the load on her breast.
+
+The concert over, we returned home. Adelaide and I retired to her
+dressing-room, and her maid brought us tea. She seated herself in
+silence. For my part, I was excited and hot, and felt my cheeks glowing.
+I was so stirred that I could not sit still, but moved to and fro,
+wishing that all the world could hear that music, and repeating lines
+from the "Ode to Joy," the grand march-like measure, feeling my heart
+uplifted with the exaltation of its opening strain:
+
+     "Freude, sch�ner Gotterfunken!
+     Tochter aus Elysium!"
+
+As I paced about thus excitedly, Adelaide's maid came in with a note.
+Mr. Arkwright had received it from Herr von Francius, who had desired
+him to give it to Lady Le Marchant.
+
+Adelaide opened it and I went on with my chant. I know now how dreadful
+it must have sounded to her.
+
+     "Freude trinken alle Wesen
+     An den Br�sten der Natur--"
+
+"May!" said Adelaide, faintly.
+
+I turned in my walk and looked at her. White as death, she held the
+paper toward me with a steady hand, and I, the song of joy slain upon my
+lips, took it. It was a brief note from von Francius.
+
+"I let you know, my lady, first of all that I have accepted the post of
+Musik-Direktor in ----. It will be made known to-morrow."
+
+I held the paper and looked at her. Now I knew the reason of her pallid
+looks. I had indeed been blind. I might have guessed better.
+
+"Have you read it?" she asked, and she stretched her arms above her
+head, as if panting for breath.
+
+"Adelaide!" I whispered, going up to her; "Adelaide--oh!"
+
+She fell upon my neck. She did not speak, and I, speechless, held her to
+my breast.
+
+"You love him, Adelaide?" I said, at last.
+
+"With my whole soul!" she answered, in a low, very low, but vehement
+voice. "With my whole soul."
+
+"And you have owned it to him?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Tell me," said I, "how it was."
+
+"I think I have loved him since almost the first time I saw him--he made
+quite a different impression upon me than other men do--quite. I hardly
+knew myself. He mastered me. No other man ever did--except--" she
+shuddered a little, "and that only because I tied myself hand and foot.
+But I liked the mastery. It was delicious; it was rest and peace. It
+went on for long. We knew--each knew quite well that we loved, but he
+never spoke of it. He saw how it was with me and he helped me--oh, why
+is he so good? He never tried to trap me into any acknowledgment. He
+never made any use of the power he knew he had except to keep me right.
+But at the Maskenball--I do not know how it was--we were alone in all
+the crowd--there was something said--a look. It was all over. But he was
+true to the last. He did not say, 'Throw everything up and come to me.'
+He said, 'Give me the only joy that we may have. Tell me you love me.'
+And I told him. I said, 'I love you with my life and my soul, and
+everything I have, for ever and ever.' And that is true. He said, 'Thank
+you, milady. I accept the condition of my knighthood,' and kissed my
+hand. There was some-one following us. It was Sir Peter. He heard all,
+and he has punished me for it since. He will punish me again."
+
+A pause.
+
+"That is all that has been said. He does not know that Sir Peter knows,
+for he has never alluded to it since. He has spared me. I say he is a
+noble man."
+
+She raised herself, and looked at me.
+
+Dear sister! With your love and your pride, your sins and your folly,
+inexpressibly dear to me! I pressed a kiss upon her lips.
+
+"Von Francius is good, Adelaide; he is good."
+
+"Von Francius would have told me this himself, but he has been afraid
+for me; some time ago he said to me that he had the offer of a post at a
+distance. That was asking my advice. I found out what it was, and said,
+'Take it.' He has done so."
+
+"Then you have decided?" I stammered.
+
+"To part. He has strength. So have I. It was my own fault. May--I could
+bear it if it were for myself alone. I have had my eyes opened now. I
+see that when people do wrong they drag others into it--they punish
+those they love--it is part of their own punishment."
+
+A pause. Facts, I felt, were pitiless; but the glow of friendship for
+von Francius was like a strong fire. In the midst of the keenest pain
+one finds a true man, and the discovery is like a sudden soothing of
+sharp anguish, or like the finding a strong comrade in a battle.
+
+Adelaide had been very self-restrained and quiet all this time, but now
+suddenly broke out into low, quick, half sobbed-out words:
+
+"Oh, I love him, I love him! It is dreadful! How shall I go through with
+it?"
+
+Ay, there was the rub! Not one short, sharp pang, and over--all fire
+quenched in cool mists of death and unconsciousness, but long years to
+come of daily, hourly, paying the price; incessant compunction, active
+punishment. A prospect for a martyr to shirk from, and for a woman who
+has made a mistake to--live through.
+
+We needed not further words. The secret was told, and the worst known.
+We parted. Von Francius was from this moment a sacred being to me.
+
+But from this time he scarcely came near the house--not even to give me
+my lessons. I went to my lodging and had them there. Adelaide said
+nothing, asked not a question concerning him, nor mentioned his name,
+and the silence on his side was almost as profound as that on hers. It
+seemed as if they feared that should they meet, speak, look each other
+in the eyes, all resolution would be swept away, and the end hurry
+resistless on.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+"And behold, though the way was light and the sun did shine, yet my
+heart was ill at ease, for a sinister blot did now and again fleck the
+sun, and a muttered sound perturbed the air. And he repeated oft 'One
+hath told me--thus--or thus.'"
+
+
+Karl Linders, our old acquaintance, was now our fast friend. Many
+changes had taken place in the _personnel_ of our fellow-workmen in the
+kapelle, but Eugen, Karl, and I remained stationary in the same places
+and holding the same rank as on the day we had first met. He, Karl, had
+been from the first more congenial to me than any other of my fellows
+(Eugen excepted, of course). Why, I could never exactly tell. There was
+about him a contagious cheerfulness, good-humor, and honesty. He was a
+sinner, but no rascal; a wild fellow--_Taugenichts_--_wilder Gesell_,
+as our phraseology had it, but the furthest thing possible from a
+knave.
+
+Since his visits to us and his earnest efforts to curry favor with
+Sigmund by means of nondescript wool beasts, domestic or of prey, he had
+grown much nearer to us. He was the only intimate we had--the only
+person who came in and out of our quarters at any time; the only man who
+sat and smoked with us in an evening. At the time when Karl put in his
+first appearance in these pages he was a young man not only not
+particular, but utterly reckless as to the society he frequented. Any
+one, he was wont to say, was good enough to talk with, or to listen
+while talked to. Karl's conversation could not be called either affected
+or pedantic; his taste was catholic, and comprised within wide bounds;
+he considered all subjects that were amusing appropriate matter of
+discussion, and to him most subjects were--or were susceptible of being
+made--amusing.
+
+Latterly, however, it would seem that a process of growth had been going
+on in him. Three years had worked a difference. In some respects he was,
+thank Heaven! still the old Karl--the old careless, reckless, aimless
+fellow; but in others he was metamorphosed.
+
+Karl Linders, a handsome fellow himself and a slave to beauty, as he was
+careful to inform us--susceptible in the highest degree to real
+loveliness--so he often told us--and in love on an average, desperately
+and forever, once a week, had at last fallen really and actually in
+love.
+
+For a long time we did not guess it--or rather, accepting his being in
+love as a chronic state of his being--one of the "inseparable
+accidents," which may almost be called qualities, we wondered what lay
+at the bottom of his sudden intense sobriety of demeanor and propriety
+of conduct, and looked for some cause deeper than love, which did not
+usually have that effect upon him; we thought it might be debt. We
+studied the behavior itself; we remarked that for upward of ten days he
+had never lauded the charms of any young woman connected with the choral
+or terpsichorean staff of the opera, and wondered.
+
+We saw that he had had his hair very much cut, and we told him frankly
+that we did not think it improved him. To our great surprise he told us
+that we knew nothing about it, and requested us to mind our own
+business, adding testily, after a pause, that he did not see why on
+earth a set of men like us should make ourselves conspicuous by the
+fashion of our hair, as if we were Absaloms or Samsons.
+
+"Samson had a Delilah, _mein lieber_," said I, eying him. "She shore his
+locks for him. Tell us frankly who has acted the part by you."
+
+"Bah! Can a fellow have no sense in his own head to find such things
+out? Go and do likewise, and I can tell you you'll be improved."
+
+But we agreed when he was gone that the loose locks, drooping over the
+laughing glance, suited him better than that neatly cropped propriety.
+
+Days passed, and Karl was still not his old self. It became matter of
+public remark that his easy, short jacket, a mongrel kind of garment to
+which he was deeply attached, was discarded, not merely for grand
+occasions, but even upon the ordinary Saturday night concert, yea, even
+for walking out at midday, and a superior frock-coat substituted for
+it--a frock-coat in which, we told him, he looked quite _edel_. At which
+he pished and pshawed, but surreptitiously adjusted his collar before
+the looking-glass which the propriety and satisfactoriness of our
+behavior had induced Frau Schmidt to add to our responsibilities, pulled
+his cuffs down, and remarked _en passant_ that "the 'cello was a
+horribly ungraceful instrument."
+
+"Not as you use it," said we both, politely, and allowed him to lead the
+way to the concert-room.
+
+A few evenings later he strolled into our room, lighted a cigar, and
+sighed deeply.
+
+"What ails thee, then, Karl?" I asked.
+
+"I've something on my mind," he replied, uneasily.
+
+"That we know," put in Eugen; "and a pretty big lump it must be, too.
+Out with it, man! Has she accepted the bottle-nosed oboist after all?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Have you got into debt? How much? I dare say we can manage it between
+us."
+
+"No--oh, no! I am five thalers to the good."
+
+Our countenances grow more serious. Not debt? Then what was it, what
+could it be?
+
+"I hope nothing has happened to Gretchen," suggested Eugen, for
+Gretchen, his sister, was the one permanently strong love of Karl's
+heart.
+
+"Oh, no! _Das M�del_ is very well, and getting on in her classes."
+
+"Then what is it?"
+
+"I'm--engaged--to be married."
+
+I grieve to say that Eugen and I, after staring at him for some few
+minutes, until we had taken in the announcement, both burst into the
+most immoderate laughter--till the tears ran down our cheeks, and our
+sides ached.
+
+Karl sat quite still, unresponsive, puffing away at his cigar; and when
+we had finished, or rather were becoming a little more moderate in the
+expression of our amusement, he knocked the ash away from his weed, and
+remarked:
+
+"That's blind jealousy. You both know that there isn't a _M�dchen_ in
+the place who would look at you, so you try to laugh at people who are
+better off than yourselves."
+
+This was so stinging (from the tone more than the words) as coming from
+the most sweet-tempered fellow I ever knew, that we stopped. Eugen
+apologized, and we asked who the lady was.
+
+"I shouldn't suppose you cared to know," said he, rather sulkily. "And
+it's all very fine to laugh, but let me see the man who even smiles at
+her--he shall learn who I am."
+
+We assured him, with the strongest expressions that we could call to our
+aid, that it was the very idea of his being engaged that made us
+laugh--not any disrespect, and begged his pardon again. By degrees he
+relented. We still urgently demanded the name of the lady.
+
+"_Als verlobte empfehlen sich_ Karl Linders and--who else?" asked Eugen.
+
+"_Als verlobte empfehlen sich_[D] Karl Linders and Clara Steinmann,"
+said Karl, with much dignity.
+
+[Footnote D: The German custom on an engagement taking place is to
+announce it with the above words, signifying "M. and N. announce
+(recommend) themselves as betrothed." This appears in the newspaper--as
+a marriage with us.]
+
+"Clara Steinmann," we repeated, in tones of respectful gravity, "I never
+heard of her."
+
+"No, she keeps herself rather reserved and select," said Karl,
+impressively. "She lives with her aunt in the All�estrasse, at number
+39."
+
+"Number 39!" we both ejaculated.
+
+"Exactly so! What have you to say against it?" demanded Herr Linders,
+glaring round upon us with an awful majesty.
+
+"Nothing--oh, less than nothing. But I know now where you mean. It is a
+boarding-house, _nicht wahr?_"
+
+He nodded sedately.
+
+"I have seen the young lady," said I, carefully observing all due
+respect. "Eugen, you must have seen her too. Miss Wedderburn used to
+come with her to the Instrumental Concerts before she began to sing."
+
+"Right!" said Karl, graciously. "She did. Clara liked Miss Wedderburn
+very much."
+
+"Indeed!" said we, respectfully, and fully recognizing that this was
+quite a different affair from any of the previous flirtations with
+chorus-singers and ballet-girls which had taken up so much of his
+attention.
+
+"I don't know her," said I, "I have not that pleasure, but I am sure you
+are to be congratulated, old fellow--so I do congratulate you very
+heartily."
+
+"Thank you," said he.
+
+"I can't congratulate you, Karl, as I don't know the lady," said Eugen,
+"but I do congratulate her," laying his hand upon Karl's shoulder; "I
+hope she knows the kind of man she has won, and is worthy of him."
+
+A smile of the Miss Squeers description--"Tilda, I pities your ignorance
+and despises you"--crossed Karl's lips as he said:
+
+"Thank you. No one else knows. It only took place--decidedly, you know,
+to-night. I said I should tell two friends of mine--she said she had no
+objection. I should not have liked to keep it from you two. I wish,"
+said Karl, whose eyes had been roving in a seeking manner round the
+room, and who now brought his words out with a run; "I wish Sigmund had
+been here too. I wish she could have seen him. She loves children; she
+has been very good to Gretchen."
+
+Eugen's hand dropped from our friend's shoulder. He walked to the window
+without speaking, and looked out into the darkness--as he was then in
+more senses than one often wont to do--nor did he break the silence nor
+look at us again until some time after Karl and I had resumed the
+conversation.
+
+So did the quaint fellow announce his engagement to us. It was quite a
+romantic little history, for it turned out that he had loved the girl
+for full two years, but for a long time had not been able even to make
+her acquaintance, and when that was accomplished, had hardly dared to
+speak of his love for her; for though she was sprung from much the same
+class as himself, she was in much better circumstances, and accustomed
+to a life of ease and plenty, even if she were little better in reality
+than a kind of working housekeeper. A second suitor for her hand had,
+however, roused Karl into boldness and activity; he declared himself,
+and was accepted. Despite the opposition of Frau Steinmann, who thought
+the match in every way beneath her niece (why, I never could tell), the
+lovers managed to carry their purpose so far as the betrothal or
+_verlobung_ went; marriage was a question strictly of the future. It was
+during the last weeks of suspense and uncertainty that Karl had been
+unable to carry things off in quite his usual light-hearted manner; it
+was after finally conquering that he came to make us partners in his
+satisfaction.
+
+In time we had the honor of an introduction to Fr�ulein Steinmann, and
+our amazement and amusement were equally great. Karl was a tall,
+handsome, well-knit fellow, with an exceptionally graceful figure and
+what I call a typical German face (typical, I mean, in one line of
+development)--open, frank, handsome, with the broad traits, smiling
+lips, clear and direct guileless eyes, waving hair and aptitude for
+geniality which are the chief characteristics of that type--not the
+highest, perhaps, but a good one, nevertheless--honest, loyal, brave--a
+kind which makes good fathers and good soldiers--how many a hundred are
+mourned since 1870-71!
+
+He had fallen in love with a little stout dumpy _M�dchen_, honest and
+open as himself, but stupid in all outside domestic matters. She was
+evidently desperately in love with him, and could understand a good
+waltz or a sentimental song, so that his musical talents were not
+altogether thrown away. I liked her better after a time. There was
+something touching in the way in which she said to me once:
+
+"He might have done so much better. I am such an ugly, stupid thing, but
+when he said did I love him or could I love him, or something like that,
+_um Gotteswillen_, Herr Helfen, what could I say?"
+
+"I am sure you did the best possible thing both for him and for you," I
+was able to say, with emphasis and conviction.
+
+Karl had now become a completely reformed and domesticated member of
+society; now he wore the frock-coat several times a week, and confided
+to me that he thought he must have a new one soon. Now too did other
+strange results appear of his engagement to Fr�ulein Clara (he got
+sentimental and called her Cl�rchen sometimes). He had now the _entr�e_
+of Frau Steinmann's house and there met feminine society several degrees
+above that to which he had been accustomed. He was obliged to wear a
+permanently polite and polished manner (which, let me hasten to say, was
+not the least trouble to him). No chaffing of these young ladies--no
+offering to take them to places of amusement of any but the very
+sternest and severest respectability.
+
+He took Fr�ulein Clara out for walks. They jogged along arm in arm, Karl
+radiant, Clara no less so, and sometimes they were accompanied by
+another inmate of Frau Steinmann's house--a contrast to them both. She
+lived _en famille_ with her hostess, not having an income large enough
+to admit of indulging in quite separate quarters, and her name was Anna
+Sartorius.
+
+It was very shortly after his engagement that Karl began to talk to me
+about Anna Sartorius. She was a clever young woman, it seemed--or as he
+called her, a _gescheidtes M�dchen_. She could talk most wonderfully.
+She had traveled--she had been in England and France, and seen the
+world, said Karl. They all passed very delightful evenings together
+sometimes, diversified with music and song and the racy jest--at which
+times Frau Steinmann became quite another person, and he, Karl, felt
+himself in heaven.
+
+The substance of all this was told me by him one day at a probe, where
+Eugen had been conspicuous by his absence. Perhaps the circumstance
+reminded Karl of some previous conversation, for he said:
+
+"She must have seen Courvoisier before somewhere. She asks a good many
+questions about him, and when I said I knew him she laughed."
+
+"Look here, Karl, don't go talking to outsiders about Eugen--or any of
+us. His affairs are no business of Fr�ulein Sartorius, or any other
+busybody."
+
+"I talk about him! What do you mean? Upon my word I don't know how the
+conversation took that turn; but I am sure she knows something about
+him. She said 'Eugen Courvoisier indeed!' and laughed in a very peculiar
+way."
+
+"She is a fool. So are you if you let her talk to you about him."
+
+"She is no fool, and I want to talk to no one but my own _M�dchen_,"
+said he, easily; "but when a woman is talking one can't stop one's
+ears."
+
+Time passed. The concert with the Choral Symphony followed. Karl had had
+the happiness of presenting tickets to Fr�ulein Clara and her aunt, and
+of seeing them, in company with Miss Sartorius, enjoying looking at the
+dresses, and saying how loud the music was. His visits to Frau Steinmann
+continued.
+
+"Friedel," he remarked abruptly one day to me, as we paced down the
+Casernenstrasse, "I wonder who Courvoisier is!"
+
+"You have managed to exist very comfortably for three or four years
+without knowing."
+
+"There is something behind all his secrecy about himself."
+
+"Fr�ulein Sartorius says so, I suppose," I remarked, dryly.
+
+"N--no; she never said so; but I think she knows it is so."
+
+"And what if it be so?"
+
+"Oh, nothing! But I wonder what can have driven him here."
+
+"Driven him here? His own choice, of course."
+
+Karl laughed.
+
+"_Nee_, _nee_, Friedel, not quite."
+
+"I should advise you to let him and his affairs alone, unless you want a
+row with him. I would no more think of asking him than of cutting off my
+right hand."
+
+"Asking him--_lieber Himmel!_ no; but one may wonder--It was a very
+queer thing his sending poor Sigmund off in that style. I wonder where
+he is."
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Did he never tell you?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Queer!" said Karl, reflectively. "I think there is something odd behind
+it all."
+
+"Now listen, Karl. Do you want to have a row with Eugen? Are you anxious
+for him never to speak to you again?"
+
+"_Herrgott_, no!"
+
+"Then take my advice, and just keep your mouth shut. Don't listen to
+tales, and don't repeat them."
+
+"But, my dear fellow, when there is a mystery about a man--"
+
+"Mystery! Nonsense! What mystery is there in a man's choosing to have
+private affairs? We didn't behave in this idiotic manner when you were
+going on like a lunatic about Fr�ulein Clara. We simply assumed that as
+you didn't speak you had affairs which you chose to keep to yourself.
+Just apply the rule, or it may be worse for you."
+
+"For all that, there is something queer," he said, as we turned into the
+restauration for dinner.
+
+Yet again, some days later, just before the last concert came off, Karl,
+talking to me, said, in a tone and with a look as if the idea troubled
+and haunted him:
+
+"I say, Friedel, do you think Courvoisier's being here is all square?"
+
+"All square?" I repeated, scornfully.
+
+He nodded.
+
+"Yes. Of course all has been right since he came here; but don't you
+think there may be something shady in the background?"
+
+"What do you mean by 'shady'?" I asked, more annoyed than I cared to
+confess at his repeated returning to the subject.
+
+"Well, you know, there must be a reason for his being here--"
+
+I burst into a fit of laughter, which was not so mirthful as it might
+seem.
+
+"I should rather think there must. Isn't there a reason for every one
+being somewhere? Why am I here? Why are you here?"
+
+"Yes; but this is quite a different thing. We are all agreed that
+whatever he may be now, he has not always been one of us, and I like
+things to be clear about people."
+
+"It is a most extraordinary thing that you should only have felt the
+anxiety lately," said I, witheringly, and then, after a moment's
+reflection, I said:
+
+"Look here, Karl; no one could be more unwilling than I to pick a
+quarrel with you, but quarrel we must if this talking of Eugen behind
+his back goes on. It is nothing to either of us what his past has been.
+I want no references. If you want to gossip about him or any one else,
+go to the old women who are the natural exchangers of that commodity.
+Only if you mention it again to me it comes to a quarrel--_verstehst
+du?_"
+
+"I meant no harm, and I can see no harm in it," said he.
+
+"Very well; but I do. I hate it. So shake hands, and let there be an end
+of it. I wish now that I had spoken out at first. There's a dirtiness,
+to my mind, in the idea of speculating about a person with whom you are
+intimate, in a way that you wouldn't like him to hear."
+
+"Well, if you will have it so," said he; but there was not the usual
+look of open satisfaction upon his face. He did not mention the subject
+to me again, but I caught him looking now and then earnestly at Eugen,
+as if he wished to ask him something. Then I knew that in my anxiety to
+avoid gossiping about the friend whose secrets were sacred to me, I had
+made a mistake. I ought to have made Karl tell me whether he had heard
+anything specific about him or against him, and so judge the extent of
+the mischief done.
+
+It needed but little thought on my part to refer Karl's suspicions and
+vague rumors to the agency of Anna Sartorius. Lately I had begun to
+observe this young lady more closely. She was a tall, dark, plain girl,
+with large, defiant-looking eyes, and a bitter mouth; when she smiled
+there was nothing genial in the smile. When she spoke, her voice had a
+certain harsh flavor; her laugh was hard and mocking--as if she laughed
+at, not with, people. There was something rather striking in her
+appearance, but little pleasing. She looked at odds with the world, or
+with her lot in it, or with her present circumstances, or something. I
+was satisfied that she knew something of Eugen, though, when I once
+pointed her out to him and asked if he knew her, he looked at her, and
+after a moment's look, as if he remembered, shook his head, saying:
+
+"There is something a little familiar to me in her face, but I am sure
+that I have never seen her--most assuredly never spoken to her."
+
+Yet I had often seen her look at him long and earnestly, usually with a
+certain peculiar smile, and with her head a little to one side as if she
+examined some curiosity or _lusus natur�_. I was too little curious
+myself to know Eugen's past to speculate much about it; but I was quite
+sure that there was some link between him and that dark, bitter,
+sarcastic-looking girl, Anna Sartorius.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+ "Didst thou, or didst thou not? Just tell me, friend!
+ Not that _my_ conscience may be satisfied,
+ _I_ never for a moment doubted thee--
+ But that I may have wherewithal in hand
+ To turn against them when they point at thee:
+ A whip to flog them with--a rock to crush--
+ Thy word--thy simple downright 'No, I did not.'
+
+   *       *       *       *       *
+
+   Why! How!
+ What's this? He does not, will not speak. Oh, God!
+ Nay, raise thy head and look me in the eyes!
+ Canst not? What is this thing?"
+
+
+It was the last concert of the season, and the end of April, when
+evenings were growing pleasantly long and the air balmy. Those last
+concerts, and the last nights of the opera, which closed at the end of
+April, until September, were always crowded. That night I remember we
+had Liszt's "Prometheus," and a great violinist had been announced as
+coming to enrapture the audience with the performance of a Concerto of
+Beethoven's.
+
+The concert was for the benefit of von Francius, and was probably the
+last one at which he would conduct us. He was leaving to assume the post
+of K�niglicher Musik-Direktor at ----. Now that the time came there was
+not a man among us who was not heartily sorry to think of the parting.
+
+Miss Wedderburn was one of the soloists that evening and her sister and
+Mr. Arkwright were both there.
+
+Karl Linders came on late. I saw that just before he appeared by the
+orchestra entrance, his beloved, her aunt, and Fr�ulein Sartorius had
+taken their places in the parquet. Karl looked sullen and discontented,
+and utterly unlike himself. Anna Sartorius was half smiling. Lady Le
+Marchant, I noticed, passingly, looked the shadow of her former self.
+
+Then von Francius came on; he too looked disturbed, for him very much
+so, and glanced round the orchestra and the room; and then coming up to
+Eugen, drew him a little aside, and seemed to put a question to him. The
+discussion, though carried on in low tones, was animated, and lasted
+some time. Von Francius appeared greatly to urge Courvoisier to
+something--the latter to resist. At last some understanding appeared to
+be come to. Von Francius returned to his estrade, Eugen to his seat, and
+the concert began.
+
+The third piece on the list was the Violin Concerto, and when its turn
+came all eyes turned in all directions in search of ----, the
+celebrated, who was to perform it. Von Francius advanced and made a
+short enough announcement.
+
+"_Meine Herrschaften_, I am sorry to say that I have received a telegram
+from Herr ----, saying that sudden illness prevents his playing
+to-night. I am sorry that you should be disappointed of hearing him, but
+I can not regret that you should have an opportunity of listening to one
+who will be a very effectual substitute--Herr Concertmeister
+Courvoisier, your first violin."
+
+He stepped back. Courvoisier rose. There was a dead silence in the hall.
+Eugen stood in the well-known position of the prophet without honor,
+only that he had not yet begun to speak. The rest of the orchestra and
+von Francius were waiting to begin Beethoven's Concerto; but Eugen,
+lifting his voice, addressed them in his turn:
+
+"I am sorry to say that I dare not venture upon the great Concerto; it
+is so long since I attempted it. I shall have pleasure in trying to play
+a _Chaconne_--one of the compositions of Herr von Francius."
+
+Von Francius started up as if to forbid it. But Eugen had touched the
+right key. There was a round of applause, and then an expectant settling
+down to listen on the part of the audience, who were, perhaps, better
+pleased to hear von Francius the living and much discussed than
+Beethoven the dead and undisputed.
+
+It was a minor measure, and one unknown to the public, for it had not
+yet been published. Von Francius had lent Eugen the score a few days
+ago, and he had once or twice said to me that it was full not merely of
+talent; it was replete with the fire of genius.
+
+And so, indeed, he proved to us that night. Never, before or since, from
+professional or private _virtuoso_, have I heard such playing as that.
+The work was in itself a fine one; original, strong, terse and racy,
+like him who had composed it. It was sad, very sad, but there was a
+magnificent elevation running all through it which raised it far above a
+mere complaint, gave a depth to its tragedy while it pointed at hope.
+And this, interpreted by Eugen, whose mood and whose inner life it
+seemed exactly to suit, was a thing not to be forgotten in a life-time.
+To me the scene and the sounds come freshly as if heard yesterday. I see
+the great hall full of people, attentive--more than attentive--every
+moment more inthralled. I see the pleased smile which had broken upon
+every face of his fellow-musicians at this chance of distinction
+gradually subside into admiration and profound appreciation; I feel
+again the warm glow of joy which filled my own heart; I meet again May's
+eyes and see the light in them, and see von Francius shade his face with
+his hand to conceal the intensity of the artist's delight he felt at
+hearing his own creation so grandly, so passionately interpreted.
+
+Then I see how it was all over, and Eugen, pale with the depth of
+emotion with which he had played the passionate music, retired, and
+there came a burst of enthusiastic applause--applause renewed again and
+again--it was a veritable _succ�s fou_.
+
+But he would make no response to the plaudits. He remained obstinately
+seated, and there was no elation, but rather gloom upon his face. In
+vain von Francius besought him to come forward. He declined, and the
+calls at last ceased. It was the last piece on the first part of the
+programme. The people at last let him alone. But there could be no doubt
+that he had both roused a great interest in himself and stimulated the
+popularity of von Francius in no common degree. And at last he had to go
+down the orchestra steps to receive a great many congratulations, and go
+through several introductions, while I sat still and mentally rubbed my
+hands.
+
+Meanwhile Karl Linders, with nearly all the other instrumentalists, had
+disappeared from the orchestra. I saw him appear again in the body of
+the hall, among all the people, who were standing up, laughing and
+discussing and roving about to talk to their friends. He had a long
+discussion with Fr�ulein Clara and Anna Sartorius.
+
+And then I turned my attention to Eugen again, who, looking grave and
+unelated, released himself as soon as possible from his group of new
+acquaintance and joined me.
+
+Then von Francius brought Miss Wedderburn up the steps, and left her
+sitting near us. She turned to Eugen and said, "_Ich gratuliere_," to
+which he only bowed rather sadly. Her chair was quite close to ours, and
+von Francius stood talking to her. Others were quickly coming. One or
+two were around and behind us.
+
+Eugen was tuning his violin, when a touch on the shoulder roused me. I
+looked up. Karl stood there, leaning across me toward Eugen. Something
+in his face told me that it--that which had been hanging so long over
+us--was coming. His expression, too, attracted the attention of several
+other people--of all who were immediately around.
+
+Those who heard Karl were myself, von Francius, Miss Wedderburn, and
+some two or three others, who had looked up as he came, and had paused
+to watch what was coming.
+
+"Eugen," said he, "a foul lie has been told about you."
+
+"So!"
+
+"Of course I don't believe a word of it. I'm not such a fool. But I have
+been challenged to confront you with it. It only needs a syllable on
+your side to crush it instantly; for I will take your word against all
+the rest of the world put together."
+
+"Well?" said Eugen, whose face was white, and whose voice was low.
+
+"A lady has said to me that you had a brother who had acted the part of
+father to you, and that you rewarded his kindness by forging his name
+for a sum of money which you could have had for the asking, for he
+denied you nothing. It is almost too ridiculous to repeat, and I beg
+your pardon for doing it; but I was obliged. Will you give me a word of
+denial?"
+
+Silence!
+
+I looked at Eugen. We were all looking at him. Three things I looked for
+as equally likely for him to do; but he did none. He did not start up
+in an indignant denial; he did not utter icily an icy word of contempt;
+he did not smile and ask Karl if he were out of his senses. He dropped
+his eyes, and maintained a deadly silence.
+
+Karl was looking at him, and his candid face changed. Doubt, fear,
+dismay succeeded one another upon it. Then, in a lower and changed
+voice, as if first admitting the idea that caution might be necessary:
+
+"_Um Gotteswillen_, Eugen! Speak!"
+
+He looked up--so may look a dog that is being tortured--and my very
+heart sickened; but he did not speak.
+
+A few moments--not half a minute--did we remain thus. It seemed a
+hundred years of slow agony. But during that time I tried to comprehend
+that my friend of the bright, clear eyes, and open, fearless glance;
+the very soul and flower of honor; my ideal of almost Quixotic
+chivalrousness, stood with eyes that could not meet ours that hung upon
+him; face white, expression downcast, accused of a crime which came, if
+ever crime did, under the category "dirty," and not denying it!
+
+Karl, the wretched beginner of the wretched scene, came nearer, took the
+other's hand, and, in a hoarse whisper, said:
+
+"For God's sake, Eugen, speak! Deny it! You can deny it--you must deny
+it!"
+
+He looked up at last, with a tortured gaze; looked at Karl, at me, at
+the faces around. His lips quivered faintly. Silence yet. And yet it
+seemed to me that it was loathing that was most strongly depicted upon
+his face; the loathing of a man who is obliged to intimately examine
+some unclean thing; the loathing of one who has to drag a corpse about
+with him.
+
+"Say it is a lie, Eugen!" Karl conjured him.
+
+At last came speech; at last an answer; slow, low, tremulous, impossible
+to mistake or explain away.
+
+"No; I can not say so."
+
+His head--that proud, high head--dropped again, as if he would fain
+avoid our eyes.
+
+Karl raised himself. His face too was white. As if stricken with some
+mortal blow, he walked away. Some people who had surrounded us turned
+aside and began to whisper to each other behind their music. Von
+Francius looked impenetrable; May Wedderburn white. The noise and
+bustle was still going on all around, louder than before. The drama had
+not taken three minutes to play out.
+
+Eugen rested his brow for a moment on his hand, and his face was hidden.
+He looked up, rising as he did so, and his eyes met those of Miss
+Wedderburn. So sad, so deep a gaze I never saw. It was a sign to me, a
+significant one, that he could meet her eyes.
+
+Then he turned to von Francius.
+
+"Herr Direktor, Helfen will take my place, _nicht wahr?_"
+
+Von Francius bowed. Eugen left his seat, made his way, without a word,
+from the orchestra, and von Francius rapped sharply, the preliminary
+tumult subsided; the concert began.
+
+I glanced once or twice toward Karl; I received no answering look. I
+could not even see his face; he had made himself as small as possible
+behind his music.
+
+The concert over--it seemed to me interminable--I was hastening away,
+anxious only to find Eugen, when Karl Linders stopped me in a retired
+corner, and holding me fast, said:
+
+"Friedel, I am a damned fool."
+
+"I am sorry not to be able to contradict you."
+
+"Listen," said he. "You must listen, or I shall follow you and make
+you. I made up my mind not to hear another word against him, but when
+I went to _die Clara_ after the solo, I found her and that confounded
+girl whispering together. She--Anna Sartorius--said it was very fine
+for such scamps to cover their sins with music. I asked her pretty
+stiffly what she meant, for she is always slanging Eugen, and I thought
+she might have let him alone for once. She said she meant that he was a
+blackguard--that's the word she used--_ein lauter Spitzbube_--a forger,
+and worse. I told her I believed it was a lie. I did not believe it.
+
+"'Ask him,' said she. I said I would be--something--first. But Clara
+would have nothing to say to me, and they both badgered me until for
+mere quietness I agreed to do as they wished."
+
+He went on in distress for some time.
+
+"Oh, drop it!" said I, impatiently. "You have done the mischief. I don't
+want to listen to your whining over it. Go to the Fr�ulein Steinmann
+and Sartorius. They will confer the reward of merit upon you."
+
+"_Gott beh�te!_"
+
+I shook myself loose from him and took my way home. It was with a
+feeling not far removed from tremulousness that I entered the room. That
+poor room formed a temple which I had no intention of desecrating.
+
+He was sitting at the table when I entered, and looked at me absently.
+Then, with a smile in which sweetness and bitterness were strangely
+mingled, said:
+
+"So! you have returned? I will not trouble you much longer. Give me
+house-room for to-night. In the morning I shall be gone."
+
+I went up to him, pushed the writing materials which lay before him
+away, and took his hands, but could not speak for ever so long.
+
+"Well, Friedhelm," he asked, after a pause, during which the drawn and
+tense look upon his face relaxed somewhat, "what have you to say to the
+man who has let you think him honest for three years?"
+
+"Whom I know, and ever have known, to be an honest man."
+
+He laughed.
+
+"There are degrees and grades even in honesty. One kind of honesty is
+lower than others. I am honest now because my sin has found me out, I
+can't keep up appearances any longer."
+
+"Pooh! do you suppose that deceives me?" said I, contemptuously. "Me,
+who have known you for three years. That would be a joke, but one that
+no one will enjoy at my expense."
+
+A momentary expression of pleasure unutterable flashed across his face
+and into his eyes; then was repressed, as he said:
+
+"You must listen to reason. Have I not told you all along that my life
+had been spoiled by my own fault?--that I had disqualified myself to
+take any leading part among men?--that others might advance, but I
+should remain where I was? And have you not the answer to all here? You
+are a generous soul, I know, like few others. My keenest regret now is
+that I did not tell you long ago how things stood, but it would have
+cost me your friendship, and I have not too many things to make life
+sweet to me."
+
+"Eugen, why did you not tell me before? I know the reason; for the very
+same reason which prevents you from looking me in the eyes now, and
+saying, 'I am guilty. I did that of which I am accused,' because it is
+not true. I challenge you; meet my eyes, and say, 'I am guilty!'"
+
+He looked at me; his eyes were dim with anguish. He said:
+
+"Friedel, I--can not tell you that I am innocent."
+
+"I did not ask you to do so. I asked you to say you were guilty, and on
+your soul be it if you lie to me. That I could never forgive."
+
+Again he looked at me, strove to speak, but no word came. I never
+removed my eyes from his; the pause grew long, till I dropped his hands
+and turned away with a smile.
+
+"Let a hundred busybodies raise their clamoring tongues, they can never
+divide you and me. If it were not insulting I should ask you to believe
+that every feeling of mine for you is unchanged, and will remain so as
+long as I live."
+
+"It is incredible. Such loyalty, such--Friedel, you are a fool!"
+
+His voice broke.
+
+"I wish you could have heard Miss Wedderburn sing her English song after
+you were gone. It was called, 'What would You do, Love?' and she made us
+all cry."
+
+"Ah, Miss Wedderburn! How delightful she is."
+
+"If it is any comfort to you to know, I can assure you that she thinks
+as I do. I am certain of it."
+
+"Comfort--not much. It is only that if I ever allowed myself to fall in
+love again, which I shall not do, it would be with Miss Wedderburn."
+
+The tone sufficiently told me that he was much in love with her already.
+
+"She is bewitching," he added.
+
+"If you do not mean to allow yourself to fall in love with her," I
+remarked, sententiously, "because it seems that 'allowing' is a matter
+for her to decide, not the men who happen to know her."
+
+"I shall not see much more of her. I shall not remain here."
+
+As this was what I had fully expected to hear, I said nothing, but I
+thought of Miss Wedderburn, and grieved for her.
+
+"Yes, I must go forth from hence," he pursued. "I suppose I ought to be
+satisfied that I have had three years here. I wonder if there is any way
+in which a man could kill all trace of his old self; a man who has every
+desire to lead henceforth a new life, and be at peace and charity with
+all men. I suppose not--no. I suppose the brand has to be carried about
+till the last; and how long it may be before that 'last' comes!"
+
+I was silent. I had put a good face upon the matter and spoken bravely
+about it. I had told him that I did not believe him guilty--that my
+regard and respect were as high as ever, and I spoke the truth. Both
+before and since then he had told me that I had a bump of veneration and
+one of belief ludicrously out of proportion to the exigencies of the age
+in which I lived.
+
+Be it so. Despite my cheerful words, and despite the belief I did feel
+in him, I could not help seeing that he carried himself now as a marked
+man. The free, open look was gone; a blight had fallen upon him, and he
+withered under it. There was what the English call a "down" look upon
+his face, which had not been there formerly, even in those worst days
+when the parting from Sigmund was immediately before and behind us.
+
+In the days which immediately followed the scene at the concert I
+noticed how he would set about things with a kind of hurried zeal, then
+suddenly stop and throw them aside, as if sick of them, and fall to
+brooding with head sunk upon his breast, and lowering brow; a state and
+a spectacle which caused me pain and misery not to be described. He
+would begin sudden conversations with me, starting with some question,
+as:
+
+"Friedel, do you believe in a future state?"
+
+"I do, and I don't. I mean to say that I don't know anything about it."
+
+"Do you know what my idea of heaven would be?"
+
+"Indeed, I don't," said I, feebly endeavoring a feeble joke. "A place
+where all the fiddles are by Stradivarius and Guanarius, and all the
+music comes up to Beethoven."
+
+"No; but a place where there are no mistakes."
+
+"No mistakes?"
+
+"_Ja wohl!_ Where it would not be possible for a man with fair chances
+to spoil his whole career by a single mistake. Or, if there were
+mistakes, I would arrange that the punishment should be in some
+proportion to them--not a large punishment for a little sin, and _vice
+vers�_."
+
+"Well, I should think that if there is any heaven there would be some
+arrangement of that kind."
+
+"As for hell," he went on, in a low, calm tone which I had learned to
+understand meant with him intense earnestness, "there are people who
+wonder that any one could invent a hell. My only wonder is why they
+should have resorted to fire and brimstone to enhance its terrors when
+they had the earth full of misery to choose from."
+
+"You think this world a hell, Eugen?"
+
+"Sometimes I think it the very nethermost hell of hells, and I think if
+you had my feelings you would think so too. A poet, an English poet (you
+do not know the English poets as you ought, Friedhelm), has said that
+the fiercest of all hells is the failure in a great purpose. I used to
+think that a fine sentiment; now I sometimes wonder whether to a man who
+was once inclined to think well of himself it may not be a much fiercer
+trial to look back and find that he has failed to be commonly honest and
+upright. It is a nice little distinction--a moral wire-drawing which I
+would recommend to the romancers if I knew any."
+
+Once and only once was Sigmund mentioned between us, and Eugen said:
+
+"Nine years, were you speaking of? No--not in nineteen, nor in
+ninety-nine shall I ever see him again."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"The other night, and what occurred then, decided me. Till then I had
+some consolation in thinking that the blot might perhaps be wiped
+out--the shame lived down. Now I see that that is a fallacy. With God's
+help I will never see him nor speak to him again. It is better that he
+should forget me."
+
+His voice did not tremble as he said this, though I knew that the idea
+of being forgotten by Sigmund must be to him anguish of a refinement not
+to be measured by me.
+
+I bided my time, saying nothing. I at least was too much engrossed with
+my own affairs to foresee the cloud then first dawning on the horizon,
+which they who looked toward France and Spain might perhaps perceive.
+
+It had not come yet--the first crack of that thunder which rattled
+so long over our land, and when we saw the dingy old J�ger Hof
+at one end of the Hofgarten, and heard by chance the words of
+Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen, no premonition touched us. My mind was made
+up, that let Eugen go when and where he would, I would go with him.
+
+I had no ties of duty, none of love or of ambition to separate me from
+him; his God should be my God, and his people my people; if the God were
+a jealous God, dealing out wrath and terror, and the people should
+dwindle to outcasts and pariahs, it mattered not to me. I loved him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+ Nein, l�nger kann ich diesen Kampf nicht k�mpfen,
+   Den Riesenkampf der Pflicht.
+ Kannst du des Herzens Flammentrieb nicht d�mpfen,
+   So fordre, Tugend, dieses Opfer nicht.
+
+ Geschworen hab' ich 's, ja, ich hab's geschworen,
+   Mich selbst zu b�ndigen.
+ Hier ist dein Kranz, er sei auf ewig mir verloren;
+   Nimm ihn zur�ck und lass mich s�ndigen.
+                SCHILLER.
+
+
+If I had never had a trouble before I had one now--large, stalwart,
+robust. For what seemed to me a long time there was present to my mind's
+eye little but the vision of a large, lighted room--a great undefined
+crowd surging around and below, a small knot of persons and faces in
+sharp distinctness immediately around me; low-spoken words with a
+question; no answer--vehement imploring for an answer--still no reply;
+yet another sentence conjuring denial, and then the answer itself--the
+silence that succeeded it; the face which had become part of my thoughts
+all changed and downcast--the man whom I had looked up to, feared,
+honored, as chivalrous far beyond his station and circumstances slowly
+walking away from the company of his fellows, disgraced, fallen, having
+himself owned to the disgrace being merited, pointed at as a
+cheat--bowing to the accusation.
+
+It drove me almost mad to think of it. I suffered the more keenly
+because I could speak to no one of what had happened. What sympathy
+should I get from any living soul by explaining my sick looks and absent
+demeanor with the words, "I love that man who is disgraced?" I smiled
+dryly in the midst of my anguish, and locked it the deeper in my own
+breast.
+
+I had believed in him so devotedly, so intensely, had loved him so
+entirely, and with such a humility, such a consciousness of my own
+shortcomings and of his superiority. The recoil at first was such as one
+might experience who embraces a veiled figure, presses his lips to where
+its lips should be, and finds that he kisses a corpse.
+
+Such, I say, was the recoil at first. But a recoil, from its very
+nature, is short and vehement. There are some natures, I believe, which
+after a shock turn and flee from the shocking agent. Not so I. After
+figuratively springing back and pressing my hands over my eyes, I
+removed them again, and still saw his face--and it tortured me to have
+to own it, but I had to do so--still loved that face beyond all earthly
+things.
+
+It grew by degrees familiar to me again. I caught myself thinking of the
+past and smiling at the remembrance of the jokes between Eugen and
+Helfen on Carnival Monday, then pulled myself up with a feeling of
+horror, and the conviction that I had no business to be thinking of him
+at all. But I did think of him day by day and hour by hour, and tortured
+myself with thinking of him, and wished, yet dreaded, to see him, and
+wondered how I possibly could see him, and could only live on in a hope
+which was not fulfilled. For I had no right to seek him out. His
+condition might be much--very much to me. My sympathy or pity or
+thought--as I felt all too keenly--could be nothing to him.
+
+Meanwhile, as is usual in such cases, circumstance composedly took my
+affairs into her hands and settled them for me without my being able to
+move a finger in the matter.
+
+The time was approaching for the departure of von Francius. Adelaide and
+I did not exchange a syllable upon the subject. Of what use? I knew to a
+certain extent what was passing within her. I knew that this child of
+the world--were we not all children of the world, and not of light?--had
+braced her moral forces to meet the worst, and was awaiting it calmly.
+
+Adelaide, like me, based her actions not upon religion. Religion was for
+both of us an utter abstraction; it touched us not. That which gave
+Adelaide force to withstand temptation, and to remain stoically in the
+drear sphere in which she already found herself, was not religion; it
+was pride on the one hand, and on the other love for Max von Francius.
+
+Pride forbade her to forfeit her reputation, which was dear to her,
+though her position had lost the charms with which distance had once
+gilded it for her. Love for von Francius made her struggle with all the
+force of her nature to remain where she was, renounce him blamelessly
+rather than yield at the price which women must pay who do such things
+as leave their husbands.
+
+It was wonderful to me to see how love had developed in her every higher
+emotion. I remembered how cynical she had always been as to the merits
+of her own sex. Women, according to her, were an inferior race, who
+gained their poor ends by poor means. She had never been hard upon
+female trickery and subterfuge. Bah! she said, how else are they to get
+what they want? But now with the exalted opinion of a man, had come
+exalted ideas as to the woman fit for his wife.
+
+Since to go to him she must be stained and marked forever, she would
+remain away from him. Never should any circumstance connected with him
+be made small or contemptible by any act of hers. I read the motive,
+and, reading it, read her.
+
+Von Francius was, equally with herself, distinctly and emphatically a
+child of the world--as she honored him he honored her. He proved his
+strength and the innate nobility of his nature by his stoic abstinence
+from evasion of or rebellion against the decree which had gone out
+against their love. He was a better man, a greater artist, a more
+sympathetic nature now than before. His passage through the furnace
+had cleansed him. He was a standing example to me that despite what
+our preachers and our poets, our philosophers and our novelists
+are incessantly dinning into our ears, there are yet men who can
+renounce--men to whom honor and purity are still the highest goddesses.
+
+I saw him, naturally, and often during these days--so dark for all of
+us. He spoke to me of his prospects in his new post. He asked me if I
+would write to him occasionally, even if it should be only three or four
+times in the year.
+
+"Indeed I will, if you care to hear from me," said I, much moved.
+
+This was at our last music lesson, in my dark little room at the
+Wehrhahn. Von Francius had made it indeed a lesson, more than a lesson,
+a remembrance to carry with me forever, for he had been playing
+Beethoven and Schubert to me.
+
+"Fr�ulein May, everything concerning you and yours will ever be of the
+very deepest interest to me," he said, looking earnestly at me. "Take a
+few words of advice and information from one who has never felt anything
+for you since he first met you but the truest friendship. You have in
+you the materials of a great artist; whether you have the Spartan
+courage and perseverance requisite to attain the position, I can hardly
+tell. If you choose to become an artist, _eine vollkommene K�nstlerin_,
+you must give everything else up--love and marriage and all that
+interferes with your art, for, _liebes Fr�ulein_, you can not pursue two
+things at once."
+
+"Then I have every chance of becoming as great an artist as possible,"
+said I; "for none of those things will ever interfere with my pursuit of
+art."
+
+"Wait till the time of probation comes; you are but eighteen yet," said
+he, kindly, but skeptically.
+
+"Herr von Francius"--the words started to my lips as the truth into
+my mind, and fell from them in the strong desire to speak to some one
+of the matter that then filled my whole soul--"I can tell you the
+truth--you will understand--the time of probation has been--it is
+over--past. I am free for the future."
+
+"So!" said he, in a very low voice, and his eyes were filled, less with
+pity than with a fellow-feeling which made them "wondrous kind." "You
+too have suffered, and given up. There are then four people--you and I,
+and one whose name I will not speak, and--may I guess once, Fr�ulein
+May?"
+
+I bowed.
+
+"My first violinist, _nicht wahr?_"
+
+Again I assented silently. He went on:
+
+"Fate is perverse about these things. And now, my fair pupil, you
+understand somewhat more that no true artist is possible without sorrow
+and suffering and renunciation. And you will think sometimes of your
+old, fault-finding, grumbling master--_ja_?"
+
+"Oh, Herr von Francius!" cried I, laying my hand upon the key-board of
+the piano, and sobbing aloud. "The kindest, best, most patient,
+gentle--"
+
+I could say no more.
+
+"That is mere nonsense, my dear May," he said, passing his hand over my
+prostrate head; and I felt that it--the strong hand--trembled. "I want a
+promise from you. Will you sing for me next season?"
+
+"If I am alive, and you send for me, I will."
+
+"Thanks. And--one other word. Some one very dear to us both is very sad;
+she will become sadder. You, my child, have the power of allaying
+sadness, and soothing grief and bitterness in a remarkable degree. Will
+you expend some of that power upon her when her burden grows very hard,
+and think that with each word of kindness to her you bind my heart more
+fast to yourself?"
+
+"I will--indeed I will!"
+
+"We will not say good-bye, but only _auf wiedersehen_!" said he. "You
+and I shall meet again. I am sure of that. _Meine liebe, gute
+Sch�lerin_, adieu!"
+
+Choked with tears, I passively let him raise my hand to his lips. I hid
+my face in my handkerchief to repress my fast-flowing tears. I would
+not, because I dared not, look at him. The sight of his kind and trusted
+face would give me too much pain.
+
+He loosed my hand. I heard steps; a door opened and closed. He was gone!
+My last lesson was over. My trusty friend had departed. He was to leave
+Elberthal on the following day.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next night there was an entertainment--half concert, half
+theatricals, wholly _dilettante_--at the Malkasten, the Artists' Club.
+We, as is the duty of a decorous English family, buried all our private
+griefs, and appeared at the entertainment, to which, indeed, Adelaide
+had received a special invitation. I was going to remain with Adelaide
+until Sir Peter's return, which, we understood, was to be in the course
+of a few weeks, and then I was going to ----, by the advice of von
+Francius, there to finish my studies.
+
+Dearly though I loved music, divine as she ever has been, and will be,
+to me, yet the idea of leaving von Francius for other masters had at
+first almost shaken my resolution to persevere. But, as I said, all this
+was taken out of my hands by an irresistible concourse of circumstances,
+over which I had simply no control whatever.
+
+Adelaide, Harry, and I went to the Malkasten. The gardens were gayly
+illuminated; there was a torch-light procession round the little
+artificial lake, and chorus singing--merry choruses, such as "Wenn Zwei
+sich gut sind, sie finden den Weg"--which were cheered and laughed at.
+The fantastically dressed artists and their friends were flitting, torch
+in hand, about the dark alleys under the twisted acacias and elms, the
+former of which made the air voluptuous with their scent. Then we
+adjourned to the saal for the concert, and heard on all sides regrets
+about the absence of von Francius.
+
+We sat out the first part of the festivities, which were to conclude
+with theatricals. During the pause we went into the garden. The May
+evening was balmy and beautiful; no moonlight, but many stars and the
+twinkling lights in the garden.
+
+Adelaide and I had seated ourselves on a circular bench surrounding a
+big tree, which had the mighty word GOETHE cut deeply into its rugged
+bark. When the others began to return to the Malkasten, Adelaide,
+turning to Arkwright, said:
+
+"Harry, will you go in and leave my sister and me here, that's a good
+boy? You can call for us when the play is over."
+
+"All right, my lady," assented he, amiably, and left us.
+
+Presently Adelaide and I moved to another seat, near to a small table
+under a thick shade of trees. The pleasant, cool evening air fanned our
+faces; all was still and peaceful. Not a soul but ourselves had remained
+out-of-doors. The still drama of the marching stars was less attractive
+than the amateur murdering of "Die Piccolomin" within. The tree-tops
+rustled softly over our heads. The lighted pond gleamed through the
+low-hanging boughs at the other end of the garden. A peal of laughter
+and a round of applause came wafted now and then from within. Ere long
+Adelaide's hand stole into mine, which closed over it, and we sat
+silent.
+
+Then there came a voice. Some one--a complaisant _dilettantin_--was
+singing Thekla's song. We heard the refrain--distance lent enchantment;
+it sounded what it really was, deep as eternity:
+
+    "Ich habe gelebt und geliebet."
+
+Adelaide moved uneasily; her hand started nervously, and a sigh broke
+from her lips.
+
+"Schiller wrote from his heart," said she, in a low voice.
+
+"Indeed, yes, Adelaide."
+
+"Did you say good-bye to von Francius, May, yesterday?"
+
+"Yes--at least, we said _au revoir_. He wants me to sing for him next
+winter."
+
+"Was he very down?"
+
+"Yes--very. He--"
+
+A footstep close at hand. A figure passed in the uncertain light, dimly
+discerned us, paused, and glanced at us.
+
+"Max!" exclaimed Adelaide, in a low voice, full of surprise and emotion,
+and she half started up.
+
+"It is you! That is too wonderful!" said he, pausing.
+
+"You are not yet gone?"
+
+"I have been detained to-day. I leave early to-morrow. I thought I would
+take at least one turn in the Malkasten garden, which I may perhaps
+never see or enter again. I did not know you were here."
+
+"We--May and I--thought it so pleasant that we would not go in again to
+listen to the play."
+
+Von Francius had come under the trees and was now leaning against a
+massive trunk; his slight, tall figure almost lost against it; his arms
+folded, and an imposing calm upon his pale face, which was just caught
+by the gleam of a lamp outside the trees.
+
+"Since this accidental meeting has taken place, I may have the privilege
+of saying adieu to your ladyship."
+
+"Yes--" said Adelaide, in a strange, low, much-moved tone.
+
+I felt uneasy, I was sorry this meeting had taken place. The shock
+and revulsion of feeling for Adelaide, after she had been securely
+calculating that von Francius was a hundred miles on his way to ----,
+was too severe. I could tell from the very _timbre_ of her voice and its
+faint vibration how agitated she was, and as she seated herself again
+beside me, I felt that she trembled like a reed.
+
+"It is more happiness than I expected," went on von Francius, and his
+voice too was agitated. Oh, if he would only say "Farewell," and go!
+
+"Happiness!" echoed Adelaide, in a tone whose wretchedness was too deep
+for tears.
+
+"Ah! You correct me. Still it is a happiness; there are some kinds of
+joy which one can not distinguish from griefs, my lady, until one comes
+to think that one might have been without them, and then one knows their
+real nature."
+
+She clasped her hands. I saw her bosom rise and fall with long, stormy
+breaths.
+
+I trembled for both; for Adelaide, whose emotion and anguish were, I
+saw, mastering her; for von Francius, because if Adelaide failed he must
+find it almost impossible to repulse her.
+
+"Herr von Francius," said I, in a quick, low voice, making one step
+toward him, and laying my hand upon his arm, "leave us! If you do love
+us," I added, in a whisper, "leave us! Adelaide, say good-bye to
+him--let him go!"
+
+"You are right," said von Francius to me, before Adelaide had time to
+speak; "you are quite right."
+
+A pause. He stepped up to Adelaide. I dared not interfere. Their eyes
+met, and his will not to yield produced the same in her, in the shape of
+a passive, voiceless acquiescence in his proceedings. He took her hands,
+saying:
+
+"My lady, adieu! Heaven send you peace, or death, which brings it,
+or--whatever is best."
+
+Loosing her hands he turned to me, saying distinctly:
+
+"As you are a woman, and her sister, do not forsake her now."
+
+Then he was gone. She raised her arms and half fell against the trunk of
+the giant acacia beneath which we had been sitting, face forward, as if
+drunk with misery.
+
+Von Francius, strong and generous, whose very submission seemed to brace
+one to meet trouble with a calmer, firmer front, was gone. I raised
+my eyes, and did not even feel startled, only darkly certain that
+Adelaide's evil star was high in the heaven of her fate, when I saw,
+calmly regarding us, Sir Peter Le Marchant.
+
+In another moment he stood beside his wife, smiling, and touched her
+shoulder; with a low cry she raised her face, shrinking away from him.
+She did not seem surprised either, and I do not think people often are
+surprised at the presence, however sudden and unexpected, of their evil
+genius. It is good luck which surprises the average human being.
+
+"You give me a cold welcome, my lady," he remarked. "You are so
+overjoyed to see me, I suppose. Your carriage is waiting outside. I came
+in it, and Arkwright told me I should find you here. Suppose you come
+home. We shall be less disturbed there than in these public gardens."
+
+Tone and words all convinced me that he had heard most of what had
+passed, and would oppress her with it hereafter.
+
+The late scene had apparently stunned her. After the first recoil she
+said, scarcely audibly, "I am ready," and moved. He offered her his arm;
+she took it, turning to me and saying, "Come, May!"
+
+"Excuse me," observed Sir Peter, "you are better alone. I am sorry I can
+not second your invitation to my charming sister-in-law. I do not think
+you fit for any society--even hers."
+
+"I can not leave my sister, Sir Peter; she is not fit to be left," I
+found voice to say.
+
+"She is not 'left,' as you say, my dear. She has her husband. She has
+me," said he.
+
+Some few further words passed. I do not chronicle them. Sir Peter was as
+firm as a rock--that I was helpless before him is a matter of course. I
+saw my sister handed into her carriage; I saw Sir Peter follow her--the
+carriage drive away. I was left alone, half mad with terror at the idea
+of her state, to go home to my lodgings.
+
+Sir Peter had heard the words of von Francius to me; "do not forsake her
+now," and had given himself the satisfaction of setting them aside as if
+they had been so much waste paper. Von Francius was, as I well knew,
+trying to derive comfort in this very moment from the fact that I at
+least was with her; I who loved them both, and would have laid down my
+life for them. Well, let him have the comfort! In the midst of my sorrow
+I rejoiced that he did not know the worst, and would not be likely to
+imagine for himself a terror grimmer than any feeling I had yet known.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+"Some say, 'A queen discrowned,' and some call it 'Woman's shame.'
+Others name it 'A false step,' or 'Social suicide,' just as it happens
+to strike their minds, or such understanding as they may be blessed
+with. In these days one rarely hears seriously mentioned such unruly
+words as 'Love,' or 'Wretchedness,' or 'Despair,' which may nevertheless
+be important factors in bringing about that result which stands out to
+the light of day for public inspection."
+
+
+The three days which I passed alone and in suspense were very terrible
+ones to me. I felt myself physically as well as mentally ill, and it was
+in vain that I tried to learn anything of or from Adelaide, and I waited
+in a kind of breathless eagerness for the end of it all, for I knew as
+well as if some one had shouted it aloud from the house-tops that that
+farewell in the Malkasten garden was not the end.
+
+Early one morning, when the birds were singing and the sunshine
+streaming into the room, Frau Lutzler came into the room and put a
+letter into my hand, which she said a messenger had left. I took it, and
+paused a moment before I opened it. I was unwilling to face what I knew
+was coming--and yet, how otherwise could the whole story have ended?
+
+     "DEAR MAY,--You, like me, have been suffering during these three
+     days. I have been trying--yes, I have tried to believe I could bear
+     this life, but it is too horrible. Isn't it possible that sometimes
+     it may be right to do wrong? It is of no use telling you what has
+     passed, but it is enough. I believe I am only putting the crowning
+     point to my husband's revenge when I leave him. He will be glad--he
+     does not mind the disgrace for himself; and he can get another
+     wife, as good as I, when he wants one. When you read this, or not
+     long afterward, I shall be with Max von Francius. I wrote to him--I
+     asked him to save me, and he said, 'Come!' It is not because I want
+     to go, but I must go somewhere. I have made a great mess of my
+     life. I believe everybody does make a mess of it who tries to
+     arrange things for himself. Remember that, May.
+
+     "I wonder if we shall ever meet again. Not likely, when you are
+     married to some respectable, conventional man, who will shield you
+     from contamination with such as I. I must not write more or I shall
+     write nonsense. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye! What will be the end
+     of me? Think of me sometimes, and try not to think too hardly.
+     Listen to your heart--not to what people say. Good-bye again!
+
+                    "ADELAIDE."
+
+I received this stroke without groan or cry, tear or shiver. It struck
+home to me. The heavens were riven asunder--a flash came from them,
+descended upon my head, and left me desolate. I stood, I know not how
+long, stock-still in the place where I had read that letter. In novels I
+had read of such things; they had had little meaning for me. In real
+life I had only heard them mentioned dimly and distantly, and here I
+was face to face with the awful thing, and so far from being able to
+deal out hearty, untempered condemnation, I found that the words of
+Adelaide's letter came to me like throes of a real heart. Bald, dry,
+disjointed sentences on the outside; without feeling they might seem,
+but to me they were the breathless exclamations of a soul in supreme
+torture and peril. My sister! with what a passion of love my heart went
+out to her. Think of you, Adelaide, and think of you not too hardly? Oh,
+why did not you trust me more?
+
+I saw her as she wrote these words: "I have made a great mess of it." To
+make a mess of one's life--one mistake after another, till what might
+have been at least honest, pure, and of good report, becomes a stained,
+limp, unsightly thing, at which men feel that they may gaze openly, and
+from which women turn away in scorn unutterable; and that Adelaide, my
+proudest of proud sisters, had come to this!
+
+I was not thinking of what people would say. I was not wondering how it
+had come about; I was feeling Adelaide's words ever more and more
+acutely, till they seemed to stand out from the paper and turn into
+cries of anguish in my very ears. I put my hands to my ears; I could not
+bear those notes of despair.
+
+"What will be the end of me?" she said, and I shook from head to foot as
+I repeated the question. If her will and that of von Francius ever came
+in contact. She had put herself at his mercy utterly; her whole future
+now depended upon the good pleasure of a man--and men were selfish.
+
+With a faint cry of terror and foreboding, I felt everything whirl
+unsteadily around me; the letter fell from my hand; the icy band that
+had held me fast gave way. All things faded before me, and I scarcely
+knew that I was sinking upon the floor. I thought I was dying; then
+thought faded with the consciousness that brings it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+ "Allein, allein! und so soll ich genesen?
+ Allein, allein! und das des Schicksals Segen!
+ Allein, allein! O Gott, ein einzig Wesen,
+ Um dieses Haupt an seine Brust zu legen!"
+
+
+I had a sharp, if not a long attack of illness, which left me weak,
+shaken, passive, so that I felt neither ability nor wish to resist those
+who took me into their hands. I remember being surprised at the goodness
+of every one toward me; astonished at Frau Lutzler's gentle kindness,
+amazed at the unfailing goodness of Dr. Mittendorf and his wife, at that
+of the medical man who attended me in my illness. Yes, the world seemed
+full of kindness, full of kind people who were anxious to keep me in it,
+and who managed, in spite of my effort to leave it, to retain me.
+
+Dr. Mittendorf, the oculist, had been my guardian angel. It was he who
+wrote to my friends and told them of my illness; it was he who went to
+meet Stella and Miss Hallam's Merrick, who came over to nurse me--and
+take me home. The fiat had gone forth. I was to go home. I made no
+resistance, but my very heart shrunk away in fear and terror from the
+parting, till one day something happened which reconciled me to going
+home, or rather made me evenly and equally indifferent whether I went
+home, or stayed abroad, or lived, or died, or, in short, what became of
+me.
+
+I sat one afternoon for the first time in an arm-chair opposite the
+window. It was June, and the sun streamed warmly and richly in. The room
+was scented with a bunch of wall-flowers and another of mignonette,
+which Stella had brought in that morning from the market. Stella was
+very kind to me, but in a superior, patronizing way. I had always felt
+deferentially backward before the superior abilities of both my
+sisters, but Stella quite over-awed me by her decided opinions and calm
+way of setting me right upon all possible matters.
+
+This afternoon she had gone out with Merrick to enjoy a little fresh
+air. I was left quite alone, with my hands in my lap, feeling very weak,
+and looking wistfully toward the well-remembered windows on the other
+side of the street.
+
+They were wide open; I could see inside the room. No one was
+there--Friedhelm and Eugen had gone out, no doubt.
+
+The door of my room opened, and Frau Lutzler came in. She looked
+cautiously around, and then, having ascertained that I was not asleep,
+asked in a nerve-disturbing whisper if I had everything that I wanted.
+
+"Everything, thank you, Frau Lutzler," said I. "But come in! I want to
+speak to you. I am afraid I have given you no end of trouble."
+
+"_Ach, ich bitte sie, Fr�ulein!_ Don't mention the trouble. We have
+managed to keep you alive."
+
+How they all did rejoice in having won a victory over that gray-winged
+angel, Death! I thought to myself, with a curious sensation of wonder.
+
+"You are very kind," I said, "and I want you to tell me something, Frau
+Lutzler: how long have I been ill?"
+
+"Fourteen days, Fr�ulein; little as you may think it."
+
+"Indeed! I have heard nothing about any one in that time. Who has been
+made musik-direktor in place of Herr von Francius?"
+
+Frau Lutzler folded her arms and composed herself to tell me a history.
+
+"_Ja, Fr�ulein_, the post would have been offered to Herr Courvoisier,
+only, you see, he has turned out a good-for-nothing. But perhaps you
+heard about that?"
+
+"Oh, yes! I know all about it," said I, hastily, as I passed my
+handkerchief over my mouth to hide the spasm of pain which contracted
+it.
+
+"Of course, considering all that, the Direktion could not offer it to
+him, so they proposed it to Herr Helfen--you know Herr Helfen, Fr�ulein,
+_nicht_?"
+
+I nodded.
+
+"A good young man! a worthy young man, and so popular with his
+companions! _Aber denken sie nur!_ The authorities might have been
+offering him an insult instead of a good post. He refused it then and
+there; would not stop to consider about it--in fact, he was quite angry
+about it. The gentleman who was chosen at last was a stranger, from
+Hanover."
+
+"Herr Helfen refused it--why, do you know?"
+
+"They say, because he was so fond of Herr Courvoisier, and would not be
+set above him. It may be so. I know for a certainty that, so far from
+taking part against Herr Courvoisier, he would not even believe the
+story against him, though he could not deny it, and did not try to deny
+it. _Aber_, Fr�ulein--what hearts men must have! To have lived three
+years, and let the world think him an honest man, when all the time he
+had that on his conscience! _Schrecklich!_"
+
+Adelaide and Courvoisier, it seemed, might almost be pelted with the
+same stones.
+
+"His wife, they say, died of grief at the disgrace--"
+
+"Yes," said I, wincing. I could not bear this any longer, nor to discuss
+Courvoisier with Frau Lutzler, and the words "his wife," uttered in that
+speculatively gossiping tone, repelled me. She turned the subject to
+Helfen again.
+
+"Herr Helfen must indeed have loved his friend, for when Herr
+Courvoisier went away he went with him."
+
+"Herr Courvoisier is gone?" I inquired, in a voice so like my usual one
+that I was surprised.
+
+"Yes, certainly he is gone. I don't know where, I am sure."
+
+"Perhaps they will return?"
+
+Frau Lutzler shook her head, and smiled slightly.
+
+"_Nee_, Fr�ulein! Their places were filled immediately. They are
+gone--_ganz und gar_."
+
+I tried to listen to her, tried to answer her as she went on giving her
+opinions upon men and things, but the effort collapsed suddenly. I had
+at last to turn my head away and close my eyes, and in that weary, weary
+moment I prayed to God that He would let me die, and wondered again, and
+was almost angry with those who had nursed me, for having done their
+work so well. "We have managed to save you," Frau Lutzler had said. Save
+me from what, and for what?
+
+I knew the truth, as I sat there; it was quite too strong and too clear
+to be laid aside, or looked upon with doubtful eyes. I was fronted by a
+fact, humiliating or not--a fact which I could not deny.
+
+It was bad enough to have fallen in love with a man who had never showed
+me by word or sign that he cared for me, but exactly and pointedly the
+reverse; but now it seemed the man himself was bad too. Surely a
+well-regulated mind would have turned away from him--uninfluenced.
+
+If so, then mine was an ill-regulated mind. I had loved him from the
+bottom of my heart; the world without him felt cold, empty and
+bare--desolate to live in, and shorn of its sweetest pleasures. He had
+influenced me, he influenced me yet--I still felt the words true:
+
+     "The _greater_ soul that draweth thee
+     Hath left his shadow plain to see
+     On thy fair face, Persephone!"
+
+He had bewitched me; I did feel capable of "making a fool of myself" for
+his sake. I did feel that life by the side of any other man would be
+miserable, though never so richly set; and that life by his side would
+be full and complete though never so poor and sparing in its
+circumstances. I make no excuses, no apologies for this state of things.
+It simply was so.
+
+Gone! And Friedhelm with him! I should probably never see either of them
+again. "I have made a mess of my life," Adelaide had said, and I felt
+that I might chant the same dirge. A fine ending to my boasted artistic
+career! I thought of how I had sat and chattered so aimlessly to
+Courvoisier in the cathedral at K�ln, and had little known how large and
+how deep a shadow his influence was to cast over my life.
+
+I still retained a habit of occasionally kneeling by my bedside and
+saying my prayers, and this night I felt the impulse to do so. I tried
+to thank God for my recovery. I said the Lord's Prayer; it is a
+universal petition and thanksgiving; it did not too nearly touch my
+woes; it allowed itself to be said, but when I came to something nearer,
+tried to say a thanksgiving for blessings and friends who yet remained,
+my heart refused, my tongue cleaved to my mouth. Alas! I was not
+regenerate. I could not thank God for what had happened. I found myself
+thinking of "the pity on't," and crying most bitterly till tears
+streamed through my folded fingers, and whispering, "Oh, if I could only
+have died while I was so ill! no one would have missed me, and it would
+have been so much better for me!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the beginning of July, Stella, Merrick, and I returned to England, to
+Skernford, home. I parted in silent tears from my trusted friends, the
+Mittendorfs, who begged me to come and stay with them at some future
+day. The anguish of leaving Elberthal did not make itself fully felt at
+first--that remained to torment me at a future day. And soon after our
+return came printed in large type in all the newspapers, "Declaration of
+War between France and Germany." Mine was among the hearts which panted
+and beat with sickening terror in England while the dogs of war were
+fastened in deadly grip abroad.
+
+My time at home was spent more with Miss Hallam than in my own home. I
+found her looking much older, much feebler, and much more subdued than
+when she had been in Germany. She seemed to find some comfort from my
+society, and I was glad to devote myself to her. But for her I should
+never have known all those pains and pleasures which, bitter though
+their remembrance might be, were, and ever would be to me, the dearest
+thing of my life.
+
+Miss Hallam seemed to know this; she once asked me: "Would I return to
+Germany if I could?"
+
+"Yes," said I, "I would."
+
+To say that I found life dull, even in Skernford, at that time would be
+untrue. Miss Hallam was a furious partisan of the French, and I dared
+not mention the war to her, but I took in the "Daily News" from my
+private funds, and read it in my bedroom every night with dimmed eyes,
+fast-coming breath, and beating heart. I knew--knew well, that Eugen
+must be fighting--unless he were dead. And I knew, too, by some
+intuition founded, I suppose, on many small negative evidences unheeded
+at the time, that he would fight, not like the other men who were
+battling for the sake of hearth and home, and sheer love and pride for
+the Fatherland, but as one who has no home and no Fatherland, as one who
+seeks a grave, not as one who combats a wrong.
+
+Stella saw the pile of newspapers in my room, and asked me how I could
+read those dreary accounts of battles and bombardments. Beyond these
+poor newspapers I had, during the sixteen months that I was at home, but
+scant tidings from without. I had implored Clara Steinmann to write me
+now and then, and tell me the news of Elberthal, but her penmanship was
+of the most modest and retiring description, and she was, too, so
+desperately excited about Karl as to be able to think scarce of anything
+else. Karl belonged to a Landwehr regiment which had not yet been called
+out, but to which that frightful contingency might happen any day; and
+what should she, Clara, do in that case? She told me no news; she
+lamented over the possibility of Karl's being summoned upon active
+service. It was, she said, _grausam, schrecklich_! It made her almost
+faint to write about it, and yet she did compose four whole pages in
+that condition. The barrack, she informed me, was turned into a
+hospital, and she and "Tante" both worked hard. There was much
+work--dreadful work to do--such poor groaning fellows to nurse!
+"_Herrgott!_" cried poor little Clara, "I did not know that the world
+was such a dreadful place!" Everything was so dear, so frightfully dear,
+and Karl--that was the burden of her song--might have to go into battle
+any day.
+
+Also through the public papers I learned that Adelaide and Sir Peter Le
+Marchant were divided forever. As to what happened afterward I was for
+some time in uncertainty, longing most intensely to know, not daring to
+speak of it. Adelaide's name was the signal for a cold stare from
+Stella, and angry, indignant expostulation from Miss Hallam. To me it
+was a sorrowful spell which I carried in my heart of hearts.
+
+One day I saw in a German musical periodical which I took in, this
+announcement: "Herr Musik-direktor Max von Francius in ---- has lately
+published a new symphony in B minor. The productions of this gifted
+composer are slowly but most surely making the mark which they deserve
+to leave in the musical history of our nation; he has, we believe, left
+---- for ---- for a few weeks to join his lady (_seine Gemahlin_), who
+is one of the most active and valuable hospitable nurses of that town,
+now, alas! little else than a hospital."
+
+This paragraph set my heart beating wildly. Adelaide was then the wife
+of von Francius. My heart yearned from my solitude toward them both. Why
+did not they write? They knew how I loved them. Adelaide could not
+suppose that I looked upon her deed with the eyes of the world at
+large--with the eyes of Stella or Miss Hallam. Had I not grieved with
+her? Had I not seen the dreadful struggle? Had I not proved the nobility
+of von Francius? On an impulse I seized pen and paper, and wrote to
+Adelaide, addressing my letter under cover to her husband at the town in
+which he was musik-direktor; to him I also wrote--only a few words--"Is
+your pupil forgotten by her master? he has never been forgotten by her."
+
+At last the answer came. On the part of Adelaide it was short:
+
+     "DEAR MAY,--I have had no time till now to answer your letter. I
+     can not reply to all your questions. You ask whether I repent what
+     I have done. I repent my whole life. If I am happy--how can I be
+     happy? I am busy now, and have many calls upon my time. My husband
+     is very good: he never interposes between me and my work. Shall I
+     ever come to England again?--never."
+
+                    "Yours,
+                         "A. von F."
+
+No request to write again! No inquiry after friends or relations! This
+letter showed me that whatever I might feel to her--however my heart
+might beat and long, how warm soever the love I bore her, yet that
+Adelaide was now apart from me--divided in every thought. It was a cruel
+letter, but in my pain I could not see that it had not been cruelly
+intended. Her nature had changed. But behind this pain lay comfort. On
+the back of the same sheet as that on which Adelaide's curt epistle was
+written, were some lines in the hand I knew well.
+
+     "LIEBE MAI"--they said--"Forgive your master, who can never forget
+     you, nor ever cease to love you. You suffer. I know it; I read it
+     in those short, constrained lines, so unlike your spontaneous words
+     and frank smile. My dear child, remember the storms that are
+     beating on every side--over our country, in on our hearts. Once I
+     asked you to sing for me some time: you promised. When the war is
+     over I shall remind you of your promise. At present, believe me,
+     silence is best.
+
+                    "Your old music-master,
+                         "M. v. F."
+
+Gall and honey, roses and thistles, a dagger at the heart and a caress
+upon the lips; such seemed to me the characters of the two letters on
+the same sheet which I held in my hand. Adelaide made my heart ache; von
+Francius made tears stream from my eyes. I reproached myself for having
+doubted him, but oh, I treasured the proof that he was true! It was the
+one tangible link between me, reality, and hard facts, and the misty yet
+beloved life I had quitted. My heart was full to overflowing; I must
+tell some one--I must speak to some one.
+
+Once again I tried to talk to Stella about Adelaide, but she gazed at me
+in that straight, strange way, and said coldly that she preferred not to
+speak of "that." I could not speak to Miss Hallam about it. Alone in the
+broad meadows, beside the noiseless river, I sometimes whispered to
+myself that I was not forgotten, and tried to console myself with the
+feeling that what von Francius promised he did--I should touch his hand,
+hear his voice again--and Adelaide's. For the rest, I had to lock the
+whole affair--my grief and my love, my longing and my anxiety, fast
+within my own breast, and did so.
+
+It was a long lesson--a hard one; it was conned with bitter tears, wept
+long and alone in the darkness; it was a sorrow which lay down and rose
+up with me. It taught (or rather practiced me until I became expert in
+them) certain things in which I had been deficient; reticence,
+self-reliance, a quicker ability to decide in emergencies. It certainly
+made me feel old and sad, and Miss Hallam often said that Stella and I
+were "as quiet as nuns."
+
+Stella had the power which I so ardently coveted: she was a first-rate
+instrumentalist. The only topic she and I had in common was the music I
+had heard and taken part in. To anything concerning that she would
+listen for hours.
+
+Meanwhile the war rolled on, and Paris capitulated, and peace was
+declared. The spring passed and Germany laughed in glee, and bleeding
+France roused herself to look with a haggard eye around her; what she
+saw, we all know--desolation, and mourning, and woe. And summer glided
+by, and autumn came, and I did not write either to Adelaide or von
+Francius. I had a firm faith in him--and absolute trust. I felt I was
+not forgotten.
+
+In less than a year after my return to England, Miss Hallam died. The
+day before her death she called me to her, and said words which moved me
+very much.
+
+"May, I am an eccentric old woman, and lest you should be in any doubt
+upon the subject of my feelings toward you, I wish to tell you that my
+life has been more satisfactory to me ever since I knew you."
+
+"That is much more praise than I deserve, Miss Hallam."
+
+"No, it isn't. I like both you and Stella. Three months ago I made a
+codicil to my will by which I endeavored to express that liking. It is
+nothing very brilliant, but I fancy it will suit the views of both of
+you."
+
+Utterly astounded, I stammered out some incoherent words.
+
+"There, don't thank me," said she. "If I were not sure that I shall die
+to-morrow--or thereabouts, I should put my plan into execution at once,
+but I shall not be alive at the end of the week."
+
+Her words proved true. Grim, sardonic, and cynical to the last, she died
+quietly, gladly closing her eyes which had so long been sightless. She
+was sixty-five years old, and had lived alone since she was
+five-and-twenty.
+
+The codicil to her will, which she had spoken of with so much composure,
+left three hundred pounds to Stella and me. She wished a portion of it
+to be devoted to our instruction in music, vocal and instrumental, at
+any German conservatorium we might select. She preferred that of L----.
+Until we were of age, our parents or guardians saw to the dispensing of
+the money, after that it was our own--half belonging to each of us; we
+might either unite our funds or use them separately as we choose.
+
+It need scarcely be said that we both chose that course which she
+indicated. Stella's joy was deep and intense--mine had an unavoidable
+sorrow mingled with it. At the end of September, 18--, we departed for
+Germany, and before going to L---- it was agreed that we should pay a
+visit at Elberthal, to my friend Dr. Mittendorf.
+
+It was a gusty September night, with wind dashing angrily about and
+showers of rain flying before the gale, on which I once again set foot
+in Elberthal--the place I had thought never more to see.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+ "Freude trinken alle Wesen
+ An den Br�sten der Natur;
+ Alle Guten, alle B�sen
+ Folgen ihrer Rosenspur."
+
+
+I felt a deep rapture in being once more in that land where my love, if
+he did not live, slept. But I forbear to dwell on that rapture, much as
+it influenced me. It waxes tedious when put into words--loses color and
+flavor, like a pressed flower.
+
+I was at first bitterly disappointed to find that Stella and I were only
+to have a few days at Elberthal. Dr. Mittendorf no longer lived there;
+but only had his official residence in the town, going every week-end to
+his country house, or "Schloss," as he ambitiously called it, at
+Lahnburg, a four-hours' railway journey from Elberthal.
+
+Frau Mittendorf, who had been at Elberthal on a visit, was to take
+Stella and me with her to Lahnburg on the Tuesday morning after our
+arrival, which was on Friday evening.
+
+The good doctor's schloss, an erection built like the contrivances of
+the White Knight in "Through the Looking-glass," on "a plan of his own
+invention," had been his pet hobby for years, and now that it was
+finished, he invited every invitable person to come and stay at it.
+
+It was not likely that he would excuse a person for whom he had so much
+regard as he professed for me from the honor, and I was fain to conceal
+the fact that I would much rather have remained in Elberthal, and make
+up my mind to endure as well as I could the prospect of being buried in
+the country with Frau Mittendorf and her children.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was Sunday afternoon. An equinoctial gale was raging, or rather had
+been raging all day. It had rained incessantly, and the wind had howled.
+The skies were cloud-laden, the wind was furious. The Rhine was so
+swollen that the streets in the lower part of the town sloping to the
+river were under water, and the people going about in boats.
+
+But I was tired of the house; the heated rooms stifled me. I was weary
+of Frau Mittendorf's society, and thoroughly dissatisfied with my own.
+
+About five in the afternoon I went to the window and looked out. I
+perceived a strip of pale, watery blue through a rift in the storm-laden
+clouds, and I chose to see that, and that only, ignoring the wind-lashed
+trees of the allee; the leaves, wet, and sodden and sere, hurrying
+panic-stricken before the gale, ignoring, too, the low wail promising a
+coming hurricane, which sighed and soughed beneath the wind's shrill
+scream.
+
+There was a temporary calm, and I bethought myself that I would go to
+church--not to the Protestant church attended by the English
+clique--heaven forbid! but to my favorite haunt, the Jesuiten Kirche.
+
+It was just the hour at which the service would be going on. I asked
+Stella in a low voice if she would not like to come; she declined with a
+look of pity at me, so, notifying my intention to Frau Mittendorf, and
+mildly but firmly leaving the room before she could utter any
+remonstrance, I rushed upstairs, clothed myself in my winter mantle,
+threw a shawl over my arm, and set out.
+
+The air was raw, but fresh, life-giving and invigorating. The smell of
+the stove, which clung to me still, was quickly dissipated by it. I
+wrapped my shawl around me, turned down a side street, and was soon in
+the heart of the old part of the town, where all Roman Catholic churches
+were, the quarter lying near the river and wharves and bridge of boats.
+
+I liked to go to the Jesuiten Kirche, and placing myself in the
+background, kneel as others knelt, and, without taking part in the
+service, think my own thoughts and pray my own prayers.
+
+Here none of the sheep looked wolfish at you unless you kept to a
+particular pen, for the privilege of sitting in which you paid so many
+marks _per quartal_ to a respectable functionary who came to collect
+them. Here the men came and knelt down, cap in hand, and the women
+seemed really to be praying, and aware of what they were praying for,
+not looking over their prayer-books at each other's clothes.
+
+I entered the church. Within the building it was already almost dark. A
+reddish light burned in a great glittering censer, which swung gently to
+and fro in the chancel.
+
+There were many people in the church, kneeling in groups and rows, and
+all occupied with their prayers. I, too, knelt down, and presently as
+the rest sat up I sat up too. A sad-looking monk had ascended the
+pulpit, and was beginning to preach. His face was thin, hollow, and
+ascetic-looking; his eyes blazed bright from deep, sunken sockets. His
+cowl came almost up to his ears. I could dimly see the white cord round
+his waist as he began to preach, at first in a low and feeble voice,
+which gradually waxed into power.
+
+He was in earnest--whether right or wrong, he was in earnest. I listened
+with the others to what he said. He preached the beauties of
+renunciation, and during his discourse quoted the very words which had
+so often haunted me--_Entbehren sollst du! sollst entbehren!_
+
+His earnestness moved me deeply. His voice was musical, sweet. His
+accent made the German burr soft; he was half Italian. I had been at the
+instrumental concert the previous night, for old association's sake, and
+they had played the two movements of Schubert's unfinished symphony--the
+B minor. The refrain in the last movement haunted me--a refrain of seven
+cadences, which rises softly and falls, dies away, is carried softly
+from one instrument to another, wanders afar, returns again, sinks lower
+and lower, deeper and deeper, till at last the 'celli (if I mistake not)
+takes it up for the last time, and the melody dies a beautiful death,
+leaving you undecided whether to weep or smile, but penetrated through
+and through with its dreamy loveliness.
+
+This exquisite refrain lingered in my memory and echoed in my mind, like
+a voice from some heavenly height, telling me to rest and be at peace,
+in time to the swinging of the censer, in harmony with the musical
+southern voice of that unknown Brother Somebody.
+
+By degrees I began to think that the censer did not sway so regularly,
+so like a measured pendulum as it had done, but was moving somewhat
+erratically, and borne upon the gale came a low, ominous murmur, which
+first mingled itself with the voice of the preacher, and then threatened
+to dominate it. Still the refrain of the symphony rang in my ears, and I
+was soothed to rest by the inimitable nepenthe of music.
+
+But the murmur of which I had so long been, as it were, half-conscious,
+swelled and drove other sounds and the thoughts of them from my mind. It
+grew to a deep, hollow roar--a very hurricane of a roar. The preacher's
+voice ceased, drowned.
+
+I think none of us were at first certain about what was happening; we
+only felt that something tremendous was going on. Then, with one mighty
+bang and blow of the tempest, the door by which I had entered the church
+was blown bodily in, and fell crashing upon the floor; and after the
+hurricane came rushing through the church with the howl of a triumphant
+demon, and hurried round the building, extinguishing every light, and
+turning a temple of God into Hades.
+
+Sounds there were as of things flapping from the walls, as of wood
+falling; but all was in the pitchiest darkness--a very "darkness which
+might be felt." Amid the roar of the wind came disjointed, broken
+exclamations of terrified women and angry, impatient men. "_Ach Gott!_"
+"_Du meine Zeit!_" "_Herr du meine G�te!_" "_Oh je!_" etc., rang all
+round, and hurrying people rushed past me, making confusion worse
+confounded as they scrambled past to try to get out.
+
+I stood still, not from any bravery or presence of mind, but from utter
+annihilation of both qualities in the shock and surprise of it all. At
+last I began trying to grope my way toward the door. I found it. Some
+people--I heard and felt rather than saw--were standing about the
+battered-in door, and there was the sound of water hurrying past the
+door-way. The Rhine was rushing down the street.
+
+"We must go to the other door--the west door," said some one among the
+people; and as the group moved I moved too, beginning to wish myself
+well out of it.
+
+We reached the west door; it led into a small lane or _gasse_, regarding
+the geography of which I was quite at sea, for I had only been in it
+once before. I stepped from the street into the lane, which was in the
+very blackness of darkness, and seemed to be filled with wind and a
+hurricane which one could almost distinguish and grasp.
+
+The roar of the wind and the surging of water were all around, and were
+deafening. I followed, as I thought, some voices which I heard, but
+scarcely knew where I was going, as the wind seemed to be blowing all
+ways at once, and there came to me an echo here and an echo there,
+misleading rather than guiding. In a few moments I felt my foot upon
+wood, and there was a loud creaking and rattling, as of chains, a
+groaning, splitting, and great uproar going on, as well as a motion as
+if I were on board a ship.
+
+After making a few steps I paused. It was utterly impossible that I
+could have got upon a boat--wildly impossible. I stood still, then went
+on a few steps. Still the same extraordinary sounds--still such a
+creaking and groaning--still the rush, rush, and swish, swish of water;
+but not a human voice any more, not a light to be seen, not a sign!
+
+With my hat long since stripped from my head and launched into darkness
+and space, my hair lashed about me in all directions, my petticoats
+twisted round me like ropes, I was utterly and completely bewildered by
+the thunder and roar of all around. I no longer knew which way I had
+come nor where to turn. I could not imagine where I was, and my only
+chance seemed to be to hold fast and firm to the railing against which
+the wind had unceremoniously banged me.
+
+The creaking grew louder--grew into a crash; there was a splitting of
+wood, a snapping of chains, a kind of whirl, and then I felt the wind
+blow upon me, first upon this side, then from that, and became conscious
+that the structure upon which I stood was moving--floating smoothly and
+rapidly upon water. In an instant (when it was too late) it all flashed
+upon my mind. I had wandered upon the Schiffbrucke, or bridge of boats
+which crossed the Rhine from the foot of the market-place, and this same
+bridge had been broken by the strength of the water and wind, and upon a
+portion of it I was now floating down the river.
+
+With my usual wisdom, and "the shrewd application of a wide experience
+so peculiar to yourself," as some one has since insulted me by saying, I
+instantly gave myself up as lost. The bridge would run into some other
+bridge, or dash into a steamer, or do something horrible, and I should
+be killed, and none would know of my fate; or it would all break into
+little pieces, and I should have to cling to one of them, and should
+inevitably be drowned.
+
+In any case, my destruction was only a matter of time. How I loved my
+life then! How sweet, and warm, and full, and fresh it seemed! How cold
+the river, and how undesirable a speedy release from the pomps and
+vanities of this wicked world!
+
+The wind was still howling horribly--chanting my funeral dirge. Like
+grim death, I held on to my railing, and longed, with a desperate
+longing, for one glimpse of light.
+
+I had believed myself alone upon my impromptu raft--or rather, it had
+not occurred to me that there might be another than myself upon it; but
+at this instant, in a momentary lull of the wind, almost by my side I
+heard a sound that I knew well, and had cause to remember--the tune of
+the wild march from "Lenore," set to the same words, sung by the same
+voice as of yore.
+
+My heart stood still for a moment, then leaped on again. Then a faint,
+sickly kind of dread overcame me. I thought I was going out of my
+mind--was wandering in some delusion, which took the form of the dearest
+voice, and sounded with its sound in my ears.
+
+But no. The melody did not cease. As the beating of my heart settled
+somewhat down, I still heard it--not loud, but distinct. Then the tune
+ceased. The voice--ah! there was no mistaking that, and I trembled with
+the joy that thrilled me as I heard it--conned over the words as if
+struck with their weird appropriateness to the scene, which was
+certainly marked:
+
+     "Und das Gesindel, husch, husch, husch
+     Kam hinten nachgeprasselt--
+     Wie Wirbelwind am Haselbusch
+     Durch d�rre Blatter rasselt."
+
+And _wirbelwind_--the whirlwind--played a wild accompaniment to the
+words.
+
+It seemed to me that a long time passed, during which I could not speak,
+but could only stand with my hands clasped over my heart, trying to
+steady its tumultuous beating. I had not been wrong, thank the good God
+above! I had not been wrong when my heart sung for joy at being once
+more in this land. He was here--he was living--he was safe!
+
+Here were all my worst fears soothed--my intensest longings answered
+without my having spoken. It was now first that I really knew how much I
+loved him--so much that I felt almost afraid of the strength of the
+passion. I knew not till now how it had grown--how fast and
+all-denominating it had become.
+
+A sob broke from my lips, and his voice was silenced.
+
+"Herr Courvoisier!" I stammered.
+
+"Who spoke?" he asked in a clear voice.
+
+"It is you!" I murmured.
+
+"May!" he uttered, and paused abruptly.
+
+A hand touched mine--warm, firm, strong--his very hand. In its lightest
+touch there seemed safety, shelter, comfort.
+
+"Oh, how glad I am! how glad I am!" I sobbed.
+
+He murmured "Sonderbar!" as if arguing with himself, and I held his hand
+fast.
+
+"Don't leave me! Stay here!" I implored.
+
+"I suppose there is not much choice about that for either of us," said
+he, and he laughed.
+
+I did not remember to wonder how he came there; I only knew that he was
+there. That tempest, which will not soon be forgotten in Elberthal,
+subsided almost as rapidly as it had arisen. The winds lulled as if a
+wizard had bidden them be still. The gale hurried on to devastate fresh
+fields and pastures new. There was a sudden reaction of stillness, and I
+began to see in the darkness the outlines of a figure beside me. I
+looked up. There was no longer that hideous, driving black mist, like
+chaos embodied, between me and heaven. The sky, though dark, was clear;
+some stars were gleaming coldly down upon the havoc which had taken
+place since they last viewed the scene.
+
+Seeing the heavens so calm and serene, a sudden feeling of shyness and
+terror overtook me. I tried to withdraw my hand from that of my
+companion, and to remove myself a little from him. He held my hand fast.
+
+"You are exhausted with standing?" said he. "Sit down upon this ledge."
+
+"If you will too."
+
+"Oh, of course. I think our voyage will be a long one, and--"
+
+"Speak German," said I. "Let me hear you speaking it again."
+
+"And I have no mind to stand all the time," he concluded in his own
+tongue.
+
+"Is there no one else here but ourselves?"
+
+"No one."
+
+I had seated myself and he placed himself beside me. I was in no
+laughing mood or I might have found something ludicrous in our
+situation.
+
+"I wonder where we are now," I half whispered, as the bridge was still
+hurried ceaselessly down the dark and rushing river. I dared not allude
+to anything else. I felt my heart was too full--I felt too, too utterly
+uncertain of him. There was sadness in his voice. I, who knew its every
+cadence, could hear that.
+
+"I think we are about passing Kaiserswerth," said he. "I wonder where we
+shall land at last."
+
+"Do you think we shall go very far?"
+
+"Perhaps we may. It is on record that the Elberthal boat bridge--part of
+it, I mean--once turned up at Rotterdam. It may happen again, _warum
+nicht_?"
+
+"How long does that take?"
+
+"Twelve or fourteen hours, I dare say."
+
+I was silent.
+
+"I am sorry for you," he said in the gentlest of voices, as he happed my
+shawl more closely around me. "And you are cold too--shivering. My coat
+must do duty again."
+
+"No, no!" cried I. "Keep it! I won't have it."
+
+"Yes you will, because you can't help it if I make you," he answered as
+he wrapped it round me.
+
+"Well, please take part of it. At least wrap half of it round you," I
+implored, "or I shall be miserable."
+
+"Pray don't. No, keep it! It is not like charity--it has not room for
+many sins at once."
+
+"Do you mean you or me?" I could not help asking.
+
+"Are we not all sinners?"
+
+I knew it would be futile to resist, but I was not happy in the new
+arrangement, and I touched his coat-sleeve timidly.
+
+"You have quite a thin coat," I remonstrated, "and I have a winter
+dress, a thick jacket, and a shawl."
+
+"And my coat, _und doch bist du_--oh, pardon! and you are shivering in
+spite of it," said he, conclusively.
+
+"It is an awful storm, is it not?" I suggested next.
+
+"Was an awful storm, _nicht wahr_? Yes. And how very strange that you
+and I, of all people, should have met here, of all places. How did you
+get here?"
+
+"I had been to church."
+
+"So! I had not."
+
+"How did you come here?" I ventured to ask.
+
+"Yes--you may well ask; but first--you have been in England, have you
+not?"
+
+"Yes, and am going back again."
+
+"Well--I came here yesterday from Berlin. When the war was over--"
+
+"Ah, you were in the war?" I gasped.
+
+"_Nat�rlich, mein Fr�ulein._ Where else should I have been?"
+
+"And you fought?"
+
+"Also _nat�rlich_."
+
+"Where did you fight? At Sedan?"
+
+"At Sedan--yes."
+
+"Oh, my God!" I whispered to myself. "And were you wounded?" I added
+aloud.
+
+"A mere trifle. Friedhelm and I had luck to march side by side. I
+learned to know in spirit and in letter the meaning of _Ich hatt' einen
+guten Cameraden_."
+
+"You were wounded!" I repeated, unheeding all that discursiveness.
+"Where? How? Were you in the hospital?"
+
+"Yes. Oh, it is nothing. Since then I have been learning my true place
+in the world, for you see, unluckily, I was not killed."
+
+"Thank God! Thank God! How I have wondered! How I have thought--well,
+how did you come here?"
+
+"I coveted a place in one of those graves, and couldn't have it," he
+said, bitterly. "It was a little thing to be denied, but fallen men must
+do without much. I saw boys falling around me, whose mothers and sisters
+are mourning for them yet."
+
+"Oh, don't."
+
+"Well--Friedel and I are working in Berlin. We shall not stay there
+long; we are wanderers now! There is no room for us. I have a short
+holiday, and I came to spend it at Elberthal. This evening I set out,
+intending to hear the opera--'Der Fliegende Holl�nder'--very
+appropriate, wasn't it?"
+
+"Very."
+
+"But the storm burst over the theater just as the performance was about
+to begin, and removed part of the roof, upon which one of the company
+came before the curtain and dismissed us with his blessing and the
+announcement that no play would be played to-night. Thus I was deprived
+of the ungodly pleasure of watching my old companions wrestle with
+Wagner's stormy music while I looked on like a gentleman."
+
+"But when you came out of the theater?"
+
+"When I came out of the theater the storm was so magnificent, and was
+telling me so much that I resolved to come down to its center-point and
+see Vater Rhein in one of his grandest furies. I strayed upon the bridge
+of boats; forgot where I was, listened only to the storm: ere I knew
+what was happening I was adrift and the tempest howling round me--and
+you, fresh from your devotions to lull it."
+
+"Are you going to stay long in Elberthal?"
+
+"It seems I may not. I am driven away by storms and tempests."
+
+"And me with you," thought I. "Perhaps there is some meaning in this.
+Perhaps fate means us to breast other storms together. If so, I am
+ready--anything--so it be with you."
+
+"There's the moon," said he; "how brilliant, is she not?"
+
+I looked up into the sky wherein she had indeed appeared "like a dying
+lady, lean and pale," shining cold and drear, but very clearly upon the
+swollen waters, showing us dim outlines of half-submerged trees,
+cottages and hedges--showing us that we were in midstream, and that
+other pieces of wreck were floating down the river with us, hurrying
+rapidly with the current--showing me, too, in a ghostly whiteness, the
+face of my companion turned toward me, and his elbow rested on his knee
+and his chin in his hand, and his loose dark hair was blown back from
+his broad forehead, his strange, deep eyes were resting upon my face,
+calmly, openly.
+
+Under that gaze my heart fell. In former days there had been in his face
+something not unakin to this stormy free night; but now it was
+changed--how changed!
+
+A year had wrought a terrible alteration. I knew not his past; but I did
+know that he had long been struggling, and a dread fear seized me that
+the struggle was growing too hard for him--his spirit was breaking. It
+was not only that the shadows were broader, deeper, more permanently
+sealed--there was a down look--a hardness and bitterness which inspired
+me both with pity and fear.
+
+"Your fate is a perverse one," he remarked, as I did not speak.
+
+"So! Why?"
+
+"It throws you so provokingly into society which must be so unpleasant
+to you."
+
+"Whose society?"
+
+"Mine, naturally."
+
+"You are much mistaken," said I, composedly.
+
+"It is kind of you to say so. For your sake, I wish it had been any one
+but myself who had been thus thrown together with you. I promise you
+faithfully that as soon as ever we can land I will only wait to see you
+safely into a train and then I will leave you and--"
+
+He was suddenly silenced. I had composed my face to an expression of
+indifference as stony as I knew how to assume, and with my hands folded
+in my lap, had steeled myself to look into his face and listen to him.
+
+I could find nothing but a kind of careless mockery in his face--a hard
+half smile upon his lips as he went on saying the hard things which cut
+home and left me quivering, and which he yet uttered as if they had been
+the most harmless pleasantries or the merest whipped-cream compliments.
+
+It was at this moment that the wind, rising again in a brief spasm, blew
+a tress of my loosened hair across his face. How it changed! flushed
+crimson. His lips parted--a strange, sudden light came into his eyes.
+
+"I beg your pardon!" said I, hastily, started from my assumed composure,
+as I raised my hand to push my hair back. But he had gathered the tress
+together--his hand lingered for one moment--a scarcely perceptible
+moment--upon it, then he laid it gently down upon my shoulder.
+
+"Then I will leave you," he went on, resuming the old manner, but with
+evident effort, "and not interfere with you any more."
+
+What was I to think? What to believe? I thought to myself that had he
+been my lover and I had intercepted such a glance of his to another
+woman my peace of mind had been gone for evermore. But, on the other
+hand, every cool word he said gave the lie to his looks--or did his
+looks give the lie to his words? Oh, that I could solve the problem once
+for all, and have done with it forever!
+
+"And you, Miss Wedderburn--have you deserted Germany?"
+
+"I have been obliged to live in England, if that is what you mean--I am
+living in Germany at present."
+
+"And art--_die Kunst_--that is cruel!"
+
+"You are amusing yourself at my expense, as you have always delighted in
+doing," said I, sharply, cut to the quick.
+
+"_Aber, Fr�ulein May!_ What do you mean?"
+
+"From the very first," I repeated, the pain I felt giving a keenness to
+my reproaches. "Did you not deceive me and draw me out for your
+amusement that day we met at K�ln? You found out then, I suppose, what a
+stupid, silly creature I was, and you have repeated the process now and
+then, since--much to your own edification and that of Herr Helfen, I do
+not doubt. Whether it was just, or honorable, or kind, is a secondary
+consideration. Stupid people are only invented for the amusement of
+those who are not stupid."
+
+"How dare you, how dare you talk in that manner?" said he, emphatically,
+laying his hand upon my shoulder, and somehow compelling my gaze to meet
+his. "But I know why--I read the answer in those eyes which dare
+everything, and yet--"
+
+"Not quite everything," thought I, uncomfortably, as the said eyes sunk
+beneath his look.
+
+"Fr�ulein May, will you have the patience to listen while I tell you a
+little story?"
+
+"Oh, yes!" I responded, readily, as I hailed the prospect of learning
+something more about him.
+
+"It is now nearly five years since I first came to Elberthal. I had
+never been in the town before. I came with my boy--may God bless him and
+keep him!--who was then two years old, and whose mother was dead--for my
+wife died early."
+
+A pause, during which I did not speak. It was something so wonderful to
+me that he should speak to me of his wife.
+
+"She was young--and very beautiful," said he. "You will forgive my
+introducing the subject?"
+
+"Oh, Herr Courvoisier!"
+
+"And I had wronged her. I came to Friedhelm Helfen, or rather was sent
+to him, and, as it happened, found such a friend as is not granted to
+one man in a thousand. When I came here, I was smarting under various
+griefs; about the worst was that I had recklessly destroyed my own
+prospects. I had a good career--a fair future open to me. I had cut
+short that career, annihilated that future, or any future worth speaking
+of, by--well, something had happened which divided me utterly and
+uncompromisingly and forever from the friends, and the sphere, and the
+respect and affection of those who had been parents and brother and
+sister to me. Then I knew that their good opinion, their love, was my
+law and my highest desire. And it was not their fault--it was mine--my
+very own.
+
+"The more I look back upon it all, the more I see that I have myself to
+thank for it. But that reflection, as you may suppose, does not add to
+the delights of a man's position when he is humbled to the dust as I was
+then. Biting the dust--you have that phrase in English. Well, I have
+been biting the dust--yes, eating it, living upon it, and deservedly so,
+for five years; but nothing ever can, nothing ever will, make it taste
+anything but dry, bitter, nauseating to the last degree."
+
+"Go on!" said I, breathlessly.
+
+"How kind you are to listen to the dull tale! Well, I had my boy
+Sigmund, and there were times when the mere fact that he was mine made
+me forget everything else, and thank my fate for the simple fact that I
+lived and was his father. His father--he was a part of myself, he could
+divine my every thought. But at other times, generally indeed, I was
+sick of life--that life. Don't suppose that I am one of those high-flown
+idiots who would make it out that no life is worth living: I knew and
+felt to my soul that the life from which I had locked myself out and
+then dropped the key as it were here in midstream, was a glorious life,
+worth living ten times over.
+
+"There was the sting of it. For three years I lived thus, and learned a
+great deal, learned what men in that position are--learned to respect,
+admire, and love some of them--learned to understand that man--_der
+Mensch_--is the same, and equally to be honored everywhere. I also tried
+to grow accustomed to the thought, which grew every day more certain to
+me, that I must live on so for the future--to plan my life, and shape
+out a certain kind of repentance for sins past. I decided that the only
+form my atonement could take was that of self-effacement--"
+
+"That is why you never would take the lead in anything."
+
+"Exactly. I am naturally fond of leading. I love beyond everything to
+lead those who I know like me, and like following me. When I was
+_haupt_--I mean, I knew that all that by-gone mischief had arisen from
+doing what I liked, so I dropped doing what I liked, and began to do
+what I disliked. By the time I had begun to get a little into training
+three years had passed--these things are not accomplished in a day, and
+the effects of twenty-seven years of selfishness are not killed soon. I
+was killing them, and becoming a machine in the process.
+
+"One year the Lower Rhenish Musikfest was to be held at K�ln. Long
+before it came off the Cologne Orchestra had sent to us for contingents,
+and we had begun to attend some of the proben regularly once or twice a
+week.
+
+"One day Friedhelm and I had been at a probe. The 'Tower of Babel' and
+the 'Lenore' Symphony were among the things we had practiced. Both of
+them, the 'Lenore' particularly, had got into my head. I broke lose for
+one day from routine, from drudgery and harness. It was a mistake.
+Friedhelm went off, shrugging his dear old shoulders, and I at last
+turned up, mooning at the K�lner Bahnof. Well--you know the rest. Nay,
+do not turn so angrily away. Try to forgive a fallen man one little
+indiscretion. When I saw you I can not tell what feeling stole warm and
+invigorating into my heart; it was something quite new--something I had
+never felt before: it was so sweet that I could not part with it.
+Fr�ulein May, I have lived that afternoon over again many and many a
+time. Have you ever given a thought to it?"
+
+"Yes, I have," said I, dryly.
+
+"My conduct after that rose half from pride--wounded pride, I mean, for
+when you cut me, it did cut me--I own it. Partly it arose from a
+worthier feeling--the feeling that I could not see very much of you or
+learn to know you at all well without falling very deeply in love with
+you. You hide your face--you are angry at that--"
+
+"Stop. Did you never throughout all this give a thought to the
+possibility that I might fall in love with you?"
+
+I did not look at him, but he said, after a pause:
+
+"I had the feeling that if I tried I could win your love. I never was
+such a presumptuous fool as to suppose that you would love me
+unasked--or even with much asking on my part--_bewahre!_"
+
+I was silent, still concealing my face. He went on:
+
+"Besides, I knew that you were an English lady. I asked myself what was
+the right thing to do, and I decided that though you would consider me
+an ill-mannered, churlish clown, I would refuse those gracious, charming
+advances which you in your charity made. Our paths in life were destined
+to be utterly apart and divided, and what could it matter to you--the
+behavior of an insignificant fiddler? You would forget him just when he
+deserved to be forgotten, that is--instantly.
+
+"Time went on. You lived near us. Changes took place. Those who had a
+right to arbitrate for me, since I had by my own deed deprived myself of
+that right, wrote and demanded my son. I had shown myself incapable of
+managing my own affairs--was it likely that I could arrange his? And
+then he was better away from such a black sheep. It is true. The black
+sheep gave up the white lambling into the care of a legitimate shepherd,
+who carried it off to a correct and appropriate fold. Then life was
+empty indeed, for, strange though it may seem, even black sheep have
+feelings--ridiculously out of place they are too."
+
+"Oh, don't speak so harshly!" said I, tremulously, laying my hand for an
+instant upon his.
+
+His face was turned toward me; his mien was severe, but serene; he spoke
+as of some far-past, distant dream.
+
+"Then it was in looking round my darkened horizon for Sigmund, I found
+that it was not empty. You rose trembling upon it like a star of light,
+and how beautiful a star! But there! do not turn away. I will not shock
+you by expatiating upon it. Enough that I found what I had more than
+once suspected--that I loved you. Once or twice I nearly made a fool of
+myself; that Carnival Monday--do you remember? Luckily Friedel and Karl
+came in, but in my saner moments I worshiped you as a noble, distant
+good--part of the beautiful life which I had gambled with--and lost. Be
+easy! I never for one instant aspired to you--never thought of
+possessing you: I was not quite mad. I am only telling you this to
+explain, and--"
+
+"And you renounced me?" said I in a low voice.
+
+"I renounced you."
+
+I removed my hand from my eyes, and looked at him. His eyes, dry and
+calm, rested upon my face. His countenance was pale; his mouth set with
+a grave, steady sweetness.
+
+Light rushed in upon my mind in a radiant flood--light and knowledge. I
+knew what was right; an unerring finger pointed it to me. I looked deep,
+deep into his sad eyes, read his innermost soul, and found it pure.
+
+"They say you have committed a crime," said I.
+
+"And I have not denied, can not deny it," he answered, as if waiting for
+something further.
+
+"You need not," said I. "It is all one to me. I want to hear no more
+about that. I want to know if your heart is mine."
+
+The wind wuthered wearily; the water rushed. Strange, inarticulate
+sounds of the night came fitfully across ear and sense, as he answered
+me:
+
+"Yours and my honor's. What then?"
+
+"This," I answered, stooping, sweeping the loose hair from that broad,
+sad forehead, and pressing my lips upon it. "This: accept the gift or
+reject it. As your heart is mine, so mine is yours--for ever and ever."
+
+A momentary silence as I raised myself, trembling, and stood aside; and
+the water rushed, and the storm-birds on untiring wing beat the sky and
+croaked of the gale.
+
+Then he drew me to him, folded me to his breast without speaking, and
+gave me a long, tender, yearning kiss, with unspeakable love, little
+passion in it, fit seal of a love that was deeper and sadder than it was
+triumphant.
+
+"Let me have a few moments of this," said he, "just a few moments, May.
+Let me believe that I may hold you to your noble, pitying words. Then I
+shall be my own master again."
+
+Ignoring this hint, I laid my hands upon his arm, and eying him
+steadily, went on:
+
+"But understand, the man I love must not be my servant. If you want to
+keep me you must be the master; I brook no feeble curb; no weak hand can
+hold me. You must rule, or I shall rebel; you must show the way, for I
+don't know it. I don't know whether you understand what you have
+undertaken."
+
+"My dear, you are excited. Your generosity carries you away, and your
+divine, womanly pity and kindness. You speak without thinking. You will
+repent to-morrow."
+
+"That is not kind nor worthy of you," said I. "I have thought about it
+for sixteen months, and the end of my thought has always been the same:
+I love Eugen Courvoisier, and if he had loved me I should have been a
+happy woman, and if--though I thought it too good to be true, you
+know--if he ever should tell me so, nothing in this world shall make me
+spoil our two lives by cowardice; I will hold to him against the whole
+world."
+
+"It is impossible, May," he said, quietly, after a pause. "I wish you
+had never seen me."
+
+"It is only impossible if you make it so."
+
+"My sin found me out even here, in this quiet place, where I knew no
+one. It will find me out again. You--if ever you were married to
+me--would be pointed out as the wife of a man who had disgraced his
+honor in the blackest, foulest way. I must and will live it out alone."
+
+"You shall not live it out alone," I said.
+
+The idea that I could not stand by him--the fact that he was not
+prosperous, not stainless before the world--that mine would be no
+ordinary flourishing, meaningless marriage, in which "for better, for
+worse" signifies nothing but better, no worse--all this poured strength
+on strength into my heart, and seemed to warm it and do it good.
+
+"I will tell you your duty," said he. "Your duty is to go home and
+forget me. In due time some one else will find the loveliest and dearest
+being in the world--"
+
+"Eugen! Eugen!" I cried, stabbed to the quick. "How can you? You can not
+love me, or you could not coldly turn me over to some other man, some
+abstraction--"
+
+"Perhaps if he were not an abstraction I might not be able to do it," he
+said, suddenly clasping me to him with a jealous movement. "No; I am
+sure I should not be able to do it. Nevertheless, while he yet is an
+abstraction, and because of that, I say, leave me!"
+
+"Eugen, I do not love lightly!" I began, with forced calm. "I do not
+love twice. My love for you is not a mere fancy--I fought against it
+with all my strength; it mastered me in spite of myself--now I can not
+tear it away. If you send me away it will be barbarous; away to be
+alone, to England again, when I love you with my whole soul. No one but
+a man--no one but you could have said such a thing. If you do," I added,
+terror at the prospect overcoming me, "if you do I shall die--I shall
+die."
+
+I could command myself no longer, but sobbed aloud.
+
+"You will have to answer for it," I repeated; "but you will not send me
+away."
+
+"What, in Heaven's name, makes you love me so?" he asked, as if lost in
+wonder.
+
+"I don't know. I can not imagine," said I, with happy politeness. "It is
+no fault of mine." I took his hand in mine. "Eugen, look at me." His
+eyes met mine. They brightened as he looked at me. "That crime of which
+you were accused--you did not do it."
+
+Silence!
+
+"Look at me and say that you did," I continued.
+
+Silence still.
+
+"Friedhelm Helfen always said you had not done it. He was more loyal
+than I," said I, contritely; "but," I added, jealously, "he did not love
+you better than I, for I loved you all the same even though I almost
+believed you had done it. Well, that is an easy secret to keep, because
+it is to your credit."
+
+"That is just what makes it hard. If it were true, one would be anxious
+rather than not to conceal it; but as it is not true, don't you see?
+Whenever you see me suspected, it will be the impulse of your loyal,
+impetuous heart to silence the offender, and tell him he lies."
+
+In my haste I had not seen this aspect of the question. It was quite a
+new idea to me. Yes, I began to see in truer proportions the kind of
+suffering he had suffered, the kind of trials he had gone through, and
+my breath failed at the idea. When they pointed at him I must not say,
+"It is a lie; he is as honest as you." It was a solemn prospect. It
+overpowered me.
+
+"You quail before that?" said he, gently, after a pause.
+
+"No; I realize it. I do not quail before it," said I, firmly. "But," I
+added, looking at him with a new element in my glance--that of awe--"do
+you mean that for five years you have effaced yourself thus, knowing all
+the while that you were not guilty?"
+
+"It was a matter of the clearest duty--and honor," he replied, flushing
+and looking somewhat embarrassed.
+
+"Of duty!" I cried, strangely moved. "If you did not do it, who did? Why
+are you silent?"
+
+Our eyes met. I shall never forget that glance. It had the concentrated
+patience, love, and pride, and loyalty, of all the years of suffering
+past and--to come.
+
+"May, that is the test for you! That is what I shrink from exposing you
+to, what I know it is wrong to expose you to. I can not tell you. No one
+knows but I, and I shall never tell any one, not even you, if you become
+my other self and soul and thought. Now you know all."
+
+He was silent.
+
+"So that is the truth?" said I. "Thank you for telling it to me. I
+always thought you were a hero; now I am sure of it. Oh, Eugen! how I do
+love you for this! And you need not be afraid. I have been learning to
+keep secrets lately. I shall help, not hinder you. Eugen, we will live
+it down together."
+
+At last we understood each other. At last our hands clasped and our lips
+met upon the perfect union of feeling and purpose for all our future
+lives. All was clear between us, bright, calm; and I, at least, was
+supremely happy. How little my past looked now; how petty and
+insignificant all my former hopes and fears!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dawn was breaking over the river. Wild and storm-beaten was the scene on
+which we looked. A huge waste of swollen waters around us, devastated
+villages, great piles of wreck on all sides; a watery sun casting pallid
+beams upon the swollen river. We were sailing Hollandward upon a
+fragment of the bridge, and in the distance were the spires and towers
+of a town gleaming in the sickly sun-rays. I stood up and gazed toward
+that town, and he stood by my side, his arm round my waist. My chief
+wish was that our sail could go on forever.
+
+"Do you know what is ringing in my ears and will not leave my mind?" I
+asked.
+
+"Indeed, no! You are a riddle and a mystery to me."
+
+I hummed the splendid air from the Choral Symphony, the _motif_ of the
+music to the choruses to "Joy" which follow.
+
+"Ah!" said he, taking up its deep, solemn gladness, "you are right,
+May--quite right. There is a joy, if it be 'beyond the starry belt.'"
+
+"I wonder what that town is?" I said, after a pause.
+
+"I am not sure, but I fancy it is Emmerich. I am sure I hope so."
+
+Whatever the town, we were floating straight toward it. I suddenly
+thought of my dream long ago, and told it to him, adding:
+
+"I think this must have been the floating wreck to which you and I
+seemed clinging; though I thought that all of the dream that was going
+to be fulfilled had already come to pass on that Carnival Monday
+afternoon."
+
+The boat had got into one of the twisting currents, and was being
+propelled directly toward the town.
+
+Eugen looked at me and laughed. I asked why.
+
+"What for a lark! as they say in your country."
+
+"You are quite mistaken. I never heard such an expression. But what is
+such a lark?"
+
+"We have no hats; we want something to eat; we must have tickets to get
+back to Elberthal, and I have just two thalers in my pocket--oh! and a
+two-pfennige piece. I left my little all behind me."
+
+"Hurrah! At last you will be compelled to take back that three thalers
+ten."
+
+We both laughed at this _jeu d'esprit_ as if it had been something
+exquisitely witty; and I forgot my disheveled condition in watching the
+sun rise over the broad river, in feeling our noiseless progression over
+it, and, above all, in the divine sense of oneness and harmony with him
+at my side--a feeling which I can hardly describe, utterly without the
+passionate fitfulness of the orthodox lover's rapture, but as if for a
+long time I had been waiting for some quality to make me complete, and
+had quietly waked to find it there, and the world understandable--life's
+riddle read.
+
+Eugen's caresses were few, his words of endearment quiet; but I knew
+what they stood for; a love rooted in feelings deeper than those of
+sense, holier than mere earthly love--feelings which had taken root in
+adversity, had grown in darkness and "made a sunshine in a shady
+place"--feelings which in him had their full and noble growth and beauty
+of development, but which it seems to be the aim of the fashionable
+education of this period as much as possible to do away with--the
+feeling of chivalry, delicacy, reticence, manliness, modesty.
+
+As we drew nearer the town, he said to me:
+
+"In a few hours we shall have to part, May, for a time. While we are
+here alone, and you are uninfluenced, let me ask you something. This
+love of yours for me--what will it carry you through?"
+
+"Anything, now that I am sure of yours for me."
+
+"In short, you are firmly decided to be my wife some time?"
+
+"When you tell me you are ready for me," said I, putting my hand in his.
+
+"And if I find it best to leave my Fatherland, and begin life quite
+anew?"
+
+"Thy God is my God, and thy people are my people, Eugen."
+
+"One other thing. How do you know that you can marry? Your friends--"
+
+"I am twenty years old. In a year I can do as I like," said I,
+composedly. "Surely we can stand firm and faithful for a year?"
+
+He smiled, and it was a new smile--sweet, hopeful, if not merry.
+
+With this silent expression of determination and trust we settled the
+matter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+ "What's failure or success to me?
+ I have subdued my life to the one purpose."
+
+
+Eugen sent a telegram from Emmerich to Frau Mittendorf to reassure her
+as to my safety. At four in the afternoon we left that town, refreshed
+and rehatted, to reach Elberthal at six.
+
+I told Eugen that we were going away the next day to stay a short time
+at a place called Lahnburg.
+
+He started and looked at me.
+
+"Lahnburg!--I--when you are there--_nein, das ist_--You are going to
+Lahnburg?"
+
+"Yes. Why not?"
+
+"You will know why I ask if you go to Schloss Rothenfels."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I say no more, dear May. I will leave you to form your own conclusions.
+I have seen that this fair head could think wisely and well under
+trying circumstances enough. I am rather glad that you are going to
+Lahnburg."
+
+"The question is--will you still be at Elberthal when I return?"
+
+"I can not say. We had better exchange addresses. I am at Frau Schmidt's
+again--my old quarters. I do not know when or how we shall meet again. I
+must see Friedhelm, and you--when you tell your friends, you will
+probably be separated at once and completely from me."
+
+"Well, a year is not much out of our lives. How old are you, Eugen?"
+
+"Thirty-two. And you?"
+
+"Twenty and two months; then you are twelve years older than I. You were
+a school-boy when I was born. What were you like?"
+
+"A regular little brute, I should suppose, as they all are."
+
+"When we are married," said I, "perhaps I may go on with my singing, and
+earn some more money by it. My voice will be worth something to me
+then."
+
+"I thought you had given up art."
+
+"Perhaps I shall see Adelaide," I added; "or, rather, I will see her." I
+looked at him rather inquiringly. To my relief he said:
+
+"Have you not seen her since her marriage?"
+
+"No; have you?"
+
+"She was my angel nurse when I was lying in hospital at ----. Did you
+not know that she has the Iron Cross? And no one ever won it more
+nobly."
+
+"Adelaide--your nurse--the Iron Cross?" I ejaculated. "Then you have
+seen her?"
+
+"Seen her shadow to bless it."
+
+"Do you know where she is now?"
+
+"With her husband at ----. She told me that you were in England, and she
+gave me this."
+
+He handed me a yellow, much-worn folded paper, which, on opening, I
+discovered to be my own letter to Adelaide, written during the war, and
+which had received so curt an answer.
+
+"I begged very hard for it," said he, "and only got it with difficulty,
+but I represented that she might get more of them, whereas I--"
+
+He stopped, for two reasons. I was weeping as I returned it to him, and
+the train rolled into the Elberthal station.
+
+On my way to Dr. Mittendorf's, I made up my mind what to do. I should
+not speak to Stella, nor to any one else of what had happened, but I
+should write very soon to my parents and tell them the truth. I hoped
+they would not refuse their consent, but I feared they would. I should
+certainly not attempt to disobey them while their authority legally
+bound me, but as soon as I was my own mistress, I should act upon my own
+judgment. I felt no fear of anything; the one fear of my life--the loss
+of Eugen--had been removed, and all others dwindled to nothing. My
+happiness, I am and was well aware, was quite set upon things below; if
+I lost Eugen I lost everything, for I, like him, and like all those who
+have been and are dearest to both of us, was a Child of the World.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+ "Oftmals hab' ich geirrt, und habe mich wiedergefunden, Aber
+ gl�cklicher nie."
+
+
+It was beginning to be dusk when we alighted the next day at Lahnburg, a
+small way-side station, where the doctor's brand-new carriage met us,
+and after we had been bidden welcome, whirled us off to the doctor's
+brand-new schloss, full of brand-new furniture. I skip it all, the
+renewed greetings, the hospitality, the noise. They were very kind. It
+was all right to me, and I enjoyed it immensely. I was in a state of
+mind in which I verily believe I should have enjoyed eating a plate of
+porridge for supper, or a dish of sauerkraut for dinner.
+
+The subject for complacency and contemplation in Frau Mittendorf's life
+was her intimacy with the von Rothenfels family, whose great, dark old
+schloss, or rather, a portion of it, looking grimly over its woods, she
+pointed out to me from the windows of her salon. I looked somewhat
+curiously at it, chiefly because Eugen had mentioned it, and also
+because it was such a stern, imposing old pile. It was built of red
+stone, and stood upon red-stone foundations. Red were the rocks of this
+country, and hence its name, "Rothen-fels," the red rocks. Woods, also
+dark, but now ablaze with the last fiery autumn tints, billowed beneath
+it; on the other side, said Frau Mittendorf, was a great plateau covered
+with large trees, intersected by long, straight avenues. She would take
+us to look at it; the Gr�fin von Rothenfels was a great friend of hers.
+
+She was entertaining us with stories to prove the great regard and
+respect of the countess for her (Frau Mittendorf) on the morning after
+our arrival, while I was longing to go out and stroll along some of
+those pleasant breezy upland roads, or explore the sleepy, quaint old
+town below.
+
+Upon her narrative came an interruption. A servant threw open the door
+very wide, announcing the Gr�fin von Rothenfels. Frau Mittendorf rose in
+a tremulous hurry and flutter to greet her noble guest, and then
+introduced us to her.
+
+A tall, melancholy, meager-looking woman,--far past youth--on the very
+confines of middle age, with iron-gray hair banded across a stern,
+much-lined brow. Colorless features of a strong, large, not unhandsome
+type from which all liveliness and vivacity had long since fled. A stern
+mouth--steady, lusterless, severe eyes, a dignity--yes, even a majesty
+of mien which she did not attempt to soften into graciousness; black,
+trailing draperies; a haughty pride of movement.
+
+Such was the first impression made upon me by Hildegarde, Countess of
+Rothenfels--a forbidding, if grand figure--aristocrat in every line;
+utterly alien and apart, I thought, from me and every feeling of mine.
+
+But on looking again the human element was found in the deeply planted
+sadness which no reserve pride could conceal. Sad the eyes, sad the
+mouth; she was all sad together--and not without reason, as I afterward
+learned.
+
+She was a rigid Roman Catholic, and at sixteen had been married for _les
+convenances_ to her cousin, Count Bruno von Rothenfels, a man a good
+deal older than herself, though not preposterously so, and whose ample
+possessions and old name gave social position of the highest kind. But
+he was a Protestant by education, a thinker by nature, a rationalist by
+conviction.
+
+That was one bitter grief. Another was her childlessness. She had been
+married twenty-four years; no child had sprung from the union. This was
+a continual grief which imbittered her whole existence.
+
+Since then I have seen a portrait of her at twenty--a splendid
+brunette, with high spirit and resolute will and noble beauty in every
+line. Ah, me! What wretches we become! Sadness and bitterness, proud
+aloofness and a yearning wistfulness were subtly mingled in the demeanor
+of Gr�fin von Rothenfels.
+
+She bowed to us, as Frau Mittendorf introduced us. She did not bestow a
+second glance upon Stella; but bent a long look, a second, a third
+scrutinizing gaze upon me. I--I am not ashamed to own it--quivered
+somewhat under her searching glance. She impressed and fascinated me.
+
+She seated herself, and slightly apologizing to us for intruding
+domestic affairs, began to speak with Frau Mittendorf of some case of
+village distress in which they were both interested. Then she turned
+again to us, speaking in excellent English, and asked us whether we were
+staying there, after which she invited us to dine at her house the
+following day with Frau Mittendorf. After the invitation had been
+accepted with sufficient reverence by that lady, the countess rose as if
+to go, and turning again to me with still that pensive, half-wistful,
+half-mistrustful gaze, she said:
+
+"I have my carriage here. Would you like to come with me to see our
+woods and house? They are sometimes interesting to strangers."
+
+"Oh, very much!" I said, eagerly.
+
+"Then come," said she. "I will see that you are escorted back when you
+are tired. It is arranged that you remain until you feel _gen�, nicht
+wahr?_"
+
+"Oh, thank you!" said I, again, hastening to make myself ready, and
+parenthetically hoping, as I ran upstairs, that Frau Mittendorf's eyes
+might not start quite out of her head with pride at the honor conferred
+upon her house and visitors.
+
+Very soon I was seated beside the Gr�fin in the dark-green clarence,
+with the grand coachman and the lady's own j�ger beside him, and we were
+driving along a white road with a wild kind of country spreading
+round--moorland stretches, and rich deep woods. Up and down, for the way
+was uneven, till we entered a kind of park, and to the right, high
+above, I saw the great red pile with its little pointed towers crowned
+with things like extinguishers ending in a lightning-rod, and which
+seemed to spring from all parts of the heavy mass of the main building.
+
+That, then, was Schloss Rothenfels. It looked the very image of an
+aristocratic, ancient feste burg, grim and grand; it brooded over us
+like a frown, and dominated the landscape for miles around. I was deeply
+impressed; such a place had always been like a dream to me.
+
+There was something so imposingly conservative about it; it looked as if
+it had weathered so many storms; defying such paltry forces as wind and
+weather, and would through so many more, quite untouched by the roar of
+life and progress outside--a fit and firm keeping-place for old shields,
+for weapons honorably hacked and dinted, for tattered loyal flags--for
+art treasures and for proud beauties.
+
+As we gained the height, I perceived the huge scale on which the schloss
+was constructed. It was a little town in itself. I saw, too, that
+plateau on the other side, of which I had heard; later I explored it. It
+was a natural plain--a kind of table-land, and was laid out in what have
+always, since I was a child, impressed me more than any other kind of
+surroundings to a house--mile-long avenues of great trees, stretching
+perfectly straight, like lines of marching troops in every direction.
+
+Long, melancholy alleys and avenues, with huge, moss-grown stone figures
+and groups guarding the terraces or keeping fantastic watch over the
+stone tanks, on whose surfaces floated the lazy water-lilies. Great
+moss-grown gods and goddesses, and strange hybrid beasts, and fauns and
+satyrs, and all so silent and forlorn, with the lush grass and heavy
+fern growing rank and thick under the stately trees. To right they
+stretched and to left; and straightaway westward was one long, wide,
+vast, deserted avenue, at the end of which was an opening, and in the
+opening a huge stone myth or figure of a runner, who in the act of
+racing receives an arrow in his heart, and, with arms madly tossed in
+the air, staggers.
+
+Behind this terrible figure the sun used to set, flaming, or mild, or
+sullen, and the vast arms of it were outlined against the gorgeous sky,
+or in the half-dark it glimmered like a ghost and seemed to move. It had
+been there so long that none could remember the legend of it. It was a
+grim shape.
+
+Scattered here and there were quaint wildernesses and
+pleasaunces--clipped yews and oddly trained shrubs and flowers trying to
+make a diversion, but ever dominated by the huge woods, the straight
+avenues, the mathematical melancholy on an immense scale.
+
+The Frau Gr�fin glanced at me once or twice as my head turned this way
+and that, and my eyes could not take in the strange scene quickly
+enough; but she said nothing, nor did her severe face relax into any
+smile.
+
+We stopped under a huge _porte-coch�re_ in which more servants were
+standing about.
+
+"Come with me," said the lady to me. "First I will take you to my rooms,
+and then when you have rested a little you can do what you like."
+
+Pleased at the prospect, I followed her; through a hall which without
+any joking was baronial; through a corridor into a room, through which
+she passed, observing to me:
+
+"This is the rittersaal, one of the oldest rooms in the house."
+
+The rittersaal--a real, hereditary Hall of Knights where a sangerkrieg
+might have taken place--where Tannhauser and the others might have
+contended before Elizabeth. A polished parquet--a huge hearth on which
+burned a large bright wood fire, whose flames sparkled upon suits of
+mail in dozens--crossed swords and lances, over which hung tattered
+banners and bannerets. Shields and lances, portraits with each a pair of
+spurs beneath it--the men were all knights, of that line! dark and grave
+chiefly were these lords of the line of Sturm. In the center of the hall
+a great trophy of arms and armor, all of which had been used, and used
+to purpose; the only drapery, the banners over these lances and
+portraits. The room delighted me while it made me feel small--very
+small. The countess turned at a door at the other end and looked back
+upon me where I stood gasping in the door-way by which we had entered.
+She was one of the house; this had nothing overpowering for her, if it
+did give some of the pride to her mien.
+
+I hurried after her, apologizing for my tardiness; she waved the words
+back, and led me to a smaller room, which appeared to be her private
+sitting-room. Here she asked me to lay aside my things, adding that she
+hoped I should spend the day at the schloss.
+
+"If you find it not too intolerably stupid," she added. "It is a dull
+place."
+
+I said that it seemed to me like something out of a fairy tale, and that
+I longed to see more of it if I might.
+
+"Assuredly you shall. There may be some few things which you may like to
+see. I forget that every one is not like myself--tired. Are you
+musical?"
+
+"Very!" said I, emphatically.
+
+"Then you will be interested in the music-rooms here. How old are you?"
+
+I told her. She bowed gravely. "You are young, and, I suppose, happy?"
+she remarked.
+
+"Yes, I am--very happy--perfectly," said I, smiling, because I could not
+help it.
+
+"When I saw you I was so struck with that look," said she. "I thought I
+had never seen any one look so radiantly, transcendently happy. I so
+seldom see it--and never feel it, and I wished to see more of you. I am
+very glad you are so happy--very glad. Now I will not keep you talking
+to me. I will send for Herr Nahrath, who shall be your guide."
+
+She rang the bell. I was silent, although I longed to say that I could
+talk to her for a day without thinking of weariness, which indeed was
+true. She impressed and fascinated me.
+
+"Send Herr Nahrath here," she said, and presently there came into the
+room a young man in the garb of what is called in Germany a
+Kandidat--that is to say an embryo pastor, or parish priest. He bowed
+very deeply to the countess and did not speak or advance much beyond the
+door.
+
+Having introduced us, she desired him to act as cicerone to me until I
+was tired. He bowed, and I did not dispute the mandate, although I would
+rather have remained with her, and got to know something of the nature
+that lay behind those gray passionless features, than turn to the
+society of that smug-looking young gentleman who waited so respectfully,
+like a machine whose mainspring was awe.
+
+I accompanied him, nevertheless, and he showed me part of the schloss,
+and endeavored in the intervals of his tolerably arduous task of
+cicerone to make himself agreeable to me. It was a wonderful place
+indeed--this schloss. The deeper we penetrated into it, the more
+absorbed and interested did I become. Such piled-up, profusely scattered
+treasures of art it had never before fallen to my lot to behold. The
+abundance was prodigal; the judgment, cultivation, high perception
+of truth, rarity and beauty, seemed almost faultless. Gems of
+pictures--treasures of sculpture, bronze, china, carvings, glass, coins,
+curiosities which it would have taken a life-time properly to learn.
+Here I saw for the first time a private library on a large scale,
+collected by generation after generation of highly cultured men and
+women--a perfect thing of its kind, and one which impressed me mightily;
+but it was not there that I was destined to find the treasure which lay
+hidden for me in this enchanted palace. We strayed over an acre or so of
+passage and corridor till he paused before an arched door across which
+was hung a curtain, and over which was inscribed _Musik-kammern_ (the
+music-rooms).
+
+"If you wish to see the music, _mein Fr�ulein_, I must leave you in the
+hands of Herr Brunken, who will tolerate no cicerone but himself."
+
+"Oh, I wish to see it certainly," said I, on fire with curiosity.
+
+He knocked and was bidden _herein!_ but not going in, told some one
+inside that he recommended to his charge a young lady staying with the
+countess, and who was desirous of seeing the collection.
+
+"Pray, _mein Fr�ulein_, come in!" said a voice. Herr Nahrath left me,
+and I, lifting the curtain and pushing open the half-closed door, found
+myself in an octagonal room, confronted by the quaintest figure I had
+ever seen. An old man whose long gray hair, long white beard, and long
+black robe made him look like a wizard or astrologer of some medi�val
+romance, was smiling at me and bidding me welcome to his domain. He was
+the librarian and general custodian of the musical treasures of Schloss
+Rothenfels, and his name was Brunken. He loved his place and his
+treasures with a jealous love, and would talk of favorite instruments as
+if they had been dear children, and of great composers as if they were
+gods.
+
+All around the room were large shelves filled with music--and over each
+division stood a name--such mighty names as Scarlatti, Bach, Handel,
+Beethoven, Schumann, Mozart, Haydn--all the giants, and apparently all
+the pygmies too, were there. It was a complete library of music, and
+though I have seen many since, I have never beheld any which in the
+least approached this in richness or completeness. Rare old manuscript
+scores; priceless editions of half-forgotten music; the literature of
+the productions of half-forgotten composers; Eastern music, Western
+music, and music of all ages; it was an idealized collection--a
+musician's paradise, only less so than that to which he now led me, from
+amid the piled-up scores and the gleaming busts of those mighty men, who
+here at least were honored with never-failing reverence.
+
+He took me into a second room, or rather hall, of great size, height,
+and dimensions, a museum of musical instruments. It would take far too
+long to do it justice in description; indeed, on that first brief
+investigation I could only form a dim general idea of the richness of
+its treasures. What histories--what centuries of story were there piled
+up! Musical instruments of every imaginable form and shape, and in every
+stage of development. Odd-looking pre-historic bone embryo instruments
+from different parts of France. Strange old things from Nineveh, and
+India, and Peru, instruments from tombs and pyramids, and ancient ruined
+temples in tropic groves--things whose very nature and handling is a
+mystery and a dispute--tuned to strange scales which produce strange
+melodies, and carry us back into other worlds. On them, perhaps, has the
+swarthy Ninevan, or slight Hindoo, or some
+
+     "Dusky youth with painted plumage gay"
+
+performed as he apostrophized his mistress's eyebrow. On that
+queer-looking thing which may be a fiddle or not--which may have had a
+bow or not--a slightly clad slave made music while his master the rayah
+played chess with his favorite wife. They are all dead and gone now, and
+their jewels are worn by others, and the memory of them has vanished
+from off the earth; and these, their musical instruments, repose in a
+quiet corner amid the rough hills and oak woods and under the cloudy
+skies of the land of music--Deutschland.
+
+Down through the changing scale, through the whole range of cymbal and
+spinet, "flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of
+music," stand literally before me, and a strange revelation it is. Is it
+the same faculty which produces that grand piano of Bechstein's, and
+that clarion organ of Silbermann's, and that African drum dressed out
+with skulls, that war-trumpet hung with tiger's teeth? After this
+nothing is wonderful! Strange, unearthly looking Chinese frames of
+sonorous stones or modulated bells; huge drums, painted and carved, and
+set up on stands six feet from the ground; quaint instruments from the
+palaces of Aztec Incas, down to pianos by Broadwood, Collard & Collard,
+and Bechstein.
+
+There were trophies of Streichinstrumente and Blaseinstrumente. I was
+allowed to gaze upon two real Stradivarius fiddles. I might see the
+development by evolution, and the survival of the fittest in violin,
+'cello, contrabass, alto, beside countless others whose very names have
+perished with the time that produced them, and the fingers which played
+them--ingenious guesses, clever misses--the tragedy of harmony as well
+as its "Io P�an!"
+
+There were wind instruments, quaint old double flutes from Italy; pipes,
+single, double, treble, from ages much further back; harps--Assyrian,
+Greek, and Roman; instruments of percussion, guitars, and zithers in
+every form and kind; a dulcimer--I took it up and thought of Coleridge's
+"damsel with a dulcimer;" and a grand organ, as well as many incipient
+organs, and the quaint little things of that nature from China, Japan,
+and Siam.
+
+I stood and gazed in wonder and amazement.
+
+"Surely the present Graf has not collected all these instruments!" said
+I.
+
+"Oh, no, _mein Fr�ulein_; they have been accumulating for centuries.
+They tell strange tales of what the Sturms will do for music."
+
+With which he proceeded to tell me certain narratives of certain
+instruments in the collection, in which he evidently firmly believed,
+including one relating to a quaint old violin for which he said a
+certain Graf von Rothenfels called "Max der Tolle," or the Mad Count
+Max, had sold his soul.
+
+As he finished this last he was called away, and excusing himself, left
+me. I was alone in this voiceless temple of so many wonderful sounds. I
+looked round, and a feeling of awe and weirdness crept over me. My eyes
+would not leave that shabby old fiddle, concerning whose demoniac origin
+I had just heard such a cheerful little anecdote. Every one of those
+countless instruments was capable of harmony and discord--had some time
+been used; pressed, touched, scraped, beaten or blown into by hands or
+mouths long since crumbled to dust. What tales had been told! what
+songs sung, and in what languages; what laughs laughed, tears shed, vows
+spoken, kisses exchanged, over some of those silent pieces of wood,
+brass, ivory, and catgut! The feelings of all the histories that
+surrounded me had something eerie in it.
+
+I stayed until I began to feel nervous, and was thinking of going away
+when sounds from a third room drew my attention. Some one in there began
+to play the violin, and to play it with no ordinary delicacy of
+manipulation. There was something exquisitely finished, refined, and
+delicate about the performance; it lacked the bold splendor and
+originality of Eugen's playing, but it was so lovely as to bring tears
+to my eyes, and, moreover, the air was my favorite "Traumerei."
+Something in those sounds, too, was familiar to me. With a sudden
+beating of the heart, a sudden eagerness, I stepped hastily forward,
+pushed back the dividing curtain, and entered the room whence proceeded
+those sounds.
+
+In the middle of the room, which was bare and empty, but which had large
+windows looking across the melancholy plateau, and to the terrible
+figure of the runner at the end of the avenue--stood a boy--a child with
+a violin. He was dressed richly, in velvet and silk; he was grown--the
+slender delicacy of his form was set off by the fine clothing that rich
+men's children wear; his beautiful waving black hair was somewhat more
+closely cut, but the melancholy yet richly colored young face that
+turned toward me--the deep and yearning eyes, the large, solemn gaze,
+the premature gravity, were all his--it was Sigmund, Courvoisier's boy.
+
+For a moment we both stood motionless--hardly breathing; then he flung
+his violin down, sprung forward with a low sound of intense joy,
+exclaiming:
+
+"_Das Fr�ulein_, _das Fr�ulein_, from home!" and stood before me
+trembling from head to foot.
+
+I snatched the child to my heart (he looked so much older and sadder),
+and covered him with kisses.
+
+He submitted--nay, more, he put his arms about my neck and laid his face
+upon my shoulder, and presently, as if he had choked down some silent
+emotion, looked up at me with large, imploring, sad eyes, and asked:
+
+"Have you seen my father?"
+
+"Sigmund, I saw him the day before yesterday."
+
+"You saw him--you spoke to him, perhaps?"
+
+"Yes. I spoke long with him."
+
+"What did he look like?"
+
+"As he always does--brave, and true, and noble."
+
+"_Nicht wahr?_" said the boy, with flashing eyes. "I know how he looks,
+just. I am waiting till I am grown up, that I may go to him again."
+
+"Do you like me, Sigmund?"
+
+"Yes; very much."
+
+"Do you think you could love me? Would you trust me to love those you
+love?"
+
+"Do you mean him?" he asked point-blank, and looked at me somewhat
+startled.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I--don't--know."
+
+"I mean, to take care of him, and try to make him happy till you come to
+him again, and then we will all be together."
+
+He looked doubtful still.
+
+"What I mean, Sigmund, is that your father and I are going to be
+married; but we shall never be quite happy until you are with us."
+
+He stood still, taking it in, and I waited in much anxiety. I was
+certain that if I had time and opportunity I could win him; but I feared
+the result of this sudden announcement and separation. He might only see
+that his father--his supreme idol--could turn for comfort to another,
+while he would not know how I loved him and longed to make his grave
+young life happy for him. I put my arm round his shoulder, and kneeling
+down beside him, said:
+
+"You must say you are glad, Sigmund, or you will make me very unhappy. I
+want you to love me as well as him. Look at me and tell me you will
+trust me till we are all together, for I am sure we shall be together
+some day."
+
+He still hesitated some little time, but at last said, with the
+sedateness peculiar to him, as of one who overcame a struggle and made a
+sacrifice:
+
+"If he has decided it so it must be right, you know; but--but--you won't
+let him forget me, will you?"
+
+The child's nature overcame that which had been, as it were, supplanted
+and grafted upon it. The lip quivered, the dark eyes filled with tears.
+Poor little lonely child! desolate and sad in the midst of all the
+grandeur! My heart yearned to him.
+
+"Forget you, Sigmund? Your father never forgets, he can not!"
+
+"I wish I was grown up," was all he said.
+
+Then it occurred to me to wonder how he got there, and in what relation
+he stood to these people.
+
+"Do you live here, Sigmund?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What relation are you to the Herr Graf?"
+
+"Graf von Rothenfels is my uncle."
+
+"And are they kind to you?" I asked, in a hasty whisper, for his intense
+gravity and sadness oppressed me. I trembled to think of having to tell
+his father in what state I had found him.
+
+"Oh, yes!" said he. "Yes, very."
+
+"What do you do all day?"
+
+"I learn lessons from Herr Nahrath, and I ride with Uncle Bruno,
+and--and--oh! I do whatever I like. Uncle Bruno says that some time I
+shall go to Bonn, or Heidelberg, or Jena, or England, whichever I like."
+
+"And have you no friends?"
+
+"I like being with Brunken the best. He talks to me about my father
+sometimes. He knew him when he was only as old as I am."
+
+"Did he? Oh, I did not know that."
+
+"But they won't tell me why my father never comes here, and why they
+never speak of him," he added, wearily, looking with melancholy eyes
+across the lines of wood, through the wide window.
+
+"Be sure it is for nothing wrong. He does nothing wrong. He does nothing
+but what is good and right," said I.
+
+"Oh, of course! But I can't tell the reason. I think and think about
+it." He put his hand wearily to his head. "They never speak of him. Once
+I said something about him. It was at a great dinner they had. Aunt
+Hildegarde turned quite pale, and Uncle Bruno called me to him and
+said--no one heard it but me, you know--'Never let me hear that name
+again!' and his eyes looked so fierce. I'm tired of this place," he
+added, mournfully.
+
+"I want to be at Elberthal again--at the Wehrhahn, with my father and
+Friedhelm and Karl Linders. I think of them every hour. I liked Karl and
+Friedhelm, and Gretchen, and Frau Schmidt."
+
+"They do not live there now, dear, Friedhelm and your father," said I,
+gently.
+
+"Not? Then where are they?"
+
+"I do not know," I was forced to say. "They were fighting in the war. I
+think they live at Berlin now, but I am not at all sure."
+
+This uncertainty seemed to cause him much distress, and he would have
+added more, but our conversation was brought to an end by the entrance
+of Brunken, who looked rather surprised to see us in such close and
+earnest consultation.
+
+"Will you show me the way back to the countess's room?" said I to
+Sigmund.
+
+He put his hand in mine, and led me through many of those interminable
+halls and passages until we came to the rittersaal again.
+
+"Sigmund," said I, "are you not proud to belong to these?" and I pointed
+to the dim portraits hanging around.
+
+"Yes," said he, doubtfully. "Uncle Bruno is always telling me that I
+must do nothing to disgrace their name, because I shall one day rule
+their lands; but," he added, with more animation, "do you not see all
+these likenesses? These are all counts of Rothenfels, who have been
+heads of the family. You see the last one is here--Graf Bruno--my uncle.
+But in another room there are a great many more portraits, ladies and
+children and young men, and a man is painting a likeness of me, which is
+going to be hung up there; but my father is not there. What does it
+mean?"
+
+I was silent. I knew his portrait must have been removed because he was
+considered to be living in dishonor--a stain to the house, who was
+perhaps the most chivalrous of the whole race; but this I could not tell
+Sigmund. It was beginning already, the trial, the "test" of which he had
+spoken to me, and it was harder in reality than in anticipation.
+
+"I don't want to be stuck up there where he has no place," Sigmund went
+on, sullenly. "And I should like to cut the hateful picture to pieces
+when it comes."
+
+With this he ushered me into Gr�fin Hildegarde's boudoir again. She was
+still there, and a tall, stately, stern-looking man of some fifty years
+was with her.
+
+His appearance gave me a strange shock. He was Eugen, older and without
+any of his artist brightness; Eugen's grace turned into pride and stony
+hauteur. He looked as if he could be savage upon occasion; a nature born
+to power and nurtured in it. Ruggedly upright, but narrow. I learned him
+by heart afterward, and found that every act of his was the direct,
+unsoftened outcome of his nature.
+
+This was Graf Bruno; this was the proud, intensely feeling man who had
+never forgiven the stain which he supposed his brother had brought upon
+their house; this was he who had proposed such hard, bald, pitiless
+terms concerning the parting of father and son--who forbade the child to
+speak of the loved one.
+
+"Ha!" said he, "you have found Sigmund, _mein Fr�ulein_? Where did you
+meet, then?"
+
+His keen eyes swept me from head to foot. In that, at least, Eugen
+resembled him; my lover's glance was as hawk-like as this, and as
+impenetrable.
+
+"In the music-room," said Sigmund; and the uncle's glance left me and
+fell upon the boy.
+
+I soon read that story. The child was at once the light of his eyes and
+the bitterness of his life. As for Countess Hildegarde, she gazed at her
+nephew with all a mother's soul in her pathetic eyes, and was silent.
+
+"Come here," said the Graf, seating himself and drawing the boy to him.
+"What hast thou been doing?"
+
+There was no fear in the child's demeanor--he was too thoroughly a child
+of their own race to know fear--but there was no love, no lighting up of
+the features, no glad meeting of the eyes.
+
+"I was with Nahrath till Aunt Hildegarde sent for him, and then I went
+to practice."
+
+"Practice what? Thy riding or fencing?"
+
+"No; my violin."
+
+"Bah! What an extraordinary thing it is that this lad has no taste for
+anything but fiddling," observed the uncle, half aside.
+
+Gr�fin Hildegarde looked sharply and apprehensively up.
+
+Sigmund shrunk a little away from his uncle, not timidly, but with some
+distaste. Words were upon his lips; his eyes flashed, his lips parted;
+then he checked himself, and was silent.
+
+"_Nun denn!_" said the count. "What hast thou? Out with it!"
+
+"Nothing that it would please you to hear, uncle; therefore I will not
+say it," was the composed retort.
+
+The grim-looking man laughed a grim little laugh, as if satisfied with
+the audacity of the boy, and his grizzled mustache swept the soft cheek.
+
+"I ride no further this morning; but this afternoon I shall go to
+Mulhausen. Wilt thou come with me?"
+
+"Yes, uncle."
+
+Neither willing nor unwilling was the tone, and the answer appeared to
+dissatisfy the other, who said:
+
+"'Yes, uncle'--what does that mean? Dost thou not wish to go?"
+
+"Oh, yes! I would as soon go as stay at home."
+
+"But the distance, Bruno," here interposed the countess, in a low tone.
+"I am sure it is too far. He is not too strong."
+
+"Distance? Pooh! Hildegarde, I wonder at you; considering what stock you
+come of, you should be superior to such nonsense! Wert thou thinking of
+the distance, Sigmund?"
+
+"Distance--no," said he, indifferently.
+
+"Come with me," said the elder. "I want to show thee something."
+
+They went out of the room together. Yes, it was self-evident; the man
+idolized the child. Strange mixture of sternness and softness! The
+supposed sin of the father was never to be pardoned; but natural
+affection was to have its way, and be lavished upon the son; and the son
+could not return it, because the influence of the banished scapegrace
+was too strong--he had won it all for himself, as scapegraces have the
+habit of doing.
+
+Again I was left alone with the countess, sitting upright over her
+embroidery. A dull life this great lady led. She cared nothing for the
+world's gayeties, and she had neither chick nor child to be ambitious
+for. Her husband was polite enough to her; but she knew perfectly well,
+and accepted it as a matter of course, that the death of her who had
+lived with him and been his companion for twenty-five years would have
+weighed less by half with him than any catastrophe to that mournful,
+unenthusiastic child, who had not been two years under their roof, and
+who displayed no delight in the wealth of love lavished upon him.
+
+She knew that she also adored the child, but that his affection was hard
+to get. She dared not show her love openly, or in the presence of her
+husband, who seemed to look upon the boy as his exclusive property, and
+was as jealous as a tiger of the few faint testimonies of affection
+manifested by his darling. A dull journey to Berlin once a year, an
+occasional visitor, the society of her director and that of her
+husband--who showed how much at home with her he felt by going to sleep
+whenever he was more than a quarter of an hour in her presence--a little
+interest of a lofty, distant kind in her townspeople of the poorer sort,
+an occasional call upon or from some distant neighbor of a rank
+approaching her own; for the rest, embroidery in the newest patterns and
+most elegant style, some few books, chiefly religious and polemical
+works--and what can be drearier than Roman Catholic polemics, unless,
+indeed, Protestant ones eclipse them?--a large house, vast estates,
+servants who never raised their voices beyond a certain tone; the envy
+of all the middle-class women, the fear and reverential courtesies of
+the poorer ones--a cheerful existence, and one which accounted for some
+of the wrinkles which so plentifully decked her brow.
+
+"That is our nephew," said she; "my husband's heir."
+
+"I have often seen him before," said I; "but I should have thought that
+his father would be your husband's next heir."
+
+Never shall I forget the look she darted upon me--the awful glance which
+swept over me scathingly, ere she said, in icy tones:
+
+"What do you mean? Have you seen--or do you know--Graf Eugen?"
+
+There was a pause, as if the name had not passed her lips for so long
+that now she had difficulty in uttering it.
+
+"I knew him as Eugen Courvoisier," said I; but the other name was a
+revelation to me, and told me that he was also "to the manner born." "I
+saw him two days ago, and I conversed with him," I added.
+
+She was silent for a moment, and surveyed me with a haggard look. I met
+her glance fully, openly.
+
+"Do you wish to know anything about him?" I asked.
+
+"Certainly not," said she, striving to speak frigidly; but there was a
+piteous tremble in her low tones. "The man has dis--What am I saying? It
+is sufficient to say that he is not on terms with his family."
+
+"So he told me," said I, struggling on my own part to keep back the
+burning words within me.
+
+The countess looked at me--looked again. I saw now that this was one of
+the great sorrows of her sorrowful life. She felt that to be consistent
+she ought to wave aside the subject with calm contempt; but it made her
+heart bleed. I pitied her; I felt an odd kind of affection for her
+already. The promise I had given to Eugen lay hard and heavy upon me.
+
+"What did he tell you?" she asked, at last; and I paused ere I answered,
+trying to think what I could make of this opportunity. "Do you know the
+facts of the case?" she added.
+
+"No; he said he would write."
+
+"Would write!" she echoed, suspending her work, and fixing me with her
+eyes. "Would write--to whom?"
+
+"To me."
+
+"You correspond with him?" There was a tremulous eagerness in her
+manner.
+
+"I have never corresponded with him yet," said I, "but I have known him
+long, and loved him almost from the first. The other day I
+promised--to--marry him."
+
+"You?" said she; "you are going to marry Eugen! Are you"--her eyes
+said--"are you good enough for him?" but she came to an abrupt
+conclusion. "Tell me," said she; "where did you meet him, and how?"
+
+I told her in what capacity I had become acquainted with him, and she
+listened breathlessly. Every moment I felt the prohibition to speak
+heavier, for I saw that the Countess von Rothenfels would have been only
+too delighted to hail any idea, any suggestion, which should allow her
+to indulge the love that, though so strong, she rigidly repressed. I
+dare say I told my story in a halting kind of way; it was difficult for
+me on the spur of the moment to know clearly what to say and what to
+leave unsaid. As I told the countess about Eugen's and my voyage down
+the river, a sort of smile tried to struggle out upon her lips; it was
+evidently as good as a romance to her. I finished, saying:
+
+"That is the truth, _gn�dige Frau_. All I fear is that I am not good
+enough for him--shall not satisfy him."
+
+"My child," said she, and paused. "My dear child," she took both my
+hands, and her lips quivered, "you do not know how I feel for you. I can
+feel for you because I fear that with you it will be as it was with me.
+Do you know any of the circumstances under which Eugen von Rothenfels
+left his friends?"
+
+"I do not know them circumstantially. I know he was accused of
+something, and--and--did not--I mean--"
+
+"Could not deny it," she said. "I dare not take the responsibility of
+leaving you in ignorance. I must tell you all, and may Our Lady give me
+eloquence!"
+
+"I should like to hear the story, madame, but I do not think any
+eloquence will change my mind."
+
+"He always had a manner calculated to deceive and charm," said she;
+"always. Well, my husband is his half-brother. I was their cousin. They
+are the sons of different mothers, and my husband is many years older
+than Eugen--eighteen years older. He, my husband, was thirty years old
+when he succeeded to the name and estates of his father--Eugen, you see,
+was just twelve years old, a school-boy. We were just married. It is a
+very long time ago--_ach ja!_ a very long time ago! We played the part
+of parents to that boy. We were childless, and as time went on, we
+lavished upon him all the love which we should have bestowed upon our
+own children had we been happy enough to have any. I do not think any
+one was ever better loved than he. It so happened that his own
+inheritance was not a large one; that made no difference. My husband,
+with my fullest consent and approbation, had every intention of
+providing for him: we had enough and to spare: money and land and house
+room for half a dozen families, and our two selves alone to enjoy it
+all. He always seemed fond of us. I suppose it was his facile manner,
+which could take the appearance of an interest and affection which he
+did not feel--"
+
+"No, Frau Gr�fin! no, indeed!"
+
+"Wait till you have heard all, my poor child. Everyone loved him. How
+proud I was of him. Sometimes I think it is a chastisement, but had you
+been in my place you would have been proud too; so gallant, so
+handsome, such grace, and such a charm. He was the joy of my life," she
+said in a passionate under-tone. "He went by the name of a worthy
+descendant of all essential things: honor and loyalty and bravery, and
+so on. They used to call him _Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter_, after the
+old song. He was wild and impatient of control, but who is not? I hate
+your young men whose veins run milk, not blood. He was one of a fiery
+passionate line. At the universities he was extravagant; we heard all
+sorts of follies."
+
+"Did you ever hear of anything base--anything underhand or
+dishonorable?"
+
+"Never--oh, never. High play. He was very intimate with a set of young
+Englishmen, and the play was dreadful, it is true; he betted too. That
+is a curse. Play and horses, and general recklessness and extravagance,
+but no wine and no women. I never heard that he had the least affinity
+for either of these dissipations. There were debts--I suppose all young
+men in his position make debts," said the countess, placidly. "My
+husband made debts at college, and I am sure my brothers did. Then he
+left college and lived at home awhile, and that was the happiest time of
+my life. But it is over.
+
+"Then he entered the army--of course. His family interest procured him
+promotion. He was captain in a fine Uhlan regiment. He was with his
+regiment at Berlin and Munich, and ----. And always we heard the same
+tales--play, and wild, fast living. Music always had a hold upon him.
+
+"In the midst of his extravagance he was sometimes so simple. I remember
+we were dreadfully frightened at a rumor that he had got entangled with
+Fr�ulein ----, a singer of great beauty at the Hofoper at ----. I got my
+husband to let me write about it. I soon had an answer from Eugen. How
+he laughed at me! He had paid a lot of debts for the girl, which had
+been pressing heavily upon her since her career began; now he said he
+trusted she would get along swimmingly; he was going to her benefit that
+night.
+
+"But when he was at ----, and when he was about six-and-twenty, he
+really did get engaged to be married. He wrote and told us about it.
+That was the first bitter blow: she was an Italian girl of respectable
+but by no means noble family--he was always a dreadful radical in such
+matters. She was a governess in the house of one of his friends in ----.
+
+"We did everything we could think of to divert him from it. It was
+useless. He married her, but he did not become less extravagant. She did
+not help him to become steady, I must say. She liked gayety and
+admiration, and he liked her to be worshiped. He indulged her
+frightfully. He played--he would play so dreadfully.
+
+"We had his wife over to see us, and he came with her. We were agreeably
+surprised. She quite won our hearts. She was very beautiful and very
+charming--had rather a pretty voice, though nothing much. We forgave all
+his misconduct, and my husband talked to him and implored him to amend.
+He said he would. Mere promises! It was so easy to him to make promises.
+
+"That poor young wife! Instead of pitying him for having made a
+_m�salliance_, we know now that it was she who was to be pitied for
+having fallen into the hands of such a black-hearted, false man."
+
+The lady paused. The recital evidently cost her some pain and some
+emotion. She went on:
+
+"She was expecting her confinement. They returned to ----, where we also
+had a house, and we went with them. Vittoria shortly afterward gave
+birth to a son. That was in our house. My husband would have it so. That
+son was to reconcile all and make everything straight. At that time
+Eugen must have been in some anxiety: he had been betting heavily on the
+English Derby. We did not know that, nor why he had gone to England. At
+last it came out that he was simply ruined. My husband was dreadfully
+cut up. I was very unhappy--so unhappy that I was ill and confined to my
+room.
+
+"My husband left town for a few days to come over to Rothenfels on
+business. Eugen was scarcely ever in the house. I thought it was our
+reproachful faces that he did not wish to see. Then my husband came
+back. He was more cheerful. He had been thinking things over, he said.
+He kissed me, and told me to cheer up: he had a plan for Eugen, which,
+he believed, would set all right again.
+
+"In that very moment some one had asked to see him. It was a clerk from
+the bank with a check which they had cashed the day before. Had my
+husband signed it? I saw him look at it for a moment. Then he sent the
+man away, saying that he was then busy and would communicate with him.
+Then he showed me the check. It was payable to the bearer, and across
+the back was written 'Vittoria von Rothenfels.'
+
+"You must bear in mind that Eugen was living in his own house, in
+another quarter of the town. My husband sent the check to him, with a
+brief inquiry as to whether he knew anything about it. Then he went out:
+he had an appointment, and when he returned he found a letter from
+Eugen. It was not long: it was burned into my heart, and I have never
+forgotten a syllable of it. It was:
+
+     "'I return the check. I am guilty. I relieve you of all further
+     responsibility about me. It is evident that I am not fit for my
+     position. I leave this place forever, taking the boy with me.
+     Vittoria does not seem to care about having him. Will you look
+     after her? Do not let her starve in punishment for my sin. For
+     me--I leave you forever.
+
+                    "'EUGEN.'
+
+"That was the letter. _Ei! mein Gott!_ Oh, it is hideous, child, to find
+that those in whom you believed so intensely are bad--rotten to the
+core. I had loved Eugen, he had made a sunshine in my not very cheerful
+life. His coming was a joy to me, his going away a sorrow. It made
+everything so much blacker when the truth came out. Of course the matter
+was hushed up.
+
+"My husband took immediate steps about it. Soon afterward we came here;
+Vittoria with us. Poor girl! Poor girl! She did nothing but weep and
+wring her hands, moan and lament and wonder why she had ever been born,
+and at last she died of decline--that is to say, they called it decline,
+but it was really a broken heart. That is the story--a black chronicle,
+is it not? You know about Sigmund's coming here. My husband remembered
+that he was heir to our name, and we were in a measure responsible for
+him. Eugen had taken the name of a distant family connection on his
+mother's side--she had French blood in her veins--Courvoisier. Now you
+know all, my child--he is not good. Do not trust him."
+
+I was silent. My heart burned; my tongue longed to utter ardent words,
+but I remembered his sad smile as he said, "You shrink from that," and
+I braced myself to silence. The thing seemed to me altogether so
+pitiable--and yet--and yet, I had sworn. But how had he lived out these
+five terrible years?
+
+By and by the luncheon bell rang. We all met once more. I felt every
+hour more like one in a dream or in some impossible old romance. That
+piece of outward death-like reserve, the countess, with the fire within
+which she was forever spending her energy in attempts to quench; that
+conglomeration of ice, pride, roughness and chivalry, the Herr Graf
+himself; the thin, wooden-looking priest, the director of the Gr�fin;
+that lovely picture of grace and bloom, with the dash of melancholy,
+Sigmund; certainly it was the strangest company in which I had ever been
+present. The countess sent me home in the afternoon, reminding me that I
+was engaged to dine there with the others to-morrow. I managed to get a
+word aside with Sigmund--to kiss him and tell him I should come to see
+him again. Then I left them; interested, inthralled, fascinated with
+them and their life, and--more in love with Eugen than ever.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+"WHERE IS MY FATHER?"
+
+
+We had been bidden to dine at the schloss--Frau Mittendorf, Stella, and
+I. In due time the doctor's new carriage was called out, and seated in
+it we were driven to the great castle. With a renewed joy and awe I
+looked at it by twilight, with the dusk of sunset veiling its woods and
+turning the whole mass to the color of a deep earth-stain. Eugen's home:
+there he had been born; as the child of such a race and in its
+traditions he had been nurtured by that sad lady whom we were going to
+see. I at least knew that he had acted, and was now acting, up to the
+very standard of his high calling. The place has lost much of its
+awfulness for me; it had become even friendly and lovely.
+
+The dinner was necessarily a solemn one. I was looking out for Sigmund,
+who, however, did not put in an appearance.
+
+After dinner, when we were all assembled in a vast salon which the
+numberless wax-lights did but partially and in the center illuminate, I
+determined to make an effort at release from this seclusion, and asked
+the countess (who had motioned me to a seat beside her) where Sigmund
+was.
+
+"He seemed a little languid and not inclined to come down-stairs," said
+she. "I expect he is in the music-room--he generally finds his way
+there."
+
+"Oh, I wish you would allow me to go and see him."
+
+"Certainly, my child," said she, ringing; and presently a servant guided
+me to the door of the music-rooms, and in answer to my knock I was
+bidden _herein!_
+
+I entered. The room was in shadow; but a deep glowing fire burned in a
+great cavernous, stone fire-place, and shone upon huge brass andirons on
+either side of the hearth. In an easy-chair sat Brunken, the old
+librarian, and his white hair and beard were also warmed into rosiness
+by the fire-glow. At his feet lay Sigmund, who had apparently been
+listening to some story of his old friend. His hands were clasped about
+the old man's knee, his face upturned, his hair pushed back.
+
+Both turned as I came in, and Sigmund sprung up, but ere he had advanced
+two paces, paused and stood still, as if overcome with languor or
+weariness.
+
+"Sigmund, I have come to see you," said I, coming to the fire and
+greeting the old man, who welcomed me hospitably.
+
+I took Sigmund's hand; it was hot and dry. I kissed him; lips and cheeks
+were burning and glowing crimson. I swept the hair from his brow, that
+too was burning, and his temples throbbed. His eyes met mine with a
+strange, misty look. Saying nothing, I seated myself in a low chair near
+the fire, and drew him to me. He nestled up to me, and I felt that if
+Eugen could see us he would be almost satisfied. Sigmund did not say
+anything. He merely settled his head upon my breast, gave a deep sigh as
+if of relief, and closing his eyes, said:
+
+"Now, Brunken, go on!"
+
+"As I was saying, _mein Liebling_, I hope to prove all former theorists
+and writers upon the subject to have been wrong--"
+
+"He's talking about a Magrepha," said Sigmund, still not opening his
+eyes.
+
+"A Magrepha--what may that be?" I inquired.
+
+"Yes. Some people say it was a real full-blown organ," explained
+Sigmund, in a thick, hesitating voice, "and some say it was nothing
+better than a bag-pipe--oh, dear! how my head does ache--and there are
+people who say it was a kettle-drum--nothing more nor less; and Brunken
+is going to show that not one of them knew anything about it."
+
+"I hope so, at least," said Brunken, with a modest placidity.
+
+"Oh, indeed!" said I, glancing a little timidly into the far recesses of
+the deep, ghostly room, where the fire-light kept catching the sheen of
+metal, the yellow whiteness of ivory keys or pipes, or the polished case
+of some stringed instrument.
+
+Strange, grotesque shapes loomed out in the uncertain, flickering light;
+but was it not a strange and haunted chamber? Ever it seemed to me as if
+breaths of air blew through it, which came from all imaginable kinds of
+graves, and were the breaths of those departed ones who had handled the
+strange collection, and who wished to finger, or blow into, or beat the
+dumb, unvibrating things once more.
+
+Did I say unvibrating? I was wrong then. The strings sometimes
+quivered to sounds that set them trembling; something like a whispered
+tone I have heard from the deep, upturned throats of great brazen
+trumpets--something like a distant moan floating around the gilded
+organ-pipes. In after-days, when Friedhelm Helfen knew this room, he
+made a wonderful fantasia about it, in which all the dumb instruments
+woke up, or tried to wake up to life again, for the whole place
+impressed him, he told me, as nothing that he had ever known before.
+
+Brunken went on in a droning tone, giving theories of his own as to the
+nature of the Magrepha, and I, with my arms around Sigmund, half
+listened to the sleepy monotone of the good old visionary. But what
+spoke to me with a more potent voice was the soughing and wuthering of
+the sorrowful wind without, which verily moaned around the old walls,
+and sought out the old corners, and wailed, and plained, and sobbed in a
+way that was enough to break one's heart.
+
+By degrees a silence settled upon us. Brunken, having satisfactorily
+annihilated his enemies, ceased to speak; the fire burned lower;
+Sigmund's eyes were closed; his cheeks were not less flushed than
+before, nor his brow less hot, and a frown contracted it. I know not
+how long a time had passed, but I had no wish to rise.
+
+The door was opened, and some one came into the room. I looked up. It
+was the Gr�fin. Brunken rose and stood to one side, bowing.
+
+I could not get up, but some movement of mine, perhaps, disturbed the
+heavy and feverish slumber of the child. He started wide awake, with a
+look of wild terror, and gazed down into the darkness, crying out:
+
+"_Mein Vater_, where art thou?"
+
+A strange, startled, frightened look crossed the face of the countess
+when she heard the words. She did not speak, and I said some soothing
+words to Sigmund.
+
+But there could be no doubt that he was very ill. It was quite unlike
+his usual silent courage and reticence to wring his small hands and with
+ever-increasing terror turn a deaf ear to my soothings, sobbing out in
+tones of pain and insistence:
+
+"Father! father! where art thou? I want thee!"
+
+Then he began to cry pitifully, and the only word that was heard was
+"Father!" It was like some recurrent wail in a piece of music, which
+warns one all through of a coming tragedy.
+
+"Oh, dear! What is to be done? Sigmund! _Was ist denn mit dir, mein
+Engel?_" said the poor countess, greatly distressed.
+
+"He is ill," said I. "I think he has taken an illness. Does thy head
+ache, Sigmund?"
+
+"Yes," said he, "it does. Where is my own father? My head never ached
+when I was with my father."
+
+"_Mein Gott! mein Gott!_" said the countess in a low tone. "I thought he
+had forgotten his father."
+
+"Forgotten!" echoed I. "Frau Gr�fin, he is one of yourselves. You do not
+seem to forget."
+
+"_Herrgott!_" she exclaimed, wringing her hands. "What can be the matter
+with him? What must I say to Bruno? Sigmund darling, what hast thou
+then! What ails thee?"
+
+"I want my father!" he repeated. Nor would he utter any other word. The
+one idea, long dormant, had now taken full possession of him; in fever,
+half delirious, out of the fullness of his heart his mouth spake.
+
+"Sigmund, _Liebchen_," said the countess, "control thyself. Thy uncle
+must not hear thee say that word."
+
+"I don't want my uncle. I want my father!" said Sigmund, looking
+restlessly round. "Oh, where is he? I have not seen him--it is so long,
+and I want him. I love him; I do love my father, and I want him."
+
+It was pitiful, pathetic, somewhat tragic too. The poor countess had not
+the faintest idea what to do with the boy, whose illness frightened her.
+I suggested that he should be put to bed and the doctor sent for, as he
+had probably taken some complaint which would declare itself in a few
+days, and might be merely some childish disorder.
+
+The countess seized my suggestion eagerly. Sigmund was taken away. I saw
+him no more that night. Presently we left the schloss and drove home.
+
+I found a letter waiting for me from Eugen. He was still at Elberthal,
+and appeared to have been reproaching himself for having accepted my
+"sacrifice," as he called it. He spoke of Sigmund. There was more, too,
+in the letter, which made me both glad and sad. I felt life spreading
+before me, endowed with a gravity, a largeness of aim, and a dignity of
+purpose such as I had never dreamed of before.
+
+It seemed that for me, too, there was work to do. I also had a love for
+whose sake to endure. This made me feel grave. Eugen's low spirits, and
+the increased bitterness with which he spoke of things, made me sad; but
+something else made me glad. Throughout his whole letter there breathed
+a passion, a warmth--restrained, but glowing through its bond of
+reticent words--an eagerness which he told me that at last
+
+     "As I loved, loved am I."
+
+Even after that sail down the river I had felt a half mistrust, now all
+doubts were removed. He loved me. He had learned it in all its truth and
+breadth since we last parted. He talked of renunciation, but it was with
+an anguish so keen as to make me wince for him who felt it. If he tried
+to renounce me now, it would not be the cold laying aside of a thing for
+which he did not care, it would be the wrenching himself away from his
+heart's desire. I triumphed in the knowledge, and this was what made me
+glad.
+
+Almost before we had finished breakfast in the morning, there came a
+thundering of wheels up to the door, and a shriek of excitement from
+Frau Mittendorf, who, _morgenhaube_ on her head, a shapeless old
+morning-gown clinging hideously about her ample figure, rushed to the
+window, looked out, and announced the carriage of the Frau Gr�fin.
+"_Aber!_ What can she want at this early hour?" she speculated, coming
+into the room again and staring at us both with wide open eyes round
+with agitation and importance. "But I dare say she wishes to consult me
+upon some matter. I wish I were dressed more becomingly. I have
+heard--that is, I know, for I am so intimate with her--that she never
+wears _n�glig�_. I wonder if I should have time to--"
+
+She stopped to hold out her hand for the note which a servant was
+bringing in; but her face fell when the missive was presented to me.
+
+     "LIEBE MAI"--it began--"Will you come and help me in my trouble?
+     Sigmund is very ill. Sometimes he is delirious. He calls for you
+     often. It breaks my heart to find that after all not a word is
+     uttered of us, but only of Eugen (burn this when you have read it),
+     of you, and of 'Karl,' and 'Friedhelm,' and one or two other names
+     which I do not know. I fear this petition will sound troublesome to
+     you, who were certainly not made for trouble, but you are kind. I
+     saw it in your face. I grieve too much. Truly the flesh is
+     fearfully weak. I would live as if earth had no joys for me--as
+     indeed it has none--and yet that does not prevent my suffering. May
+     God help me! Trusting to you, Your,
+
+                    "HILDEGARDE v. ROTHENFELS."
+
+I lost no time in complying with this summons. In a few moments I was in
+the carriage; ere long I was at the schloss, was met by Countess
+Hildegarde, looking like a ghost that had been keeping a strict Lent,
+and was at last by Sigmund's bedside.
+
+He was tossing feverishly from side to side, murmuring and muttering.
+But when he saw me he was still, a sweet, frank smile flitted over his
+face--a smile wonderfully like that which his father had lately bent
+upon me. He gave a little laugh, saying:
+
+"Fr�ulein May! _Willkommen!_ Have you brought my father? And I should
+like to see Friedhelm, too. You and _der Vater_ and Friedel used to sit
+near together at the concert, don't you remember? I went once, and you
+sung. That tall black man beat time, and my father never stopped looking
+at you and listening--Friedel too. I will ask them if they remember."
+
+He laughed again at the reminiscence, and took my hand, and asked me if
+I remembered, so that it was with difficulty that I steadied my voice
+and kept my eyes from running over as I answered him. Gr�fin Hildegarde
+behind wrung her hands and turned to the window. He did not advance any
+reminiscence of what had happened since he came to the schloss.
+
+There was no doubt that our Sigmund was very ill. A visitation of
+scarlet fever, of the worst kind, was raging in Lahnburg and in the
+hamlet of Rothenfels, which lay about the gates of the schloss.
+
+Sigmund, some ten days before, had ridden with his uncle, and waited on
+his pony for some time outside a row of cottages, while the count
+visited one of his old servants, a man who had become an octogenarian in
+the service of his family, and upon whom Graf Bruno periodically shed
+the light of his countenance.
+
+It was scarcely to be doubted that the boy had taken the infection then
+and there, and the doctor did not conceal that he had the complaint in
+its worst form, and that his recovery admitted of the gravest doubts.
+
+A short time convinced me that I must not again leave the child till the
+illness was decided in one way or another. He was mine now, and I felt
+myself in the place of Eugen, as I stood beside his bed and told him the
+hard truth--that his father was not here, nor Friedhelm, nor Karl, for
+whom he also asked, but only I.
+
+The day passed on. A certain conviction was growing every hour stronger
+with me. An incident at last decided it. I had scarcely left Sigmund's
+side for eight or nine hours, but I had seen nothing of the count, nor
+heard his voice, nor had any mention been made of him, and remembering
+how he adored the boy, I was surprised.
+
+At last Gr�fin Hildegarde, after a brief absence, came into the room,
+and with a white face and parted lips, said to me in a half-whisper.
+
+"_Liebe_ Miss Wedderburn, will you do something for me? Will you speak
+to my husband?"
+
+"To your husband!" I ejaculated.
+
+She bowed.
+
+"He longs to see Sigmund, but dare not come. For me, I have hardly dared
+to go near him since the little one began to be ill. He believes that
+Sigmund will die, and that he will be his murderer, having taken him out
+that day. I have often spoken to him about making _der Arme_ ride too
+far, and now the sight of me reminds him of it; he can not endure to
+look at me. Heaven help me! Why was I ever born?"
+
+She turned away without tears--tears were not in her line--and I went,
+much against my will, to find the Graf.
+
+He was in his study. Was that the same man, I wondered, whom I had seen
+the very day before, so strong, and full of pride and life? He raised a
+haggard, white, and ghastly face to me, which had aged and fallen in
+unspeakably. He made an effort, and rose with politeness as I came in.
+
+"_Mein Fr�ulein_, you are loading us with obligations. It is quite
+unheard of."
+
+But no thanks were implied in the tone--only bitterness. He was angry
+that I should be in the place he dared not come to.
+
+If I had not been raised by one supreme fear above all smaller ones, I
+should have been afraid of this haggard, eager-looking old man--for he
+did look very old in his anguish. I could see the rage of jealousy with
+which he regarded me, and I am not naturally fond of encountering an old
+wolf who has starved.
+
+But I used my utmost effort to prevail upon him to visit his nephew, and
+at last succeeded. I piloted him to Sigmund's room; led him to the boy's
+bedside. The sick child's eyes were closed, but he presently opened
+them. The uncle was stooping over him, his rugged face all working with
+emotion, and his voice broken as he murmured:
+
+"_Ach, mein Liebling!_ art thou then so ill?"
+
+With a kind of shuddering cry, the boy pushed him away with both hands,
+crying:
+
+"Go away! I want my father--my father, my father, I say! Where is he?
+Why do you not fetch him? You are a bad man, and you hate him."
+
+Then I was frightened. The count recoiled; his face turned deathly
+white--livid; his fist clinched. He glared down upon the now
+unrecognizing young face and stuttered forth something, paused, then
+said in a low, distinct voice, which shook me from head to foot:
+
+"So! Better he should die. The brood is worthy the nest it sprung from.
+Where is our blood, that he whines after that hound--that hound?"
+
+With which, and with a fell look around, he departed, leaving Sigmund
+oblivious of all that had passed, utterly indifferent and unconscious,
+and me shivering with fear at the outburst I had seen.
+
+But it seemed to me that my charge was worse. I left him for a few
+moments, and seeking out the countess, spoke my mind.
+
+"Frau Gr�fin, Eugen must be sent for. I fear that Sigmund is going to
+die, and I dare not let him die without sending for his father."
+
+"I dare not!" said the countess.
+
+She had met her husband, and was flung, unnerved, upon a couch, her hand
+over her heart.
+
+"But I dare, and I must do it!" said I, secretly wondering at myself. "I
+shall telegraph for him."
+
+"If my husband knew!" she breathed.
+
+"I can not help it," said I. "Is the poor child to die among people who
+profess to love him, with the one wish ungratified which he has been
+repeating ever since he began to be ill? I do not understand such love;
+I call it horrible inhumanity."
+
+"For Eugen to enter this house again!" she said in a whisper.
+
+"I would to God that there were any other head as noble under its roof!"
+was my magniloquent and thoroughly earnest inspiration. "Well, _gn�dige
+Frau_, will you arrange this matter, or shall I?"
+
+"I dare not," she moaned, half distracted; "I dare not--but I will do
+nothing to prevent you. Use the whole household; they are at your
+command."
+
+I lost not an instant in writing out a telegram and dispatching it by a
+man on horseback to Lahnburg. I summoned Eugen briefly:
+
+"Sigmund is ill. I am here. Come to us."
+
+I saw the man depart, and then I went and told the countess what I had
+done. She turned, if possible, a shade paler, then said:
+
+"I am not responsible for it."
+
+Then I left the poor pale lady to still her beating heart and kill her
+deadly apprehensions in the embroidery of the lily of the field and the
+modest violet.
+
+No change in the child's condition. A lethargy had fallen upon him. That
+awful stupor, with the dark, flushed cheek and heavy breath, was to me
+more ominous than the restlessness of fever.
+
+I sat down and calculated. My telegram might be in Eugen's hand in the
+course of an hour.
+
+When could he be here? Was it possible that he might arrive this night?
+I obtained the German equivalent for Bradshaw, and studied it till I
+thought I had made out that, supposing Eugen to receive the telegram in
+the shortest possible time, he might be here by half past eleven that
+night. It was now five in the afternoon. Six hours and a half--and at
+the end of that time his non-arrival might tell me he could not be here
+before the morrow.
+
+I sat still, and now that the deed was done, gave myself up, with my
+usual enlightenment and discretion, to fears and apprehensions. The
+terrible look and tone of Graf von Rothenfels returned to my mind in
+full force. Clearly it was just the most dangerous thing in the world
+for Eugen to do--to put in an appearance at the present time. But
+another glance at Sigmund somewhat reassured me. In wondering whether
+girl had ever before been placed in such a bizarre situation as mine,
+darkness overtook me.
+
+Sigmund moved restlessly and moaned, stretching out little hot hands,
+and saying "Father!" I caught those hands to my lips, and knew that I
+had done right.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL.
+
+VINDICATED.
+
+
+It was a wild night. Driving clouds kept hiding and revealing the
+stormy-looking moon. I was out-of-doors. I could not remain in the
+house; it had felt too small for me, but now nature felt too large. I
+dimly saw the huge pile of the schloss defined against the gray light;
+sometimes when the moon unveiled herself it started out clear, and
+black, and grim. I saw a light in a corner window--that was Sigmund's
+room; and another in a room below--that was the Graf's study, and there
+the terrible man sat. I heard the wind moan among the trees, heard the
+great dogs baying from the kennels; from an open window came rich, low,
+mellow sounds. Old Brunken was in the music-room, playing to himself
+upon the violoncello. That was a movement from the "Grand Septuor"--the
+second movement, which is, if one may use such an expression, painfully
+beautiful. I bethought myself of the woods which lay hidden from me, the
+vast avenues, the lonely tanks, the grotesques statues, and that
+terrible figure with its arms cast upward, at the end of the long walk,
+and I shivered faintly.
+
+I was some short distance down the principal avenue, and dared not go
+any further. A sudden dread of the loneliness and the night-voices came
+upon me; my heart beating thickly, I turned to go back to the house. I
+would try to comfort poor Countess Hildegarde in her watching and her
+fears.
+
+But there is a step near me. Some one comes up the avenue, with foot
+that knows its windings, its turns and twists, its ups and downs.
+
+"Eugen!" I said, tremulously.
+
+A sudden pause--a stop; then he said with a kind of laugh:
+
+"Witchcraft--Zauberei!" and was going on.
+
+But now I knew his whereabouts, and coming up to him, touched his arm.
+
+"This, however, is reality!" he exclaimed, infolding me and kissing me
+as he hurried on. "May, how is he?"
+
+"Just the same," said I, clinging to him. "Oh, thank Heaven that you are
+come!"
+
+"I drove to the gates, and sent the fellow away. But what art thou doing
+alone at the Ghost's Corner on a stormy night?"
+
+We were still walking fast toward the schloss. My heart was beating
+fast, half with fear of what was impending, half with intensity of joy
+at hearing his voice again, and knowing what that last letter had told
+me.
+
+As we emerged upon the great terrace before the house Eugen made one
+(the only one) momentary pause, pressed my arm, and bit his lips. I knew
+the meaning of it all. Then we passed quickly on. We met no one in the
+great stone hall--no one on the stairway or along the passages--straight
+he held his way, and I with him.
+
+We entered the room. Eugen's eyes leaped swiftly to his child's face. I
+saw him pass his hand over his mouth. I withdrew my hand from his arm
+and stood aside, feeling a tremulous thankfulness that he was here, and
+that that restless plaining would at last be hushed in satisfaction.
+
+A delusion! The face over which my lover bent did not brighten; nor the
+eyes recognize him. The child did not know the father for whom he had
+yearned out his little heart--he did not hear the half-frantic words
+spoken by that father as he flung himself upon him, kissing him,
+beseeching him, conjuring him with every foolish word of fondness that
+he could think of, to speak, answer, look up once again.
+
+Then fear, terror overcame the man--for the first time I saw him look
+pale with apprehension.
+
+"Not this cup--not this!" muttered he. "_Gott im Himmel!_ anything short
+of this--I will give him up--leave him--anything--only let him live!"
+
+He had flung himself, unnerved, trembling, upon a chair by the
+bedside--his face buried in his hands. I saw the sweat stand upon his
+brow--I could do nothing to help--nothing but wish despairingly that
+some blessed miracle would reverse the condition of the child and
+me--lay me low in death upon that bed--place him safe and sound in his
+father's arms.
+
+Is it not hard, you father of many children, to lose one of them? Do you
+not grudge Death his prize? But this man had but the one; the love
+between them was such a love as one meets perhaps once in a life-time.
+The child's life had been a mourning to him, the father's a burden, ever
+since they had parted.
+
+I felt it strange that I should be trying to comfort him, and yet it was
+so; it was his brow that leaned on my shoulder; it was he who was faint
+with anguish, so that he could scarce see or speak--his hand that was
+cold and nerveless. It was I who said:
+
+"Do not despair, I hope still."
+
+"If he is dying," said Eugen, "he shall die in my arms."
+
+With which, as if the idea were a dreary kind of comfort, he started
+up, folded Sigmund in a shawl, and lifted him out of bed, infolding him
+in his arms, and pillowing his head upon his breast.
+
+It was a terrible moment, yet, as I clung to his arm, and with him
+looked into our darling's face, I felt that von Francius' words, spoken
+long ago to my sister, contained a deep truth. This joy, so like a
+sorrow--would I have parted with it? A thousand times, no!
+
+Whether the motion and movement roused him, or whether that were the
+crisis of some change, I knew not. Sigmund's eyes opened. He bent them
+upon the face above him, and after a pause of reflection, said, in a
+voice whose utter satisfaction passed anything I had ever heard: "My own
+father!" released a pair of little wasted arms from his covering, and
+clasped them round Eugen's neck, putting his face close to his, and
+kissing him as if no number of kisses could ever satisfy him.
+
+Upon this scene, as Eugen stood in the middle of the room, his head bent
+down, a smile upon his face which no ultimate griefs could for the
+moment quench, there entered the countess.
+
+Her greeting after six years of absence, separation, belief in his
+dishonesty, was a strange one. She came quickly forward, laid her hand
+on his arm, and said:
+
+"Eugen, it is dreadfully infectious! Don't kiss the child in that way,
+or you will take the fever and be laid up too."
+
+He looked up, and at his look a shock passed across her face; with
+pallid cheeks and parted lips she gazed at him speechless.
+
+His mind, too, seemed to bridge the gulf--it was in a strange tone that
+he answered:
+
+"Ah, Hildegarde! What does it matter what becomes of me? Leave me this!"
+
+"No, not that, Eugen," said I, going up to him, and I suppose something
+in my eyes moved him, for he gave the child into my arms in silence.
+
+The countess had stood looking at him. She strove for silence; sought
+tremulously after coldness, but in vain.
+
+"Eugen--" She came nearer, and looked more closely at him. "_Herrgott!_
+how you are altered! What a meeting! I--can it be six years ago--and
+now--oh!" Her voice broke into a very wail. "We loved you--why did you
+deceive us?"
+
+My heart stood still. Would he stand this test? It was the hardest he
+had had. Gr�fin Hildegarde had been--was dear to him. That he was dear
+to her, intensely dear, that love for him was intwined about her very
+heart-strings, stood confessed now. "Why did you deceive us?" It sounded
+more like, "Tell us we may trust you; make us happy again!" One word
+from him, and the poor sad lady would have banished from her heart the
+long-staying, unwelcome guest--belief in his falseness, and closed it
+away from her forever.
+
+He was spared the dreadful necessity of answering her. A timid summons
+from her maid at the door told her the count wanted to speak to her, and
+she left us quickly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Sigmund did not die; he recovered, and lives now. But with that I am not
+at present concerned.
+
+It was the afternoon following that never-to-be-forgotten night. I had
+left Eugen watching beside Sigmund, who was sleeping, his hand jealously
+holding two of his father's fingers.
+
+I intended to call at Frau Mittendorf's door to say that I could not yet
+return there, and when I came back, said Eugen, he would have something
+to tell me; he was going to speak with his brother--to tell him that we
+should be married, "and to speak about Sigmund," he added, decisively.
+"I will not risk such a thing as this again. If you had not been here he
+might have died without my knowing it. I feel myself absolved from all
+obligation to let him remain. My child's happiness shall not be further
+sacrificed."
+
+With this understanding I left him. I went toward the countess's room,
+to speak to her, and tell her of Sigmund before I went out. I heard
+voices ere I entered the room, and when I entered it I stood still, and
+a sickly apprehension clutched my very heart. There stood my evil
+genius--the _b�ser Geist_ of my lover's fate--Anna Sartorius. And the
+count and countess were present, apparently waiting for her to begin to
+speak.
+
+"You are here," said the Gr�fin to me. "I was just about to send for
+you. This lady says she knows you."
+
+"She does," said I, hesitatingly.
+
+Anna looked at me. There was gravity in her face, and the usual cynical
+smile in her eyes.
+
+"You are surprised to see me," said she. "You will be still more
+surprised to hear that I have journeyed all the way from Elberthal to
+Lahnburg on your account, and for your benefit."
+
+I did not believe her, and composing myself as well as I could, sat
+down. After all, what could she do to harm me? She could not rob me of
+Eugen's heart, and she had already done her worst against him and his
+fair name.
+
+Anna had a strong will, she exerted it. Graf Bruno was looking in some
+surprise at the unexpected guest; the countess sat rigidly upright, with
+a puzzled look, as if at the sight of Anna she recalled some far-past
+scene. Anna compelled their attention; she turned to me, saying:
+
+"Please remain here, Miss Wedderburn. What I have to say concerns you as
+much as any one here. You wonder who I am, and what business I have to
+intrude myself upon you," she added to the others.
+
+"I confess--" began the countess, and Anna went on:
+
+"You, _gn�dige Frau_, have spoken to me before, and I to you. I see you
+remember, or feel you ought to remember me. I will recall the occasion
+of our meeting to your mind. You once called at my father's house--he
+was a music teacher--to ask about lessons for some friend or prot�g�e of
+yours. My father was engaged at the moment, and I invited you into my
+sitting-room and endeavored to begin a conversation with you. You were
+very distant and very proud, scarcely deigning to answer me. When my
+father came into the room, I left it. But I could not help laughing at
+your treatment of me. You little knew from your shut-up, _cossue_
+existence among the lofty ones of the earth, what influence even such
+insignificant persons as I might have upon your lot. At the time I was
+the intimate friend of, and in close correspondence with, a person who
+afterward became one of your family. Her name was Vittoria Leopardi, and
+she married your brother-in-law, Graf Eugen."
+
+The plain-spoken, plain-looking woman had her way. She had the same
+power as that which shone in the "glittering eye" of the Ancient
+Mariner. Whether we liked or not we gave her our attention. All were
+listening now, and we listened to the end.
+
+"Vittoria Leopardi was the Italian governess at General von ----'s. At
+one time she had several music lessons from my father. That was how I
+became acquainted with her. She was very beautiful--almost as beautiful
+as you, Miss Wedderburn, and I, dull and plain myself, have a keen
+appreciation of beauty and of the gentleness which does not always
+accompany it. When I first knew her she was lonely and strange, and I
+tried to befriend her. I soon began to learn what a singular mixture of
+sordid worldliness and vacant weak-mindedness dwelt behind her fair
+face. She wrote to me often, for she was one of the persons who must
+have some one to whom to relate their 'triumphs' and conquests, and I
+suppose I was the only person she could get to listen to her.
+
+"At that time--the time you called at our house, _gn�dige Frau_--her
+epistles were decidedly tedious. What sense she had--there was never too
+much of it--was completely eclipsed. At last came the announcement that
+her noble and gallant Uhlan had proposed, and been accepted--naturally.
+She told me what he was, and his possessions and prospects; his chief
+merit in her eyes appeared to be that he would let her do anything she
+liked, and release her from the drudgery of teaching, for which she
+never had the least affinity. She hated children. She never on any
+occasion hinted that she loved him very much.
+
+"In due time the marriage, as you all know, came off. She almost dropped
+me then, but never completely so; I suppose she had that instinct which
+stupid people often have as to the sort of people who may be of use to
+them some time. I received no invitations to her house. She used
+awkwardly to apologize for the negligence sometimes, and say she was so
+busy, and it would be no compliment to me to ask me to meet all those
+stupid people of whom the house was always full.
+
+"That did not trouble me much, though I loved her none the better for
+it. She had become more a study to me now than anything I really cared
+for. Occasionally I used to go and see her, in the morning, before she
+had left her room; and once, and once only, I met her husband in the
+corridor. He was hastening away to his duty, and scarcely saw me as he
+hurried past. Of course I knew him by sight as well as possible. Who did
+not? Occasionally she came to me to recount her triumphs and make me
+jealous. She did not wish to reign supreme in her husband's heart; she
+wished idle men to pay her compliments. Everybody in ---- knew of the
+extravagance of that household, and the reckless, neck-or-nothing habits
+of its master. People were indignant with him that he did not reform. I
+say it would have been easier for him to find his way alone up the
+Matterhorn in the dark than to reform--after his marriage.
+
+"There had been hope for him before--there was none afterward. A pretty
+inducement to reform, she offered him! I knew that woman through and
+through, and I tell you that there never lived a more selfish, feeble,
+vain, and miserable thing. All was self--self--self. When she was mated
+to a man who never did think of self--whose one joy was to be giving,
+whose generosity was no less a by-word than his recklessness, who was
+delighted if she expressed a wish, and would move heaven and earth to
+gratify it; the more eagerly the more unreasonable it was--_mes amis_, I
+think it is easy to guess the end--the end was ruin. I watched it coming
+on, and I thought of you, Frau Gr�fin. Vittoria was expecting her
+confinement in the course of a few months. I never heard her express a
+hope as to the coming child, never a word of joy, never a thought as to
+the wider cares which a short time would bring to her. She did say
+often, with a sigh, that women with young children were so tied; they
+could not do this, and they could not do that. She was in great
+excitement when she was invited to come here; in great triumph when she
+returned.
+
+"Eugen, she said, was a fool not to conciliate his brother and that
+doting old saint (her words, _gn�dige Frau_, not mine) more than he did.
+It was evident that they would do anything for him if he only flattered
+them, but he was so insanely downright--she called it stupid, she said.
+The idea of missing such advantages when a few words of common
+politeness would have secured them. I may add that what she called
+'common politeness' was just the same thing that I called smooth
+hypocrisy.
+
+"Very shortly after this her child was born. I did not see her then. Her
+husband lost all his money on a race, and came to smash, as you English
+say. She wrote to me. She was in absolute need of money, she said; Eugen
+had not been able to give her any. He had said they must retrench.
+Retrench! was that what she married him for! There was a set of
+turquoises that she must have, or another woman would get them, and then
+she would die. And her milliner, a most unreasonable woman, had sent
+word that she must be paid.
+
+"So she was grumbling in a letter which I received one afternoon, and
+the next I was frightfully startled to see herself. She came in and said
+smilingly that she was going to ask a favor of me. Would I take her cab
+on to the bank and get a check cashed for her? She did not want to go
+there herself. And then she explained how her brother-in-law had given
+her a check for a thousand thalers--was it not kind of him? It really
+did not enter my head at the moment to think there was anything wrong
+about the check. She had indorsed it, and I took it, received the money
+for it, and brought it to her. She trembled so as she took it, and was
+so remarkably quiet about it, that it suddenly flashed upon my mind that
+there must be something not as it ought to be about it.
+
+"I asked her a question or two, and she said, deliberately contradicting
+herself, that the Herr Graf had not given it to her, but to her husband,
+and then she went away, and I was sure I should hear more about it. I
+did. She wrote to me in the course of a few days, saying she wished she
+were dead, since Eugen, by his wickedness, had destroyed every chance of
+happiness; she might as well be a widow. She sent me a package of
+letters--my letters--and asked me to keep them, together with some other
+things, an old desk among the rest. She had no means of destroying them
+all, and she did not choose to carry them to Rothenfels, whither she was
+going to be buried alive with those awful people.
+
+"I accepted the charge. For five--no, six years, the desk, the papers,
+everything lay with some other possessions of mine which I could not
+carry about with me on the wandering life I led after my father's
+death--stored in an old trunk in the lumber-room of a cousin's house. I
+visited that house last week.
+
+"Certain circumstances which have occurred of late years induced me to
+look over those papers. I burned the old bundle of letters from myself
+to her, and then I looked through the desk. In a pigeon-hole I found
+these."
+
+She handed some pieces of paper to Graf Bruno, who looked at them. I,
+too, have seen them since. They bore the imitations of different
+signatures; her husband's, Graf Bruno's, that of Anna Sartorius, and
+others which I did not know.
+
+The same conviction as that which had struck Anna flashed into the eyes
+of Graf von Rothenfels.
+
+"I found those," repeated Anna, "and I knew in a second who was the
+culprit. He, your brother, is no criminal. She forged the signature of
+the Herr Graf--"
+
+"Who forged the signature of the Herr Graf?" asked a voice which caused
+me to start up, which brought all our eyes from Anna's face, upon which
+they had been fastened, and showed us Eugen standing in the door-way,
+with compressed lips and eyes that looked from one to the other of us
+anxiously.
+
+"Your wife," said Anna, calmly. And before any one could speak she went
+on: "I have helped to circulate the lie about you, Herr Graf"--she spoke
+to Eugen--"for I disliked you; I disliked your family, and I disliked,
+or rather wished to punish, Miss Wedderburn for her behavior to me. But
+I firmly believed the story I circulated. The moment I knew the truth I
+determined to set you right. Perhaps I was pleased to be able to
+circumvent your plans. I considered that if I told the truth to
+Friedhelm Helfen he would be as silent as yourself, because you chose to
+be silent. The same with May Wedderburn, therefore I decided to come to
+head-quarters at once. It is useless for you to try to appear guilty any
+longer," she added, mockingly. "You can tell them all the rest, and I
+will wish you good-afternoon."
+
+She was gone. From that day to this I have never seen her nor heard of
+her again. Probably with her power over us her interest in us ceased.
+
+Meanwhile I had released myself from the spell which held me, and gone
+to the countess. Something very like fear held me from approaching
+Eugen.
+
+Count Bruno had gone to his brother, and touched his shoulder. Eugen
+looked up. Their eyes met. It just flashed into my mind that after six
+years of separation the first words were--must be--words of
+reconciliation, of forgiveness asked on the one side, eagerly extended
+on the other.
+
+"Eugen!" in a trembling voice, and then, with a positive sob, "canst
+thou forgive?"
+
+"My brother--I have not resented. I could not. Honor in thee, as honor
+in me--"
+
+"But that thou wert doubted, hated, mistak--"
+
+But another had asserted herself. The countess had come to herself
+again, and going up to him, looked him full in the face and kissed him.
+
+"Now I can die happy! What folly, Eugen! and folly like none but thine.
+I might have known--"
+
+A faint smile crossed his lips. For all the triumphant vindication, he
+looked very pallid.
+
+"I have often wondered, Hildegarde, how so proud a woman as you could so
+soon accept the worthlessness of a pupil on whom she had spent such
+pains as you upon me. I learned my best notions of honor and chivalry
+from you. You might have credited me rather with trying to carry the
+lesson out than with plucking it away and casting it from me at the
+first opportunity."
+
+"You have much to forgive," said she.
+
+"Eugen, you came to see me on business," said his brother.
+
+Eugen turned to me. I turned hot and then cold. This was a terrible
+ordeal indeed. He seemed metamorphosed into an exceedingly grand
+personage as he came to me, took my hand, and said, very proudly and
+very gravely:
+
+"The first part of my business related to Sigmund. It will not need to
+be discussed now. The rest was to tell you that this young lady--in
+spite of having heard all that could be said against me--was still not
+afraid to assert her intention to honor me by becoming my wife and
+sharing my fate. Now that she has learned the truth--May, do you still
+care for me enough to marry me?"
+
+"If so," interrupted his brother before I could speak, "let me add my
+petition and that of my wife--do you allow me, Hildegarde?"
+
+"Indeed, yes, yes!"
+
+"That she will honor us and make us happy by entering our family, which
+can only gain by the acquisition of such beauty and excellence."
+
+The idea of being entreated by Graf Bruno to marry his brother almost
+overpowered me. I looked at Eugen and stammered out something
+inaudible, confused, too, by the look he gave me.
+
+He was changed; he was more formidable now than before, and he led me
+silently up to his brother without a word, upon which Count Bruno
+crowned my confusion by uttering some more very Grandisonian words and
+gravely saluting my cheek. That was certainly a terrible moment, but
+from that day to this I have loved better and better my haughty
+brother-in-law.
+
+Half in consideration for me, I believe, the countess began:
+
+"But I want to know, Eugen, about this. I don't quite understand yet how
+you managed to shift the blame upon yourself."
+
+"Perhaps he does not want to tell," said I, hastily.
+
+"Yes; since the truth is known, I may tell the rest," said he. "It was a
+very simple matter. After all was lost, my only ray of comfort was that
+I could pay my debts by selling everything, and throwing up my
+commission. But when I thought of my wife I felt a devil. I suppose that
+is the feeling which the devils do experience in place of love--at least
+Heine says so:
+
+     "'Die Teufel nennen es H�llenqual,
+     Die Menschen nennen es Liebe.'
+
+"I kept it from her as long as I could. It was a week after Sigmund was
+born that at last one day I had to tell her. I actually looked to her
+for advice, help. It was tolerably presumptuous in me, I must say, after
+what I had brought her to. She brought me to reason. May Heaven preserve
+men from needing such lessons! She reproached me--ay, she did reproach
+me. I thank my good genius, or whatever it is that looks after us, that
+I could set my teeth and not answer her a syllable."
+
+"The minx!" said the countess aside to me. "I would have shaken her!"
+
+"'What was she to do without a groschen?' she concluded, and I could
+only say that I had had thoughts of dropping my military career and
+taking to music in good earnest. I had never been able to neglect it,
+even in any worst time, for it was a passion with me. She said:
+
+"'A composer--a beggar!' That was hard.
+
+"I asked her, 'Will you not help me?'
+
+"'Never, to degrade yourself in that manner,' she assured me.
+
+"Considering that I had deserved my punishment, I left her. I sat up
+all night, I remember, thinking over what I had brought her to, and
+wondering what I could do for her. I wondered if you, Bruno, would help
+her and let me go away and work out my punishment, for, believe me, I
+never thought of shirking it. I had been most effectually brought to
+reason, and your example, and yours, Hildegarde, had taught me a
+different kind of moral fiber to that.
+
+"I brought your note about the check to Vittoria, and asked her if she
+knew anything about it. She looked at me, and in that instant I knew the
+truth. She did not once attempt to deny it. I do not know what, in my
+horrible despair and shame, I may have said or done.
+
+"I was brought to my senses by seeing her cowering before me, with her
+hands before her face, and begging me not to kill her. I felt what a
+brute I must have been, but that kind of brutality has been knocked out
+of me long ago. I raised her, and asked her to forgive me, and bade her
+keep silence and see no one, and I would see that she did not suffer for
+it.
+
+"Everything seemed to stand clearly before me. If I had kept straight,
+the poor ignorant thing would never have been tempted to such a thing. I
+settled my whole course in half an hour, and have never departed from it
+since.
+
+"I wrote that letter to you, and went and read it to my wife. I told
+her that I could never forgive myself for having caused her such
+unhappiness, and that I was going to release her from me. I only dropped
+a vague hint about the boy at first; I was stooping over his crib to say
+good-bye to him. She said, 'What am I to do with him?' I caught at the
+idea, and she easily let me take him. I asked Hugo von Meilingen to
+settle affairs for me, and left that night. Thanks to you, Bruno, the
+story never got abroad. The rest you know."
+
+"What did you tell Hugo von Meilingen?"
+
+"Only that I had made a mess of everything and broken my wife's heart,
+which he did not seem to believe. He was stanch. He settled up
+everything. Some day I will thank him for it. For two years I traveled
+about a good deal. Sigmund has been more a citizen of the world than he
+knows. I had so much facility of execution--"
+
+"So much genius, you mean," I interposed.
+
+"That I never had any difficulty in getting an engagement. I saw a
+wonderful amount of life of a certain kind, and learned most thoroughly
+to despise my own past, and to entertain a thorough contempt for those
+who are still leading such lives. I have learned German history in my
+banishment. I have lived with our trues heroes--the lower
+middle-classes."
+
+"Well, well! You were always a radical, Eugen," said the count,
+indulgently.
+
+"At last, at K�ln I obtained the situation of first violinist in the
+Elberthal Kapelle, and I went over there one wet October afternoon and
+saw the director, von Francius. He was busy, and referred me to the man
+who was next below me, Friedhelm Helfen."
+
+Eugen paused, and choked down some little emotion ere he added:
+
+"You must know him. I trust to have his friendship till death separates
+us. He is a nobleman of nature's most careful making--a knight _sans
+peur et sans reproche_. When Sigmund came here it was he who saved me
+from doing something desperate or driveling--there is not much of a step
+between the two. Fr�ulein Sartorius, who seems to have a peculiar
+disposition, took it into her head to confront me with a charge of my
+guilt at a public place. Friedhelm never wavered, despite my shame and
+my inability to deny the charge."
+
+"Oh, dear, how beautiful!" said the countess, in tears.
+
+"We must have him over here and see a great deal of him."
+
+"We must certainly know him, and that soon," said Count Bruno.
+
+At this juncture I, from mingled motives, stole from the room, and found
+my way to Sigmund's bedside, where also joy awaited me. The stupor and
+the restlessness had alike vanished; he was in a deep sleep. I knelt
+down by the bedside and remained there long.
+
+Nothing, then, was to be as I had planned it. There would be no poverty,
+no shame to contend against--no struggle to make, except the struggle up
+to the standard--so fearfully severe and unapproachable, set up by my
+own husband. Set up and acted upon by him. How could I ever attain it or
+anything near it? Should I not be constantly shocking him by coarse,
+gross notions as to the needlessness of this or that fine point of
+conduct? by my ill-defined ideas as to a code of honor--my slovenly ways
+of looking at questions?
+
+It was such a fearful height, this to which he had carried his notions
+and behavior in the matter of chivalry and loyalty. How was I ever to
+help him to carry it out, and moreover, to bring up this child before
+me, and perhaps children of my own in the same rules?
+
+It was no doubt a much more brilliant destiny which actually awaited me
+than any which I had anticipated--the wife of a nobleman, with the
+traditions of a long line of noblemen and noblewomen to support, and a
+husband with the most impossible ideas upon the subject.
+
+I felt afraid. I thought of that poor, vain, selfish first wife, and I
+wondered if ever the time might come when I might fall in his eyes as
+she had fallen, for scrupulous though he was to cast no reproach upon
+her, I felt keenly that he despised her, that had she lived, after that
+dreadful discovery he would never have loved her again. It was awful to
+think of. True, I should never commit forgery; but I might, without
+knowing it, fail in some other way, and then--woe to me!
+
+Thus dismally cogitating I was roused by a touch on my shoulder and a
+kiss on the top of my head. Eugen was leaning over me, laughing.
+
+"You have been saying your prayers so long that I was sure you must be
+asking too much."
+
+I confided some of my doubts and fears to him, for with his actual
+presence that dreadful height of morality seemed to dwindle down. He was
+human too--quick, impulsive, a very mortal. And he said:
+
+"I would ask thee one thing, May. Thou dost not seem to see what makes
+all the difference. I loved Vittoria: I longed to make some sacrifice
+for her, would she but have let me. But she could not; poor girl! She
+did not love me."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well! _Mein Engel_--you do," said he, laughing.
+
+"Oh, I see!" said I, feeling myself blushing violently. Yes, it was
+true. Our union should be different from that former one. After all it
+was pleasant to find that the high tragedy which we had so wisely
+planned for ourselves had made a _faux pas_ and come ignominiously to
+ground.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI.
+
+ "And surely, when all this is past
+ They shall not want their rest at last."
+
+
+On the 23d of December--I will not say how few or how many years after
+those doings and that violent agitation which my friend Gr�fin May has
+striven to make coherent in the last chapter--I, with my great-coat on
+my arm, stood waiting for the train which was to bear me ten miles away
+from the sleepy old musical ducal Hauptstadt, in which I am Herzoglicher
+Kapellmeister, to Rothenfels, where I was bidden to spend Christmas. I
+had not long to wait. Having ascertained that my bag was safe, in which
+reposed divers humble proofs of my affection for the friends of the
+past, I looked leisurely out as the train came in for a second-class
+carriage, and very soon found what I wanted. I shook hands with an
+acquaintance, and leaned out of the window, talking to him till the
+train started. Then for the first time I began to look at my
+fellow-traveler; a lady, and most distinctly not one of my own
+countrywomen, who, whatever else they may excel in, emphatically do not
+know how to clothe themselves for traveling. Her veil was down, but her
+face was turned toward me, and I thought I knew something of the grand
+sweep of the splendid shoulders and majestic bearing of the stately
+form. She soon raised her veil, and looking at me, said, with a grave
+bow:
+
+"Herr Helfen, how do you do?"
+
+"Ah, pardon me, _gn�dige Frau_; for the moment I did not recognize you.
+I hope you are well."
+
+"Quite well, thank you," said she, with grave courtesy; but I saw that
+her beautiful face was thin and worn, her pallor greater than ever.
+
+She had never been a person much given to mirthfulness; but now she
+looked as if all smiles had passed forever from her lips--a certain
+secret sat upon them, and closed them in an outline, sweet, but utterly
+impenetrable.
+
+"You are going to Rothenfels, I presume?" she said.
+
+"Yes. And you also?"
+
+"I also--somewhat against my will; but I did not want to hurt my
+sister's feelings. It is the first time I have left home since my
+husband's death."
+
+I bowed. Her face did not alter. Calm, sad, and staid--whatever storms
+had once shaken that proud heart, they were lulled forever now.
+
+Two years ago Adelaide von Francius had buried keen grief and sharp
+anguish, together with vivid hope or great joy, with her noble husband,
+whom we had mourned bitterly then, whom we yet mourn in our hearts, and
+whom we shall continue to mourn as long as we live.
+
+May's passionate conviction that he and she should meet again had been
+fulfilled. They had met, and each had found the other unchanged; and
+Adelaide had begun to yield to the conviction that her sister's love was
+love, pure and simple, and not pity. Since his death she had continued
+to live in the town in which their married life had been passed--a life
+which for her was just beginning to be happy--that is to say, she was
+just learning to allow herself to be happy, in the firm assurance of his
+unalterable love and devotion, when the summons came; a sharp attack, a
+short illness, all over--eyes closed, lips, too--silent before her for
+evermore.
+
+It has often been my fate to hear criticisms both on von Francius and
+his wife, and upon their conduct. This I know, that she never forgave
+herself the step she had taken in her despair. Her pride never recovered
+from the burden laid upon it--that she had taken the initiative, had
+followed the man who had said farewell to her. Bad her lot was to be,
+sad, and joyless, whether in its gilded cage, or linked with the man
+whom she loved, but to be with whom she had had to pay so terrible a
+price. I have never heard her complain of life and the world; yet she
+can find neither very sweet, for she is an extremely proud woman, who
+has made two terrible failures in her affairs.
+
+Von Francius, before he died, had made a mark not to be erased in the
+hearts of his musical compatriots. Had he lived--but that is vain!
+Still, one feels--one can now but feel--that, as his widow said to me,
+with matter-of-fact composure:
+
+"He was much more hardly to be spared than such a person as I, Herr
+Helfen. If I might have died and left him to enrich and gladden the
+world, I should have felt that I had not made such a mess of everything
+after all."
+
+Yet she never referred to him as "my poor husband," or by any of those
+softening terms by which some people approach the name of a dead dear
+one; all the same we knew quite well that with him life had died for
+her.
+
+Since his death, she and I had been in frequent communication; she was
+editing a new edition of his works, for which, after his death, there
+had been an instant call. It had lately been completed; and the music of
+our former friend shall, if I mistake not, become, in the best and
+highest sense of the word, popular music--the people's music. I had been
+her eager and, she was pleased to say, able assistant in the work.
+
+We journeyed on together through the winter country, and I glanced at
+her now and then--at the still, pale face which rose above her
+English-fashioned sealskin, and wondered how it was that some faces,
+though never so young and beautiful, have written upon them in
+unmistakable characters, "The End," as one saw upon her face. Still, we
+talked about all kinds of matters--musical, private, and public. I asked
+if she went out at all.
+
+"Only to concerts with the von ----s, who have been friends of mine ever
+since I went to ----," she replied; and then the train rolled into the
+station of Lahnburg.
+
+There was a group of faces I knew waiting to meet us.
+
+"Ah! there is my sister Stella," said Adelaide, in a low voice. "How she
+is altered! And that is May's husband, I suppose. I remember his face
+now that I see it."
+
+We had been caught sight of. Four people came crowding round us.
+Eugen--my eyes fell upon him first--we grasped hands silently. His wife,
+looking lovelier than ever in her winter furs and feathers. A tall boy
+in a sealskin cap--my Sigmund--who had been hanging on his father's arm,
+and whose eyes welcomed me more volubly than his tongue, which was never
+given to excessive wagging.
+
+May and Frau von Francius went home in a carriage which Sigmund, under
+the direction of an awful-looking Kutscher, drove.
+
+Stella, Eugen, and I walked to Rothenfels, and they quarreled, as they
+always did, while I listened and gave an encouraging word to each in
+turn. Stella Wedderburn was very beautiful; and after spending Christmas
+at Rothenfels, she was going home to be married. Eugen, May, and Sigmund
+were going too, for the first time since May's marriage.
+
+Graf Bruno that year had temporarily abdicated his throne, and Eugen
+had been constituted host for the season. The guests were his and his
+wife's; the arrangements were his, and the entertainment fell to his
+share.
+
+Gr�fin Hildegarde looked a little amazed at such of her guests, for
+instance, as Karl Linders. She had got over the first shock of seeing me
+a regular visitor in the house, and was pleased to draw me aside on this
+occasion, and inform me that really that young man, Herr Linders, was
+presentable--quite presentable--and never forgot himself; he had handed
+her into her carriage yesterday really quite creditably. No doubt it was
+long friendship with Eugen which had given him that extra polish.
+
+"Indeed, Frau Gr�fin, he was always like that. It is natural."
+
+"He is very presentable, really--very. But as a friend of Eugen's," and
+she smiled condescendingly upon me, "he would naturally be so."
+
+In truth, Karl was Karl. "Time had not thinned his flowing locks;" he
+was as handsome, as impulsive, and as true as ever; had added two babies
+to his responsibilities, who, with his beloved Frau Gemahlin, had
+likewise been bidden to this festivity, but had declined to quit the
+stove and private Christmas-tree of home life. He wore no more short
+jackets now; his sister Gretchen was engaged to a young doctor, and
+Karl's head was growing higher--as it deserved--for it had no mean or
+shady deeds to bow it.
+
+The company then consisted _in toto_ of Graf and Gr�fin von Rothenfels,
+who, I must record it, both looked full ten years younger and better
+since their prodigal was returned to them, of Stella Wedderburn, Frau
+von Francius, Karl Linders, and Friedhelm Helfen. May, as I said, looked
+lovelier than ever. It was easy to see that she was the darling of the
+elder brother and his wife. She was a radiant, bright creature, yet her
+deepest affections were given to sad people--to her husband, to her
+sister Adelaide, to Countess Hildegarde.
+
+She and Eugen are well mated. It is true he is not a very cheerful
+man--his face is melancholy. In his eyes is a shadow which never
+wholly disappears--lines upon his broad and tranquil brow which are
+indelible. He has honor and titles, and a name clean and high before
+men, but it was not always so. That terrible bringing to reason--that
+six years' grinding lesson of suffering, self-suppression--ay,
+self-effacement--have left their marks, a "shadow plain to see," and
+will never leave him. He is a different man from the outcast who stepped
+forth into the night with a weird upon him, nor ever looked back till it
+was dreed out in darkness to its utmost term.
+
+He has tasted of the sorrows--the self-brought sorrows which make merry
+men into sober ones, the sorrows which test a man and prove his
+character to be of gold or of dross, and therefore he is grave. Grave
+too is the son who is more worshiped by both him and his wife than any
+of their other children. Sigmund von Rothenfels is what outsiders call
+"a strange, incomprehensible child;" seldom smiles, and has no child
+friends. His friends are his father and "Mother May"--M�tterchen he
+calls her; and it is quaint sometimes to see how on an equality the
+three meet and associate. His notions of what is fit for a man to be and
+do he takes from his father; his ideal woman--I am sure he has
+one--would, I believe, turn out to be a subtle and impossible compound
+of May and his aunt Hildegarde.
+
+We sometimes speculate as to what he will turn out. Perhaps the musical
+genius which his father will not bring before the world in himself may
+one day astonish that world in Sigmund. It is certain that his very life
+seems bound up in the art, and in that house and that circle it must be
+a very Caliban, or something yet lower, which could resist the
+influence.
+
+One day May, Eugen, Karl, and I, repaired to the music-room and played
+together the Fourth Symphonie and some of Schumann's "Kinderscenen," but
+May began to cry before it was over, and the rest of us had thoughts
+that did lie too deep for tears--thoughts of that far-back afternoon of
+Carnival Monday, and how we "made a sunshine in a shady place"--of all
+that came before--and after.
+
+Between me and Eugen there has never come a cloud, nor the faintest
+shadow of one. Built upon days passed together in storm and sunshine,
+weal and woe, good report and evil report, our union stands upon a firm
+foundation of that nether rock of friendship, perfect trust, perfect
+faith, love stronger than death, which makes a peace in our hearts, a
+mighty influence in our lives which very truly "passeth understanding."
+
+                         THE END.
+
+
+
+
+THE CRIMINAL WITNESS.
+
+
+In the spring of '48, I was called to Jackson to attend court, having
+been engaged to defend a young man who had been accused of robbing the
+mail. I had a long conference with my client, and he acknowledged to me
+that on the night when the mail was robbed he had been with a party of
+dissipated companions over to Topham, and that on returning, they met
+the mail-carrier on horseback coming from Jackson. Some of his
+companions were very drunk, and they proposed to stop the carrier and
+overhaul his bag. The roads were very muddy at the time, and the coach
+could not run. My client assured me that he not only had no hand in
+robbing the mail, but that he tried to dissuade his companions from
+doing so. But they would not listen to him. One of them slipped up
+behind the carrier, and knocked him from his horse. Then they bound and
+blindfolded him, and having tied him to a tree, they took his mail-bag,
+and made off into a neighboring field, where they overhauled it, finding
+some five hundred dollars in money in the various letters. He went with
+them, but in no way did he have any hand in the crime. Those who did do
+it had fled, and, as the carrier had recognized him as in the party, he
+had been arrested.
+
+The mail-bag had been found, as well as the letters. Those letters from
+which money had been taken, were kept, by order of the officers, and
+duplicates sent to the various persons, to whom they were directed,
+announcing the particulars. These letters had been given me for
+examination, and I had then returned them to the prosecuting attorney.
+
+I got through with my private preliminaries about noon, and as the case
+would not come up before the next day, I went into the court in the
+afternoon, to see what was going on. The first case which came up was
+one of theft, and the prisoner was a young girl, not more than seventeen
+years of age, named Elizabeth Madworth. She was very pretty, and bore
+that mild, innocent look, which we seldom find in a culprit.
+
+The complaint against her set forth that she had stolen one hundred
+dollars from a Mrs. Naseby; and as the case went on, I found that this
+Mrs. Naseby was her mistress, she (Mrs. N.) being a wealthy widow,
+living in the town. The poor girl declared her innocence in the wildest
+terms, and called on God to witness that she would rather die than
+steal. But circumstances were hard against her. A hundred dollars, in
+bank notes had been stolen from her mistress's room, and she was the
+only one who had access there.
+
+At this juncture, while the mistress was upon the witness stand, a young
+man came and caught me by the arm.
+
+"They tell me you are a good lawyer?" he whispered.
+
+"I am a lawyer," I answered.
+
+"Then--oh!--save her! You can certainly do it, for she is innocent."
+
+"Has she no counsel?" I asked.
+
+"None that's good for anything--nobody that'll do anything for her. Oh,
+save her, and I'll pay you all I've got. I can't pay you much, but I can
+raise something."
+
+I reflected for a moment. I cast my eyes toward the prisoner, and she
+was at that moment looking at me. She caught my eye, and the volume of
+humble, prayerful entreaty I read in those large, tearful orbs, resolved
+me in a moment. I arose and went to the girl, and asked her if she
+wished me to defend her. She said yes. Then I informed the court that I
+was ready to enter into the case, and I was admitted at once.
+
+I asked for a moment's cessation, that I might speak with my client. I
+went and sat down by her side, and asked her to state candidly the whole
+case. She told me she had lived with Mrs. Naseby nearly two years, and
+that during all that time she had never had any trouble before. About
+two weeks ago, she said, her mistress lost a hundred dollars.
+
+"She missed it from her drawer," the girl told me, "and she asked me
+about it, but I knew nothing of it. The next thing I knew, Nancy Luther
+told Mrs. Naseby that she saw me take the money from her drawer--that
+she watched me through the keyhole. Then they went to my trunk, and they
+found twenty-five dollars of the missing money there. But, oh, sir, I
+never took it--and somebody else put that money there!"
+
+I then asked her if she suspected any one.
+
+"I don't know," she said, "who could have done it but Nancy. She has
+never liked me, because she thought I was treated better than she was.
+She is the cook, and I was the chamber-maid."
+
+She pointed Nancy Luther out to me. She was a stout, bold-faced girl,
+somewhere about five-and-twenty years old, with a low forehead, small
+gray eyes, a pug nose and thick lips.
+
+"Oh, sir, can you help me?" my client asked, in a fearful whisper.
+
+"Nancy Luther, did you say that girl's name was?" I asked, for a new
+light had broken in upon me.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Is there any other girl of that name about here?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Then rest easy. I'll try hard to save you."
+
+I left the courtroom, and went to the prosecuting attorney and asked him
+for the letters I had handed him--the ones that had been stolen from the
+mail-bag. He gave them to me, and, having selected one, I returned the
+rest, and told him I would see that he had the one I kept before night.
+I then returned to the courtroom, and the case went on.
+
+Mrs. Naseby resumed her testimony. She said she entrusted her room to
+the prisoner's care, and that no one else had access there save herself.
+Then she described about missing the money, and closed by telling how
+she found twenty-five dollars of it in the prisoner's trunk. She could
+swear it was the identical money she had lost, it being in two tens and
+one five-dollar bill.
+
+"Mrs. Naseby," said I, "when you first missed your money, had you any
+reason to believe that the prisoner had it?"
+
+"No, sir," she answered.
+
+"Had you ever before detected her in any dishonesty?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Should you have thought of searching her trunk, had not Nancy Luther
+advised you and informed you?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+Mrs. Naseby then left the stand, and Nancy Luther took her place. She
+came up with a bold look, and upon me she cast a defiant glance, as much
+as to say "Trap me, if you can." She gave her evidence as follows:
+
+She said that on the night when the money was stolen she saw the
+prisoner going upstairs, and from the sly manner in which she went up,
+she suspected all was not right. So she followed her up. "Elizabeth went
+into Mrs. Naseby's room, and shut the door after her. I stooped down and
+looked through the keyhole, and saw her at the mistress's drawer. I saw
+her take out the money and put it in her pocket. Then she stooped down
+and picked up the lamp, and as I saw that she was coming out, I hurried
+away." Then she went on and told how she had informed her mistress of
+this, and how she proposed to search the girl's trunk.
+
+I called Mrs. Naseby back to the stand.
+
+"You say that no one save yourself and the prisoner had access to your
+room," I said. "Now, could Nancy Luther have entered that room, if she
+wished?"
+
+"Certainly, sir. I meant no one else had any right there."
+
+I saw that Mrs. N., though naturally a hard woman, was somewhat moved by
+poor Elizabeth's misery.
+
+"Could your cook have known, by any means in your knowledge, where your
+money was?"
+
+"Yes, sir; for she has often come up to my room when I was there, and I
+have given her money with which to buy provisions of marketmen who
+happened along with their wagons."
+
+"One more question: Have you known of the prisoner's having used any
+money since this was stolen?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+I now called Nancy Luther back, and she began to tremble a little,
+though her look was as bold and defiant.
+
+"Miss Luther," I said, "why did you not inform your mistress at once of
+what you had seen without waiting for her to ask you about the lost
+money?"
+
+"Because I could not make up my mind at once to expose the poor young
+girl," she answered, promptly.
+
+"You say you looked through the keyhole and saw her take the money?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Where did she place the lamp, while she did so?"
+
+"On the bureau."
+
+"In your testimony, you said she stooped down when she picked it up.
+What did you mean by that?"
+
+The girl hesitated, and finally said she didn't mean anything, only that
+she picked up the lamp.
+
+"Very well," said I. "How long have you been with Mrs. Naseby?"
+
+"Not quite a year, sir."
+
+"How much does she pay you a week?"
+
+"A dollar and three-quarters."
+
+"Have you taken up any of your pay since you have been there?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"How much?"
+
+"I don't know, sir."
+
+"Why don't you know?"
+
+"How should I? I've taken it at different times, just as I wanted it,
+and have kept no account."
+
+"Now, if you had had any wish to harm the prisoner, couldn't you have
+raised twenty-five dollars to put in her trunk?"
+
+"No, sir," she replied, with virtuous indignation.
+
+"Then you have not laid up any money since you have been there?"
+
+"No, sir--only what Mrs. Naseby may owe me."
+
+"Then you didn't have twenty-five dollars when you came there?"
+
+"No, sir; and what's more, the money found in the girl's trunk was the
+very money that Mrs. Naseby lost. You might have known that, if you'd
+only remember what you hear."
+
+"Will you tell me if you belong to this State?" I asked next.
+
+"I do, sir."
+
+"In what town?"
+
+She hesitated, and for an instant the bold look forsook her. But she
+finally answered:
+
+"I belong in Somers, Montgomery County."
+
+I next turned to Mrs. Naseby.
+
+"Do you ever take a receipt from your girls when you pay them?" I asked.
+
+"Always," she answered.
+
+"Can you send and get one of them for me?"
+
+She said she would willingly go, if the court said so. The court did say
+so, and she went. Her dwelling was not far off, and she soon returned,
+and handed me four receipts, which I took and examined. They were all
+signed in a strange, straggling hand, by the witness.
+
+"Now, Nancy Luther," said I, turning to the witness, "please tell the
+court, and the jury, and tell me, too, where you got the seventy-five
+dollars you sent in a letter to your sister in Somers?"
+
+The witness started as though a volcano had burst at her feet. She
+turned pale as death, and every limb shook violently. I waited until the
+people could have an opportunity to see her emotion, and then I repeated
+the question.
+
+"I--never--sent--any," she fairly gasped.
+
+"You did!" I thundered, for I was excited now.
+
+"I--I--didn't," she faintly uttered, grasping the rail by her side for
+support.
+
+"May it please your honor, and gentlemen of the jury," I said, as soon
+as I had looked the witness out of countenance, "I came here to defend a
+youth who had been arrested for helping to rob the mail, and in the
+course of my preliminary examinations, I had access to the letters which
+had been torn open and rifled of money. When I entered upon this case,
+and I heard the name of this witness pronounced, I went out and got the
+letter which I now hold, for I remembered to have seen one bearing the
+signature of Nancy Luther. This letter was taken from the mail-bag, and
+it contained seventy-five dollars, and by looking at the post-mark, you
+will observe that it was mailed on the very next day after the hundred
+dollars were taken from Mrs. Naseby's drawer. I will read it to you, if
+you please."
+
+The court nodded assent, and I read the following, which was without
+date, save that made by the post-master upon the outside. I give it here
+verbatim:
+
+     "SISTER DORCAS: I cend yu heer sevente fiv dolers, which i want yu
+     to kepe for me till i cum hum. I can't kepe it heer coz ime afrade
+     it will git stole. don't speke wun word tu a livin sole bout this
+     coz I don't want nobodi tu kno i hav got enny mony. yu wont now wil
+     yu. i am first rate heer, only that gude fur nuthin snipe of liz
+     madwurth is heer yit--but i hop tu git red ov her now. yu no i rote
+     yu bout her. give my luv to awl inquiren friends. this is from your
+     sister til deth. NANCY LUTHER."
+
+"Now, your honor," I said, as I handed him the letter, and also the
+receipts, "you will see that the letter is directed to 'Dorcas Luther,
+Somers, Montgomery County.' And you will also observe that one hand
+wrote that letter and signed those receipts. The jury will also observe.
+And now I will only add: It is plain to see how the hundred dollars were
+disposed of. Seventy-five were put into that letter and sent off for
+safe-keeping, while the remaining twenty-five were placed in the
+prisoner's trunk for the purpose of covering the real criminal."
+
+The case was given to the jury immediately following their examination
+of the letter. Without leaving their seats, they returned a verdict
+of--"Not Guilty."
+
+The youth, who had first asked me to defend the prisoner, caught me by
+the hand, but he could not speak plainly. He simply looked at me through
+his tears for a moment, and then rushed to the fair prisoner. He seemed
+to forget where he was, for he flung his arms about her, and as she laid
+her head upon his bosom, she wept aloud.
+
+I will not attempt to describe the scene that followed; but if Nancy
+Luther had not been immediately arrested for theft, she would have been
+obliged to seek the protection of the officers, or the excited people
+would surely have maimed her, if they had done no more. On the next
+morning, I received a note, very handsomely written, in which I was told
+that "the within" was but a slight token of the gratitude due me for my
+effort in behalf of a poor, defenseless, but much loved, maiden. It was
+signed "Several Citizens," and contained one hundred dollars. Shortly
+afterward, the youth came to pay me all the money he could raise. I
+simply showed him the note I had received, and asked him if he would
+keep his hard earnings for his wife, when he got one. He owned that he
+intended to make Lizzie Madworth his wife very soon.
+
+I will only add that on the following day I succeeded in clearing my
+next client from conviction of robbing the mail; and I will not deny
+that I made a considerable handle of the fortunate discovery of the
+letter which had saved an innocent girl, on the day before, in my appeal
+to the jury; and if I made them feel that the finger of Omnipotence was
+in the work, I did it because I sincerely believe my client was innocent
+of all crime; and I am sure they thought so too.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
+
+1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors;
+otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's
+words and intent.
+
+3. German readers may find it unusual that German nouns have not been
+capitalized; the book did not follow the German convention, and the
+transcriber has not changed that in this e-text.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The First Violin, by Jessie Fothergill
+
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+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The First Violin, A Novel, by Jessie Fothergill.
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The First Violin, by Jessie Fothergill
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The First Violin
+       A Novel
+
+Author: Jessie Fothergill
+
+Release Date: June 25, 2009 [EBook #29219]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIRST VIOLIN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Alicia Williams, D. Alexander and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 314px;">
+<img src="images/icover.png" width="314" height="500" alt="" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<h1>THE FIRST VIOLIN</h1>
+
+<p class="gap">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h3><i>A NOVEL.</i></h3>
+
+<p class="gap">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<h2><span class="smcap">By</span> JESSIE FOTHERGILL,</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>Author of &#8220;A March in the Ranks,&#8221; Etc.</i></p>
+
+<p class="gap">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<hr class="small" />
+
+<p class="gap">&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p class="center">NEW YORK</p>
+<h3>THE FEDERAL BOOK COMPANY</h3>
+<h4>PUBLISHERS</h4>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+<div class="centered">
+<table border="0" width="50%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="4" summary="CONTENTS">
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#THE_FIRST_VIOLIN">CHAPTER I.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a></td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL.</a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left">&nbsp;</td>
+<td align="left"><a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI.</a></td>
+</tr></table></div>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="THE_FIRST_VIOLIN" id="THE_FIRST_VIOLIN"></a>THE FIRST VIOLIN.</h2>
+
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2>
+
+<h3>MISS HALLAM.</h3>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wonderful weather for April!&#8221; Yes, it certainty was wonderful. I fully
+agreed with the sentiment expressed at different periods of the day by
+different members of my family; but I did not follow their example and
+seek enjoyment out-of-doors&mdash;pleasure in that balmy spring air.
+Trouble&mdash;the first trouble of my life&mdash;had laid her hand heavily upon
+me. The world felt disjointed and all upside-down; I very helpless and
+lonely in it. I had two sisters, I had a father and a mother; but none
+the less was I unable to share my grief with any one of them; nay, it
+had been an absolute relief to me when first one and then another of
+them had left the house, on business or pleasure intent, and I, after
+watching my father go down the garden-walk, and seeing the gate close
+after him, knew that, save for Jane, our domestic, who was caroling
+lustily to herself in the kitchen regions, I was alone in the house.</p>
+
+<p>I was in the drawing-room. Once secure of solitude, I put down the
+sewing with which I had been pretending to employ myself, and went to
+the window&mdash;a pleasant, sunny bay. In that window stood a small
+work-table, with a flower-pot upon it containing a lilac primula. I
+remember it distinctly to this day, and I am likely to carry the
+recollection with me so long as I live. I leaned my elbows upon this
+table, and gazed across the fields, green with spring grass, tenderly
+lighted by an April sun, to where the river&mdash;the Skern&mdash;shone with a
+pleasant, homely, silvery glitter, twining through the smiling meadows
+till he bent round the solemn overhanging cliff crowned with mournful
+firs, which went by the name of the Rifted or Riven Scaur.</p>
+
+<p>In some such delightful mead might the white-armed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>Nausicaa have
+tossed her cowslip balls among the other maids; perhaps by some such
+river might Persephone have paused to gather the daffodil&mdash;&#8220;the fateful
+flower beside the rill.&#8221; Light clouds flitted across the sky, a waft of
+wind danced in at the open window, ruffling my hair mockingly, and
+bearing with it the deep sound of a church clock striking four.</p>
+
+<p>As if the striking of the hour had been a signal for the breaking of a
+spell, the silence that had prevailed came to an end. Wheels came
+rolling along the road up to the door, which, however, was at the other
+side of the house. &#8220;A visitor for my father, no doubt,&#8221; I thought
+indifferently; &#8220;and he has gone out to read the funeral service for a
+dead parishioner. How strange! I wonder how clergymen and doctors can
+ever get accustomed to the grim contrasts amid which they live!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I suffered my thoughts to wander off in some such track as this, but
+they were all through dominated by a heavy sense of oppression&mdash;the
+threatening hand of a calamity which I feared was about to overtake me,
+and I had again forgotten the outside world.</p>
+
+<p>The door was opened. Jane held it open and said nothing (a trifling
+habit of hers, which used to cause me much annoyance), and a tall woman
+walked slowly into the room. I rose and looked earnestly at her,
+surprised and somewhat nervous when I saw who she was&mdash;Miss Hallam, of
+Hallam Grange, our near neighbor, but a great stranger to us,
+nevertheless, so far, that is, as personal intercourse went.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your servant told me that every one was out except Miss May,&#8221; she
+remarked, in a harsh, decided voice, as she looked not so much at me as
+toward me, and I perceived that there was something strange about her
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; I am sorry,&#8221; I began, doubtfully.</p>
+
+<p>She had sallow, strongly marked, but proud and aristocratic features,
+and a manner with more than a tinge of imperiousness. Her face, her
+figure, her voice were familiar, yet strange to me&mdash;familiar because I
+had heard of her, and been in the habit of occasionally seeing her from
+my very earliest childhood; strange, because she was reserved and not
+given to seeing her neighbors&#8217; houses for purposes either of gossip or
+hospitality. I was aware that about once in two years she made a call at
+our house, the vicarage, whether as a mark of politeness to us, or to
+show <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>that, though she never entered a church, she still chose to lend
+her countenance and approval to the Establishment, or whether merely out
+of old use and habit, I knew not. I only knew that she came, and that
+until now it had never fallen to my lot to be present upon any of those
+momentous occasions.</p>
+
+<p>Feeling it a little hard that my coveted solitude should thus be
+interrupted, and not quite knowing what to say to her, I sat down and
+there was a moment&#8217;s pause.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is your mother well?&#8221; she inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, thank you, very well. She has gone with my sister to Darton.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your father?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is well too, thank you. He has a funeral this afternoon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think you have two sisters, have you not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; Adelaide and Stella.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And which are you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May; I am the second one.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>All her questions were put in an almost severe tone, and not as if she
+took very much interest in me or mine. I felt my timidity increase, and
+yet&mdash;I liked her. Yes, I felt most distinctly that I liked her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May,&#8221; she remarked, meditatively; &#8220;May Wedderburn. Are you aware that
+you have a very pretty north-country sounding name?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have not thought about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How old are you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am a little over seventeen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah! And what do you do all day?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221; I began, doubtfully, &#8220;not much, I am afraid, that is useful or
+valuable.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are young enough yet. Don&#8217;t begin to do things with a purpose for
+some time to come. Be happy while you can.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am not at all happy,&#8221; I replied, not thinking of what I was saying,
+and then feeling that I could have bitten my tongue out with vexation.
+What could it possibly matter to Miss Hallam whether I were happy or
+not? She was asking me all these questions to pass the time, and in
+order to talk about something while she sat in our house.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What makes you unhappy? Are your sisters disagreeable?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Oh, no!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are your parents unkind?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Unkind!&#8221; I echoed, thinking what a very extraordinary woman she was and
+wondering what kind of experience hers could have been in the past.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then I can not imagine what cause for unhappiness you can have,&#8221; she
+said, composedly.</p>
+
+<p>I made no answer. I repented me of having uttered the words, and Miss
+Hallam went on:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should advise you to forget that there is such a thing as
+unhappiness. You will soon succeed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;I will try,&#8221; said I, in a low voice, as the cause of my
+unhappiness rose up, gaunt, grim and forbidding, with thin lips curved
+in a mocking smile, and glittering, snake-like eyes fixed upon my face.
+I shivered faintly; and she, though looking quickly at me, seemed to
+think she had said enough about my unhappiness. Her next question
+surprised me much.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you fair in complexion?&#8221; she inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said I. &#8220;I am very fair&mdash;fairer than either of my sisters. But
+are you near-sighted?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Near sight<i>less</i>,&#8221; she replied, with a bitter little laugh. &#8220;Cataract.
+I have so many joys in my life that Providence has thought fit to temper
+the sunshine of my lot. I am to content myself with the store of
+pleasant remembrances with which my mind is crowded, when I can see
+nothing outside. A delightful arrangement. It is what pious people call
+a &#8216;cross,&#8217; or a &#8216;visitation,&#8217; or something of that kind. I am not pious,
+and I call it the destruction of what little happiness I had.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I am very, very sorry for you,&#8221; I answered, feeling what I spoke,
+for it had always been my idea of misery to be blind&mdash;shut away from the
+sunlight upon the fields, from the hue of the river, from all that &#8220;lust
+of the eye&#8221; which meets us on every side.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But are you quite alone?&#8221; I continued. &#8220;Have you no one to&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I stopped; I was about to add, &#8220;to be kind to you&mdash;to take care of you?&#8221;
+but I suddenly remembered that it would not do for me to ask such
+questions.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I live quite alone,&#8221; said she, abruptly. &#8220;Did you think of offering
+to relieve my solitude?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p><p>I felt myself burning with a hot blush all over my face as I stammered
+out:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am sure I never thought of anything so impertinent, but&mdash;but&mdash;if
+there was anything I could do&mdash;read or&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I stopped again. Never very confident in myself, I felt a miserable
+sense that I might have been going too far. I wished most ardently that
+my mother or Adelaide had been there to take the weight of such a
+conversation from my shoulders. What was my surprise to hear Miss Hallam
+say, in a tone quite smooth, polished, and polite:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come and drink tea with me to-morrow afternoon&mdash;afternoon tea I mean.
+You can go away again as soon as you like. Will you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, thank you. Yes, I will.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very well. I shall expect you between four and five. Good-afternoon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let me come with you to your carriage,&#8221; said I, hastily. &#8220;Jane&mdash;our
+servant is so clumsy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I preceded her with care, saw her seated in her carriage and driven
+toward the Grange, which was but a few hundred yards from our own gates,
+and then I returned to the house. And as I went in again, my
+companion-shadow glided once more to my side with soft, insinuating,
+irresistible importunity, and I knew that it would be my faithful
+attendant for&mdash;who could say how long?</p>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2>
+
+<h3>&#8220;Traversons gravement ce m&eacute;chant mascarade qu&#8217;on appelle le monde&#8221;</h3>
+
+<p>The houses in Skernford&mdash;the houses of &#8220;the gentry,&#8221; that is to say&mdash;lay
+almost all on one side an old-fashioned, sleepy-looking &#8220;green&#8221; toward
+which their entrances lay; but their real front, their pleasantest
+aspect, was on their other side, facing the river which ran below, and
+down to which their gardens sloped in terraces. Our house, the vicarage,
+lay nearest the church; Miss Hallam&#8217;s house, the Grange, furthest from
+the church. Between these, larger and more imposing, in grounds beside
+which ours seemed to dwindle down to a few flower-beds, lay Deeplish
+Hall, whose owner, Sir Peter Le Marchant, had lately come to live there,
+at least for a time.</p>
+
+<p>It was many years since Sir Peter Le Marchant, whose <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>image at this time
+was fated to enter so largely and so much against my will into all my
+calculations, had lived at or even visited his estate at Skernford. He
+was a man of immense property, and report said that Deeplish Hall, which
+we innocent villagers looked upon as such an imposing mansion, was but
+one and not the grandest of his several country houses. All that I knew
+of his history&mdash;or rather, all that I had heard of it, whether truly or
+not, I was in no position to say&mdash;was but a vague and misty account; yet
+that little had given me a dislike to him before I ever met him.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Hallam, our neighbor, who lived in such solitude and retirement,
+was credited with having a history&mdash;if report had only been able to fix
+upon what it was. She was popularly supposed to be of a grim and
+decidedly eccentric disposition. Eccentric she was, as I afterward
+found&mdash;as I thought when I first saw her. She seldom appeared either in
+church or upon any other public occasion, and was said to be the deadly
+enemy of Sir Peter Le Marchant and all pertaining to him. There was some
+old, far-back romance connected with it&mdash;a romance which I did not
+understand, for up to now I had never known either her or Sir Peter
+sufficiently to take any interest in the story, but the report ran that
+in days gone by&mdash;how far gone by, too, they must have been!&mdash;Miss
+Hallam, a young and handsome heiress, loved very devotedly her one
+sister, and that sister&mdash;so much was known as a fact&mdash;had become Lady Le
+Marchant: was not her monument in the church between the Deeplish Hall
+and the Hallam Grange pews? Was not the tale of her virtues and her
+years&mdash;seven-and-twenty only did she count of the latter&mdash;there
+recorded? That Barbara Hallam had been married to Sir Peter was matter
+of history: what was not matter of history, but of tradition which was
+believed in quite as firmly, was that the baronet had ill-treated his
+wife&mdash;in what way was not distinctly specified, but I have since learned
+that it was true; she was a gentle creature, and he made her life
+miserable unto her. She was idolized by her elder sister, who, burning
+with indignation at the treatment to which her darling had been
+subjected, had become, even in disposition, an altered woman. From a
+cheerful, open-hearted, generous, somewhat brusque young person, she had
+grown into a prematurely old, soured, revengeful woman. It <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>was to her
+that the weak and injured sister had fled; it was in her arms that she
+had died. Since her sister&#8217;s death, Miss Hallam had withdrawn entirely
+from society, cherishing a perpetual grudge against Sir Peter Le
+Marchant. Whether she had relations or none, friends or acquaintance
+outside the small village in which she lived, none knew. If so, they
+limited their intercourse with her to correspondence, for no visitor
+ever penetrated to her damp old Grange, nor had she ever been known to
+leave it with the purpose of making any journey abroad. If perfect
+silence and perfect retirement could hush the tongues of tradition and
+report, then Miss Hallam&#8217;s story should have been forgotten. But it was
+not forgotten. Such things never do become forgotten.</p>
+
+<p>It was only since Sir Peter had appeared suddenly some six weeks ago at
+Deeplish Hall, that these dry bones of tradition had for me quickened
+into something like life, and had acquired a kind of interest for me.</p>
+
+<p>Our father, as vicar of the parish, had naturally called upon Sir Peter,
+and as naturally invited him to his house. His visits had begun by his
+coming to lunch one day, and we had speculated about him a little in
+advance, half jestingly, raking up old stories, and attributing to him
+various evil qualities of a hard and loveless old age. But after he had
+gone, the verdict of Stella and myself was, &#8220;Much worse than we
+expected.&#8221; He was different from what we had expected. Perhaps that
+annoyed us. Instead of being able to laugh at him, we found something
+oppressive, chilling, to me frightful, in the cold, sneering smile which
+seemed perpetually hovering about his thin lips&mdash;in the fixed, snaky
+glitter of his still, intent gray eyes. His face was pale, his manners
+were polished, but to meet his eye was a thing I hated, and the touch of
+his hand made me shudder. While speaking in the politest possible
+manner, he had eyed over Adelaide and me in a manner which I do not
+think either of us had ever experienced before. I hated him from the
+moment in which I saw him looking at me with expression of approval. To
+be approved by Sir Peter Le Marchant, could fate devise anything more
+horrible? Yes, I knew now that it could; one might have to submit to the
+approval, to live in the approval. I had expressed my opinion on the
+subject with freedom to Adelaide, who to my surprise had not agreed with
+me, and had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>told me coldly that I had no business to speak
+disrespectfully of my father&#8217;s visitors. I was silenced, but unhappy.
+From the first moment of seeing Sir Peter, I had felt an uncomfortable,
+uneasy feeling, which, had I been sentimental, I might have called a
+presentiment, but I was not sentimental. I was a healthy young girl of
+seventeen, believing in true love, and goodness, and gentleness very
+earnestly; &#8220;fancy free,&#8221; having read few novels, and heard no gossip&mdash;a
+very baby in many respects. Our home might be a quiet one, a poor one, a
+dull one&mdash;our circle of acquaintance small, our distractions of the most
+limited description imaginable, but at least we knew no evil, and&mdash;I
+speak for Stella and myself&mdash;thought none. Our father and mother were
+persons with nothing whatever remarkable about them. Both had been
+handsome. My mother was pretty, my father good-looking yet. I loved them
+both dearly. It had never entered my head to do otherwise than love
+them, but the love which made the star and the poetry of my quiet and
+unromantic life was that I bore to Adelaide, my eldest sister. I
+believed in her devotedly, and accepted her judgment, given in her own
+peculiar proud, decided way, upon every topic on which she chose to
+express it. She was one-and-twenty, and I used to think I could lay down
+my life for her.</p>
+
+<p>It was consequently a shock to me to hear her speak in praise&mdash;yes, in
+praise of Sir Peter Le Marchant. My first impulse was to distrust my own
+judgment, but no; I could not long do so. He was repulsive; he was
+stealthy, hard, cruel, in appearance. I could not account for Adelaide&#8217;s
+perversity in liking him, and passed puzzled days and racked my brain in
+conjecture as to why when Sir Peter came Adelaide should be always at
+home, always neat and fresh&mdash;not like me. Why was Adelaide, who found it
+too much trouble to join Stella and me in our homely concerts, always
+ready to indulge Sir Peter&#8217;s taste for music, to entertain him with
+conversation?&mdash;and she <i>could</i> talk. She was unlike me in that respect.
+I never had a brilliant gift of conversation. She was witty about the
+things she did know, and never committed the fatal mistake of pretending
+to be up in the things she did not know. These gifts of mind, these
+social powers, were always ready for the edification of Sir Peter. By
+degrees the truth forced itself upon me. Some one said&mdash;I overheard
+it&mdash;that &#8220;that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>handsome Miss Wedderburn was undoubtedly setting her cap
+at Sir Peter Le Marchant.&#8221; Never shall I forget the fury which at first
+possessed me, the conviction which gradually stole over me that it was
+true. My sister Adelaide, beautiful, proud, clever&mdash;and, I had always
+thought, good,&mdash;had distinctly in view the purpose of becoming Lady Le
+Marchant. I shed countless tears over the miserable discovery, and dared
+not speak to her of it. But that was not the worst. My horizon darkened.
+One horrible day I discovered that it was I, and not Adelaide, who had
+attracted Sir Peter&#8217;s attentions. It was not a scene, not a set
+declaration. It was a word in that smooth voice, a glance from that
+hated and chilling eye, which suddenly aroused me to the truth.</p>
+
+<p>Shuddering, dismayed, I locked the matter up within my own breast, and
+wished with a longing that sometimes made me quite wretched that I could
+quit Skernford, my home, my life, which had lost zest for me, and was
+become a burden to me. The knowledge that Sir Peter admired me
+absolutely degraded me in my own eyes. I felt as if I could not hold up
+my head. I had spoken to no one of what had passed within me, and I
+trusted it had not been noticed; but all my joy was gone. It was as if I
+stood helpless while a noisome reptile coiled its folds around me.</p>
+
+<p>To-day, after Miss Hallam&#8217;s departure, I dropped into my now chronic
+state of listlessness and sadness. They all came back; my father from
+the church; my mother and Adelaide from Darton, whither they had been on
+a shopping expedition; Stella from a stroll by the river. We had tea,
+and they dispersed quite cheerfully to their various occupations. I,
+seeing the gloaming gently and dim falling over the earth, walked out of
+the house into the garden, and took my way toward the river. I passed an
+arbor in which Stella and I had loved to sit and watch the stream, and
+talk and read Miss Austen&#8217;s novels. Stella was there now, with a
+well-thumbed copy of &#8220;Pride and Prejudice&#8221; in her hand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come and sit down, May,&#8221; she apostrophized me. &#8220;Do listen to this about
+Bingley and Wickham.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, thank you,&#8221; said I, abstractedly, and feeling that Stella was not
+the person to whom I could confide my woe. Indeed, on scanning mentally
+the list of my acquaintance, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>I found that there was not one in whom I
+could confide. It gave me a strange sense of loneliness and aloofness,
+and hardened me more than the reading of a hundred satires on the
+meannesses of society.</p>
+
+<p>I went along the terrace by the river-side, and looked up to the
+left&mdash;traces of Sir Peter again. There was the terrace of Deeplish Hall,
+which stood on a height just above a bend in the river. It was a fine
+old place. The sheen of the glass houses caught the rays of the sun and
+glanced in them. It looked rich, old, and peaceful. I had been many a
+time through its gardens, and thought them beautiful, and wished they
+belonged to me. Now I felt that they lay in a manner at my feet, and my
+strongest feeling respecting them was an earnest wish that I might never
+see them again.</p>
+
+<p>Thus agreeably meditating, I insensibly left our own garden and wandered
+on in the now quickly falling twilight into a narrow path leading across
+a sort of No-Man&#8217;s-Land into the demesne of Sir Peter Le Marchant. In my
+trouble I scarcely remarked where I was going, and with my eyes cast
+upon the ground was wishing that I could feel again as I once had felt,
+when</p>
+
+<p class="center">&#8220;I nothing had, and yet enough;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>and was sadly wondering what I could do to escape from the net in which
+I felt myself caught, when a shadow darkened the twilight in which I
+stood, and looking up I saw Sir Peter, and heard these words:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good-evening, Miss Wedderburn. Are you enjoying a little stroll?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>By, as it seemed to me, some strange miracle all my inward fears and
+tremblings vanished. I did not feel afraid of Sir Peter in the least. I
+felt that here was a crisis. This meeting would show me whether my fears
+had been groundless, and my own vanity and self-consciousness of
+unparalleled proportions, or whether I had judged truly, and had good
+reason for my qualms and anticipations.</p>
+
+<p>It came. The alarm had not been a false one. Sir Peter, after conversing
+with me for a short time, did, in clear and unmistakable terms, inform
+me that he loved me, and asked me to marry him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thank you,&#8221; said I, mastering my impulse to cover my face with my
+hands, and run shuddering away from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>him. &#8220;I thank you for the honor you
+offer me, and beg to decline it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked surprised, and still continued to urge me in a manner which
+roused a deep inner feeling of indignation within me, for it seemed to
+say that he understood me to be overwhelmed with the honor he proposed
+to confer upon me, and humored my timidity about accepting it. There was
+no doubt in his manner; not the shadow of a suspicion that I could be in
+earnest. There was something that turned my heart cold within me&mdash;a
+cool, sneering tone, which not all his professions of affection could
+disguise. Since that time I have heard Sir Peter explicitly state his
+conception of the sphere of woman in the world; it was not an exalted
+one. He could not even now quite conceal that while he told me he wished
+to make me his wife and the partner of his heart and possessions, yet he
+knew that such professions were but words&mdash;that he did not sue for my
+love (poor Sir Peter! I doubt if ever in his long life he was blessed
+with even a momentary glimpse of the divine countenance of pure Love),
+but offered to buy my youth, and such poor beauty as I might have, with
+his money and his other worldly advantages.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Peter was a blank, utter skeptic with regard to the worth of woman.
+He did not believe in their virtue nor their self-respect; he believed
+them to be clever actresses, and, taken all in all, the best kind of
+amusement to be had for money. The kind of opinion was then new to me;
+the effect of it upon my mind such as might be expected. I was
+seventeen, and an ardent believer in all things pure and of good report.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, I remained composed, sedate, even courteous to the
+last&mdash;till I had fairly made Sir Peter understand that no earthly power
+should induce me to marry him; till I had let him see that I fully
+comprehended the advantages of the position he offered me, and declined
+them.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Wedderburn,&#8221; said he, at last&mdash;and his voice was as unruffled as
+my own; had it been more angry I should have feared it less&mdash;&#8220;do you
+fear opposition? I do not think your parents would refuse their consent
+to our union.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I closed my eyes for a moment, and a hand seemed to tighten about my
+heart. Then I said:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I speak without reference to my parents. In such a matter I judge for
+myself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Always the same answer?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Always the same, Sir Peter.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It would be most ungentlemanly to press the subject any further.&#8221; His
+eyes were fixed upon me with the same cold, snake-like smile. &#8220;I will
+not be guilty of such a solecism. Your family affections, my dear young
+lady, are strong, I should suppose. Which&mdash;whom do you love best?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Surprised at the blunt straightforwardness of the question, as coming
+from him, I replied thoughtlessly, &#8220;Oh, my sister Adelaide.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed! I should imagine she was in every way worthy the esteem of so
+disinterested a person as yourself. A different disposition,
+though&mdash;quite. Will you allow me to touch your hand before I retire?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Trembling with uneasy forebodings roused by his continual sneering
+smile, and the peculiar evil light in his eyes, I yet went through with
+my duty to the end. He took the hand I extended, and raised it to his
+lips with a low bow.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good-evening, Miss Wedderburn.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Faintly returning his valediction, I saw him go away, and then in a
+dream, a maze, a bewilderment, I too turned slowly away and walked to
+the house again. I felt, I knew I had behaved well and discreetly, but I
+had no confidence whatever that the matter was at an end.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2>
+
+<h3>&#8220;Lucifer, Star of the Morning! How art thou fallen!&#8221;</h3>
+
+<p>I found myself, without having met any one of my family, in my own room,
+in the semi-darkness, seated on a chair by my bedside, unnerved, faint,
+miserable with a misery such as I had never felt before. The window was
+open, and there came up a faint scent of sweetbrier and wall-flowers in
+soft, balmy gusts, driven into the room by the April night wind. There
+rose a moon and flooded the earth with radiance. Then came a sound of
+footsteps; the door of the next room, that belonging to Adelaide, was
+opened. I heard her come in, strike a match, and light <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>her candle; the
+click of the catch as the blind rolled down. There was a door between
+her room and mine, and presently she passed it, and bearing a candle in
+her hand, stood in my presence. My sister was very beautiful, very
+proud. She was cleverer, stronger, more decided than I, or rather, while
+she had those qualities very strongly developed, I was almost without
+them. She always held her head up, and had one of those majestic figures
+which require no back-boards to teach them uprightness, no master of
+deportment to instill grace into their movements. Her toilet and mine
+were not, as may be supposed, of very rich materials or varied
+character; but while my things always looked as bad of their kind as
+they could&mdash;fitted badly, sat badly, were creased and crumpled&mdash;hers
+always had a look of freshness; she wore the merest old black merino as
+if it were velvet, and a muslin frill like a point-lace collar. There
+are such people in the world. I have always admired them, envied them,
+wondered at them from afar; it has never been my fate in the smallest
+degree to approach or emulate them.</p>
+
+<p>Her pale face, with its perfect outlines, was just illumined by the
+candle she held, and the light also caught the crown of massive plaits
+which she wore around her head. She set the candle down. I sat still and
+looked at her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are there, May,&#8221; she remarked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; was my subdued response.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where have you been all evening?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It does not matter to any one.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed it does. You were talking to Sir Peter Le Marchant. I saw you
+meet him from my bedroom window.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did he propose to you?&#8221; she inquired, with a composure which seemed to
+me frightful. &#8220;Worldly,&#8221; I thought, was a weak word to apply to her, and
+I was suffering acutely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He did.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I suppose it would be a little difficult to accept him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I did not accept him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What?&#8221; she inquired, as if she had not quite caught what I said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I refused him,&#8221; said I, slightly raising my voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What are you telling me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;The truth.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sir Peter has fif&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t mention Sir Peter to me again,&#8221; said I, nervously, and feeling as
+if my heart would break. I had never quarreled with Adelaide before. No
+reconciliation afterward could ever make up for the anguish which I was
+going through now.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Just listen to me,&#8221; she said, bending over me, her lips drawn together.
+&#8220;I ought to have spoken to you before. I don&#8217;t know whether you have
+ever given any thought to our position and circumstances. If not, it
+would be as well that you should do so now. Papa is fifty-five years
+old, and has three hundred a year. In the course of time he will die,
+and as his life is not insured, and he has regularly spent every penny
+of his income&mdash;naturally it would have been strange if he hadn&#8217;t&mdash;what
+is to become of us when he is dead?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We can work.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Work!&#8221; said she, with inexpressible scorn. &#8220;Work! Pray what can we do
+in the way of work? What kind of education have we had? The village
+school-mistress could make us look very small in the matter of geography
+and history. We have not been trained to work, and, let me tell you,
+May, unskilled labor does not pay in these days.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am sure you can do anything, Adelaide, and I will teach singing. I
+can sing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pooh! Do you suppose that because you can take C in alt. you are
+competent to teach singing? You don&#8217;t know how to sing yourself yet.
+Your face is your fortune. So is mine my fortune. So is Stella&#8217;s her
+fortune. You have enjoyed yourself all your life; you have had seventeen
+years of play and amusement, and now you behave like a baby. You refuse
+to endure a little discomfort, as the price of placing yourself and your
+family forever out of the reach of trouble and trial. Why, if you were
+Sir Peter&#8217;s wife, you could do what you liked with him. I don&#8217;t say
+anything about myself; but oh! May, I am ashamed of you, I am ashamed of
+you! I thought you had more in you. Is it possible that you are nothing
+but a romp&mdash;nothing but a vulgar tomboy? Good Heaven! If the chance had
+been mine!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What would you have done?&#8221; I whispered, subdued for the moment, but
+obstinate in my heart as ever.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I am nobody now; no one knows me. But if I had had the chance that you
+have had to-night, in another year I would have been known and envied by
+half the women in England. Bah! Circumstances are too disgusting, too
+unkind!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh! Adelaide, nothing could have made up for being tied to that man,&#8221;
+said I, in a small voice; &#8220;and I am not ambitious.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ambitious! You are selfish&mdash;downright, grossly, inordinately selfish.
+Do you suppose no one else ever had to do what they did not like? Why
+did you not stop to think instead of rushing away from the thing like
+some unreasoning animal?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Adelaide! Sir Peter! To marry him?&#8221; I implored in tears. &#8220;How could I?
+I should die of shame at the very thought. Who could help seeing that I
+had sold myself to him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And who would think any the worse of you? And what if they did? With
+fifteen thousand a year you may defy public opinion.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, don&#8217;t! don&#8217;t!&#8221; I cried, covering my face with my hands. &#8220;Adelaide,
+you will break my heart!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Burying my face in the bed-quilt, I sobbed irrepressibly. Adelaide&#8217;s
+apparent unconsciousness of, or callousness to, the stabs she was giving
+me, and the anguish they caused me, almost distracted me.</p>
+
+<p>She loosed my arm, remarking, with bitter vexation:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I feel as if I could shake you!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She left the room. I was left to my meditations. My head&mdash;my heart
+too&mdash;ached distractingly; my arm was sore where Adelaide had grasped it;
+I felt as if she had taken my mind by the shoulders and shaken it
+roughly. I fastened both doors of my room, resolving that neither she
+nor any one else should penetrate to my presence again that night.</p>
+
+<p>What was I to do? Where to turn? I began now to realize that the <i>Res
+dom</i>, which had always seemed to me so abundant for all occasions, were
+really <i>Res Angusta</i>, and that circumstances might occur in which they
+would be miserably inadequate.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
+
+<p class="center">&#8220;Zu Rathe gehen, und vom Rath zur That.&#8221;<br /></p>
+<p class="right"><i>Briefe</i> <span class="smcap">Beethoven&#8217;s</span>.</p>
+
+<p>There was surely not much in Miss Hallam to encourage confidences; yet
+within half an hour of the time of entering her house I had told her all
+that oppressed my heart, and had gained a feeling of greater security
+than I had yet felt. I was sure that she would befriend me. True, she
+did not say so. When I told her about Sir Peter Le Marchant&#8217;s proposal
+to me, about Adelaide&#8217;s behavior; when, in halting and stammering tones,
+and interrupted by tears, I confessed that I had not spoken to my father
+or mother upon the subject, and that I was not quite sure of their
+approval of what I had done, she even laughed a little, but not in what
+could be called an amused manner. When I had finished my tale, she said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If I understand you, the case stands thus: You have refused Sir Peter
+Le Marchant, but you do not feel at all sure that he will not propose to
+you again. Is it not so?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; I admitted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you dread and shrink from the idea of a repetition of this
+business?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I feel as if it would kill me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It would not kill you. People are not so easily killed as all that; but
+it is highly unfit that you should be subjected to a recurrence of it. I
+will think about it. Will you have the goodness to read me a page of
+this book?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Much surprised at this very abrupt change of the subject, but not daring
+to make any observation upon it, I took the book&mdash;the current number of
+a magazine&mdash;and read a page to her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That will do,&#8221; said she. &#8220;Now, will you read this letter, also aloud?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She put a letter into my hand, and I read:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;<span class="smcap">Dear Madame</span>,&mdash;In answer to your letter of last week, I write to
+say that I could find the rooms you require, and that by me you
+will have many good agreements which would make your stay in
+Germany pleasanter. My house is a large one in the All&eacute;estrasse.
+Dr. Mittendorf, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>the oculist, lives not far from here, and the
+St&auml;dtische Augenklinik&mdash;that is, the eye hospital&mdash;is quite near.
+The rooms you would have are upstairs&mdash;suite of salon and two
+bedrooms, with room for your maid in another part of the house. I
+have other boarders here at the time, but you would do as you
+pleased about mixing with them.</p></div>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">&#8220;With all highest esteem,<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 19em;">&#8220;Your devoted,<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 23em;">&#8220;&#8216;<span class="smcap">Clara Steinmann</span>.</span>&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t understand it all, I suppose?&#8221; said she, when I had finished.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That lady writes from Elberthal. You have heard of Elberthal on the
+Rhine, I presume?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes! A large town. There used to be a fine picture-gallery there;
+but in the war between the&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There, thank you! I studied Guy&#8217;s geography myself in my youth. I see
+you know the place I mean. There is an eye hospital there, and a
+celebrated oculist&mdash;Mittendorf. I am going there. I don&#8217;t suppose it
+will be of the least use; but I am going. Drowning men catch at straws.
+Well, what else can you do? You don&#8217;t read badly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can sing&mdash;not very well, but I can sing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can sing,&#8221; said she, reflectively. &#8220;Just go to the piano and let me
+hear a specimen. I was once a judge in these matters.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I opened the piano and sung, as well as I could, an English version of
+&#8220;Die Lotus-blume.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>My performance was greeted with silence, which Miss Hallam at length
+broke, remarking:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I suppose you have not had much training?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Scarcely any.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Humph! Well, it is to be had, even if not in Skernford. Would you like
+some lessons?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should like a good many things that I am not likely ever to have.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At Elberthal there are all kinds of advantages with regard to those
+things&mdash;music and singing, and so on. Will you come there with me as my
+companion?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I heard, but did not fairly understand. My head was in a whirl. Go to
+Germany with Miss Hallam; leave Skernford, Sir Peter, all that had grown
+so weary to me; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>see new places, live with new people; learn something!
+No, I did not grasp it in the least. I made no reply, but sat
+breathlessly staring.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I shall expect you to make yourself useful to me in many ways,&#8221;
+proceeded Miss Hallam.</p>
+
+<p>At this touch of reality I began to waken up again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Miss Hallam, is it really true? Do you think they will let me go?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You haven&#8217;t answered me yet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;About being useful? I would do anything you like&mdash;anything in the
+world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do not suppose your life will be all roses, or you will be woefully
+disappointed. I do not go out at all; my health is bad&mdash;so is my temper
+very often. I am what people who never had any trouble are fond of
+calling peculiar. Still, if you are in earnest, and not merely
+sentimentalizing, you will take your courage in your hands and come with
+me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Hallam,&#8221; said I, with tragic earnestness, as I took her hand, &#8220;I
+will come. I see you half mistrust me; but if I had to go to Siberia to
+get out of Sir Peter&#8217;s way, I would go gladly and stay there. I hope I
+shall not be very clumsy. They say at home that I am, very, but I will
+do my best.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They call you clumsy at home, do they?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. My sisters are so much cleverer than I, and can do everything so
+much better than I can. I am rather stupid, I know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very well, if you like to call yourself so, do. It is decided that you
+come with me. I will see your father about it to-morrow. I always get my
+own way when I wish it. I leave in about a week.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I sat with clasped hands, my heart so full that I could not speak.
+Sadness and gladness struggled hard within me. The idea of getting away
+from Skernford was almost too delightful; the remembrance of Adelaide
+made my heart ache.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+<p>&#8220;Ade nun ihr Berge, ihr v&auml;terlich Haus!<br />
+Es treibt in die Ferne mich m&auml;chtig hinans.&#8221;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">Volkslied.</span></span></p></div>
+
+<p>Consent was given. Sir Peter was not mentioned to me by my parents, or
+by Adelaide. The days of that week flew rapidly by.</p>
+
+<p>I was almost afraid to mention my prospects to Adelaide. I feared she
+would resent my good fortune in going abroad, and that her anger at
+having spoiled those other prospects would remain unabated. Moreover, a
+deeper feeling separated me from her now&mdash;the knowledge that there lay a
+great gulf of feeling, sentiment, opinion between us, which nothing
+could bridge over or do away with. Outwardly we might be amiable and
+friendly to each other, but confidence, union, was fled over. Once again
+in the future, I was destined, when our respective principles had been
+tried to the utmost, to have her confidence&mdash;to see her heart of hearts;
+but for the present we were effectually divided. I had mortally offended
+her, and it was not a case in which I could with decency even humble
+myself to her. Once, however, she mentioned the future.</p>
+
+<p>When the day of our departure had been fixed, and was only two days
+distant; when I was breathless with hurried repairing of old clothes,
+and the equally hurried laying in of a small stock of new ones; while I
+was contemplating with awe the prospect of a first journey to London, to
+Ostend, to Brussels, she said to me, as I sat feverishly hemming a
+frill:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So you are going to Germany?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, Adelaide.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What are you going to do there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My duty, I hope.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Charity, my dear, and duty too, begins at home. I should say you were
+going away leaving your duty undone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I was silent, and she went on:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I suppose you wish to go abroad, May?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You know I have always wished to go.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So do I.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish you were going too,&#8221; said I, timidly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank you. My views upon the subject are quite <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>different. When I go
+abroad I shall go in a different capacity to that you are going to
+assume. I will let you know all about it in due time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very well,&#8221; said I, almost inaudibly, having a vague idea as to what
+she meant, but determined not to speak about it.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>The following day the curtain rose upon the first act of the play&mdash;call
+it drama, comedy, tragedy, what you will&mdash;which was to be played in my
+absence. I had been up the village to the post-office, and was
+returning, when I saw advancing toward me two figures which I had cause
+to remember&mdash;my sister&#8217;s queenly height, her white hat over her eyes,
+and her sunshade in her hand, and beside her the pale face, with its
+ragged eyebrows and hateful sneer, of Sir Peter Le Marchant.</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide, not at all embarrassed by his company, was smiling slightly,
+and her eyes with drooped lids glanced downward toward the baronet. I
+shrunk into a cottage to avoid them as they came past, and waited.
+Adelaide was saying:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Proud&mdash;yes, I am proud, I suppose. Too proud, at least, to&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There! Out of hearing. They had passed. I hurried out of the cottage,
+and home.</p>
+
+<p>The next day I met Miss Hallam and her maid (we three traveled alone) at
+the station, and soon we were whirling smoothly along our southward
+way&mdash;to York first, then to London, and so out into the world, thought I.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
+
+<h3>&#8220;Ein Held aus der Fremde, gar k&uuml;hn.&#8221;</h3>
+
+<p>We had left Brussels and Belgium behind, had departed from the regions
+of <i>Chemins de fer</i>, and entered those of <i>Eisenbahnen</i>. We were at
+Cologne, where we had to change and wait half an hour before we could go
+on to Elberthal. We sat in the wartesaal, and I had committed to my
+charge two bundles, with strict injunctions not to lose them.</p>
+
+<p>Then the doors were opened, and the people made a mad rush to a train
+standing somewhere in the dim distance. Merrick, Miss Hallam&#8217;s maid, had
+to give her whole attention <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>to her mistress. I followed close in their
+wake, until, as we had almost come to the train, I cast my eyes downward
+and perceived that there was missing from my arm a gray shawl of Miss
+Hallam&#8217;s, which had been committed to my charge, and upon which she set
+a fidgety kind of value, as being particularly warm or particularly
+soft.</p>
+
+<p>Dismayed, I neither hesitated nor thought, but turned, fought my way
+through the throng of people to the waiting-room again, hunted every
+corner, but in vain, for the shawl. Either it was completely lost, or
+Merrick had, without my observing it, taken it under her own protection.
+It was not in the waiting-room. Giving up the search I hurried to the
+door: it was fast. No one more, it would seem, was to be let out that
+way; I must go round, through the passages into the open hall of the
+station, and so on to the platform again. More easily said than done.
+Always, from my earliest youth up, I have had a peculiar fancy for
+losing myself. On this eventful day I lost myself. I ran through the
+passages, came into the great open place surrounded on every side by
+doors leading to the platforms, offices, or booking offices. Glancing
+hastily round, I selected the door which appeared to my imperfectly
+developed &#8220;locality&#8221; to promise egress upon the platform, pushed it
+open, and going along a covered passage, and through another door, found
+myself, after the loss of a good five minutes, in a lofty deserted wing
+of the station, gazing wildly at an empty platform, and feverishly
+scanning all the long row of doors to my right, in a mad effort to guess
+which would take me from this delightful <i>terra incognito</i> back to my
+friends.</p>
+
+<p><i>Gep&auml;ck-Expedition</i>, I read, and thought it did not sound promising.
+Telegraphs bureau. Impossible! <i>Ausgang.</i> There was the magic word, and
+I, not knowing it, stared at it and was none the wiser for its friendly
+sign. I heard a hollow whistle in the distance. No doubt it was the
+Elberthal train going away, and my heart sunk deep, deep within my
+breast. I knew no German word. All I could say was &#8220;Elberthal;&#8221; and my
+nearest approach to &#8220;first-class&#8221; was to point to the carriage doors and
+say &#8220;Ein,&#8221; which might or might not be understood&mdash;probably not, when
+the universal stupidity of the German railway official is taken into
+consideration, together with his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>chronic state of gratuitous suspicion
+that a bad motive lurks under every question which is put to him. I
+heard a subdued bustle coming from the right hand in the distance, and I
+ran hastily to the other end of the great empty place, seeing, as I
+thought, an opening. Vain delusion! Deceptive dream of the fancy! There
+was a glass window through which I looked and saw a street thronged with
+passengers and vehicles. I hurried back again to find my way to the
+entrance of the station and there try another door, when I heard a bell
+ring violently&mdash;a loud groaning and shrieking, and then the sound, as it
+were, of a train departing. A porter&mdash;at least a person in uniform,
+appeared in a door-way. How I rushed up to him! How I seized his arm,
+and dropping my rugs gesticulated excitedly and panted forth the word
+&#8220;Elberthal!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Elberthal?&#8221; said he in a guttural bass; &#8220;<i>Wollt ihr nach Elberthal,
+fr&auml;uleinchen!</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was an impudent twinkle in his eye, as it were impertinence trying
+to get the better of beer, and I reiterated &#8220;Elberthal,&#8221; growing very
+red, and cursing all foreign speeches by my gods&mdash;a process often
+employed, I believe, by cleverer persons than I, with reference to
+things they do not understand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Schon fort, Fr&auml;ulein</i>,&#8221; he continued, with a grin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But where&mdash;what&mdash;Elberthal!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was about to make some further reply, when, turning, he seemed to see
+some one, and assumed a more respectful demeanor. I too turned, and saw
+at some little distance from us a gentleman sauntering along, who,
+though coming toward us, did not seem to observe us. Would he understand
+me if I spoke to him? Desperate as I was, I felt some timidity about
+trying it. Never had I felt so miserable, so helpless, so utterly
+ashamed as I did then. My lips trembled as the new-comer drew nearer,
+and the porter, taking the opportunity of quitting a scene which began
+to bore him, slipped away. I was left alone on the platform, nervously
+snatching short glances at the person slowly, very slowly approaching
+me. He did not look up as if he beheld me or in any way remarked my
+presence. His eyes were bent toward the ground: his fingers drummed a
+tune upon his chest. As he approached, I heard that he was humming
+something. I even heard the air; it has been impressed upon my memory
+firmly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>enough since, though I did not know it then&mdash;the air of the
+march from Raff&#8217;s Fifth Symphonie, the &#8220;Lenore.&#8221; I heard the tune softly
+hummed in a mellow voice, as with face burning and glowing, I placed
+myself before him. Then he looked suddenly up as if startled, fixed upon
+me a pair of eyes which gave me a kind of shock; so keen, so commanding
+were they, with a kind of tameless freedom in their glance such as I had
+never seen before.</p>
+
+<p>Arrested (no doubt by my wild and excited appearance), he stood still
+and looked at me, and as he looked a slight smile began to dawn upon his
+lips. Not an Englishman. I should have known him for an outlander
+anywhere. I remarked no details of his appearance; only that he was tall
+and had, as it seemed to me, a commanding bearing. I stood hesitating
+and blushing. (To this very day the blood comes to my face as I think of
+my agony of blushes in that immemorial moment.) I saw a handsome&mdash;a very
+handsome face, quite different from any I had ever seen before: the
+startling eyes before spoken of, and which surveyed me with a look so
+keen, so cool, and so bright, which seemed to penetrate through and
+through me; while a slight smile curled the light mustache upward&mdash;a
+general aspect which gave me the impression that he was not only a
+personage, but a very great personage&mdash;with a flavor of something else
+permeating it all which puzzled me and made me feel embarrassed as to
+how to address him. While I stood inanely trying to gather my senses
+together, he took off the little cloth cap he wore, and bowing, asked:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>, in what can I assist you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His English was excellent&mdash;his bow like nothing I had seen before.
+Convinced that I had met a genuine, thorough fine gentleman (in which I
+was right for once in my life), I began:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have lost my way,&#8221; and my voice trembled in spite of all my efforts
+to steady it. &#8220;In a crowd I lost my friends, and&mdash;I was going to
+Elberthal, and I turned the wrong way&mdash;and&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have come to destruction, <i>nicht wahr</i>?&#8221; He looked at his watch, raised
+his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. &#8220;The Elberthal train is already
+away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gone!&#8221; I dropped my rugs and began a tremulous search for my
+pocket-handkerchief. &#8220;What shall I do?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is another&mdash;let me see&mdash;in one hour&mdash;two&mdash;<i>will</i> <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>&#8217;<i>mal nachsehen.</i>
+Will you come with me, Fr&auml;ulein, and we will see about the trains.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you would show me the platform,&#8221; said I. &#8220;Perhaps some of them may
+still be there. Oh, what will they think of me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We must go to the wartesaal,&#8221; said he. &#8220;Then you can look out and see
+if you see any of them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I had no choice but to comply.</p>
+
+<p>My benefactor picked up my two bundles, and, in spite of my
+expostulations, carried them with him. He took me through the door
+inscribed <i>Ausgang</i>, and the whole thing seemed so extremely simple now,
+that my astonishment as to how I could have lost myself increased every
+minute. He went before me to the waiting-room, put my bundles upon one
+of the sofas, and we went to the door. The platform was almost as empty
+as the one we had left.</p>
+
+<p>I looked round, and though it was only what I had expected, yet my face
+fell when I saw how utterly and entirely my party had disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You see them not?&#8221; he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;they are gone,&#8221; said I, turning away from the window and choking
+down a sob, not very effectually. Turning my damp and sorrowful eyes to
+my companion, I found that he was still smiling to himself as if quietly
+amused at the whole adventure.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will go and see at what time the trains go to Elberthal. Suppose you
+sit down&mdash;yes?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Passively obeying, I sat down and turned my situation over in my mind,
+in which kind of agreeable mental legerdemain I was still occupied when
+he returned.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is now half past three, and there is a train to Elberthal at seven.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Seven!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Seven: a very pleasant time to travel, <i>nicht wahr</i>? Then it is still
+quite light.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So long! Three hours and a half,&#8221; I murmured, dejectedly, and bit my
+lips and hung my head. Then I said, &#8220;I am sure I am much obliged to you.
+If I might ask you a favor?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Bitte, mein Fr&auml;ulein!</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you could show me exactly where the train starts from, and&mdash;could I
+get a ticket now, do you think?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I&#8217;m afraid not, so long before,&#8221; he answered, twisting his mustache, as
+I could not help seeing, to hide a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then,&#8221; said I, with stoic calmness, &#8220;I shall never get to
+Elberthal&mdash;never, for I don&#8217;t know a word of German, not one,&#8221; I sat
+more firmly down upon the sofa, and tried to contemplate the future with
+fortitude.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can tell you what to say,&#8221; said he, removing with great deliberation
+the bundles which divided us, and sitting down beside me. He leaned his
+chin upon his hand and looked at me, ever, as it seemed to me, with
+amusement tempered with kindness, and I felt like a very little girl
+indeed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are exceedingly good,&#8221; I replied, &#8220;but it would be of no use. I am
+so frightened of those men in blue coats and big mustaches. I should not
+be able to say a word to any of them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;German is sometimes not unlike English.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is like nothing to me, except a great mystery.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Billet</i>, is &#8216;ticket,&#8217;&#8221; said he persuasively.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, is it?&#8221; said I, with a gleam of hope. &#8220;Perhaps I could remember
+that. <i>Billet</i>,&#8221; I repeated reflectively.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bil<i>let</i>,&#8221; he amended; &#8220;not <i>Bil</i>lit.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bill-yet&mdash;Bill-<i>yet</i>,&#8221; I repeated.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And &#8216;to Elberthal&#8217; may be said in one word, &#8216;Elberthal.&#8217; &#8216;<i>Ein
+Billet&mdash;Elberthal&mdash;erster Classe.</i>&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ein Bill-yet</i>,&#8221; I repeated, automatically, for my thoughts were
+dwelling more upon the charming quandary in which I found myself than
+upon his half-good-natured half-mocking instructions: &#8220;<i>Ein Bill-yet,
+firste&mdash;erste</i>&mdash;it is of no use. I can&#8217;t say it. But&#8221;&mdash;here a brilliant
+idea struck me&mdash;&#8220;if you could write it out for me on a paper, and then I
+could give it to the man: he would surely know what it meant.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A very interesting idea, but a <i>viv&acirc; voce</i> interview is so much
+better.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wonder how long it takes to walk to Elberthal!&#8221; I suggested darkly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, a mere trifle of a walk. You might do it in four or five hours, I
+dare say.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I bit my lips, trying not to cry.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps we might make some other arrangement,&#8221; he remarked. &#8220;I am going
+to Elberthal too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;You! Thank Heaven!&#8221; was my first remark. Then as a doubt came over me:
+&#8220;Then why&mdash;why&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Here I stuck fast, unable to ask why he had said so many tormenting
+things to me, pretended to teach me German phrases, and so on. The words
+would not come out. Meanwhile he, without apparently feeling it
+necessary to explain himself upon these points, went on:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. I have been at a probe&#8221; (not having the faintest idea as to what a
+probe might be, and not liking to ask, I held my peace and bowed
+assentingly). He went on, &#8220;And I was delayed a little. I had intended to
+go by the train you have lost, so if you are not afraid to trust
+yourself to my care we can travel together.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&mdash;you are very kind.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then you are not afraid?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;oh, no! I should like it very much. I mean I am sure it would be
+very nice.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Feeling that my social powers were as yet in a very undeveloped
+condition, I subsided into silence, as he went on:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hope your friends will not be very uneasy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, dear no!&#8221; I assured him, with a pious conviction that I was
+speaking the truth.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We shall arrive at Elberthal about half past eight.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I scarcely heard. I had plunged my hand into my pocket, and found&mdash;a
+hideous conviction crossed my mind&mdash;I had no money! I had until this
+moment totally forgotten having given my purse to Merrick to keep; and
+she, as pioneer of the party, naturally had all our tickets under her
+charge. My heart almost stopped beating. It was unheard of, horrible,
+this possibility of falling into the power of a total, utter stranger&mdash;a
+foreigner&mdash;a&mdash;Heaven only knew what! Engrossed with this painful and
+distressing problem, I sat silent, and with eyes gloomily cast down.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;One thing is certain,&#8221; he remarked. &#8220;We do not want to spend three
+hours and a half in the station. I want some dinner. A four hours&#8217; probe
+is apt to make one a little hungry. Come, we will go and have something
+to eat.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The idea had evidently come to him as a species of inspiration, and he
+openly rejoiced in it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am not hungry,&#8221; said I; but I was, very. I knew it now that the idea
+&#8220;dinner&#8221; had made itself conspicuous in my consciousness.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Perhaps you think not; but you are, all the same,&#8221; he said. &#8220;Come with
+me, Fr&auml;ulein. You have put yourself into my hands; you must do what I
+tell you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I followed him mechanically out of the station and down the street, and
+I tried to realize that instead of being with Miss Hallam and Merrick,
+my natural and respectable protectors, safely and conventionally
+plodding the slow way in the slow continental train to the slow
+continental town, I was parading about the streets of K&ouml;ln with a man of
+whose very existence I had half an hour ago been ignorant; I was
+dependent, too, upon him, and him alone, for my safe arrival at
+Elberthal. And I followed him unquestioningly, now and then telling
+myself, by way of feeble consolation, that he was a gentleman&mdash;he
+certainly was a gentleman&mdash;and wishing now and then, or trying to wish,
+with my usual proper feeling, that it had been some nice old lady with
+whom I had fallen in: it would have made the whole adventure blameless,
+and, comparatively speaking, agreeable.</p>
+
+<p>We went along a street and came to a hotel, a large building, into which
+my conductor walked, spoke to a waiter, and we were shown into the
+restaurant, full of round tables, and containing some half dozen parties
+of people. I followed with stony resignation. It was the severest trial
+of all, this coming to a hotel alone with a gentleman in broad daylight.
+I caught sight of a reflection in a mirror of a tall, pale girl, with
+heavy, tumbled auburn hair, a brown hat which suited her, and a severely
+simple traveling-dress. I did not realize until I had gone past that it
+was my own reflection which I had seen.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Suppose we sit here,&#8221; said he, going to a table in a comparatively
+secluded window recess, partially overhung with curtains.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How very kind and considerate of him!&#8221; thought I.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Would you rather have wine or coffee, Fr&auml;ulein?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Pulled up from the impulse to satisfy my really keen hunger by the
+recollection of my &#8220;lack of gold,&#8221; I answered hastily.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nothing, thank you&mdash;really nothing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>O doch!</i> You must have something,&#8221; said he, smiling. &#8220;I will order
+something. Don&#8217;t trouble about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t order anything for me,&#8221; said I, my cheeks burning. &#8220;I shall not
+eat anything.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;If you do not eat, you will be ill. Remember, we do not get to
+Elberthal before eight,&#8221; said he. &#8220;Is it perhaps disagreeable to you to
+eat in the saal? If you like we can have a private room.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is not that at all,&#8221; I replied; and seeing that he looked surprised,
+I blurted out the truth. &#8220;I have no money. I gave my purse to Miss
+Hallam&#8217;s maid to keep and she has taken it with her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With a laugh, in which, infectious though it was, I was too wretched to
+join:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is that all? Kellner!&#8221; cried he.</p>
+
+<p>An obsequious waiter came up, smiled sweetly and meaningly at us,
+received some orders from my companion, and disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>He seated himself beside me at the little round table.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He will bring something at once,&#8221; said he, smiling.</p>
+
+<p>I sat still. I was not happy, and yet I could not feel all the
+unhappiness which I considered appropriate to the circumstances.</p>
+
+<p>My companion took up a &#8220;K&ouml;lnische Zeitung,&#8221; and glanced over the
+advertisements, while I looked a little stealthily at him, and for the
+first time took in more exactly what he was like, and grew more puzzled
+with him each moment. As he leaned upon the table, one slight, long,
+brown hand propping his head, and half lost in the thick, fine brown
+hair which waved in large, ample waves over his head, there was an
+indescribable grace, ease, and negligent beauty in the attitude. Move as
+he would, let him assume any possible or impossible attitude, there was
+still in the same grace, half careless, yet very dignified in the
+position he took.</p>
+
+<p>All his lines were lines of beauty, but beauty which had power and much
+masculine strength; nowhere did it degenerate into flaccidity, nowhere
+lose strength in grace. His hair was long, and I wondered at it. My
+small experience in our delightful home and village circle had not
+acquainted me with that flowing style; the young men of my acquaintance
+cropped their hair close to the scalp, and called it the modern style of
+hair-dressing. It had always looked to me more like hair-undressing.
+This hair fell in a heavy wave over his forehead, and he had the habit,
+common to people whose hair does so, of lifting his head suddenly and
+shaking back the offending lock. His forehead <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>was broad, open,
+pleasant, yet grave. Eyes, as I had seen, very dark, and with lashes and
+brows which enhanced the contrast to a complexion at once fair and pale.
+A light mustache, curving almost straight across the face, gave a
+smiling expression to lips which were otherwise grave, calm, almost sad.
+In fact, looking nearer, I thought he did look sad; and though when he
+looked at me his eyes were so piercing, yet in repose they had a certain
+distant, abstracted expression not far removed from absolute
+mournfulness. Broad-shouldered, long-armed, with a physique in every
+respect splendid, he was yet very distinctly removed from the mere
+handsome animal which I believe enjoys a distinguished popularity in the
+latter-day romance.</p>
+
+<p>Now, as his eyes were cast upon the paper, I perceived lines upon his
+forehead, signs about the mouth and eyes telling of a firm, not to say
+imperious, disposition; a certain curve of the lips, and of the full,
+yet delicate nostril, told of pride both strong and high. He was older
+than I had thought, his face sparer; there were certain hollows in the
+cheeks, two lines between the eyebrows, a sharpness, or rather somewhat
+worn appearance of the features, which told of a mental life, keen and
+consuming. Altogether, an older, more intellectual, more imposing face
+than I had at first thought; less that of a young and handsome man, more
+that of a thinker and student. Lastly, a cool ease, deliberation, and
+leisureliness about all he said and did, hinted at his being a person in
+authority, accustomed to give orders and see them obeyed without
+question. I decided that he was, in our graceful home phrase, &#8220;master in
+his own house.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His clothing was unremarkable&mdash;gray summer clothes, such as any
+gentleman or any shop-keeper might wear; only in scanning him no thought
+of shop-keeper came into my mind. His cap lay upon the table beside us,
+one of the little gray Studentenmutzen with which Elberthal soon made me
+familiar, but which struck me then as odd and outlandish. I grew every
+moment more interested in my scrutiny of this, to me, fascinating and
+remarkable face, and had forgotten to try to look as if I were not
+looking, when he looked up suddenly, without warning, with those bright,
+formidable eyes, which had already made me feel somewhat shy as I caught
+them fixed upon me.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;<i>Nun</i>, have you decided?&#8221; he asked, with a humorous look in his eyes,
+which he was too polite to allow to develop itself into a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;oh, I beg your pardon!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You do not want to,&#8221; he answered, in imperfect idiom. &#8220;But have you
+decided?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Decided what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Whether I am to be trusted?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have not been thinking about that,&#8221; I said, uncomfortably, when to my
+relief the appearance of the waiter with preparations for a meal saved
+me further reply.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What shall we call this meal?&#8221; he asked, as the waiter disappeared to
+bring the repast to the table. &#8220;It is too late for the <i>Mittagessen</i>,
+and too early for the <i>Abendbrod</i>. Can you suggest a name?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At home it would be just the time for afternoon tea.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, yes! Your English afternoon tea is very&mdash;&#8221; He stopped suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you been in England?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This is just the time at which we drink our afternoon coffee in
+Germany,&#8221; said he, looking at me with his impenetrably bright eyes, just
+as if he had never heard me. &#8220;When the ladies all meet together to talk
+scan&mdash;<i>O, beh&uuml;te!</i> What am I saying?&mdash;to consult seriously upon
+important topics, you know. There are some low-minded persons who call
+the whole ceremony a Klatsch&mdash;Kaffeeklatsch. I am sure you and I shall
+talk seriously upon important subjects, so suppose we call this our
+Kaffeeklatsch, although we have no coffee to it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes, if you like.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He put a piece of cutlet upon my plate, and poured yellow wine into my
+glass. Endeavoring to conduct myself with the dignity of a grown-up
+person and to show that I did know something, I inquired if the wine
+were hock.</p>
+
+<p>He smiled. &#8220;It is not Hochheimer&mdash;not Rheinwein at all&mdash;he&mdash;no, it, you
+say&mdash;it is Moselle wine&mdash;&#8216;Doctor.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Doctor?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Doctorberger; I do not know why so called. And a very good fellow
+too&mdash;so say all his friends, of whom I am a warm one. Try him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I complied with the admonition, and was able to say that I liked
+Doctorberger. We ate and drank in silence <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>for some little time, and I
+found that I was very hungry. I also found that I could not conjure up
+any real feeling of discomfort or uneasiness, and that the prospective
+scolding from Miss Hallam had no terrors in it for me. Never had I felt
+so serene in mind, never more at ease in every way, than now. I felt
+that this was wrong&mdash;bohemian, irregular, and not respectable, and tried
+to get up a little unhappiness about something. The only thing that I
+could think of was:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am afraid I am taking up your time. Perhaps you had some business
+which you were going to when you met me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My business, when I met you, was to catch the train to Elberthal, which
+was already gone, as you know. I shall not be able to fulfill my
+engagements for to-night, so it really does not matter. I am enjoying
+myself very much.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am very glad I did meet you,&#8221; said I, growing more reassured as I
+found that my companion, though exceedingly polite and attentive to me,
+did not ask a question as to my business, my traveling companions, my
+intended stay or object in Elberthal&mdash;that he behaved as a perfect
+gentleman&mdash;one who is a gentleman throughout, in thought as well as in
+deed. He did not even ask me how it was that my friends had not waited a
+little for me, though he must have wondered why two people left a young
+girl, moneyless and ignorant, to find her way after them as well as she
+could. He took me as he found me, and treated me as if I had been the
+most distinguished and important of persons. But at my last remark he
+said, with the same odd smile which took me by surprise every time I saw
+it:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The pleasure is certainly not all on your side, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>. I
+suppose from that you have decided that I am to be trusted?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I stammered out something to the effect that &#8220;I should be very
+ungrateful were I not satisfied with&mdash;with such a&mdash;&#8221; I stopped, looking
+at him in some confusion. I saw a sudden look flash into his eyes and
+over his face. It was gone again in a moment&mdash;so fleeting that I had
+scarce time to mark it, but it opened up a crowd of strange new
+impressions to me, and while I could no more have said what it was like
+the moment it was gone, yet it left two desires almost equally strong in
+me&mdash;I wished in one and the same <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>moment that I had for my own peace of
+mind never seen him&mdash;and that I might never lose sight of him again: to
+fly from that look, to remain and encounter it. The tell-tale mirror in
+the corner caught my eye. At home they used sometimes to call me, partly
+in mockery, partly in earnest, &#8220;Bonny May.&#8221; The sobriquet had hitherto
+been a mere shadow, a meaningless thing, to me. I liked to hear it, but
+had never paused to consider whether it were appropriate or not. In my
+brief intercourse with my venerable suitor, Sir Peter, I had come a
+little nearer to being actively aware that I was good-looking, only to
+anathematize the fact. Now, catching sight of my reflection in the
+mirror, I wondered eagerly whether I really were fair, and wished I had
+some higher authority to think so than the casual jokes of my sisters.
+It did not add to my presence of mind to find that my involuntary glance
+to the mirror had been intercepted&mdash;perhaps even my motive guessed
+at&mdash;he appeared to have a frightfully keen instinct.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you seen the Dom?&#8221; was all he said; but it seemed somehow to give
+a point to what had passed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The Dom&mdash;what is the Dom?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The <i>K&ouml;lner Dom</i>; the cathedral.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, no! Oh, should we have time to see it?&#8221; I exclaimed. &#8220;How I should
+like it!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Certainly. It is close at hand. Suppose we go now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Gladly I rose, as he did. One of my most ardent desires was about to be
+fulfilled&mdash;not so properly and correctly as might have been desired,
+but&mdash;yes, certainly more pleasantly than under the escort of Miss
+Hallam, grumbling at every groschen she had to unearth in payment.</p>
+
+<p>Before we could leave our seclusion there came up to us a young man who
+had looked at us through the door and paused. I had seen him; had seen
+how he said something to a companion, and how the companion shook his
+head dissentingly. The first speaker came up to us, eyed me with a look
+of curiosity, and turning to my protector with a benevolent smile, said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eugen Courvoisier! <i>Also hatte ich doch Recht!</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I caught the name. The rest was of course lost upon me. Eugen
+Courvoisier? I liked it, as I liked him, and in my young enthusiasm
+decided that it was a very good name. The new-corner, who seemed as if
+much pleased with some discovery, and entertained at the same time,
+addressed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>some questions to Courvoisier, who answered him tranquilly
+but in a tone of voice which was very freezing; and then the other, with
+a few words and an unbelieving kind of laugh, said something about a
+<i>sch&ouml;ne Geschichte</i>, and, with another look at me, went out of the
+coffee-room again.</p>
+
+<p>We went out of the hotel, up the street to the cathedral. It was the
+first cathedral I had ever been in. The shock and the wonder of its
+grandeur took my breath away. When I had found courage to look round,
+and up at those awful vaults the roofs, I could not help crying a
+little. The vastness, coolness, stillness, and splendor crushed me&mdash;the
+great solemn rays of sunlight coming in slanting glory through the
+windows&mdash;the huge height&mdash;the impression it gave of greatness, and of a
+religious devotion to which we shall never again attain; of pure, noble
+hearts, and patient, skillful hands, toiling, but in a spirit that made
+the toil a holy prayer&mdash;carrying out the builder&#8217;s thought&mdash;great
+thought greatly executed&mdash;all was too much for me, the more so in that
+while I felt it all I could not analyze it. It was a dim, indefinite
+wonder. I tried stealthily and in shame to conceal my tears, looking
+surreptitiously at him in fear lest he should be laughing at me again.
+But he was not. He held his cap in his hand&mdash;was looking with those
+strange, brilliant eyes fixedly toward the high altar, and there was
+some expression upon his face which I could not analyze&mdash;not the
+expression of a person for whom such a scene has grown or can grow
+common by custom&mdash;not the expression of a sight-seer who feels that he
+must admire; not my own first astonishment. At least he felt it&mdash;the
+whole grand scene, and I instinctively and instantly felt more at home
+with him than I had done before.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221; said I, at last, &#8220;if one could stay here forever, what would one
+grow to?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He smiled a little.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You find it beautiful?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is the first I have seen. It is much more than beautiful.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The first you have seen? Ah, well, I might have guessed that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why? Do I look so countrified?&#8221; I inquired, with real interest, as I
+let him lead me to a little side bench, and place himself beside me. I
+asked in all good faith. About <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>him there seemed such a cosmopolitan
+ease, that I felt sure he could tell me correctly how I struck other
+people&mdash;if he would.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Countrified&mdash;what is that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, we say it when people are like me&mdash;have never seen anything but
+their own little village, and never had any adventures, and&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Get lost at railway stations, <i>und so weiter</i>. I don&#8217;t know enough of
+the meaning of &#8216;countrified&#8217; to be able to say if you are so, but it is
+easy to see that you&mdash;have not had much contention with the powers that
+be.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I shall not be stupid long,&#8221; said I, comfortably. &#8220;I am not going
+back home again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So!&#8221; He did not ask more, but I saw that he listened, and proceeded
+communicatively:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Never. I have&mdash;not quarreled with them exactly, but had a disagreement,
+because&mdash;because&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They wanted me to&mdash;I mean, an old gentleman&mdash;no, I mean&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;An old gentleman wanted you to marry him, and you would not,&#8221; said he,
+with an odd twinkle in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, how can you know?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think, because you told me. But I will forget it if you wish.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, no! It is quite true. Perhaps I ought to have married him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ought!&#8221; He looked startled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Adelaide&mdash;my eldest sister&mdash;said so. But it was no use. I was very
+unhappy, and Miss Hallam, who is Sir Peter&#8217;s deadly enemy&mdash;he is the old
+gentleman, you know&mdash;was very kind to me. She invited me to come with
+her to Germany, and promised to let me have singing lessons.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Singing lessons?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I nodded. &#8220;Yes; and then when I know a good deal more about singing, I
+shall go back again and give lessons. I shall support myself, and then
+no one will have the right to want to make me marry Sir Peter.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Du lieber Himmel!</i>&#8221; he ejaculated, half to himself. &#8220;Are you very
+musical, then?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can sing,&#8221; said I. &#8220;Only I want some more training.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;And you will go back all alone and try to give lessons?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall not only try, I shall do it,&#8221; I corrected him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And do you like the prospect?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If I can get enough money to live upon, I shall like it very much. It
+will be better than living at home and being bothered.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will tell you what you should do before you begin your career,&#8221; said
+he, looking at me with an expression half wondering, half pitying.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What? If you could tell me anything.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Preserve your voice, by all means, and get as much instruction as you
+can; but change all that waving hair, and make it into unobjectionable
+smooth bands of no particular color. Get a mask to wear over your face,
+which is too expressive; do something to your eyes to alter their&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The expression then visible in the said eyes seemed to strike him, for
+he suddenly stopped, and with a slight laugh, said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ach, was rede ich f&uuml;r dummes Zeug!</i> Excuse me, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But,&#8221; I interrupted, earnestly, &#8220;what do you mean? Do you think my
+appearance will be a disadvantage to me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Scarcely had I said the words than I knew how intensely stupid they
+were, how very much they must appear as if I were openly and impudently
+fishing for compliments. How grateful I felt when he answered, with a
+grave directness, which had nothing but the highest compliment in
+it&mdash;that of crediting me with right motives:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>, how can I tell? It is only that I knew some one,
+rather older than you, and very beautiful, who had such a pursuit. Her
+name was Corona Heidelberger, and her story was a sad one.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tell it me,&#8221; I besought.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, no, I think not. But&mdash;sometimes I have a little gift of
+foresight, and that tells me that you will not become what you at
+present think. You will be much happier and more fortunate.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wonder if it would be nice to be a great operatic singer,&#8221; I
+speculated.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>O, beh&uuml;te!</i> don&#8217;t think of it!&#8221; he exclaimed, starting <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>up and moving
+restlessly. &#8220;You do not know&mdash;you an opera singer&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was interrupted. There suddenly filled the air a sound of deep,
+heavenly melody, which swept solemnly adown the aisles, and filled with
+its melodious thunder every corner of the great building. I listened
+with my face upraised, my lips parted. It was the organ, and presently,
+after a wonderful melody, which set my heart beating&mdash;a melody full of
+the most witchingly sweet high notes, and a breadth and grandeur of low
+ones such as only two composers have ever attained to, a voice&mdash;a single
+woman&#8217;s voice&mdash;was upraised. She was invisible, and she sung till the
+very sunshine seemed turned to melody, and all the world was music&mdash;the
+greatest, most glorious of earthly things.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">&#8220;Blute nur, liebes Herz!<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Ach, ein Kind das du erzogen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Das an deiner Brust gesogen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Drohet den Pfleger zu ermorden<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Denn es ist zur Schlange worden.&#8221;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is it?&#8221; I asked below my breath, as it ceased.</p>
+
+<p>He had shaded his face with his hand, but turned to me as I spoke, a
+certain half-suppressed enthusiasm in his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Be thankful for your first introduction to German music,&#8221; said he, &#8220;and
+that it was grand old Johann Sebastian Bach whom you heard. That is one
+of the soprano solos in the <i>Passions-musik</i>&mdash;that is music.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was more music. A tenor voice was singing a recitative now, and
+that exquisite accompaniment, with a sort of joyful solemnity, still
+continued. Every now and then, shrill, high, and clear, penetrated a
+chorus of boys&#8217; voices. I, outer barbarian that I was, barely knew the
+name of Bach and his &#8220;Matthaus Passion,&#8221; so in the pauses my companion
+told me by snatches what it was about. There was not much of it. After a
+few solos and recitatives, they tried one or two of the choruses. I sat
+in silence, feeling a new world breaking in glory around me, till that
+tremendous chorus came; the organ notes swelled out, the tenor voice
+sung &#8220;Whom will ye that I give unto you?&#8221; and the answer came, crashing
+down in one tremendous clap, &#8220;Barrabam!&#8221; And such music was in the
+world, had been sung for years, and I had not heard it. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>Verily, there
+may be revelations and things new under the sun every day.</p>
+
+<p>I had forgotten everything outside the cathedral&mdash;every person but the
+one at my side. It was he who roused first, looking at his watch and
+exclaiming.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Herrgott!</i> We must go to the station, Fr&auml;ulein, if we wish to catch
+the train.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And yet I did not think he seemed very eager to catch it, as we went
+through the busy streets in the warmth of the evening, for it was hot,
+as it sometimes is in pleasant April, before the withering east winds of
+the &#8220;merry month&#8221; have come to devastate the land and sweep sickly
+people off the face of the earth. We went slowly through the moving
+crowds to the station, into the wartesaal, where he left me while he
+went to take my ticket. I sat in the same corner of the same sofa as
+before, and to this day I could enumerate every object in that
+wartesaal.</p>
+
+<p>It was after seven o&#8217;clock. The outside sky was still bright, but it was
+dusk in the waiting-room and under the shadow of the station. When
+&#8220;Eugen Courvoisier&#8221; came in again, I did not see his features so
+distinctly as lately in the cathedral. Again he sat down beside me,
+silently this time. I glanced at his face, and a strange, sharp, pungent
+thrill shot through me. The companion of a few hours&mdash;was he only that?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you very tired?&#8221; he asked, gently, after a long pause. &#8220;I think the
+train will not be very long now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Even as he spoke, clang, clang, went the bell, and for the second time
+that day I went toward the train for Elberthal. This time no wrong
+turning, no mistake. Courvoisier put me into an empty compartment, and
+followed me, said something to a guard who went past, of which I could
+only distinguish the word <i>allein</i>; but as no one disturbed our privacy,
+I concluded that German railway guards, like English ones, are mortal.</p>
+
+<p>After debating within myself for some time, I screwed up my courage and
+began:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mr. Courvoisier&mdash;your name is Courvoisier, is it not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you please tell me how much money you have spent for me to-day?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How much money?&#8221; he asked, looking at me with a provoking smile.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p><p>The train was rumbling slowly along, the night darkening down. We sat by
+an open window, and I looked through it at the gray, Dutch-like
+landscape, the falling dusk, the poplars that seemed sedately marching
+along with us.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why do you want to know how much?&#8221; he demanded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because I shall want to pay you, of course, when I get my purse,&#8221; said
+I. &#8220;And if you will kindly tell me your address, too&mdash;but how much money
+did you spend?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked at me, seemed about to laugh off the question, and then said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I believe it was about three thalers ten groschen, but I am not at all
+sure. I can not tell till I do my accounts.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, dear!&#8221; said I.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Suppose I let you know how much it was,&#8221; he went on, with a gravity
+which forced conviction upon me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps that would be the best,&#8221; I agreed. &#8220;But I hope you will make
+out your accounts soon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, very soon. And where shall I send my bill to?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Feeling as if there were something not quite as it should be in the
+whole proceeding, I looked very earnestly at him, but could find nothing
+but the most perfect gravity in his expression. I repeated my address
+and name slowly and distinctly, as befitted so business-like a
+transaction, and he wrote them down in a little book.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you will not forget,&#8221; said I, &#8220;to give me your address when you let
+me know what I owe you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Certainly&mdash;when I let you know what you owe me,&#8221; he replied, putting
+the little book into his pocket again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wonder if any one will come to meet me,&#8221; I speculated, my mind more
+at ease in consequence of the business-like demeanor of my companion.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Possibly,&#8221; said he, with an ambiguous half smile, which I did not
+understand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Hallam&mdash;the lady I came with&mdash;is almost blind. Her maid had to
+look after her, and I suppose that is why they did not wait for me,&#8221;
+said I.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It must have been a very strong reason, at any rate,&#8221; he said, gravely.</p>
+
+<p>Now the train rolled into the Elberthal station. There were lights,
+movement, a storm of people all gabbling away in a foreign tongue. I
+looked out. No face of any one I knew. Courvoisier sprung down and
+helped me out.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Now I will put you into a drosky,&#8221; said he, leading the way to where
+they stood outside the station.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All&eacute;estrasse, thirty-nine,&#8221; he said to the man.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Stop one moment,&#8221; cried I, leaning eagerly out. At that moment a tall,
+dark girl passed us, going slowly toward the gates. She almost paused as
+she saw us. She was looking at my companion; I did not see her face, and
+was only conscious of her as coming between me and him, and so anoying
+me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Please let me thank you,&#8221; I continued. &#8220;You have been so kind, so very
+kind&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>O, bitte sehr!</i> It was so kind in you to get lost exactly when and
+where you did,&#8221; said he, smiling. &#8220;<i>Adieu, mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>,&#8221; he added,
+making a sign to the coachman, who drove off.</p>
+
+<p>I saw him no more. &#8220;Eugen Courvoisier&#8221;&mdash;I kept repeating the name to
+myself, as if I were in the very least danger of forgetting it&mdash;&#8220;Eugen
+Courvoisier.&#8221; Now that I had parted from him I was quite clear as to my
+own feelings. I would have given all I was worth&mdash;not much, truly&mdash;to
+see him for one moment again.</p>
+
+<p>Along a lighted street with houses on one side, a gleaming shine of
+water on the other, and trees on both, down a cross-way, then into
+another street, very wide, and gayly lighted, in the midst of which was
+an avenue.</p>
+
+<p>We stopped with a rattle before a house door, and I read, by the light
+of the lamp that hung over it, &#8220;39.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
+
+<h3>ANNA SARTORIUS.</h3>
+
+<p>I was expected. That was very evident. An excited-looking
+<i>Dienstm&auml;dchen</i> opened the door, and on seeing me, greeted me as if I
+had been an old friend. I was presently rescued by Merrick, also looking
+agitated.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ho, Miss Wedderburn, at last you are here! How Miss Hallam has
+worried, to be sure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I could not help it, I&#8217;m very sorry,&#8221; said I, following her
+upstairs&mdash;up a great many flights of stairs, as it seemed to me, till
+she ushered me into a sitting-room where I found Miss Hallam.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank Heaven, child! you are here at last. I was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>beginning to think
+that if you did not come by this train, I must send some one to K&ouml;ln to
+look after you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;By this train!&#8221; I repeated, blankly. &#8220;Miss Hallam&mdash;what&mdash;do you mean?
+There has been no other train.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Two; there was one at four and one at six. I can not tell you how
+uneasy I have been at your non-appearance.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then&mdash;then&mdash;&#8221; I stammered, growing hot all over. &#8220;Oh, how horrible!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is horrible?&#8221; she demanded. &#8220;And you must be starving. Merrick, go
+and see about something to eat for Miss Wedderburn. Now,&#8221; she added, as
+her maid left the room, &#8220;tell me what you have been doing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I told her everything, concealing nothing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Most annoying!&#8221; she remarked. &#8220;A gentleman, you say. My dear child, no
+gentleman would have done anything of the kind. I am very sorry for it
+all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Hallam,&#8221; I implored, almost in tears, &#8220;please do not tell any one
+what has happened to me. I will never be such a fool again. I know
+now&mdash;and you may trust me. But do not let any one know how&mdash;stupid I
+have been. I told you I was stupid&mdash;I told you several times. I am sure
+you must remember.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes, I remember. We will say no more about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And the gray shawl,&#8221; said I.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Merrick had it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I lifted my hands and shrugged my shoulders. &#8220;Just my luck,&#8221; I murmured,
+resignedly, as Merrick came in with a tray.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Hallam, I noticed, continued to regard me now and then as I ate
+with but small appetite. I was too excited by what had passed, and by
+what I had just heard, to be hungry. I thought it kind, merciful, humane
+in her to promise to keep my secret and not expose my ignorance and
+stupidity to strangers.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is evident,&#8221; she remarked, &#8220;that you must at once begin to learn
+German, and then if you do get lost at a railway station again, you will
+be able to ask your way.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Merrick shook her head with an inexpressibly bitter smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;d defy any one to learn this &#8217;ere language, ma&#8217;am. They call an
+accident a <i>Ungl&uuml;ck</i>; if any one could tell me what that means, I&#8217;d
+thank them, that&#8217;s all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t express your opinions, Merrick, unless you wish <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>to seem
+deficient in understanding; but go and see that Miss Wedderburn has
+everything she wants&mdash;or rather everything that can be got&mdash;in her room.
+She is tired, and shall go to bed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I was only too glad to comply with this mandate, but it was long ere I
+slept. I kept hearing the organ in the cathedral, and that voice of the
+invisible singer&mdash;seeing the face beside me, and hearing the words,
+&#8220;Then you have decided that I am to be trusted?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And he was deceiving me all the time!&#8221; I thought, mournfully.</p>
+
+<p>I breakfasted by myself the following morning, in a room called the
+speisesaal. I found I was late. When I came into the room, about nine
+o&#8217;clock, there was no one but myself to be seen. There was a long table
+with a white cloth upon it, and rows of the thickest cups and saucers it
+had ever been my fate to see, with distinct evidences that the chief
+part of the company had already breakfasted. Baskets full of <i>Br&ouml;dchen</i>
+and pots of butter, a long India-rubber pipe coming from the gas to
+light a theemaschine&mdash;lots of cane-bottomed chairs, an open piano, two
+cages with canaries in them; the kettle gently simmering above the
+gas-flame; for the rest, silence and solitude.</p>
+
+<p>I sat down, having found a clean cup and plate, and glanced timidly at
+the theemaschine, not daring to cope with its mysteries, until my doubts
+were relieved by the entrance of a young person with a trim little
+figure, a coquettishly cut and elaborately braided apron, and a white
+frilled morgenhaube upon her hair, surmounting her round,
+heavenward-aspiring visage.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Guten morgen, Fr&auml;ulein</i>,&#8221; she said, as she marched up to the darkly
+mysterious theemaschine and began deftly to prepare coffee for me, and
+to push the Br&ouml;dchen toward me. She began to talk to me in broken
+English, which was very pretty, and while I ate and drank, she
+industriously scraped little white roots at the same table. She told me
+she was Clara, the niece of Frau Steinmann, and that she was very glad
+to see me, but was very sorry I had had so long to wait in K&ouml;ln
+yesterday. She liked my dress, and was it <i>echt Englisch</i>&mdash;also, how
+much did it cost?</p>
+
+<p>She was a cheery little person, and I liked her. She seemed to like me
+too, and repeatedly said she was glad I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>had come. She liked dancing she
+said. Did I? And she had lately danced at a ball with some one who
+danced so well&mdash;<i>aber</i>, quite indescribably well. His name was Karl
+Linders, and he was, <i>ach!</i> really a remarkable person. A bright blush,
+and a little sigh accompanied the remark. Our eyes met, and from that
+moment Clara and I were very good friends.</p>
+
+<p>I went upstairs again, and found that Miss Hallam proposed, during the
+forenoon, to go and find the Eye Hospital, where she was to see the
+oculist, and arrange for him to visit her, and shortly after eleven we
+set out.</p>
+
+<p>The street that I had so dimly seen the night before, showed itself by
+daylight to be a fair, broad way. Down the middle, after the pleasant
+fashion of continental towns, was a broad walk, planted with two double
+rows of lindens, and on either side this lindenallee was the carriage
+road, private houses, shops, exhibitions, boarding-houses. In the
+middle, exactly opposite our dwelling, was the New Theater, just drawing
+to the close of its first season. I looked at it without thinking much
+about it. I had never been in a theater in my life, and the name was but
+a name to me.</p>
+
+<p>Turning off from the pretty allee, and from the green Hofgarten which
+bounded it at one end, we entered a narrow, ill-paved street, the aspect
+of whose gutters and inhabitants alike excited my liveliest disgust. In
+this street was the Eye Hospital, as was presently testified to us by a
+board bearing the inscription, &#8220;St&auml;dtische Augenklinik.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>We were taken to a dimly lighted room in which many people were waiting,
+some with bandages over their eyes, others with all kinds of
+extraordinary spectacles on, which made them look like phantoms out of a
+bad dream&mdash;nearly all more or less blind, and the effect was
+surprisingly depressing.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Miss Hallam and Merrick were admitted to an inner room, and I
+was left to await their return. My eye strayed over the different faces,
+and I felt a sensation of relief when I saw some one come in without
+either bandage or spectacles. The new-comer was a young man of middle
+height, and of proportions slight without being thin. There was nothing
+the matter with his eyes, unless perhaps a slight short-sightedness; he
+had, I thought, one of the gentlest, most attractive faces I had ever
+seen; boyishly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>open and innocent at the first glance; at the second,
+indued with a certain reticent calm and intellectual radiance which took
+away from the first youthfulness of his appearance. Soft, yet luminous
+brown eyes, loose brown hair hanging round his face, a certain manner
+which for me at least had a charm, were the characteristics of this
+young man. He carried a violin-case, removed his hat as he came in, and
+being seen by one of the young men who sat at desks, took names down,
+and attended to people in general, was called by him:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr Helfen&mdash;Herr Friedhelm Helfen!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ja&mdash;hier!</i>&#8221; he answered, going up to the desk, upon which there ensued
+a lively conversation, though carried on in a low tone, after which the
+young man at the desk presented a white card to &#8220;Herr Friedhelm Helfen,&#8221;
+and the latter, with a pleasant &#8220;Adieu,&#8221; went out of the room again.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Hallam and Merrick presently returned from the consulting-room, and
+we went out of the dark room into the street, which was filled with
+spring sunshine and warmth; a contrast something like that between Miss
+Hallam&#8217;s life and my own, I have thought since. Far before us, hurrying
+on, I saw the young man with the violin-case; he turned off by the
+theater, and went in at a side door.</p>
+
+<p>An hour&#8217;s wandering in the Hofgarten&mdash;my first view of the Rhine&mdash;a
+dull, flat stream it looked, too. I have seen it since then in mightier
+flow. Then we came home, and it was decided that we should dine together
+with the rest of the company at one o&#8217;clock.</p>
+
+<p>A bell rang at a few minutes past one. We went down-stairs, into the
+room in which I had already breakfasted, which, in general, was known as
+the saal. As I entered with Miss Hallam I was conscious that a knot of
+lads or young men stood aside to let us pass, and then giggled and
+scuffled behind the door before following us into the saal.</p>
+
+<p>Two or three ladies were already seated, and an exceedingly stout lady
+ladled out soup at a side table, while Clara and a servant-woman carried
+the plates round to the different places. The stout lady turned as she
+saw us, and greeted us. She was Frau Steinmann, our hostess. She waited
+until the youths before spoken of had come in, and with a great deal of
+noise had seated themselves, when she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>began, aided by the soup-ladle,
+to introduce us all to each other.</p>
+
+<p>We, it seemed, were to have the honor and privilege of being the only
+English ladies of the company. We were introduced to one or two others,
+and I was assigned a place by a lady introduced as Fr&auml;ulein Anna
+Sartorius, a brunette, rather stout, with large dark eyes which looked
+at me in a way I did not like, a head of curly black hair cropped short,
+an odd, brusque manner, and a something peculiar, or, as she said,
+<i>selten</i> in her dress. This young lady sustained the introduction with
+self-possession and calm. It was otherwise with the young gentlemen, who
+appeared decidedly mixed. There were some half dozen of them in all&mdash;a
+couple of English, the rest German, Dutch, and Swedish. I had never been
+in company with so many nationalities before, and was impressed with my
+situation&mdash;needlessly so.</p>
+
+<p>All these young gentlemen made bows which were, in their respective
+ways, triumphs of awkwardness, with the exception of one of our
+compatriots, who appeared to believe that himself and his manners were
+formed to charm and subdue the opposite sex. We then sat down, and
+Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius immediately opened a conversation with me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Sprechen Sie Deutsch, Fr&auml;ulein?</i>&#8221; was her first venture, and having
+received my admission that I did not speak a word of it, she continued,
+in good English:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now I can talk to you without offending you. It is so dreadful when
+English people who don&#8217;t know German persist in thinking that they do.
+There was an English-woman here who always said <i>wer</i> when she meant
+where, and <i>wo</i> when she meant who. She said the sounds confused her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The boys giggled at this, but the joke was lost upon me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is your name?&#8221; she continued; &#8220;I didn&#8217;t catch what Frau Steinmann
+said.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May Wedderburn,&#8221; I replied, angry with myself for blushing so
+excessively as I saw that all the boys held their spoons suspended,
+listening for my answer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May&mdash;<i>das heisst Mai</i>,&#8221; said she, turning to the assembled youths, who
+testified that they were aware of it, and the Dutch boy, Brinks,
+inquired, gutturally:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;You haf one zong in your language what calls itself, &#8216;Not always Mai,&#8217;
+haf you not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said I, and all the boys began to giggle as if something clever
+had been said. Taken all in all, what tortures have I not suffered from
+those dreadful boys. Shy when they ought to have been bold, and bold
+where a modest retiringness would better have become them. Giggling
+inanely at everything and nothing. Noisy and vociferous among themselves
+or with inferiors; shy, awkward and blushing with ladies or in refined
+society&mdash;distressing my feeble efforts to talk to them by their silly
+explosions of laughter when one of them was addressed. They formed the
+bane of my life for some time.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you let me paint you?&#8221; said Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius, whose big eyes had
+been surveying me in a manner that made me nervous.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Paint me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your likeness, I mean. You are very pretty, and we never see that color
+of hair here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you a painter?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I&#8217;m only a <i>Studentin</i> yet; but I paint from models. Well, will you
+sit to me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I don&#8217;t know. If I have time, perhaps.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What will you do to make you not have time?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I did not feel disposed to gratify her curiosity, and said I did not
+know yet what I should do.</p>
+
+<p>For a short time she asked no more questions, then</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you like town or country best?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know. I have never lived in a town.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you like amusements&mdash;concerts, and theater, and opera?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; I was reluctantly obliged to confess, for I saw that the
+assembled youths, though not looking at me openly, and apparently
+entirely engrossed with their dinners, were listening attentively to
+what passed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t know,&#8221; repeated Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius, quickly seeing through my
+thin assumption of indifference, and proceeding to draw me out as much
+as possible. I wished Adelaide had been there to beat her from the
+field. She would have done it better than I could.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; because I have never been to any.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Haven&#8217;t you? How odd! How very odd! Isn&#8217;t it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>strange?&#8221; she added,
+appealing to the boys. &#8220;Fr&auml;ulein has never been to a theater or a
+concert.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I disdained to remark that my words were being perverted, but the game
+instinct rose in me. Raising my voice a little, I remarked:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is evident that I have not enjoyed your advantages, but I trust that
+the gentlemen&#8221; (with a bow to the listening boys) &#8220;will make allowances
+for the difference between us.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The young gentlemen burst into a chorus of delighted giggles, and Anna,
+shooting a rapid glance at me, made a slight grimace, but looked not at
+all displeased. I was, though, mightily; but, elate with victory, I
+turned to my compatriot at the other end of the table, and asked him at
+what time of the year Elberthal was pleasantest.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh,&#8221; said he, &#8220;it&#8217;s always pleasant to me, but that&#8217;s owing to myself.
+I make it so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Just then, several of the other lads rose, pushing their chairs back
+with a great clatter, bowing to the assembled company, and saying
+&#8220;Gesegnete Mahlzeit!&#8221; as they went out.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why are they going, and what do they say?&#8221; I inquired of Miss
+Sartorius, who replied, quite amiably:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They are students at the Realschule. They have to be there at two
+o&#8217;clock, and they say, &#8216;Blessed be the meal-time,&#8217; as they go out.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do they? How nice!&#8221; I could not help saying.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Would you like to go for a walk this afternoon?&#8221; said she.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, very much!&#8221; I had exclaimed, before I remembered that I did not
+like her, and did not intend to like her. &#8220;If Miss Hallam can spare me,&#8221;
+I added.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I think she will. I shall be ready at half past two; then we shall
+return for coffee at four. I will knock at your door at the time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>On consulting Miss Hallam after dinner, I found she was quite willing
+for me to go out with Anna, and at the time appointed we set out.</p>
+
+<p>Anna took me a tour round the town, showed me the lions, and gave me
+topographical details. She showed me the big, plain barrack, and the
+desert waste of the Exerzierplatz spreading before it. She did her best
+to entertain me, and I, with a childish prejudice against her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>abrupt
+manner, and the free, somewhat challenging look of her black eyes, was
+reserved, unresponsive, stupid. I took a prejudice against her&mdash;I own
+it&mdash;and for that and other sins committed against a woman who would have
+been my friend if I would have let her, I say humbly, <i>Mea culpa!</i></p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It seems a dull kind of a place,&#8221; said I.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It need not be. You have advantages here which you can&#8217;t get
+everywhere. I have been here several years, and as I have no other home
+I rather think I shall live here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, indeed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have a home, I suppose?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Brothers and sisters?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Two sisters,&#8221; I replied, mightily ruffled by what I chose to consider
+her curiosity and impertinence; though, when I looked at her, I saw what
+I could not but confess to be a real, and not unkind, interest in her
+plain face and big eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah! I have no brothers and sisters. I have only a little house in the
+country, and as I have always lived in a town, I don&#8217;t care for the
+country. It is so lonely. The people are so stupid too&mdash;not always
+though. You were offended with me at dinner, <i>nicht wahr</i>?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, dear, no!&#8221; said I, very awkwardly and very untruly. The truth was,
+I did not like her, and was too young, too ignorant and <i>gauche</i> to try
+to smooth over my dislike. I did not know the pain I was giving, and if
+I had, should perhaps not have behaved differently.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Doch!</i>&#8221; she said, smiling. &#8220;But I did not know what a child you were,
+or I should have let you alone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>More offended than ever, I maintained silence. If I were certainly
+touchy and ill to please, Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius, it must be owned, did not
+know how to apologize gracefully. I have since, with wider knowledge of
+her country and its men and women, got to see that what made her so
+inharmonious was, that she had a woman&#8217;s form and a man&#8217;s disposition
+and love of freedom. As her countrywomen taken in the gross are the most
+utterly &#8220;in bonds&#8221; of any women in Europe, this spoiled her life in a
+manner which can not be understood here, where women in comparison are
+free as air, and gave no little of the brusqueness and roughness to her
+manner. In an enlightened English <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>home she would have been an
+admirable, firm, clever woman; here she was that most dreadful of all
+abnormal growths&mdash;a woman with a will of her own.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do they do here?&#8221; I inquired, indifferently.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, many things. Though it is not a large town there is a School of
+Art, which brings many painters here. There are a hundred and
+fifty&mdash;besides students.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you are a student?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. One must have something to do&mdash;some <i>carri&egrave;re</i>&mdash;though my
+countrywomen say not. I shall go away for a few months soon, but I am
+waiting for the last great concert. It will be the &#8216;Paradise Lost&#8217; of
+Rubenstein.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, yes!&#8221; said I, politely, but without interest. I had never heard of
+Rubenstein and the &#8220;Verlorenes Paradies.&#8221; Before the furor of 1876, how
+many scores of provincial English had?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is very much music here,&#8221; she continued. &#8220;Are you fond of it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ye-es. I can&#8217;t play much, but I can sing. I have come here partly to
+take singing lessons.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who is the best teacher?&#8221; was my next ingenuous question.</p>
+
+<p>She laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That depends upon what you want to learn. There are so many: violin,
+<i>Clavier</i>, that is piano, flute, &#8217;cello, everything.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221; I replied, and asked no more questions about music; but inquired
+if it were pleasant at Frau Steinmann&#8217;s.</p>
+
+<p>She shrugged her shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is it pleasant anywhere? I don&#8217;t find many places pleasant, because I
+can not be a humbug, so others do not like me. But I believe some people
+like Elberthal very well. There is the theater&mdash;that makes another
+element. And there are the soldiers and <i>Kaufleute</i>&mdash;merchants, I mean,
+so you see there is variety, though it is a small place.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, yes!&#8221; said I, looking about me as we passed down a very busy
+street, and I glanced to right and left with the image of Eugen
+Courvoisier ever distinctly if unconfessedly present to my mental view.
+Did he live at Elberthal? and if so, did he belong to any of those
+various callings? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>What was he? An artist who painted pictures for his
+bread? I thought that very probable. There was something free and
+artist-like in his manner, in his loose waving hair and in his keen
+susceptibility to beauty. I thought of his emotion at hearing that
+glorious Bach music. Or was he a musician&mdash;what Anna Sartorius called
+<i>ein Musiker</i>? But no. My ideas of musicians were somewhat hazy, not to
+say utterly chaotic; they embraced only two classes: those who performed
+or gave lessons, and those who composed. I had never formed to myself
+the faintest idea of a composer, and my experience of teachers and
+performers was limited to one specimen&mdash;Mr. Smythe, of Darton, whose
+method and performances would, as I have since learned, have made the
+hair of a musician stand horrent on end. No&mdash;I did not think he was a
+musician. An actor? Perish the thought, was my inevitable mental answer.
+How should I be able to make any better one? A soldier, then? At that
+moment we met a mounted captain of Uhlans, harness clanking,
+accouterments rattling. He was apparently an acquaintance of my
+companion, for he saluted with a grave politeness which sat well upon
+him. Decidedly Eugen Courvoisier had the air of a soldier. That
+accounted for all. No doubt he was a soldier. In my ignorance of the
+strictness of German military regulations as regards the wearing of
+uniform, I overlooked the fact that he had been in civilian&#8217;s dress, and
+remained delighted with my new idea; Captain Courvoisier. &#8220;What is the
+German for captain?&#8221; I inquired, abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Hauptmann.</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank you.&#8221; Hauptmann Eugen Courvoisier&mdash;a noble and a gallant title,
+and one which became him. &#8220;How much is a thaler?&#8221; was my next question.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is as much as three shillings in your money.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, thank you,&#8221; said I, and did a little sum in my own mind. At that
+rate then, I owed Herr Courvoisier the sum of ten shillings. How glad I
+was to find it came within my means.</p>
+
+<p>As I took off my things, I wondered when Herr Courvoisier would &#8220;make
+out his accounts.&#8221; I trusted soon.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>&#8220;Probe zum verlorenen Paradiese.&#8221;</h3>
+
+<p>Miss Hallam fulfilled her promise with regard to my singing lessons. She
+had a conversation with Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius, to whom, unpopular as she
+was, I noticed people constantly and almost instinctively went when in
+need of precise information or a slight dose of common sense and
+clear-headedness.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Hallam inquired who was the best master.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For singing, the Herr Direktor,&#8221; replied Anna, very promptly. &#8220;And then
+he directs the best of the musical vereins&mdash;the clubs&mdash;societies,
+whatever you name them. At least he might try Miss Wedderburn&#8217;s voice.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who is he?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The head of anything belonging to music in the town&mdash;k&ouml;niglicher
+musik-direktor. He conducts all the great concerts, and though he does
+not sing himself, yet he is one of the best teachers in the province.
+Lots of people come and stay here on purpose to learn from him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And what are these vereins?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Every season there are six great concerts given, and a seventh for the
+benefit of the direktor. The orchestra and chorus together are called a
+verein&mdash;musik-verein. The chorus is chiefly composed of ladies and
+gentlemen&mdash;amateurs, you know&mdash;<i>Dilettanten</i>. The Herr Direktor is very
+particular about voices. You pay so much for admission, and receive a
+card for the season. Then you have all the good teaching&mdash;the <i>Proben</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is a <i>Probe</i>?&#8221; I demanded, hastily, remembering that Courvoisier
+had used the word.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What you call a rehearsal.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ah! then he was musical. At last I had found it out. Perhaps he was one
+of the amateurs who sung at these concerts, and if so, I might see him
+again, and if so&mdash;But Anna went on:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is a very good thing for any one, particularly with such a teacher
+as von Francius.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must join,&#8221; said Miss Hallam to me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is a probe to-night to Rubinstein&#8217;s &#8216;Paradise Lost,&#8217;&#8221; said Anna.
+&#8220;I shall go, not to sing, but to listen. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>I can take Miss Wedderburn, if
+you like, and introduce her to Herr von Francius, whom I know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very nice! very much obliged to you. Certainly,&#8221; said Miss Hallam.</p>
+
+<p>The probe was fixed for seven, and shortly after that time we set off
+for the Tonhalle, or concert-hall, in which it was held.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We shall be much too early,&#8221; said she. &#8220;But the people are shamefully
+late. Most of them only come to <i>klatsch</i>, and flirt, or try to flirt,
+with the Herr Direktor.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This threw upon my mind a new light as to the Herr Direktor, and I
+walked by her side much impressed. She told me that if I accepted I
+might even sing in the concert itself, as there had only been four
+proben so far, and there were still several before the haupt-probe.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is the haupt-probe?&#8221; I inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;General rehearsal&mdash;when Herr von Francius is most unmerciful to his
+stupid pupils. I always attend that. I like to hear him make sport of
+them, and then the instrumentalists laugh at them. Von Francius never
+flatters.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Inspired with nightmare-like ideas as to this terrible haupt-probe, I
+found myself, with Anna, turning into a low-fronted building inscribed
+&#8220;St&auml;dtische Tonhalle,&#8221; the concert-hall of the good town of Elberthal.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This way,&#8221; said she. &#8220;It is in the rittersaal. We don&#8217;t go to the large
+saal till the haupt-probe.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I followed her into a long, rather shabby-looking room, at one end of
+which was a low orchestra, about which were dotted the desks of the
+absent instrumentalists, and some stiff-looking Celli and Contrabassi
+kept watch from a wall. On the orchestra was already assembled a goodly
+number of young men and women, all in lively conversation, loud
+laughter, and apparently high good-humor with themselves and everything
+in the world.</p>
+
+<p>A young man with a fuzz of hair standing off about a sad and
+depressed-looking countenance was stealing &#8220;in and out and round about,&#8221;
+and distributing sheets of score to the company. In the conductor&#8217;s
+place was a tall man in gray clothes, who leaned negligently against the
+rail, and held a conversation with a pretty young lady who seemed much
+pleased with his attention. It did not strike me at first that this was
+the terrible direktor of whom I had been hearing. He was young, had a
+slender, graceful <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>figure, and an exceedingly handsome, though (I
+thought at first) an unpleasing face. There was something in his
+attitude and manner which at first I did not quite like. Anna walked up
+the room, and pausing before the estrade, said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr Direktor!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He turned: his eyes fell upon her face, and left it instantly to look at
+mine. Gathering himself together into a more ceremonious attitude, he
+descended from his estrade, and stood beside us, a little to one side,
+looking at us with a leisurely calmness which made me feel, I knew not
+why, uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Anna took up her parable.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May I introduce the young lady? Miss Wedderburn, Herr Musik-Direktor
+von Francius. Miss Wedderburn wishes to join the verein, if you think
+her voice will pass. Perhaps you will allow her to sing to-night?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Certainly, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>,&#8221; said he to me, not to Anna. He had a long,
+rather Jewish-looking face, black hair, eyes, and mustache. The features
+were thin, fine, and pointed. The thing which most struck me then, at
+any rate, was a certain expression which, conquering all others,
+dominated them&mdash;at once a hardness and a hardihood which impressed me
+disagreeably then, though I afterward learned, in knowing the man, to
+know much more truly the real meaning of that unflinching gaze and iron
+look.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your voice is what, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>?&#8221; he asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Soprano.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sopran? We will see. The soprani sit over there, if you will have the
+goodness.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He pointed to the left of the orchestra, and called out to the
+melancholy-looking young man, &#8220;Herr Schonfeld, a chair for the young
+lady!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Herr von Francius then ascended the orchestra himself, went to the
+piano, and, after a few directions, gave us the signal to begin. Till
+that day&mdash;I confess it with shame&mdash;I had never heard of the &#8220;Verlorenes
+Paradies.&#8221; It came upon me like a revelation. I sung my best,
+substituting <i>do</i>, <i>re</i>, <i>mi</i>, etc., for the German words. Once or
+twice, as Herr von Francius&#8217;s forefinger beat time, I thought I saw his
+head turn a little in our direction, but I scarcely heeded it. When the
+first chorus was over, he turned to me:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have not sung in a chorus before?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;So! I should like to hear you sing something <i>sola</i>.&#8221; He pushed toward
+me a pile of music, and while the others stood looking on and whispering
+among themselves, he went on, &#8220;Those are all sopran songs. Select one,
+if you please, and try it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Not at all aware that the incident was considered unprecedented, and was
+creating a sensation, I turned over the music, seeking something I knew,
+but could find nothing. All in German, and all strange. Suddenly I came
+upon one entitled &#8220;Blute nur, liebes Herz,&#8221; the sopran solo which I had
+heard as I sat with Courvoisier in the cathedral. It seemed almost like
+an old friend. I opened it, and found it had also English words. That
+decided me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will try this,&#8221; said I, showing it to him.</p>
+
+<p>He smiled. &#8220;&#8217;<i>S ist gut!</i>&#8221; Then he read the title off the song aloud, and
+there was a general titter, as if some very great joke were in
+agitation, and were much appreciated. Indeed I found that in general the
+jokes of the Herr Direktor, when he condescended to make any, were very
+keenly relished by at least the lady part of his pupils.</p>
+
+<p>Not understanding the reason of the titter I took the music in my hand,
+and waiting for a moment until he gave me the signal, sung it after the
+best wise I could&mdash;not very brilliantly, I dare say, but with at least
+all my heart poured into it. I had one requisite at least of an artist
+nature&mdash;I could abstract myself upon occasion completely from my
+surroundings. I did so now. It was too beautiful, too grand. I
+remembered that afternoon at K&ouml;ln&mdash;the golden sunshine streaming through
+the painted windows, the flood of melody poured forth by the invisible
+singer; above all, I remembered who had been by my side, and I felt as
+if again beside him&mdash;again influenced by the unusual beauty of his face
+and mien, and by his clear, strange, commanding eyes. It all came back
+to me&mdash;the strangest, happiest day of my life. I sung as I had never
+sung before&mdash;as I had not known I could sing.</p>
+
+<p>When I stopped, the tittering had ceased; silence saluted me. The young
+ladies were all looking at me; some of them had put on their
+eye-glasses; others stared at me as if I were some strange animal from a
+menagerie. The young gentlemen were whispering among themselves and
+taking sidelong glances at me. I scarcely heeded anything of it. I fixed
+my eyes upon the judge who had been listening to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>my performance&mdash;upon
+von Francius. He was pulling his mustache and at first made no remark.</p>
+
+<p>You have sung that song before, <i>gn&auml;diges Fr&auml;ulein</i>?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. I have heard it once. I have not seen the music before.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So!&#8221; He bowed slightly, and turning once more to the others, said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We will begin the next chorus. &#8216;Chorus of the Damned,&#8217; Now, <i>meine
+Herrschaften</i>, I would wish to impress upon you one thing, if I can,
+that is&mdash;Silence, <i>meine Herren</i>!&#8221; he called sharply toward the tenors,
+who were giggling inanely among themselves. &#8220;A chorus of damned souls,&#8221;
+he proceeded, composedly, &#8220;would not sing in the same unruffled manner
+as a young lady who warbles, &#8216;Spring is come&mdash;tra, la, la! Spring is
+come&mdash;lira, lira!&#8217; in her mamma&#8217;s drawing-room. Try to imagine yourself
+struggling in the tortures of hell&#8221;&mdash;(a delighted giggle and a sort of
+&#8220;Oh, you dear, wicked man!&#8221; expression on the part of the young ladies;
+a nudging of each other on that of the young gentlemen), &#8220;and sing as if
+you were damned.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Scarcely any one seemed to take the matter the least earnestly. The
+young ladies continued to giggle, and the young gentlemen to nudge each
+other. Little enough of expression, if plenty of noise, was there in
+that magnificent and truly difficult passage, the changing choruses of
+the condemned and the blessed ones&mdash;with its crowning &#8220;<span class="smcap">Weh!</span>&#8221; thundering
+down from highest soprano to deepest bass.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Lots of noise, and no meaning,&#8221; observed the conductor, leaning himself
+against the rail of the estrade, face to his audience, folding his arms
+and surveying them all one after the other with cold self-possession. It
+struck me that he despised them while he condescended to instruct them.
+The power of the man struck me again. I began to like him better. At
+least I venerated his thorough understanding of what was to me a
+splendid mystery. No softening appeared in the master&#8217;s eyes in answer
+to the rows of pretty appealing faces turned to him; no smile upon his
+contemptuous lips responded to the eyes&mdash;black, brown, gray, blue,
+yellow&mdash;all turned with such affecting devotion to his own. Composing
+himself to an insouciant attitude, he began in a cool, indifferent
+voice, which had, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>however, certain caustic tones in it which stung me
+at least to the quick:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I never heard anything worse, even from you. My honored Fr&auml;ulein, my
+<i>gn&auml;digen Herren</i>, just try once to imagine what you are singing about!
+It is not an exercise&mdash;it is not a love song, either of which you would
+no doubt perform excellently. Conceive what is happening! Put yourself
+back into those mythical times. Believe, for this evening, in the story
+of the forfeited Paradise. There is strife between the Blessed and the
+Damned; the obedient and the disobedient. There are thick clouds in the
+heavens&mdash;smoke, fire, and sulphur&mdash;a clashing of swords in the serried
+ranks of the angels: can not you see Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, leading
+the heavenly host? Can not some of you sympathize a little with Satan
+and his struggle?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Looking at him, I thought they must indeed be an unimaginative set! In
+that dark face before them was Mephistopheles at least&mdash;<i>der Geist der
+stets verneint</i>&mdash;if nothing more violent. His cool, scornful features
+were lighted up with some of the excitement which he could not drill
+into the assemblage before him. Had he been gifted with the requisite
+organ he would have acted and sung the chief character in &#8220;Faust&#8221; <i>con
+amore</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ach, um Gotteswillen!</i>&#8221; he went on, shrugging his shoulders, &#8220;try to
+forget what you are! Try to forget that none of you ever had a wicked
+thought or an unholy aspiration&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>(&#8220;Don&#8217;t they see how he is laughing at them?&#8221; I wondered.)</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You, Chorus of the Condemned, try to conjure up every wicked thought
+you can, and let it come out in your voices&mdash;you who sing the strains of
+the blessed ones, think of what blessedness is. Surely each of you has
+his own idea! Some of you may agree with Lenore:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">&#8220;&#8216;Bei ihm, bei ihm ist Seligkeit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Und ohne Wilhelm Holle!&#8217;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&#8220;If so, think of him; think of her&mdash;only sing it, whatever it is.
+Remember the strongest of feelings:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">&#8220;&#8216;Die Engel nennen es Himmelsfreude<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Die Teufel nennen es H&ouml;llenqual,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Die Menschen nennen es&mdash;<span class="smcap">Liebe</span>!&#8217;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&#8220;And sing it!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p><p>He had not become loud or excited in voice or gesticulation, but his
+words, flung at them like so many scornful little bullets, the
+indifferent resignation of his attitude, had their effect upon the crew
+of giggling, simpering girls and awkward, self-conscious young men. Some
+idea seemed vouchsafed to them that perhaps their performance had not
+been quite all that it might have been; they began in a little more
+earnest, and the chorus went better.</p>
+
+<p>For my own part, I was deeply moved. A vague excitement, a wild, and not
+altogether a holy one, had stolen over me. I understood now how the man
+might have influence. I bent to the power of his will, which reached me
+where I stood in the background, from his dark eyes, which turned for a
+moment to me now and then. It was that will of his which put me as it
+were suddenly into the spirit of the music, and revealed me depths in my
+own heart at which I had never even guessed. Excited, with cheeks
+burning and my heart hot within me, I followed his words and his
+gestures, and grew so impatient of the dull stupidity of the others that
+tears came to my eyes. How could that young woman, in the midst of a
+sublime chorus, deliberately pause, arrange the knot of her neck-tie,
+and then, after a smile and a side glance at the conductor, go on again
+with a more self-satisfied simper than ever upon her lips? What might
+not the thing be with a whole chorus of sympathetic singers? The very
+dullness which in face prevailed revealed to me great regions of
+possible splendor, almost too vast to think of.</p>
+
+<p>At last it was over. I turned to the direktor, who was still near the
+piano, and asked timidly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think I may join? Will my voice do?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>An odd expression crossed his face; he answered, dryly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You may join the verein, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>&mdash;yes. Please come this way
+with me. Pardon, Fr&auml;ulein Stockhausen&mdash;another time. I am sorry to say I
+have business at present.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A black look from a pretty brunette, who had advanced with an engaging
+smile and an open score to ask him some question, greeted this very
+composed rebuff of her advance. The black look was directed at
+me&mdash;guiltless.</p>
+
+<p>Without taking any notice of the other, he led Anna and me to a small
+inner room, where there was a desk and writing materials.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your name, if you will be good enough?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Wedderburn.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your <i>Vorname</i>, though&mdash;your first name.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My Christian name&mdash;oh, May.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;M&mdash;a&mdash;<i>na</i>! Perhaps you will be so good as to write it yourself, and
+the street and number of the house in which you live.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I complied.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you been here long?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not quite a week.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you intend to make any stay?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Some months, probably.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Humph! If you wish to make any progress in music, you must stay much
+longer.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&mdash;I&mdash;it depends upon other people how long I remain.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He smiled slightly, and his smile was not unpleasant; it lighted up the
+darkness of his face in an agreeable manner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So I should suppose. I will call upon you to-morrow at four in the
+afternoon. I should like to have a little conversation with you about
+your voice. Adieu, <i>meine Damen</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With a slight bow which sufficiently dismissed us, he turned to the desk
+again, and we went away.</p>
+
+<p>Our homeward walk was a somewhat silent one. Anna certainly asked me
+suddenly where I had learned to sing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have not learned properly. I can&#8217;t help singing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I did not know you had a voice like that,&#8221; said she again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Like what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr von Francius will tell you all about it to-morrow,&#8221; said she,
+abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What a strange man Herr von Francius is!&#8221; said I. &#8220;Is he clever?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, very clever.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At first I did not like him. Now I think I do, though.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She made no answer for a few minutes; then said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is an excellent teacher.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2>
+
+<h3>HERR VON FRANCIUS.</h3>
+
+<p>When Miss Hallam heard from Anna Sartorius that my singing had evidently
+struck Herr von Francius, and of his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>intended visit, she looked
+pleased&mdash;so pleased that I was surprised.</p>
+
+<p>He came the following afternoon, at the time he had specified. Now, in
+the broad daylight, and apart from his official, professional manner, I
+found the Herr Direktor still different from the man of last night, and
+yet the same. He looked even younger now than on the estrade last night,
+and quiet though his demeanor was, attuned to a gentlemanly calm and
+evenness, there was still the one thing, the cool, hard glance left, to
+unite him with the dark, somewhat sinister-looking personage who had
+cast his eyes round our circle last night, and told us to sing as if we
+were damned.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Hallam, this is Herr von Francius,&#8221; said I. &#8220;He speaks English,&#8221; I
+added.</p>
+
+<p>Von Francius glanced from her to me with a somewhat inquiring
+expression.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Hallam received him graciously, and they talked about all sorts of
+trifles, while I sat by in seemly silence, till at last Miss Hallam
+said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Can you give me any opinion upon Miss Wedderburn&#8217;s voice?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Scarcely, until I have given it another trial. She seems to have had no
+training.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, that is true,&#8221; she said, and proceeded to inform him casually that
+she wished me to have every advantage I could get from my stay in
+Elberthal, and must put the matter into his hands. Von Francius looked
+pleased.</p>
+
+<p>For my part, I was deeply moved. Miss Hallam&#8217;s generosity to one so
+stupid and ignorant touched me nearly.</p>
+
+<p>Von Francius, pausing a short time, at last said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I must try her voice again, as I remarked. Last night I was struck with
+her sense of the dramatic point of what we were singing&mdash;a quality which
+I do not too often find in my pupils. I think, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>, that
+with care and study you might take a place on the stage.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The stage!&#8221; I repeated, startled, and thinking of Courvoisier&#8217;s words.</p>
+
+<p>But von Francius had been reckoning without his host. When Miss Hallam
+spoke of &#8220;putting the matter into his hands,&#8221; she understood the words
+in her own sense.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The stage!&#8221; said she, with a slight shiver. &#8220;That is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>quite out of the
+question. Miss Wedderburn is a young lady&mdash;not an actress.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So! Then it is impossible to be both in your country?&#8221; said he, with
+polite sarcasm. &#8220;I spoke as simple <i>K&uuml;nstler</i>&mdash;artist&mdash;I was not
+thinking of anything else. I do not think the <i>gn&auml;diges Fr&auml;ulein</i> will
+ever make a good singer of mere songs. She requires emotion to bring out
+her best powers&mdash;a little passion&mdash;a little scope for acting and abandon
+before she can attain the full extent of her talent.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He spoke in the most perfectly matter-of-fact way, and I trembled. I
+feared lest this display of what Miss Hallam would consider little short
+of indecent laxity and Bohemianism, would shock her so much that I
+should lose everything by it. It was not so, however.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Passion&mdash;abandon! I think you can not understand what you are talking
+about!&#8221; said she. &#8220;My dear sir, you must understand that those kind of
+things may be all very well for one set of people, but not for that
+class to which Miss Wedderburn belongs. Her father is a clergyman&#8221;&mdash;von
+Fraucius bowed, as if he did not quite see what that had to do with
+it&mdash;&#8220;in short, that idea is impossible. I tell you plainly. She may
+learn as much as she likes, but she will never be allowed to go upon the
+stage.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then she may teach?&#8221; said he, inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Certainly. I believe that is what she wishes to do, in case&mdash;if
+necessary.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She may teach, but she may not act,&#8221; said he, reflectively. &#8220;So be it,
+then! Only,&#8221; he added as if making a last effort, &#8220;I would just mention
+that, apart from artistic considerations, while a lady may wear herself
+out as a poorly paid teacher, a <i>prima donna</i>&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Miss Hallam smiled with calm disdain.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is not of the least use to speak of such a thing. You and I look at
+the matter from quite different points of view, and to argue about it
+would only be to waste time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Von Francius, with a sarcastic, ambiguous smile, turned to me:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;no. I agree with Miss Hallam,&#8221; I murmured, not really having found
+myself able to think about it at all, but conscious that opposition was
+useless. And, besides, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>I did shrink away from the ideas conjured up by
+that word, the &#8220;stage.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So!&#8221; said he, with a little bow and a half smile. &#8220;Also, I must try to
+make the round man fit into the square hole. The first thing will be
+another trial of your voice; then I must see how many lessons a week you
+will require, and must give you instructions about practicing. You must
+understand that it is not pleasure or child&#8217;s play which you are
+undertaking. It is a work in order to accomplish which you must strain
+every nerve, and give up everything which in any way interferes with
+it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know whether I shall have time for it,&#8221; I murmured, looking
+doubtfully toward Miss Hallam.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, May; you will have time for it,&#8221; was all she said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is there a piano in the house?&#8221; said von Francius. &#8220;But, yes,
+certainly. Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius has one; she will lend it to us for half
+an hour. If you were at liberty, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>, just now&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Certainly,&#8221; said I, following him, as he told Miss Hallam that he would
+see her again.</p>
+
+<p>As he knocked at the door of Anna&#8217;s sitting-room she came out, dressed
+for walking.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ach, Fr&auml;ulein!</i> will you allow us the use of your piano for a few
+minutes?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Bitte!</i>&#8221; said she, motioning us into the room. &#8220;I am sorry I have an
+engagement, and must leave you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do not let us keep you on any account,&#8221; said he, with touching
+politeness; and she went out.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Desto besser!</i>&#8221; he observed, shrugging his shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>He pulled off his gloves with rather an impatient gesture, seated
+himself at the piano, and struck some chords, in an annoyed manner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who is that old lady?&#8221; he inquired, looking up at me. &#8220;Any relation of
+yours?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;oh, no! I am her companion.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So! And you mean to let her prevent you from following the career you
+have a talent for?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If I do not do as she wishes, I shall have no chance of following any
+career at all,&#8221; said I. &#8220;And, besides, how does any one know that I have
+a talent&mdash;for&mdash;for&mdash;what you say?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know it; that is why I said it. I wish I could persuade that old lady
+to my way of thinking!&#8221; he added. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>&#8220;I wish you were out of her hands and
+in mine. <i>Na!</i> we shall see!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was not a very long &#8220;trial&#8221; that he gave me; we soon rose from the
+piano.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;To-morrow at eleven I come to give you a lesson,&#8221; said he. &#8220;I am going
+to talk to Miss Hallam now. You please not come. I wish to see her
+alone; and I can manage her better by myself, <i>nicht wahr</i>!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank you,&#8221; said I in a subdued tone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must have a piano, too,&#8221; he added; &#8220;and we must have the room to
+ourselves. I allow no third person to be present in my private lessons,
+but go on the principle of Paul Heyse&#8217;s hero, Edwin, either in open
+lecture, or <i>unter vier Augen</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With that he held the door open for me, and as I turned into my room,
+shook hands with me in a friendly manner, bidding me expect him on the
+morrow.</p>
+
+<p>Certainly, I decided, Herr von Francius was quite unlike any one I had
+ever seen before; and how awfully cool he was and self-possessed. I
+liked him well, though.</p>
+
+<p>The next morning Herr von Francius gave me my first lesson, and after
+that I had one from him nearly every day. As teacher and as acquaintance
+he was, as it were, two different men. As teacher he was strict, severe,
+gave much blame and little praise; but when he did once praise me, I
+remember, I carried the remembrance of it with me for days as a ray of
+sunshine. He seemed never surprised to find how much work had been
+prepared for him, although he would express displeasure sometimes at its
+quality. He was a teacher whom it was impossible not to respect, whom
+one obeyed by instinct. As man, as acquaintance, I knew little of him,
+though I heard much&mdash;idle tales, which it would be as idle to repeat.
+They chiefly related to his domineering disposition and determination to
+go his own way and disregard that of others. In this fashion my life
+became busy enough.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2>
+
+<h3>&#8220;LOHENGRIN.&#8221;</h3>
+
+<p>As time went on, the image of Eugen Courvoisier, my unspoken of,
+unguessed at, friend, did not fade from my memory. It grew stronger. I
+thought of him every day&mdash;never <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>went out without a distinct hope that I
+might see him; never came in without vivid disappointment that I had not
+seen him. I carried three thalers ten groschen so arranged in my purse
+that I could lay my hand upon them at a moment&#8217;s notice, for as the days
+went on it appeared that Herr Courvoisier had not made up his accounts,
+or if he had, had not chosen to claim that part of them owed by me.</p>
+
+<p>I did not see him. I began dismally to think that after all the whole
+thing was at an end. He did not live at Elberthal&mdash;he had certainly
+never told me that he did, I reminded myself. He had gone about his
+business and interests&mdash;had forgotten the waif he had helped one spring
+afternoon, and I should never see him again. My heart fell and sunk with
+a reasonless, aimless pang. What did it, could it, ought it to matter to
+me whether I ever saw him again or not? Nothing, certainly, and yet I
+troubled myself about it a great deal. I made little dramas in my mind
+of how he and I were to meet, and how I would exert my will and make him
+to take the money. Whenever I saw an unusually large or handsome house,
+I instantly fell to wondering if it were his, and sometimes made
+inquiries as to the owner of any particularly eligible residence. I
+heard of Brauns, M&uuml;llers, Piepers, Schmidts, and the like, as owners of
+the same&mdash;never the name Courvoisier. He had disappeared&mdash;I feared
+forever.</p>
+
+<p>Coming in weary one day from the town, where I had been striving to make
+myself understood in shops, I was met by Anna Sartorius on the stairs.
+She had not yet ceased to be civil to me&mdash;civil, that is, in her
+way&mdash;and my unreasoning aversion to her was as great as ever.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This is the last opera of the season,&#8221; said she, displaying a pink
+ticket. &#8220;I am glad you will get to see one, as the theater closes after
+to-night.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I am not going.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, you are. Miss Hallam has a ticket for you. I am going to chaperon
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I must go and see about that,&#8221; said I, hastily rushing upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>The news, incredible though it seemed, was quite true. The ticket lay
+there. I picked it up and gazed at it fondly. Stadttheater zu Elberthal.
+Parquet, No. 16. As I had never been in a theater in my life, this
+conveyed no distinct <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>idea to my mind, but it was quite enough for me
+that I was going. The rest of the party, I found, were to consist of
+Vincent, the Englishman, Anna Sartorius, and the Dutch boy, Brinks.</p>
+
+<p>It was Friday evening, and the opera was &#8220;Lohengrin.&#8221; I knew nothing,
+then, about different operatic styles, and my ideas of operatic music
+were based upon duets upon selected airs from &#8220;La Traviata,&#8221; &#8220;La
+Somnambula,&#8221; and &#8220;Lucia.&#8221; I thought the story of &#8220;Lohengrin,&#8221; as related
+by Vincent, interesting. I was not in the least aware that my first
+opera was to be a different one from that of most English girls. Since,
+I have wondered sometimes what would be the result upon the musical
+taste of a person who was put through a course of Wagnerian opera first,
+and then turned over to the Italian school&mdash;leaving Mozart, Beethoven,
+Gluck, to take care of themselves, as they may very well do&mdash;thus
+exactly reversing the usual (English) process.</p>
+
+<p>Anna was very quiet that evening. Afterward I knew that she must have
+been observing me. We were in the first row of the parquet, with the
+orchestra alone between us and the stage. I was fully occupied in
+looking about me&mdash;now at the curtain hiding the great mystery, now
+behind and above me at the boxes, in a youthful state of ever-increasing
+hope and expectation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We are very early,&#8221; said Vincent, who was next to me, &#8220;very early, and
+very near,&#8221; he added, but he did not seem much distressed at either
+circumstance.</p>
+
+<p>Then the gas was suddenly turned up quite high. The bustle increased
+cheerfully. The old, young, and middle-aged ladies who filled the
+<i>Logen</i> in the <i>Erster Rang</i>&mdash;hardened theater-goers, who came as
+regularly every night in the week during the eight months of the season
+as they ate their breakfasts and went to their beds, were gossiping with
+the utmost violence, exchanging nods and odd little old-fashioned bows
+with other ladies in all parts of the house, leaning over to look
+whether the parquet was well filled, and remarking that there were more
+people in the <i>Balcon</i> than usual. The musicians were dropping into the
+orchestra. I was startled to see a fair face I knew&mdash;that
+pleasant-looking young violinist with the brown eyes, whose name I had
+heard called out at the eye hospital. They all seemed very fond of him,
+particularly a man who struggled <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>about with a violoncello, and who
+seemed to have a series of jokes to relate to Herr Helfen, exploding
+with laughter, and every now and then shaking the loose thick hair from
+his handsome, genial face. Helfen listened to him with a half smile,
+screwing up his violin and giving him a quiet look now and then. The
+inspiring noise of tuning up had begun, and I was on the very tiptoe of
+expectation.</p>
+
+<p>As I turned once more and looked round, Vincent said, laughing, &#8220;Miss
+Wedderburn, your hat has hit me three times in the face.&#8221; It was, by the
+by, the brown hat which had graced my head that day at K&ouml;ln.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, has it? I beg your pardon!&#8221; said I, laughing too, as I brought my
+eyes again to bear on the stage. &#8220;The seats are too near toge&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Further words were upon my lips, but they were never uttered. In roving
+across the orchestra to the foot-lights my eyes were arrested. In the
+well of the orchestra immediately before my eyes was one empty chair,
+that by right belonging to the leader of the first violins. Friedhelm
+Helfen sat in the one next below it. All the rest of the musicians were
+assembled. The conductor was in his place, and looked a little
+impatiently toward that empty chair. Through a door to the left of the
+orchestra there came a man, carrying a violin, and made his way, with a
+nod here, a half smile there, a tap on the shoulder in another
+direction. Arrived at the empty chair, he laid his hand upon Helfen&#8217;s
+shoulder, and bending over him, spoke to him as he seated himself. He
+kept his hand on that shoulder, as if he liked it to be there. Helfen&#8217;s
+eyes said as plainly as possibly that he liked it. Fast friends, on the
+face of it, were these two men. In this moment, though I sat still,
+motionless, and quiet, I certainly realized as nearly as possible that
+impossible sensation, the turning upside down of the world. I did not
+breathe. I waited, spell-bound, in the vague idea that my eyes might
+open and I find that I had been dreaming. After an earnest speech to
+Helfen the new-comer raised his head. As he shouldered his violin his
+eyes traveled carelessly along the first row of the parquet&mdash;our row. I
+did not awake; things did not melt away in a mist before my eyes. He was
+Eugen Courvoisier, and he looked braver, handsomer, gallanter, and more
+apart from the crowd of men now, in this moment, than even my
+sentimental dreams had pictured him. I felt it all: I also know <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>now
+that it was partly the very strength of the feeling that I had&mdash;the very
+intensity of the admiration which took from me the reflection and reason
+for the moment. I felt as if every one must see how I felt. I remembered
+that no one knew what had happened; I dreaded lest they should. I did
+the most cowardly and treacherous thing that circumstances permitted to
+me&mdash;displayed to what an extent my power of folly and stupidity could
+carry me. I saw these strange bright eyes, whose power I felt, coming
+toward me. In one second they would be upon me. I felt myself white with
+anxiety. His eyes were coming&mdash;coming&mdash;slowly, surely. They had fallen
+upon Vincent, and he nodded to him. They fell upon me. It was for the
+tenth of a second only. I saw a look of recognition flash into his
+eyes&mdash;upon his face. I saw that he was going to bow to me. With (as it
+seemed to me) all the blood in my veins rushing to my face, my head
+swimming, my heart beating, I dropped my eyes to the play-bill upon my
+lap, and stared at the crabbed German characters&mdash;the names of the
+players, the characters they took. &#8220;Elsa&mdash;Lohengrin.&#8221; I read them again
+and again, while my ears were singing, my heart beating so, and I
+thought every one in the theater knew and was looking at me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mind you listen to the overture, Miss Wedderburn,&#8221; said Vincent,
+hastily, in my ear, as the first liquid, yearning, long-drawn notes
+sounded from the violins.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said I, raising my face at last, looking or rather feeling a look
+compelled from me, to the place where he sat. This time our eyes met
+fully. I do not know what I felt when I saw him look at me as
+unrecognizingly as if I had been a wooden doll in a shop window. Was he
+looking past me? No. His eyes met mine direct&mdash;glance for glance; not a
+sign, not a quiver of the mouth, not a waver of the eyelids. I heard no
+more of the overture. When he was playing, and so occupied with his
+music, I surveyed him surreptitiously; when he was not playing, I kept
+my eyes fixed firmly upon my play-bill. I did not know whether to be
+most distressed at my own disloyalty to a kind friend, or most appalled
+to find that the man with whom I had spent a whole afternoon in the firm
+conviction that he was outwardly, as well as inwardly, my equal and a
+gentleman&mdash;(how the tears, half of shame, half of joy, rise to my eyes
+now as I think of my poor, pedantic little scruples <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>then!) the man of
+whom I had assuredly thought and dreamed many and many a time and oft
+was&mdash;a professional musician, a man in a band, a German band, playing in
+the public orchestra of a provincial town. Well! well!</p>
+
+<p>In our village at home, where the population consisted of clergymen&#8217;s
+widows, daughters of deceased naval officers, and old women in general,
+and those old women ladies of the genteelest description&mdash;the Army and
+the Church (for which I had been brought up to have the deepest
+veneration and esteem, as the two head powers in our land&mdash;for we did
+not take Manchester, Birmingham, and Liverpool into account at
+Skernford)&mdash;the Army and the Church, I say, look down a little upon
+Medicine and the Law, as being perhaps more necessary, but less select
+factors in that great sum&mdash;the Nation, Medicine and the Law looked down
+very decidedly upon commercial wealth, and Commerce in her turn turned
+up her nose at retail establishments, while one and all&mdash;Church and
+Army, Law and Medicine, Commerce in the gross and Commerce in the
+little&mdash;united in pointing the finger at artists, musicians, literati,
+<i>et id omne genus</i>, considering them, with some few well-known and
+orthodox exceptions, as bohemians, and calling them &#8220;persons.&#8221; They were
+a class with whom we had and could have nothing in common; so utterly
+outside our life that we scarcely ever gave a thought to their
+existence. We read of pictures, and wished to see them; heard of musical
+wonders, and desired to hear them&mdash;as pictures, as compositions. I do
+not think it ever entered our heads to remember that a man with a quick
+life throbbing in his veins, with feelings, hopes, and fears and
+thoughts, painted the picture, and that in seeing it we also saw
+him&mdash;that a consciousness, if possible, yet more keen and vivid produced
+the combinations of sound which brought tears to our eyes when we heard
+&#8220;the band&#8221;&mdash;beautiful abstraction&mdash;play them! Certainly we never
+considered the performers as anything more than people who could
+play&mdash;one who blew his breath into a brass tube; another into a wooden
+pipe; one who scraped a small fiddle with fine strings, another who
+scraped a big one with coarse strings.</p>
+
+<p>I was seventeen, and not having an original mind, had up to now judged
+things from earlier teachings and impressions. I do not ask to be
+excused. I only say that I was ignorant as ever even a girl of seventeen
+was. I did <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>not know the amount of art and culture which lay among those
+rather shabby-looking members of the Elberthal <i>st&auml;dtische Kapelle</i>&mdash;did
+not know that that little cherubic-faced man, who drew his bow so
+lovingly across his violin, had played under Mendelssohn&#8217;s
+conductorship, and could tell tales about how the master had drilled his
+band, and what he had said about the first performance of the
+&#8220;Lobgesang.&#8221; The young man to whom I had seen Courvoisier speaking
+was&mdash;I learned it later&mdash;a performer to ravish the senses, a conductor
+in the true sense&mdash;not a mere man who waves the stick up and down, but
+one who can put some of the meaning of the music into his gestures and
+dominate his players. I did not know that the musicians before me were
+nearly all true artists, and some of them undoubted gentlemen to boot,
+even if their income averaged something under that of a skilled
+Lancashire operative. But even if I had known it as well as possible,
+and had been aware that there could be nothing derogatory in my knowing
+or being known by one of them, I could not have been more wretched than
+I was in having been, as it were, false to a friend. The dreadful thing
+was, or ought to be&mdash;I could not quite decide which&mdash;that such a person
+should have been my friend.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How he must despise me!&#8221; I thought, my cheeks burning, my eyes fastened
+upon the play-bill. &#8220;I owe him ten shillings. If he likes he can point
+me out to them all and say, &#8216;That is an English girl&mdash;lady I can not
+call her. I found her quite alone and lost at K&ouml;ln, and I did all I
+could to help her. I saved her a great deal of anxiety and
+inconvenience. She was not above accepting my assistance; she confided
+her story very freely to me; she is nothing very particular&mdash;has nothing
+to boast of&mdash;no money, no knowledge, nothing superior; in fact, she is
+simple and ignorant to quite a surprising extent; but she has just cut
+me dead. What do you think of her?&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Until the curtain went up, I sat in torture. When the play began,
+however, even my discomfort vanished in my wonder at the spectacle. It
+was the first I had seen. Try to picture it, oh, worn-out and <i>blas&eacute;</i>
+frequenter of play and opera! Try to realize the feelings of an
+impressionable young person of seventeen when &#8220;Lohengrin&#8221; was revealed
+to her for the first time&mdash;Lohengrin, the mystic knight, with the
+glamour of eld upon him&mdash;Lohengrin, sailing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>in blue and silver like a
+dream, in his swan-drawn boat, stepping majestic forth, and speaking in
+a voice of purest melody, as he thanks the bird and dismisses it:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">&#8220;Dahin, woher mich trug dein Kahn<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Kehr wieder mir zu unserm Gl&uuml;ck!<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Drum sei getreu dein Dienst gethan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Leb wohl, leb wohl, mein lieber Schwan.&#8221;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Elsa, with the wonder, the gratitude, the love, and alas! the weakness
+in her eyes! The astonished Brabantine men and women. They could not
+have been more astonished than I was. It was all perfectly real to me.
+What did I know about the stage? To me, yonder figure in blue mantle and
+glittering armor was Lohengrin, the son of Percivale, not Herr Siegel,
+the first tenor of the company, who acted stiffly, and did not know what
+to do with his legs. The lady in black velvet and spangles, who
+gesticulated in a corner, was an &#8220;Edelfrau&#8221; to me, as the programme
+called her, not the chorus leader, with two front teeth missing, an
+inartistically made-up countenance, and large feet. I sat through the
+first act with my eyes riveted upon the stage. What a thrill shot
+through me as the tenor embraced the soprano, and warbled melodiously,
+&#8220;<i>Elsa, ich liebe Dich!</i>&#8221; My mouth and eyes were wide open, I have no
+doubt, till at last the curtain fell. With a long sigh I slowly brought
+my eyes down and &#8220;Lohengrin&#8221; vanished like a dream. There was Eugen
+Courvoisier standing up&mdash;he had resumed the old attitude&mdash;was twirling
+his mustache and surveying the company. Some of the other performers
+were leaving the orchestra by two little doors. If only he would go too!
+As I nervously contemplated a graceful indifferent remark to Herr
+Brinks, who sat next to me, I saw Courvoisier step forward. Was he,
+could he be going to speak to me? I should have deserved it, I knew, but
+I felt as if I should die under the ordeal. I sat preternaturally still,
+and watched, as if mesmerized, the approach of the musician. He spoke
+again to the young man whom I had seen before, and they both laughed.
+Perhaps he had confided the whole story to him, and was telling him to
+observe what he was going to do. Then Herr Courvoisier tapped the young
+man on the shoulder and laughed again, and then he came on. He was not
+looking at me; he came up to the boarding, leaned his elbow upon it, and
+said to Eustace Vincent:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Good-evening: <i>wie geht&#8217;s Ihnen?</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Vincent held out his hand. &#8220;Very well, thanks. And you? I haven&#8217;t seen
+you lately.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then you haven&#8217;t been at the theater lately,&#8221; he laughed. He never
+testified to me by word or look that he had ever seen me before. At last
+I got to understand as his eyes repeatedly fell upon me without the
+slightest sign of recognition, that he did not intend to claim my
+acquaintance. I do not know whether I was most wretched or most relieved
+at the discovery. It spared me a great deal of embarrassment; it filled
+me, too, with inward shame beyond all description. And then, too, I was
+dismayed to find how totally I had mistaken the position of the
+musician. Vincent was talking eagerly to him. They had moved a little
+nearer the other end of the orchestra. The young man, Helfen, had come
+up, others had joined them. I, meanwhile, sat still&mdash;heard every tone of
+his voice, and took in every gesture of his head or his hand, and I felt
+as I trust never to feel again&mdash;and yet I lived in some such feeling as
+that for what at least seemed to me a long time. What was the feeling
+that clutched me&mdash;held me fast&mdash;seemed to burn me? And what was that I
+heard? Vincent speaking:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Last Thursday week, Courvoisier&mdash;why didn&#8217;t you come? We were waiting
+for you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I missed the train.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Until now he had been speaking German, but he said this distinctly in
+English and I heard every word.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Missed the train?&#8221; cried Vincent in his cracked voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nonsense, man! Helfen, here, and Alekotte were in time and they had
+been at the probe as much as you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was detained in K&ouml;ln and couldn&#8217;t get back till evening,&#8221; said he.
+&#8220;Come along, Friedel; there&#8217;s the call-bell.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I raised my eyes&mdash;met his. I do not know what expression was in mine.
+His never wavered, though he looked at me long and steadily&mdash;no glance
+of recognition&mdash;no sign still. I would have risked the astonishment of
+every one of them now, for a sign that he remembered me. None was given.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Lohengrin&#8221; had no more attraction for me. I felt in pain that was
+almost physical, and weak with excitement as at last the curtain fell
+and we left our places.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;You were very quiet,&#8221; said Vincent, as we walked home. &#8220;Did you not
+enjoy it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very much, thank you. It was very beautiful,&#8221; said I, faintly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So Herr Courvoisier was not at the <i>soir&eacute;e</i>,&#8221; said the loud, rough
+voice of Anna Sartorius.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; was all Vincent said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you have anything new? Was Herr von Francius there too?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; he was there too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I pondered. Brinks whistled loudly the air of Elsa&#8217;s &#8220;Brautzug,&#8221; as we
+paced across the Lindenall&eacute;e. We had not many paces to go. The lamps
+were lighted, the people were thronging thick as in the daytime. The air
+was full of laughter, talk, whistling and humming of the airs from the
+opera. My ear strained eagerly through the confusion. I could have
+caught the faintest sound of Courvoisier&#8217;s voice had it been there, but
+it was not. And we came home; Vincent opened the door with his
+latch-key, said, &#8220;It has not been very brilliant, has it? That tenor is
+a stick,&#8221; and we all went to our different rooms. It was in such wise
+that I met Eugen Courvoisier for the second time.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2>
+
+<h3>&#8220;Will you sing?&#8221;</h3>
+
+<p>The theater season closed with that evening on which &#8220;Lohengrin&#8221; was
+performed. I ran no risk of meeting Courvoisier face to face again in
+that alarming, sudden manner. But the subject had assumed diseased
+proportions in my mind. I found myself confronted with him yet, and week
+after week. My business in Elberthal was music&mdash;to learn as much music
+and hear as much music as I could: wherever there was music there was
+also Eugen Courvoisier&mdash;naturally. There was only one <i>st&auml;dtische
+Kapelle</i> in Elberthal. Once a week at least&mdash;each Saturday&mdash;I saw him,
+and he saw me at the unfailing instrumental concert to which every one
+in the house went, and to absent myself from which would instantly set
+every one wondering what could be my motive for it. My usual companions
+were Clara Steinmann, Vincent, the Englishman, and often Frau Steinmann
+herself. Anna Sartorius and some other girl students of art usually
+brought sketch-books, and were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>far too much occupied in making studies
+or caricatures of the audience to pay much attention to the music. The
+audience were, however, hardened; they were used to it. Anna and her
+friends were not alone in the practice. There were a dozen or more
+artists or <i>soi-disant</i> artists busily engaged with their sketch-books.
+The concert-room offered a rich field to them. One could at least be
+sure of one thing&mdash;that they were not taking off the persons at whom
+they looked most intently. There must be quite a gallery hidden away in
+some old sketch-books&mdash;of portraits or wicked caricatures of the
+audience that frequented the concerts of the Instrumental Musik Verein.
+I wonder where they all are? Who has them? What has become of the
+light-hearted sketchers? I often recall those homely Saturday evening
+concerts; the long, shabby saal with its faded out-of-date decorations;
+its rows of small tables with the well-known groups around them; the
+mixed and motley audience. How easy, after a little while, to pick out
+the English, by their look of complacent pleasure at the delightful ease
+and unceremoniousness of the whole affair; their gladness at finding a
+public entertainment where one&#8217;s clothes were not obliged to be selected
+with a view to outshining those of every one else in the room; the
+students shrouded in a mystery, secret and impenetrable, of tobacco
+smoke. The spruce-looking school-boys from the Gymnasium and Realschule,
+the old captains and generals, the Fr&auml;ulein their daughters, the
+<i>gn&auml;digen Frauen</i> their wives; dressed in the disastrous plaids, checks,
+and stripes, which somehow none but German women ever got hold of.
+Shades of Le Follet! What costumes there were on young and old for an
+observing eye! What bonnets, what boots, what stupendously daring
+accumulation of colors and styles and periods of dress crammed and piled
+on the person of one substantial Frau Generalin, or Doctorin or
+Professorin! The low orchestra&mdash;the tall, slight, yet commanding figure
+of von Francius on the estrade; his dark face with its indescribable
+mixture of pride, impenetrability and insouciance; the musicians behind
+him&mdash;every face of them well known to the audience as those of the
+audience to them: it was not a mere &#8220;concert,&#8221; which in England is
+another word for so much expense and so much vanity&mdash;it was a gathering
+of friends. We knew the music in which the Kapelle was most at home; we
+knew their strong points <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>and their weak ones; the passage in the
+Pastoral Symphony where the second violins were a little weak; that
+overture where the blaseninstrumente came out so well&mdash;the symphonies
+one heard&mdash;the divine wealth of undying art and beauty! Those days are
+past: despite what I suffered in them they had their joys for me. Yes; I
+suffered at those concerts. I must ever see the one face which for me
+blotted out all others in the room, and endure the silent contempt which
+I believed I saw upon it. Probably it was my own feeling of inward
+self-contempt which made me believe I saw that expression there. His
+face had for me a miserable, basilisk-like attraction. When I was there
+he was there, I must look at him and endure the silent, smiling disdain
+which I at least believed he bestowed upon me. How did he contrive to do
+it? How often our eyes met, and every time it happened he looked me full
+in the face, and never would give me the faintest gleam of recognition!
+It was as though I looked at two diamonds, which returned my stare
+unwinkingly and unseeingly. I managed to make myself thoroughly
+miserable&mdash;pale and thin with anxiety and self-reproach I let this man,
+and the speculation concerning him, take up my whole thoughts, and I
+kept silence, because I dreaded so intensely lest any question should
+bring out the truth. I smiled drearily when I thought that there
+certainly was no danger of any one but Miss Hallam ever knowing it, for
+the only person who could have betrayed me chose now, of deliberate
+purpose, to cut me as completely as I had once cut him.</p>
+
+<p>As if to show very decidedly that he did intend to cut me, I met him one
+day, not in the street, but in the house, on the stairs. He sprung up
+the steps, two at a time, came to a momentary pause on the landing, and
+looked at me. No look of surprise, none of recognition. He raised his
+hat; that was nothing; in ordinary politeness he would have done it had
+he never seen me in his life before. The same cold, bright, hard glance
+fell upon me, keen as an eagle&#8217;s, and as devoid of every gentle
+influence as the same.</p>
+
+<p>I silently held out my hand.</p>
+
+<p>He looked at it for a moment, then with a grave coolness which chilled
+me to the soul, murmured something about &#8220;not having the honor,&#8221; bowed
+slightly, and stepping forward, walked into Vincent&#8217;s room.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p><p>I was going to the room in which my piano stood, where I had my music
+lessons, for they had told me that Herr von Francius was waiting. I
+looked at him as I went into the room. How different he was from that
+other man; darker, more secret, more scornful-looking, with not less
+power, but so much less benevolence.</p>
+
+<p>I was <i>distrait</i>, and sung exceedingly ill. We had been going through
+the solo soprano parts of the &#8220;Paradise Lost.&#8221; I believe I sung vilely
+that morning. I was not thinking of Eva&#8217;s sin and the serpent, but of
+other things, which, despite the story related in the Book of Genesis,
+touched me more nearly. Several times already had he made me sing
+through Eva&#8217;s stammering answer to her God&#8217;s question:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">&#8220;Ah, Lord!... The Serpent!<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">The beautiful, glittering Serpent,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">With his beautiful, glittering words,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">He, Lord, did lead astray<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">The weak Woman!&#8221;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bah!&#8221; exclaimed von Francius, when I had sung it some three or four
+times, each time worse, each time more distractedly. He flung the music
+upon the floor, and his eyes flashed, startling me from my uneasy
+thoughts back to the present. He was looking at me with a dark cloud
+upon his face. I stared, stooped meekly, and picked up the music.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fr&auml;ulein, what are you dreaming about?&#8221; he asked, impatiently. &#8220;You are
+not singing Eva&#8217;s shame and dawning terror as she feels herself undone.
+You are singing&mdash;and badly, too&mdash;a mere sentimental song, such as any
+school-girl might stumble through. I am ashamed of you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;I,&#8221; stammered I, crimsoning, and ashamed for myself too.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You were thinking of something else,&#8221; he said, his brow clearing a
+little. &#8220;<i>Na!</i> it comes so sometimes. Something has happened to distract
+your attention. The amiable Miss Hallam has been a little <i>more</i> amiable
+than usual.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, well. &#8217;<i>S ist mir egal.</i> But now, as you have wasted half an hour
+in vanity and vexation, will you be good enough to let your thoughts
+return here to me and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>to your duty? or else&mdash;I must go, and leave the
+lesson till you are in the right voice again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am all right&mdash;try me,&#8221; said I, my pride rising in arms as I thought
+of Courvoisier&#8217;s behavior a short time ago.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very well. Now. You are Eva, please remember, the first woman, and you
+have gone wrong. Think of who is questioning you, and&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes, yes, I know. Please begin.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He began the accompaniment, and I sung for the fifth time Eva&#8217;s
+scattered notes of shame and excuse.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Brava!&#8221; said he, when I had finished, and I was the more startled as he
+had never before given me the faintest sign of approval, but had found
+such constant fault with me that I usually had a fit of weeping after my
+lesson; weeping with rage and disappointment at my own shortcomings.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At last you know what it means,&#8221; said he. &#8220;I always told you your forte
+was dramatic singing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dramatic! But this is an oratorio.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It may be called an oratorio, but it is a drama all the same. What more
+dramatic, for instance, than what you have just sung, and all that goes
+before? Now suppose we go on. I will take Adam.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Having given myself up to the music, I sung my best with earnestness.
+When we had finished von Francius closed the book, looked at me, and
+said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you sing the &#8216;Eva&#8217; music at the concert?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He bowed silently, and still kept his eyes fixed upon my face, as if to
+say, &#8220;Refuse if you dare.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;I&#8217;m afraid I should make such a mess of it,&#8221; I murmured at last.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why any more than to-day?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh! but all the people!&#8221; said I, expostulating; &#8220;it is so different.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He gave a little laugh of some amusement.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How odd! and yet how like you!&#8221; said he. &#8220;Do you suppose that the
+people who will be at the concert will be half as much alive to your
+defects as I am? If you can sing before me, surely you can sing before
+so many rows of&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Cabbages? I wish I could think they were.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Nonsense! What would be the use, where the pleasure, in singing to
+cabbages? I mean simply inhabitants of Elberthal. What can there be so
+formidable about them?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I murmured something.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, will you do it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am sure I should break down,&#8221; said I, trying to find some sign of
+relenting in his eyes. I discovered none. He was not waiting to hear
+whether I said &#8220;yes&#8221; or &#8220;no,&#8221; he was waiting until I said &#8220;yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you did,&#8221; he replied, with a friendly smile, &#8220;I should never teach
+you another note.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because you would be a coward, and not worth teaching.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But Miss Hallam?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Leave her to me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I still hesitated.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is the <i>premier pas qui co&ucirc;te</i>,&#8221; said he, keeping a friendly but
+determined gaze upon my undecided face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want to accustom you to appearing in public,&#8221; he added. &#8220;By degrees,
+you know. There is nothing unusual in Germany for one in your position
+to sing in such a concert.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was not thinking of that; but that it is impossible that I can sing
+well enough&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You sing well enough for my purpose. You will be amazed to find what an
+impetus to your studies, and what a filip to your industry will be given
+by once singing before a number of other people. And then, on the
+stage&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I am not going on the stage.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think you are. At least, if you do otherwise you will do wrong. You
+have gifts which are in themselves a responsibility.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;gifts&mdash;what gifts?&#8221; I asked, incredulously. &#8220;I am as stupid as a
+donkey. My sisters always said so, and sisters are sure to know; you may
+trust them for that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then you will take the soprano solos?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think I can?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t think you can; I say you must. I will call upon Miss Hallam
+this afternoon. And the <i>gage</i>&mdash;fee&mdash;what you call it?&mdash;is fifty
+thalers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;What!&#8221; I cried, my whole attitude changing to one of greedy
+expectation. &#8220;Shall I be paid?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, <i>nat&uuml;rlich</i>,&#8221; said he, turning over sheets of music, and averting
+his face to hide a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh! then I will sing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good! Only please to remember that it is my concert, and I am
+responsible for the soloists; and pray think rather more about the
+beautiful glittering serpent than about the beautiful glittering
+thalers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can think about both,&#8221; was my unholy, time-serving reply.</p>
+
+<p>Fifty thalers. Untold gold!</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2>
+
+<h3>&#8220;Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter.&#8221;</h3>
+
+<p>It was the evening of the haupt-probe, a fine moonlight night in the
+middle of May&mdash;a month since I had come to Elberthal, and it seemed so
+much, so very much more.</p>
+
+<p>To my astonishment&mdash;and far from agreeable astonishment&mdash;Anna Sartorius
+informed me of her intention to accompany me to the probe. I put
+objections in her way as well as I knew how, and said I did not think
+outsiders were admitted. She laughed, and said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is too funny, that you should instruct me in such things. Why, I
+have a ticket for all the proben, as any one can have who chooses to pay
+two thalers at the <i>sasse</i>. I have a mind to hear this. They say the
+orchestra are going to rebel against von Francius. And I am going to the
+concert to-morrow, too. One can not hear too much of such fine music;
+and when one&#8217;s friend sings, too&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What friend of yours is going to sing?&#8221; I inquired, coldly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, you, you <i>allerliebster kleiner Engel</i>,&#8221; said she, in a tone of
+familiarity, to which I strongly objected.</p>
+
+<p>I could say no more against her going, but certainly displayed no
+enthusiastic desire for her company.</p>
+
+<p>The probe, we found, was to be in the great saal; it was half lighted,
+and there were perhaps some fifty people, holders of probe-tickets,
+seated in the parquet.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are going to sing well to-night,&#8221; said von Francius, as he handed
+me up the steps&mdash;&#8220;for my sake and your own, <i>nicht wahr</i>?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I will try,&#8221; said, I, looking round the great orchestra, and seeing how
+full it was&mdash;so many fresh faces, both in chorus and orchestra.</p>
+
+<p>And as I looked, I saw Courvoisier come in by the little door at the top
+of the orchestra steps and descend to his place. His face was
+clouded&mdash;very clouded; I had never seen him look thus before. He had no
+smile for those who greeted him. As he took his place beside Helfen, and
+the latter asked him some question, he stared absently at him, then
+answered with a look of absence and weariness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr Courvoisier,&#8221; said von Francius&mdash;and I, being near, heard the
+whole dialogue&mdash;&#8220;you always allow yourself to be waited for.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Courvoisier glanced up. I with a new, sudden interest, watched the
+behavior of the two men. In the face of von Francius I thought to
+discover dislike, contempt.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon; I was detained,&#8221; answered Courvoisier, composedly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is unfortunate that you should be so often detained at the time when
+your work should be beginning.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Unmoved and unchanging, Courvoisier heard and submitted to the words,
+and to the tone in which they were spoken&mdash;sarcastic, sneering, and
+unbelieving.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now we will begin,&#8221; pursued von Francius, with a disagreeable smile, as
+he rapped with his baton upon the rail. I looked at Courvoisier&mdash;looked
+at his friend, Friedhelm Helfen. The former was sitting as quietly as
+possible, rather pale, and with the same clouded look, but not deeper
+than before; the latter was flushed, and eyed von Francius with no
+friendly glance.</p>
+
+<p>There seemed a kind of slumbering storm in the air. There was none of
+the lively discussion usual at the proben. Courvoisier, first of the
+first violins, and from whom all the others seemed to take their tone,
+sat silent, grave and still. Von Francius, though quiet, was biting. I
+felt afraid of him. Something must have happened to put him into that
+evil mood.</p>
+
+<p>My part did not come until late in the second part of the oratorio. I
+had almost forgotten that I was to sing at all, and was watching von
+Francius and listening to his sharp speeches. I remembered what Anna
+Sartorius had said in describing this haupt-probe to me. It was all just
+as she had said. He was severe; his speeches roused the phlegmatic
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>blood, set the professional instrumentalists laughing at their amateur
+co-operators, but provoked no reply or resentment. It was extraordinary,
+the effect of this man&#8217;s will upon those he had to do with&mdash;upon women
+in particular.</p>
+
+<p>There was one haughty-looking blonde&mdash;a Swede&mdash;tall, majestic, with long
+yellow curls, and a face full of pride and high temper, who gave herself
+decided airs, and trusted to her beauty and insolence to carry off
+certain radical defects of harshness of voice and want of ear. I never
+forgot how she stared me down from head to foot on the occasion of my
+first appearance alone, as if to say, &#8220;What do you want here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was in vain that she looked haughty and handsome. Addressing her as
+Fr&auml;ulein Hulstrom, von Francius gave her a sharp lecture, and imitated
+the effect of her voice in a particularly soft passage with ludicrous
+accuracy. The rest of the chorus was tittering audibly, the musicians,
+with the exception of Courvoisier and his friend, nudging each other and
+smiling. She bridled haughtily, flashed a furious glance at her mentor,
+grew crimson, received a sarcastic smile which baffled her, and subsided
+again.</p>
+
+<p>So it was with them all. His blame was plentiful; his praise so rare as
+to be almost an unknown quantity. His chorus and orchestra were famed
+for the minute perfection and precision of their play and singing.
+Perhaps the performance lacked something else&mdash;passion, color. Von
+Francius, at that time at least, was no genius, though his talent, his
+power, and his method were undeniably great. He was, however, not
+popular&mdash;not the Harold, the &#8220;beloved leader&#8221; of his people.</p>
+
+<p>It was to-night that I was first shown how all was not smooth for him;
+that in this art union there were splits&mdash;&#8220;little rifts within the
+lute,&#8221; which, should they extend, might literally in the end &#8220;make the
+music mute.&#8221; I heard whispers around me. &#8220;Herr von Francius is
+angry.&#8221;&mdash;&#8220;<i>Nicht wahr</i>?&#8221;&mdash;&#8220;Herr Courvoisier looks angry too.&#8221;&mdash;&#8220;Yes, he
+does.&#8221;&mdash;&#8220;There will be an open quarrel there soon.&#8221;&mdash;&#8220;I think
+so.&#8221;&mdash;&#8220;They are both clever; one should be less clever than the
+other.&#8221;&mdash;&#8220;They are so opposed.&#8221;&mdash;&#8220;Yes. They say Courvoisier has a party
+of his own, and that all the orchestra are on his side.&#8221;&mdash;&#8220;So!&#8221; in
+accents of curiosity and astonishment&mdash;&#8220;<i>Ja <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>wohl!</i> And that if von
+Francius does not mind, he will see Herr Courvoisier in his place,&#8221;
+etc., etc., without end. All which excited me much, as the first glimpse
+into the affairs of those about whom we think much and know little (a
+form of life well known to women in general) always does interest us.</p>
+
+<p>These things made me forget to be nervous or anxious. I saw myself now
+as part of the whole, a unit in the sum of a life which interested me.
+Von Francius gave me a sign of approval when I had finished, but it was
+a mechanical one. He was thinking of other things.</p>
+
+<p>The probe was over. I walked slowly down the room looking for Anna
+Sartorius, more out of politeness than because I wished for her company.
+I was relieved to find that she had already gone, probably not finding
+all the entertainment she expected, and I was able, with a good
+conscience, to take my way home alone.</p>
+
+<p>My way home! not yet. I was to live through something before I could
+take my way home.</p>
+
+<p>I went out of the large saal through the long veranda into the street. A
+flood of moonlight silvered it. There was a laughing, chattering crowd
+about me&mdash;all the chorus; men and girls, going to their homes or their
+lodgings, in ones or twos, or in large cheerful groups. Almost opposite
+the Tonhalle was a tall house, one of a row, and of this house the
+lowest floor was used as a shop for antiquities, curiosities, and a
+thousand odds and ends useful or beautiful to artists, costumes, suits
+of armor, old china, anything and everything. The window was yet
+lighted. As I paused for a moment before taking my homeward way, I saw
+two men cross the moonlit street and go in at the open door of the shop.
+One was Courvoisier; in the other I thought to recognize Friedhelm
+Helfen, but was not quite sure about it. They did not go into the shop,
+as I saw by the bright large lamp that burned within, but along the
+passage and up the stairs. I followed them, resolutely beating down
+shyness, unwillingness, timidity. My reluctant steps took me to the
+window of the antiquity shop, and I stood looking in before I could make
+up my mind to enter. Bits of rococo ware stood in the window, majolica
+jugs, chased metal dishes and bowls, bits of Renaissance work, tapestry,
+carpet, a helm with the vizor up, gaping at me as if tired of being
+there. I slowly drew my purse <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>from my pocket, put together three
+thalers and a ten groschen piece, and with lingering, unwilling steps,
+entered the shop. A pretty young woman in a quaint dress, which somehow
+harmonized with the place, came forward. She looked at me as if
+wondering what I could possibly want. My very agitation gave calmness to
+my voice as I inquired,</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Does Herr Courvoisier, a musiker, live here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ja wohl!</i>&#8221; answered the young woman, with a look of still greater
+surprise. &#8220;On the third <i>&eacute;tage</i>, straight upstairs. The name is on the
+door.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I turned away, and went slowly up the steep wooden uncarpeted staircase.
+On the first landing a door opened at the sound of my footsteps, and a
+head was popped out&mdash;a rough, fuzzy head, with a pale, eager-looking
+face under the bush of hair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ugh!&#8221; said the owner of this amiable visage, and shut the door with a
+bang. I looked at the plate upon it; it bore the legend, &#8220;Hermann
+Duntze, Maler.&#8221; To the second <i>&eacute;tage</i>. Another door&mdash;another plate:
+&#8220;Bernhardt Knoop, Maler.&#8221; The house seemed to be a resort of artists.
+There was a lamp burning on each landing; and now, at last, with breath
+and heart alike failing, I ascended the last flight of stairs, and found
+myself upon the highest <i>&eacute;tage</i> before another door, on which was
+roughly painted up, &#8220;Eugen Courvoisier.&#8221; I looked at it with my heart
+beating suffocatingly. Some one had scribbled in red chalk beneath the
+Christian name, &#8220;Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter.&#8221; Had it been done in jest
+or earnest? I wondered, and then knocked. Such a knock!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Herein!</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I opened the door, and stepped into a large, long, low room. On the
+table, in the center, burned a lamp, and sitting there, with the light
+falling upon his earnest young face, was Helfen, the violinist, and near
+to him sat Courvoisier, with a child upon his knee, a little lad with
+immense dark eyes, tumbled black hair, and flushed, just awakened face.
+He was clad in his night-dress and a little red dressing-gown, and
+looked like a spot of almost feverish, quite tropic brightness in
+contrast with the grave, pale face which bent over him. Courvoisier held
+the two delicate little hands in one of his own, and was looking down
+with love unutterable upon the beautiful, dazzling child-face. Despite
+the different complexion and a different <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>style of feature too, there
+was so great a likeness in the two faces, particularly in the broad,
+noble brow, as to leave no doubt of the relationship. My musician and
+the boy were father and son.</p>
+
+<p>Courvoisier looked up as I came in. For one half moment there leaped
+into his eyes a look of surprise and of something more. If it had lasted
+a second longer I could have sworn it was welcome&mdash;then it was gone. He
+rose, turned the child over to Helfen, saying, &#8220;One moment, Friedel,&#8221;
+then turned to me as to some stranger who had come on an errand as yet
+unknown to him, and did not speak. The little one, from Helfen&#8217;s knee,
+stared at me with large, solemn eyes, and Helfen himself looked scarcely
+less impressed.</p>
+
+<p>I have no doubt I looked frightened&mdash;I felt so&mdash;frightened out of my
+senses. I came tremulously forward, and offering my pieces of silver,
+said, in the smallest voice which I had ever used:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have come to pay my debt. I did not know where you lived, or I should
+have done it long before.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He made no motion to take the money, but said&mdash;I almost started, so
+altered was the voice from that of my frank companion at K&ouml;ln, to an icy
+coldness of ceremony:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>, I do not understand.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You&mdash;you&mdash;the things you paid for. Do you not remember me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Remember a lady who has intimated that she wishes me to forget her? No,
+I do not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>What a horribly complicated revenge! thought I, as I said, ever lower
+and lower, more and more shamedfacedly, while the young violinist sat
+with the child on his knee, and his soft brown eyes staring at me in
+wonder:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think you must remember. You helped me at K&ouml;ln, and you paid for my
+ticket to Elberthal, and for something that I had at the hotel. You told
+me that was what I owed you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I again tendered the money; again he made no effort to receive it, but
+said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am sorry that I do not understand to what you refer. I only know it
+is impossible that I could ever have told you you owed me three thalers,
+or three anything, or that there could, under any circumstances, be any
+question <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>of money between you and me. Suppose we consider the topic at
+an end.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Such a voice of ice, and such a manner, to chill the boldest heart, I
+had never yet encountered. The cool, unspeakable disdain cut me to the
+quick.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have no right to refuse the money,&#8221; said I, desperately. &#8220;You have
+no right to insult me by&mdash;by&mdash;&#8221; An appropriate peroration refused
+itself.</p>
+
+<p>Again the sweet, proud, courteous smile; not only courteous, but
+courtly; again the icy little bow of the head, which would have done
+credit to a prince in displeasure, and which yet had the deference due
+from a gentleman to a lady.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will excuse the semblance of rudeness which may appear if I say
+that if you unfortunately are not of a very decided disposition, I am.
+It is impossible that I should ever have the slightest intercourse with
+a lady who has once unequivocally refused my acquaintance. The lady may
+honor me by changing her mind; I am sorry that I can not respond. I do
+not change my mind.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must let us part on equal terms,&#8221; I reiterated. &#8220;It is unjust&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yourself closed all possibility of the faintest attempt at further
+acquaintance, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>. The matter is at an end.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr Courvoisier, I&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At an end,&#8221; he repeated, calmly, gently, looking at me as he had often
+looked at me since the night of &#8220;Lohengrin,&#8221; with a glance that baffled
+and chilled me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish to apologize&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For what?&#8221; he inquired, with the faintest possible look of indifferent
+surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For my rudeness&mdash;my surprise&mdash;I&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You refer to one evening at the opera. You exercised your privilege, as
+a lady, of closing an acquaintance which you did not wish to renew. I
+now exercise mine, as a gentleman, of saying that I choose to abide by
+that decision, now and always.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I was surprised. Despite my own apologetic frame of mind, I was
+surprised at his hardness; at the narrowness and ungenerosity which
+could so determinedly shut the door in the face of an humble penitent
+like me. He must see how I had repented the stupid slip I had made; he
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>must see how I desired to atone for it. It was not a slip of the kind
+one would name irreparable, and yet he behaved to me as if I had
+committed a crime; froze me with looks and words. Was he so
+self-conscious and so vain that he could not get over that small slight
+to his self-consequence, committed in haste and confusion by an ignorant
+girl? Even then, even in that moment I asked myself these questions, my
+astonishment being almost as great as my pain, for it was the very
+reverse, the very opposite of what I had pictured to myself. Once let me
+see him and speak to him, I had said to myself, and it would be all
+right; every lineament of his face, every tone of his voice, bespoke a
+frank, generous nature&mdash;one that could forgive. Alas! and alas! this was
+the truth!</p>
+
+<p>He had come to the door; he stood by it now, holding it open, looking at
+me so courteously, so deferentially, with a manner of one who had been a
+gentleman and lived with gentlemen all his life, but in a way which at
+the same time ordered me out as plainly as possible.</p>
+
+<p>I went to the door. I could no longer stand under that chilling glance,
+nor endure the cool, polished contempt of the manner. I behaved by no
+means heroically; neither flung my head back, nor muttered any defiance,
+nor in any way proved myself a person of spirit. All I could do was to
+look appealingly into his face; to search the bright, steady eyes,
+without finding in them any hint of softening or relenting.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you not take it, please?&#8221; I asked, in a quivering voice and with
+trembling lips.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Impossible, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>,&#8221; with the same chilly little bow as
+before.</p>
+
+<p>Struggling to repress my tears, I said no more, but passed out, cut to
+the heart. The door was closed gently behind me. I felt as if it had
+closed upon a bright belief of my youth. I leaned for a moment against
+the passage wall and pressed my hand against my eyes. From within came
+the sound of a child&#8217;s voice, &#8220;<i>Mein vater</i>,&#8221; and the soft, deep murmur
+of Eugen&#8217;s answer; then I went down-stairs and into the open street.</p>
+
+<p>That hated, hateful three thalers ten groschen were still clasped in my
+hand. What was I to do with it? Throw it into the Rhine, and wash it
+away forever? Give it to some one in need? Fling it into the gutter?
+Send it him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>by post? I dismissed that idea for what it was worth. No; I
+would obey his prohibition. I would keep it&mdash;those very coins, and when
+I felt inclined to be proud and conceited about anything on my own
+account, or disposed to put down superhuman charms to the account of
+others, I would go and look at them, and they would preach me eloquent
+sermons.</p>
+
+<p>As I went into the house, up the stairs to my room, the front door
+opened again and Anna Sartorius overtook me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought you had left the probe?&#8221; said I, staring at her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So I had, <i>Herzchen</i>,&#8221; said she, with her usual ambiguous, mocking
+laugh; &#8220;but I was not compelled to come home, like a good little girl,
+the moment I came out of the Tonhalle. I have been visiting a friend.
+But where have you been, for the probe must have been over for some
+time? We heard the people go past; indeed, some of them were staying in
+the house where I was. Did you take a walk in the moonlight?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good-night,&#8221; said I, too weary and too indifferent even to answer her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It must have been a tiring walk; you seem weary, quite <i>erm&uuml;det</i>,&#8221; said
+she, mockingly, and I made no answer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A haupt-probe is a dismal thing after all,&#8221; she called out to me from
+the top of the stairs.</p>
+
+<p>From my inmost heart I agreed with her.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>KAFFEEKLATSCH.</h3>
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;<i>Phillis.</i> I want none o&#8217; thy friendship!</span></p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Lesbia.</i> Then take my enmity!&#8221;</span></p></div>
+
+<p>&#8220;When a number of ladies meet together to discuss matters of importance,
+we call it &#8216;Kaffeeklatsch,&#8217;&#8221; Courvoisier had said to me on that
+never-forgotten afternoon of my adventure at K&ouml;ln.</p>
+
+<p>It was my first kaffeeklatsch which, in a measure, decided my destiny.
+Hitherto, that is, up to the end of June, I had not been at any
+entertainment of this kind. At last there came an invitation to Frau
+Steinmann and to Anna Sartorius, to assist at a &#8220;coffee&#8221; of unusual
+magnitude, and Frau Steinmann suggested that I should go with them and
+see what it was like. Nothing loath, I consented.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bring some work,&#8221; said Anna Sartorius to me, &#8220;or you will find it
+<i>langweilig</i>&mdash;slow, I mean.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Shall we not have some music?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Music, yes, the sweetest of all&mdash;that of our own tongues. You shall
+hear every one&#8217;s candid opinion of every one else&mdash;present company
+always excepted, and you will see what the state of Elberthal society
+really is&mdash;present company still excepted. By a very strange chance the
+ladies who meet at a klatsch are always good, pious, virtuous, and,
+above all, charitable. It is wonderful how well we manage to keep the
+black sheep out, and have nothing but lambs immaculate.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, don&#8217;t!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, bah! I know the Elberthal <i>Klatscherei</i>. It has picked me to pieces
+many a time. After you have partaken to-day of its coffee and its cakes,
+it will pick you to pieces.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But,&#8221; said I, arranging the ruffles of my very best frock, which I had
+been told it was <i>de rigueur</i> to wear, &#8220;I thought women never gossiped
+so much among men.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius laughed loud and long.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The men! <i>Du meine G&uuml;te!</i> Men at a kaffeeklatsch! Show me the one that
+a man dare even look into, and I&#8217;ll crown you&mdash;and him too&mdash;with laurel,
+and bay, and the wild parsley. A man at a kaffee&mdash;<i>mag Gott es
+bewahren!</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221; said I, half disappointed, and with a very poor, mean sense of
+dissatisfaction at having put on my pretty new dress for the first time
+only for the edification of a number of virulent gossips.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Men!&#8221; she reiterated with a harsh laugh as we walked toward the
+Goldsternstrasse, our destination. &#8220;Men&mdash;no. We despise their company,
+you see. We only talk about them directly or indirectly from the moment
+of meeting to that of parting.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry there are no gentlemen,&#8221; said I, and I was. I felt I looked
+well.</p>
+
+<p>Arrived at the scene of the kaffee, we were conducted to a bedroom where
+we laid aside our hats and mantles. I was standing before the glass,
+drawing a comb through my upturned hair, and contemplating with
+irrepressible satisfaction the delicate lavender hue of my dress, when I
+suddenly saw reflected behind me the dark, harshly cut face of Anna
+Sartorius. She started slightly; then said, with a laugh which had in it
+something a little forced:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We are a contrast, aren&#8217;t we? Beauty and the Beast, one might almost
+say. <i>Na!</i> &#8217;<i>s schad</i>&#8217;<i>t nix.</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I turned away in a little offended pride. Her familiarity annoyed me.
+What if she were a thousand times cleverer, wittier, better read than I?
+I did not like her. A shade crossed her face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is it that you are thoroughly unamiable?&#8221; said she, in a voice which
+had reproach in it, &#8220;or are all English girls so touchy that they
+receive a compliment upon their good looks as if it were an offense?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish you would not talk of my &#8216;good looks&#8217; as if I were a dog or a
+horse!&#8221; said I, angrily. &#8220;I hate to be flattered. I am no beauty, and do
+not wish to be treated as if I were.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you always hate it?&#8221; said she from the window, whither she had
+turned. &#8220;<i>Ach!</i> there goes Herr Courvoisier!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The name startled me like a sudden report. I made an eager step forward
+before I had time to recollect myself&mdash;then stopped.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is not out of sight yet,&#8221; said she, with a curious look, &#8220;if you
+wish to see him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I sat down and made no answer. What prompted her to talk in such a
+manner? Was it a mere coincidence?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is a handsome fellow, <i>nicht wahr</i>?&#8221; she said, still watching me,
+while I thought Frau Steinmann never would manage to arrange her cap in
+the style that pleased her. &#8220;But a <i>Taugenichts</i> all the same,&#8221; pursued
+Anna as I did not speak. &#8220;Don&#8217;t you think so?&#8221; she added.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A <i>Taugenichts</i>&mdash;I don&#8217;t know what that is.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What you call a good-for-nothing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Nicht wahr?</i>&#8221; she persisted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know nothing about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do. I will tell you all about him some time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t wish to know anything about him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So!&#8221; said she, with a laugh.</p>
+
+<p>Without further word or look I followed Frau Steinmann down-stairs.</p>
+
+<p>The lady of the house was seated in the midst of a large concourse of
+old and young ladies, holding her own with a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>well-seasoned hardihood in
+the midst of the awful Babel of tongues. What a noise! It smote upon and
+stunned my confounded ear. Our hostess advanced and led me with a wave
+of the hand into the center of the room, when she introduced me to about
+a dozen ladies: and every one in the room stopped talking and working,
+and stared at me intently and unwinkingly until my name had been
+pronounced, after which some continued still to stare at me, and
+commenting openly upon it. Meanwhile I was conducted to a sofa at the
+end of the room, and requested in a set phrase, &#8220;<i>Bitte, Fr&auml;ulein,
+nehmen sie platz auf dem sofa</i>,&#8221; with which long custom has since made
+me familiar, to take my seat upon it. I humbly tried to decline the
+honor, but Anna Sartorius, behind me, whispered:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sit down directly, unless you want to be thought an utter barbarian.
+The place has been kept for you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Deeply impressed, and very uncomfortable, I sat down. First one and then
+another came and spoke and talked to me. Their questions and remarks
+were much in this style:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you like Elberthal? What is your Christian name? How old are you?
+Have you been or are you engaged to be married? They break off
+engagements in England for a mere trifle, don&#8217;t they? <i>Schrecklich!</i> Did
+you get your dress in Elberthal? What did it cost the <i>elle</i>? Young
+English ladies wear silk much more than young German ladies. You never
+go to the theater on Sunday in England&mdash;you are all <i>pietistisch</i>. How
+beautifully you speak our language! Really no foreign accent!&#8221; (This
+repeatedly and unblushingly, in spite of my most flagrant mistakes, and
+in the face of my most feeble, halting, and stammering efforts to make
+myself understood.) &#8220;Do you learn music? singing? From whom? Herr von
+Francius? <i>Ach, so!</i>&#8221; (Pause, while they all look impressively at me.
+The very name of von Francius calls up emotions of no common order.) &#8220;I
+believe I have seen you at the proben to the &#8216;Paradise Lost.&#8217; Perhaps
+you are the lady who is to take the solos? Yes! <i>Du lieber Himmel!</i> What
+do you think of Herr von Francius? Is he not nice?&#8221; (<i>Nett</i>, though,
+signifies something feminine and finikin.) &#8220;No? How odd! There is no
+accounting for the tastes of English women. Do you know many people in
+Elberthal? No? <i>Schade!</i> No officers? not Hauptmann Sachse?&#8221; (with voice
+growing gradually shriller), &#8220;nor Lieutenant Pieper? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>Not know
+Lieutenant Pieper! <i>Um Gotteswillen!</i> What do you mean? He is so
+handsome! such eyes! such a mustache! <i>Herrgott!</i> And you do not know
+him? I will tell you something. When he went off to the autumn maneuvers
+at Frankfort (I have it on good authority), twenty young ladies went to
+see him off.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Disgusting!&#8221; I exclaimed, unable to control my feelings any longer. I
+saw Anna Sartorius malignantly smiling as she rocked herself in an
+American rocking-chair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How! disgusting? You are joking. He had dozens of bouquets. All the
+girls are in love with him. They compelled the photographer to sell them
+his photograph, and they all believe he is in love with them. I believe
+Luise Breidenstein will die if he doesn&#8217;t propose to her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They ought to be ashamed of themselves.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But he is so handsome, so delightful. He dances divinely, and knows
+such good riddles, and acts&mdash;<i>ach, himmlisch!</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But how absurd to make such a fuss of him!&#8221; I cried, hot and indignant.
+&#8220;The idea of going on so about a man!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A chorus, a shriek, a Babel of expostulations.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Listen, Thekla! Fr&auml;ulein Wedderburn does not know Lieutenant Pieper,
+and does not think it right to <i>schw&auml;rm</i> for him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The darling! No one can help it who knows him!&#8221; said another.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let her wait till she does know him,&#8221; said Thekla, a sentimental young
+woman, pretty in a certain sentimental way, and graceful too&mdash;also
+sentimentally&mdash;with the sentiment that lingers about young ladies&#8217;
+albums with leaves of smooth, various-hued note-paper, and about the
+sonnets which nestle within the same. There was a sudden shriek:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There he goes! There is the Herr Lieutenant riding by. Just come here,
+<i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>! See him! Judge for yourself!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A strong hand dragged me, whether I would or not, to the window, and
+pointed out to me the Herr Lieutenant riding by. An adorable creature in
+a Hussar uniform; he had pink cheeks and a straight nose, and the
+loveliest little model of a mustache ever seen; tightly curling black
+hair, and the dearest little feet and hands imaginable.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, the dear, handsome, delightful follow!&#8221; cried one <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>enthusiastic
+young creature, who had scrambled upon a chair in the background and was
+gazing after him while another, behind me, murmured in tones of emotion:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Look how he salutes&mdash;divine, isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I turned away, smiling an irrepressible smile. My musician, with his
+ample traits and clear, bold eyes, would have looked a wild, rough,
+untamable creature by the side of that wax-doll beauty&mdash;that pretty
+little being who had just ridden by. I thought I saw them side by
+side&mdash;Herr Lieutenant Pieper and Eugen Courvoisier. The latter would
+have been as much more imposing than the former as an oak is more
+imposing than a spruce fir&mdash;as Gluck than Lortzing. And could these
+enthusiastic young ladies have viewed the two they would have been true
+to their lieutenant; so much was certain. They would have said that the
+other was a wild man, who did not cut his hair often enough, who had
+large hands, whose collar was perhaps chosen more with a view to ease
+and the free movement of the throat than to the smallest number of
+inches within which it was possible to confine that throat; who did not
+wear polished kid boots, and was not seen off from the station by twenty
+devoted admirers of the opposite sex, was not deluged with bouquets.
+With a feeling as of something singing at my heart I went back to my
+place, smiling still.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;See! she is quite charmed with the Herr Lieutenant! Is he not
+delightful?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, very; so is a Dresden china shepherd, but if you let him fall he
+breaks.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Wie komisch!</i> how odd!&#8221; was the universal comment upon my
+eccentricity. The conversation had wandered off to other military stars,
+all of whom were <i>reizend</i>, <i>h&uuml;bsch</i>, or <i>nett</i>. So it went on until I
+got heartily tired of it, and then the ladies discussed their female
+neighbors, but I leave that branch of the subject to the intelligent
+reader. It was the old tune with the old variations, which were rattled
+over in the accustomed manner. I listened, half curious, half appalled,
+and thought of various speeches made by Anna Sartorius. Whether she were
+amiable or not, she had certainly a keen insight into the hearts and
+motives of her fellow-creatures. Perhaps the gift had soured her.</p>
+
+<p>Anna and I walked home alone. Frau Steinmann was, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>with other elderly
+ladies of the company, to spend the evening there. As we walked down the
+K&ouml;nigsall&eacute;e&mdash;how well to this day do I remember it! the chestnuts were
+beginning to fade, the road was dusty, the sun setting gloriously, the
+people thronging in crowds&mdash;she said suddenly, quietly, and in a tone of
+the utmost composure:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So you don&#8217;t admire Lieutenant Pieper so much as Herr Courvoisier?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean?&#8221; I cried, astonished, alarmed, and wondering what
+unlucky chance led her to talk to me of Eugen.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I mean what I say; and for my part I agree with you&mdash;partly.
+Courvoisier, bad though he may be, is a man; the other a mixture of doll
+and puppy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She spoke in a friendly tone; discursive, as if inviting confidence and
+comment on my part. I was not inclined to give either. I shrunk with
+morbid nervousness from owning to any knowledge of Eugen. My pride, nay,
+my very self-esteem, bled whenever I thought of him or heard him
+mentioned. Above all, I shrunk from the idea of discussing him, or
+anything pertaining to him, with Anna Sartorius.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It will be time for you to agree with me when I give you anything to
+agree about,&#8221; said I, coldly. &#8220;I know nothing of either of the
+gentlemen, and wish to know nothing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause. Looking up, I found Anna&#8217;s eyes fixed upon my face,
+amazed, reproachful. I felt myself blushing fierily. My tongue had led
+me astray; I had lied to her: I knew it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do not say you know nothing of either of the gentlemen. Herr
+Courvoisier was your first acquaintance in Elberthal.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What?&#8221; I cried, with a great leap of the heart, for I felt as if a veil
+had suddenly been rent away from before my eyes and I shown a precipice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I saw you arrive with Herr Courvoisier,&#8221; said Anna, calmly; &#8220;at least,
+I saw you come from the platform with him, and he put you into a drosky.
+And I saw you cut him at the opera; and I saw you go into his house
+after the general probe. Will you tell me again that you know nothing of
+him? I should have thought you too proud to tell lies.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I wish you would mind your own business,&#8221; said I, heartily wishing that
+Anna Sartorius were at the antipodes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Listen!&#8221; said she, very earnestly, and, I remember it now, though I did
+not heed it then, with wistful kindness. &#8220;I do not bear malice&mdash;you are
+so young and inexperienced. I wish you were more friendly, but I care
+for you too much to be rebuffed by a trifle. I will tell you about
+Courvoisier.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank you,&#8221; said I, hastily, &#8220;I beg you will do no such thing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know his story. I can tell you the truth about him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I decline to discuss the subject,&#8221; said I, thinking of Eugen, and
+passionately refusing the idea of discussing him, gossiping about him,
+with any one.</p>
+
+<p>Anna looked surprised; then a look of anger crossed her face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You can not be in earnest,&#8221; said she.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I assure you I am. I wish you would leave me alone,&#8221; I said,
+exasperated beyond endurance.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You don&#8217;t wish to know what I can tell you about him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I don&#8217;t. What is more, if you begin talking to me about him, I will
+put my fingers in my ears, and leave you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then you may learn it for yourself,&#8221; said she, suddenly, in a voice
+little more than a whisper. &#8220;You shall rue your treatment of me. And
+when you know the lesson by heart, then you will be sorry.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are officious and impertinent,&#8221; said I, white with ire. &#8220;I don&#8217;t
+wish for your society, and I will say good-evening to you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With that I turned down a side street leading into the All&eacute;estrasse, and
+left her.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+<p><span style="margin-left: 11em;">&#8220;So!<br /></span>
+Another chapter read; with doubtful hand<br />
+I turn the page, with doubtful eye I scan<br />
+The heading of the next.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>From that evening Anna let me alone, as I thought, and I was glad of it,
+nor did I attempt any reconciliation, for the very good reason that I
+wished for none.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span></p><p>Soon after our dispute I found upon my plate at breakfast, one morning,
+a letter directed in a bold though unformed hand, which I recognized as
+Stella&#8217;s:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;<span class="smcap">Dear May</span>,&mdash;I dare say Adelaide will be writing to you, but I will
+take time by the forelock, so to speak, and give you my views on
+the subject first.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is news, strange to say that there is some news to tell you.
+I shall give it without making any remarks. I shall not say whether
+I think it good, bad, or indifferent. Adelaide is engaged to Sir
+Peter Le Marchant. It was only made known two days ago. Adelaide
+thinks he is in love with her. What a strange mistake for her to
+make! She thinks she can do anything with him. Also a monstrous
+misapprehension on her part. Seriously, May, I am rather
+uncomfortable about it, or should be, if it were any one else but
+Adelaide. But she knows so remarkably well what she is about, that
+perhaps, after all, my fears are needless. And yet&mdash;but it is no
+use speculating about it&mdash;I said I wouldn&#8217;t.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She is a queer girl. I don&#8217;t know how she can marry Sir Peter, I
+must say. I suppose he is awfully rich, and Adelaide has always
+said that poverty was the most horrible thing in the world. I don&#8217;t
+know, I&#8217;m sure. I should be inclined to say that Sir Peter was the
+most horrible thing in the world. Write soon, and tell me what you
+think about it.</p></div>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">&#8220;Thine, speculatively,<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 19em;">&#8220;<span class="smcap">Stella Wedderburn</span>.</span>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I did not feel surprise at this letter. Foreboding, grief, shame, I did
+experience at finding that Adelaide was bent upon her own misery. But
+then, I reflected, she can not be very sensible to misery, or she would
+not be able to go through with such a purpose. I went upstairs to
+communicate this news to Miss Hallam. Soon the rapid movement of events
+in my own affairs completely drove thoughts of Adelaide for a time, at
+least, out of my mind.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Hallam received the information quietly and with a certain
+contemptuous indifference. I knew she did not like Adelaide, and I spoke
+of her as seldom as possible.</p>
+
+<p>I took up some work, glancing at the clock, for I expected von Francius
+soon to give me my lesson, and Miss Hallam sat still. I had offered to
+read to her, and she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>had declined. I glanced at her now and then. I had
+grown accustomed to that sarcastic, wrinkled, bitter face, and did not
+dislike it. Indeed, Miss Hallam had given me abundant proofs that,
+eccentric though she might be, pessimist in theory, merciless upon human
+nature, which she spoke of in a manner which sometimes absolutely
+appalled me, yet in fact, in deed, she was a warm-hearted, generous
+woman. She had dealt bountifully by me, and I knew she loved me, though
+she never said so.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May,&#8221; she presently remarked, &#8220;yesterday, when you were out, I saw
+Doctor Mittendorf.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you, Miss Hallam?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. He says it is useless my remaining here any longer. I shall never
+see, and an operation might cost me my life!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Half-stunned, and not yet quite taking in the whole case, I held my work
+suspended, and looked at her. She went on:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I knew it would be so when I came. I don&#8217;t intend to try any more
+experiments. I shall go home next week.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Now I grasped the truth.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Go home, Miss Hallam!&#8221; I repeated, faintly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, of course. There is no reason why I should stay, is there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;N&mdash;no, I suppose not,&#8221; I admitted; and contrived to stammer out, &#8220;and I
+am very sorry that Doctor Mittendorf thinks you will not be better.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then I left the room quickly&mdash;I could not stay, I was overwhelmed. It
+was scarcely ten minutes since I had come upstairs to her. I could have
+thought it was a week.</p>
+
+<p>Outside the room, I stood on the landing with my hand pressed to my
+forehead, for I felt somewhat bewildered. Stella&#8217;s letter was still in
+my hand. As I stood there Anna Sartorius came past.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Guten Tag, Fr&auml;ulein</i>,&#8221; said she, with a mocking kind of good-nature
+when she had observed me for a few minutes. &#8220;What is the matter? Are you
+ill? Have you had bad news?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good-morning, Fr&auml;ulein,&#8221; I answered, quietly enough, dropping my hand
+from my brow.</p>
+
+<p>I went to my room. A maid was there, and the furniture might have stood
+as a type of chaos. I turned away, and went to the empty room, in which
+my piano stood, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>and where I had my music lessons. I sat down upon a
+stool in the middle of the room, folded my hands in my lap, and
+endeavored to realize what had happened&mdash;what was going to happen. There
+rang in my head nothing but the words, &#8220;I am going home next week.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Home again! What a blank yawned before me at the idea! Leave
+Elberthal&mdash;leave this new life which had just begun to grow real to me!
+Leave it&mdash;go away; be whirled rapidly away back to Skernford&mdash;away from
+this vivid life, away from&mdash;Eugen. I drew a long breath, as the
+wretched, ignominious idea intruded itself, and I knew now what it was
+that gave terror to the prospect before me. My heart quailed and fainted
+at the bare idea of such a thing. Not even Hobson&#8217;s choice was open to
+me. There was no alternative&mdash;I must go. I sat still, and felt myself
+growing gradually stiller and graver and colder as I looked mentally to
+every side of my horizon, and found it so bounded&mdash;myself shut in so
+fast.</p>
+
+<p>There was nothing for it but to return home, and spend the rest of my
+life at Skernford. I was in a mood in which I could smile. I smiled at
+the idea of myself growing older and older, and this six weeks that I
+had spent fading back and back into the distance, and the people into
+whose lives I had a cursory glance going on their way, and soon
+forgetting my existence. Truly, Anna! if you were anxious for me to be
+miserable, this moment, could you know it, should be sweet to you!</p>
+
+<p>My hands clasped themselves more closely upon my lap, and I sat staring
+at nothing, vaguely, until a shadow before me caused me to look up.
+Without knowing it, von Francius had come in, and was standing by,
+looking at me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good-morning!&#8221; said I, with a vast effort, partially collecting my
+scattered thoughts.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you ready for your lesson, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;N&mdash;no. I think, Herr Direktor, I will not take any lesson to-day, if
+you will excuse it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But why? Are you ill?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; said I. &#8220;At least&mdash;perhaps I want to accustom myself to do without
+music lessons.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, and without many other pleasant things,&#8221; said I, wryly and
+decidedly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I do not understand,&#8221; said he, putting his hat down, and leaning one
+elbow upon the piano, while his deep eyes fixed themselves upon my face,
+and, as usual, began to compel my secrets from me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am going home,&#8221; said I.</p>
+
+<p>A quick look of feeling&mdash;whether astonishment, regret, or dismay, I
+should not like to have said&mdash;flashed across his face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you had bad news?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, very. Miss Hallam returns to England next week.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But why do you go? Why not remain here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Gladly, if I had any money,&#8221; I said, with a dry smile. &#8220;But I have
+none, and can not get any.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will return to England now? Do you know what you are giving up?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Obligation has no choice,&#8221; said I, gracefully. &#8220;I would give anything
+if I could stay here, and not go home again.&#8221; And with that I burst into
+tears. I covered my face with my hands, and all the pent-up grief and
+pain of the coming parting streamed from my eyes. I wept uncontrollably.</p>
+
+<p>He did not interrupt my tears for some time. When he did speak, it was
+in a very gentle voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Wedderburn, will you try to compose yourself, and listen to
+something I have to say?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I looked up. I saw his eyes fixed seriously and kindly upon me with an
+expression quite apart from their usual indifferent coolness&mdash;with the
+look of one friend to another&mdash;with such a look as I had seen and have
+since seen exchanged between Courvoisier and his friend Helfen.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;See,&#8221; said he, &#8220;I take an interest in you, Fr&auml;ulein May. Why should I
+hesitate to say so? You are young&mdash;you do not know the extent of your
+own strength, or of your own weakness. I do. I will not flatter&mdash;it is
+not my way&mdash;as I think you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I smiled. I remembered the plentiful blame and the scant praise which it
+had often fallen to my lot to receive from him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am a strict, sarcastic, disagreeable old pedagogue, as you and so
+many of my other fair pupils consider,&#8221; he went on, and I looked up in
+amaze. I knew that so many of his &#8220;fair pupils&#8221; considered him exactly
+the reverse.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;It is my business to know whether a voice is good for anything or not.
+Now yours, with training, will be good for a great deal. Have you the
+means, or the chance, or the possibility of getting that training in
+England?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should like to help you, partly from the regard I have for you,
+partly for my own sake, because I think you would do me credit.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He paused. I was looking at him with all my senses concentrated upon
+what he had said. He had been talking round the subject until he saw
+that he had fairly fixed my attention; then he said, sharply and
+rapidly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fr&auml;ulein, it lies with you to choose. Will you go home and stagnate
+there, or will you remain here, fight down your difficulties, and become
+a worthy artist?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Can there be any question as to which I should like to do?&#8221; said I,
+distracted at the idea of having to give up the prospect he held out.
+&#8220;But it is impossible. Miss Hallam alone can decide.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But if Miss Hallam consented, you would remain?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh! Herr von Francius! You should soon see whether I would remain!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Also! Miss Hallam shall consent. Now to our singing!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I stood up. A singular apathy had come over me; I felt no longer my old
+self. I had a kind of confidence in von Francius, and yet&mdash;Despite my
+recent trouble, I felt now a lightness and freedom, and a perfect
+ability to cast aside all anxieties, and turn to the business of the
+moment&mdash;my singing. I had never sung better. Von Francius condescended
+to say that I had done well. Then he rose.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now I am going to have a private interview with Miss Hallam,&#8221; said he,
+smiling. &#8220;I am always having private interviews with her, <i>nicht wahr</i>?
+Nay, Fr&auml;ulein May, do not let your eyes fill with tears. Have confidence
+in yourself and your destiny, as I have.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With that he was gone, leaving me to practice. How very kind von
+Francius was to me! I thought&mdash;not in the least the kind of man people
+called him. I had great confidence in him&mdash;in his will. I almost
+believed that he would know the right thing to say to Miss Hallam to get
+her to let me stay; but then, suppose she were willing, I had no
+possible means of support. Tired of conjecturing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>upon a subject upon
+which I was so utterly in the dark, I soon ceased that foolish pursuit.
+An hour had passed, when I heard von Francius&#8217; step, which I knew quite
+well, come down the stairs. My heart beat, but I could not move.</p>
+
+<p>Would he pass, or would he come and speak to me? He paused. His hand was
+on the lock. That was he standing before me, with a slight smile. He did
+not look like a man defeated&mdash;but then, could he look like a man
+defeated? My idea of him was that he held his own way calmly, and that
+circumstances respectfully bowed to him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The day is gained,&#8221; said he, and paused; but before I could speak he
+went on: &#8220;Go to Miss Hallam; be kind to her. It is hard for her to part
+from you, and she has behaved like a Spartan. I felt quite sorry to have
+to give her so much pain.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Much wondering what could have passed between them, I left von Francius
+silently and sought Miss Hallam.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you there, May?&#8221; said she. &#8220;What have you been doing all the
+morning?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Practicing&mdash;and having my lesson.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Practicing&mdash;and having your lesson&mdash;exactly what I have been doing.
+Practicing giving up my own wishes, and taking a lesson in the act of
+persuasion, by being myself persuaded. Your singing-master is a
+wonderful man. He has made me act against my principles.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Hallam&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You were in great trouble this morning when you heard you were to leave
+Elberthal. I knew it instantly. However, you shall not go unless you
+choose. You shall stay.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Wondering, I held my tongue.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr von Francius has showed me my duty.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Hallam,&#8221; said I, suddenly, &#8220;I will do whatever you wish. After
+your kindness to me, you have the right to dispose of my doings. I shall
+be glad to do as you wish.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said she, composedly, &#8220;I wish you to write a letter to your
+parents, which I will dictate; of course they must be consulted. Then,
+if they consent, I intend to provide you with the means of carrying on
+your studies in Elberthal under Herr von Francius.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I almost gasped. Miss Hallam, who had been a by-word <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>in Skernford, and
+in our own family, for eccentricity and stinginess, was indeed heaping
+coals of fire upon my head. I tried, weakly and ineffectually, to
+express my gratitude to her, and at last said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You may trust me never to abuse your kindness, Miss Hallam.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have trusted you ever since you refused Sir Peter Le Marchant, and
+were ready to leave your home to get rid of him,&#8221; said she, with grim
+humor.</p>
+
+<p>She then told me that she had settled everything with von Francius, even
+that I was to remove to different lodgings, more suited for a solitary
+student than Frau Steinmann&#8217;s busy house.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And,&#8221; she added, &#8220;I shall ask Doctor Mittendorf to have an eye to you
+now and then, and to write to me of how you go on.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I could not find many words in which to thank her. The feeling that I
+was not going, did not need to leave it all, filled my heart with a
+happiness as deep as it was unfounded and unreasonable.</p>
+
+<p>At my next lesson von Francius spoke to me of the future.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want you to be a real student&mdash;no play one,&#8221; said he, &#8220;or you will
+never succeed. And for that reason I told Miss Hallam that you had
+better leave this house. There are too many distractions. I am going to
+put you in a very different place.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where? In which part of the town?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wehrhahn, 39, is the address,&#8221; said he.</p>
+
+<p>I was not quite sure where that was, but did not ask further, for I was
+occupied in helping Miss Hallam, and wished to be with her as much as I
+could before she left.</p>
+
+<p>The day of parting came, as come it must. Miss Hallam was gone. I had
+cried, and she had maintained the grim silence which was her only way of
+expressing emotion.</p>
+
+<p>She was going back home to Skernford, to blindness, now known to be
+inevitable, to her saddened, joyless life. I was going to remain in
+Elberthal&mdash;for what? When I look back I ask myself&mdash;was I not as blind
+as she, in truth? In the afternoon of the day of Miss Hallam&#8217;s
+departure, I left Frau Steinmann&#8217;s house. Clara promised to come and see
+me sometimes. Frau Steinmann kissed me, and called me <i>liebes Kind</i>. I
+got into the cab and directed the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>driver to go to Wehrhahn, 39. He
+drove me along one or two streets into the one known as the
+Schadowstrasse, a long, wide street, in which stood the Tonhalle. A
+little past that building, round a corner, and he stopped, on the same
+side of the road.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not here!&#8221; said I, putting my head out of the window when I saw the
+window of the curiosity shop exactly opposite. &#8220;Not here!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wehrhahn, 39, Fr&auml;ulein?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This is it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I stared around. Yes&mdash;on the wall stood in plainly to be read white
+letters, &#8220;Wehrhahn,&#8221; and on the door of the house, 39. Yielding to a
+conviction that it was to be, I murmured &#8220;Kismet,&#8221; and descended from my
+chariot. The woman of the house received me civilly. &#8220;The young lady for
+whom the Herr Direktor had taken lodgings? <i>Schon</i>! Please to come this
+way, Fr&auml;ulein. The room was on the third <i>&eacute;tage</i>.&#8221; I followed her
+upstairs&mdash;steep, dark, narrow stairs, like those of the opposite house.
+The room was a bare-looking, tolerably large one. There was a little
+closet of a bedroom opening from it&mdash;a scrap of carpet upon the floor,
+and open windows letting in the air. The woman chatted good-naturedly
+enough.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So! I hope the room will suit, Fr&auml;ulein. It is truly not to be called
+richly furnished, but one doesn&#8217;t need that when one is a
+<i>Sing-student</i>. I have had many in my time&mdash;ladies and gentlemen
+too&mdash;pupils of Herr von Francius often. <i>Na!</i> what if they did make a
+great noise? I have no children&mdash;thank the good God! and one gets used
+to the screaming just as one gets used to everything else.&#8221; Here she
+called me to the window.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You might have worse prospects than this, Fr&auml;ulein, and worse neighbors
+than those over the way. See! there is the old furniture shop where so
+many of the Herren Maler go, and then there there is Herr Duntze, the
+landscape painter, and Herr Knoop who paints <i>Genrebilder</i> and does not
+make much by it&mdash;so a picture of a child with a raveled skein of wool,
+or a little girl making ear-rings for herself with bunches of
+cherries&mdash;for my part I don&#8217;t see much in them, and wonder that there
+are people who will lay down good hard thalers for them. Then there is
+Herr <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>Courvoisier, the musiker&mdash;but perhaps you know who he is.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; I assented.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And his little son!&#8221; Here she threw up her hands. &#8220;<i>Ach!</i> the poor man!
+There are people who speak against him, and every one knows he and the
+Herr Direktor are not the best friends, but <i>sehn Sie wohl, Fr&auml;ulein</i>,
+the Herr Direktor is well off, settled, provided for; Herr Courvoisier
+has his way to make yet, and the world before him; and what sort of a
+story it may be with the child, I don&#8217;t know, but this I will say, let
+those dare to doubt it or question it who will, he is a good father&mdash;I
+know it. And the other young man with Herr Courvoisier&mdash;his friend, I
+suppose&mdash;he is a musiker too. I hear them practicing a good deal
+sometimes&mdash;things without any air or tune to them; for my part I wonder
+how they can go on with it. Give me a good song with a tune in
+it&mdash;&#8216;Drunten im Unterland,&#8217; or &#8216;In Berlin, sagt er,&#8217; or something one
+knows. <i>Na!</i> I suppose the fiddling all lies in the way of business, and
+perhaps they can fall asleep over it sometimes, as I do now and then
+over my knitting, when I&#8217;m weary. The young man, Herr Courvoisier&#8217;s
+friend, looked ill when they first came; even now he is not to call a
+robust-looking person&mdash;but formerly he looked as if he would go out of
+the fugue altogether. <i>Entschuldigen</i>, Fr&auml;ulein, if I use a few
+professional proverbs. My husband, the sainted man! was a piano-tuner by
+calling, and I have picked up some of his musical expressions and use
+them, more for his sake than any other reason&mdash;for I have heard too much
+music to believe in it so much as ignorant people do. <i>Nun!</i> I will send
+Fr&auml;ulein her box up, and then I hope she will feel comfortable and at
+home, and send for whatever she wants.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>In a few moments my luggage had come upstairs, and when they who brought
+it had finally disappeared, I went to the window again and looked out.
+Opposite, on the same <i>&eacute;tage</i>, were two windows, corresponding to my
+two, wide open, letting me see into an empty room, in which there seemed
+to be books and many sheets of white paper, a music-desk and a vase of
+flowers. I also saw a piano in the clare-obscure, and another door, half
+open, leading into the inner room. All the inhabitants of the rooms were
+out. No tone came across to me&mdash;no movement of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>life. But the influence
+of the absent ones was there. Strange concourse of circumstances which
+had placed me as the opposite neighbor, in the same profession too, of
+Eugen Courvoisier! Pure chance it certainly was, for von Francius had
+certainly had no motive in bringing me hither.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Kismet!&#8221; I murmured once again, and wondered what the future would
+bring.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;He looks his angel in the face<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without a blush: nor heeds disgrace,<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whom naught disgraceful done<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Disgraces. Who knows nothing base<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Fears nothing known.&#8221;<br /></span></p></div>
+
+<p>It was noon. The probe to &#8220;Tannhauser&#8221; was over, and we, the members of
+the kapelle, turned out, and stood in a knot around the orchestra
+entrance to the Elberthal Theater.</p>
+
+<p>It was a raw October noontide. The last traces of the by-gone summer
+were being swept away by equinoctial gales, which whirled the remaining
+yellowing leaves from the trees, and strewed with them the walks of the
+deserted Hofgarten; a stormy gray sky promised rain at the earliest
+opportunity; our Rhine went gliding by like a stream of ruffled lead.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Proper theater weather,&#8221; observed one of my fellow-musicians; &#8220;but it
+doesn&#8217;t seem to suit you, Friedhelm. What makes you look so down?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I shrugged my shoulders. Existence was not at that time very pleasant to
+me; my life&#8217;s hues were somewhat of the color of the autumn skies and of
+the dull river. I scarcely knew why I stood with the others now; it was
+more a mechanical pause before I took my spiritless way home, than
+because I felt any interest in what was going on.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should say he will be younger by a long way than old Kohler,&#8221;
+observed Karl Linders, one of the violoncellists, a young man with an
+unfailing flow of good nature, good spirits, and eagerness to enjoy
+every pleasure which came in his way, which qualities were the objects
+of my deep wonder and mild envy. &#8220;And they say,&#8221; he continued, &#8220;that
+he&#8217;s coming to-night; so Friedhelm, my boy, you may look out. Your
+master&#8217;s on the way.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;So!&#8221; said I, lending but an indifferent attention; &#8220;what is his name?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s his way of gently intimating that he hasn&#8217;t got no master,&#8221; said
+Karl, jocosely, but the general answer to my question was, &#8220;I don&#8217;t
+know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But they say,&#8221; said a tall man who wore spectacles and sat behind me in
+the first violins&mdash;&#8220;they say that von Francius doesn&#8217;t like the
+appointment. He wanted some one else, but Die Direktion managed to beat
+him. He dislikes the new fellow beforehand, whatever he may be.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So! Then he will have a roughish time of it!&#8221; agreed one or two others.</p>
+
+<p>The &#8220;he&#8221; of whom they spoke was the coming man who should take the place
+of the leader of the first violins&mdash;it followed that he would be at
+least an excellent performer&mdash;possibly a clever man in many other ways,
+for the post was in many ways a good one. Our kapelle was no mean
+one&mdash;in our own estimation at any rate. Our late first violinist, who
+had recently died, had been on visiting terms with persons of the
+highest respectability, had given lessons to the very best families, and
+might have been seen bowing to young ladies and important dowagers
+almost any day. No wonder his successor was speculated about with some
+curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Alle Wetter!</i>&#8221; cried Karl Linders, impatiently&mdash;that young man was
+much given to impatience&mdash;&#8220;what does von Francius want? He can&#8217;t have
+everything. I suppose this new fellow plays a little too well for his
+taste. He will have to give him a solo now and then instead of keeping
+them all for himself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Weiss</i> &#8217;<i>s nit</i>,&#8221; said another, shrugging his shoulders, &#8220;I&#8217;ve only
+heard that von Francius had a row with the Direction, and was outvoted.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What a sweet temper he will be in at the probe to-morrow!&#8221; laughed
+Karl. &#8220;Won&#8217;t he give it to the <i>M&auml;dchen</i> right and left!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What time is he coming?&#8221; proceeded one of the oboists.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t know; know nothing about it; perhaps he&#8217;ll appear in &#8216;Tannhauser&#8217;
+to-night. Look out, Friedhelm.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Here comes little Luischen,&#8221; said Karl, with a winning smile, a
+straightening of his collar, and a general arming-for-conquest
+expression, as some of the &#8220;ladies of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>the chorus and ballet,&#8221; appeared
+from the side door. &#8220;Isn&#8217;t she pretty?&#8221; he went on, in an audible aside
+to me. &#8220;I&#8217;ve a crow to pluck with her too. <i>Tag</i>, Fr&auml;ulein!&#8221; he added,
+advancing to the young lady who had so struck him.</p>
+
+<p>He was &#8220;struck&#8221; on an average once a week, every time with the most
+beautiful and charming of her sex. The others, with one or two
+exceptions, also turned. I said good-morning to Linders, who wished,
+with a noble generosity, to make me a partaker in his cheerful
+conversation with Fr&auml;ulein Luise of the first soprans, slipped from his
+grasp and took my way homeward. Fr&auml;ulein Luischen was no doubt very
+pretty, and in her way a companionable person. Unfortunately I never
+could appreciate that way. With every wish to accommodate myself to the
+only society with which fortune supplied me, it was but ill that I
+succeeded.</p>
+
+<p>I, Friedhelm Helfen, was at that time a lonely, soured misanthrope of
+two-and-twenty. Let the announcement sound as absurd as it may, it is
+simply and absolutely true, I was literally alone in the world. My last
+relative had died and left me entirely without any one who could have
+even a theoretical reason for taking any interest in me. Gradually,
+during the last few months, I had fallen into evil places of thought and
+imagination. There had been a time before, as there has been a time
+since&mdash;as it is with me now&mdash;when I worshiped my art with all my
+strength as the most beautiful thing on earth; the art of arts&mdash;the most
+beautiful and perfect development of beauty which mankind has yet
+succeeded in attaining to, and when the very fact of its being so and of
+my being gifted with some poor power of expressing and interpreting that
+beauty was enough for me&mdash;gave me a place in the world with which I was
+satisfied, and made life understandable to me. At that time this
+belief&mdash;my natural and normal state&mdash;was clouded over; between me and
+the goddess of my idolatry had fallen a veil; I wasted my brain tissue
+in trying to philosophize&mdash;cracked my head, and almost my reason over
+the endless, unanswerable question, <i>Cui bono?</i> that question which may
+so easily become the destruction of the fool who once allows himself to
+be drawn into dallying with it. <i>Cui bono?</i> is a mental Delilah who will
+shear the locks of the most arrogant Samson. And into the arms and to
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>the tender mercies of this Delilah I had given myself. I was in a fair
+way of being lost forever in her snares, which she sets for the feet of
+men. To what use all this toil? To what use&mdash;music? After by dint of
+hard twisting my thoughts and coping desperately with problems that I
+did not understand, having managed to extract a conviction that there
+was use in music&mdash;a use to beautify, gladden, and elevate&mdash;I began to
+ask myself further, &#8220;What is it to me whether mankind is elevated or
+not? made better or worse? higher or lower?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Only one who has asked himself that question, as I did, in bitter
+earnest, and fairly faced the answer, can know the horror, the
+blackness, the emptiness of the abyss into which it gives one a glimpse.
+Blackness of darkness&mdash;no standpoint, no vantage-ground&mdash;it is a horror
+of horrors; it haunted me then day and night, and constituted itself not
+only my companion but my tyrant.</p>
+
+<p>I was in bad health too. At night, when the joyless day was over, the
+work done, the play played out, the smell of the foot-lights and gas and
+the dust of the stage dispersed, a deadly weariness used to overcome me;
+an utter, tired, miserable apathy; and alone, surrounded by loneliness,
+I let my morbid thoughts carry me whither they would. It had gone so far
+that I had even begun to say to myself lately:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friedhelm Helfen, you are not wanted. On the other side this life is a
+nothingness so large that you will be as nothing in it. Launch yourself
+into it. The story that suicide is wrong and immoral is, like other
+things, to be taken with reservation. There is no absolute right and
+wrong. Suicide is sometimes the highest form of right and reason.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This mood was strong upon me on that particular day, and as I paced
+along the Schadowstrasse toward the Wehrhahn, where my lodging was, the
+very stones seemed to cry out, &#8220;The world is weary, and you are not
+wanted in it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A heavy, cold, beating rain began to fall. I entered the room which
+served me as living- and sleeping-room. From habit I ate and drank at
+the same restauration as that frequented by my <i>confr&egrave;res</i> of the
+orchestra. I leaned my elbows upon the table, and listened drearily to
+the beat of the rain upon the pane. Scattered sheets of music
+containing, some great, others little thoughts, lay around me. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>Lately
+it seemed as if the flavor was gone from them. The other night Beethoven
+himself had failed to move me, and I accepted it as a sign that all was
+over with me. In an hour it would be time to go out and seek dinner, if
+I made up my mind to have any dinner. Then there would be the
+afternoon&mdash;the dreary, wet afternoon, the tramp through the soaking
+streets, with the lamp-light shining into the pools of water, to the
+theater; the lights, the people, the weary round of painted
+ballet-girls, and accustomed voices and faces of audience and
+performers. The same number of bars to play, the same to leave unplayed;
+the whole dreary story, gone through so often before, to be gone through
+so often again.</p>
+
+<p>The restauration did not see me that day; I remained in the house. There
+was to be a great concert in the course of a week or two; the &#8220;Tower of
+Babel&#8221; was to be given at it. I had the music. I practiced my part, and
+I remember being a little touched with the exquisite loveliness of one
+of the choruses, that sung by the &#8220;Children of Japhet&#8221; as they wander
+sadly away with their punishment upon them into the <i>Waldeinsamkeit</i>
+(that lovely and untranslatable word) one of the purest and most
+pathetic melodies ever composed.</p>
+
+<p>It was dark that afternoon. I had not stirred from my hole since coming
+in from the probe&mdash;had neither eaten nor drunk, and was in full
+possession of the uninterrupted solitude coveted by busy men. Once I
+thought that it would have been pleasant if some one had known and cared
+for me well enough to run up the stairs, put his head into the room, and
+talk to me about his affairs.</p>
+
+<p>To the sound of gustily blowing wind and rain beating on the pane, the
+afternoon hours dragged slowly by, and the world went on outside and
+around me until about five o&#8217;clock. Then there came a knock at my door,
+an occurrence so unprecedented that I sat and stared at the said door
+instead of speaking, as if Edgar Poe&#8217;s raven had put in a sudden
+appearance and begun to croak its &#8220;never-more&#8221; at me.</p>
+
+<p>The door was opened. A dreadful, dirty-looking young woman, a servant of
+the house, stood in the door-way.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you want?&#8221; I inquired.</p>
+
+<p>A gentleman wished to speak to me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bring him in then,&#8221; said I, somewhat testily.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p><p>She turned and requested some one to come forward. There entered a tall
+and stately man, with one of those rare faces, beautiful in feature,
+bright in expression, which one meets sometimes, and, having once seen,
+never forgets. He carried what I took at first for a bundle done up in a
+dark-green plaid, but as I stood up and looked at him I perceived that
+the plaid was wrapped round a child. Lost in astonishment, I gazed at
+him in silence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I beg you will excuse my intruding upon you thus,&#8221; said he, bowing, and
+I involuntarily returned his bow, wondering more and more what he could
+be. His accent was none of the Elberthal one; it was fine, refined,
+polished.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How can I serve you?&#8221; I asked, impressed by his voice, manner, and
+appearance; agreeably impressed. A little masterful he looked&mdash;a little
+imperious, but not unapproachable, with nothing ungenial in his pride.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You could serve me very much by giving me one or two pieces of
+information. In the first place let me introduce myself; you, I think,
+are Herr Helfen?&#8221; I bowed. &#8220;My name is Eugen Courvoisier. I am the new
+member of your <i>st&auml;dtisches Orchester</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>O, was!</i>&#8221; said I, within myself. &#8220;That our new first violin!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And this is my son,&#8221; he added, looking down at the plaid bundle, which
+he held very carefully and tenderly. &#8220;If you will tell me at what time
+the opera begins, what it is to-night, and finally, if there is a room
+to be had, perhaps in this house, even for one night. I must find a nest
+for this <i>V&ouml;gelein</i> as soon as I possibly can.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I believe the opera begins at seven,&#8221; said I, still gazing at him in
+astonishment, with open mouth and incredulous eyes. Our orchestra
+contained among its sufficiently varied specimens of nationality and
+appearance nothing in the very least like this man, beside whom I felt
+myself blundering, clumsy, and unpolished. It was not mere natural grace
+of manner. He had that, but it had been cultivated somewhere, and
+cultivated highly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes?&#8221; he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At seven&mdash;yes. It is &#8216;Tannhauser&#8217; to-night. And the rooms&mdash;I believe
+they have rooms in the house.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, then I will inquire about it,&#8221; said he, with an exceedingly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>open
+and delightful smile. &#8220;I thank you for telling me. Adieu, <i>mein Herr</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is he asleep?&#8221; I asked, abruptly, and pointing to the bundle.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; <i>armes Kerlchen</i>! just now he is,&#8221; said the young man.</p>
+
+<p>He was quite young, I saw. In that half light I supposed him even
+younger than he really was. He looked down at the bundle again and
+smiled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should like to see him,&#8221; said I, politely and gracefully, seized by
+an impulse of which I felt ashamed, but which I yet could not resist.</p>
+
+<p>With that I stepped forward and came to examine the bundle. He moved the
+plaid a little aside and showed me a child&mdash;a very young, small,
+helpless child, with closed eyes, immensely long, black, curving lashes,
+and fine, delicate black brows. The small face was flushed, but even in
+sleep this child looked melancholy. Yet he was a lovely child&mdash;most
+beautiful and most pathetic to see.</p>
+
+<p>I looked at the small face in silence, and a great desire came upon me
+to look at it oftener&mdash;to see it again, then up at that of the father.
+How unlike the two faces! Now that I fairly looked at the man I found he
+was different from what I had thought; older, sparer, with more sharply
+cut features. I could not tell what the child&#8217;s eyes might be&mdash;those of
+the father were piercing as an eagle&#8217;s; clear, open, strange. There was
+sorrow in the face, I saw, as I looked so earnestly into it; and it was
+worn as if with a keen inner life. This glance was one of those which
+penetrate deep, not the glance of a moment, but a revelation for life.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is very beautiful,&#8221; said I.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Nicht wahr?</i>&#8221; said the other, softly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Look here,&#8221; I added, going to a sofa which was strewn with papers,
+books, and other paraphernalia; &#8220;couldn&#8217;t we put him here, and then go
+and see about the rooms? Such a young, tender child must not be carried
+about the passages, and the house is full of draughts.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I do not know what had so suddenly supplied me with this wisdom as to
+what was good for a &#8220;young, tender child,&#8221; nor can I account for the
+sudden deep interest which possessed me. I dashed the things off the
+sofa, beat the dust from it, desired him to wait one moment <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>while I
+rushed to my bed to ravish it of its pillow. Then with the sight of the
+bed (I was buying my experience) I knew that that, and not the sofa, was
+the place for the child, and said so.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Put him here, do put him here!&#8221; I besought, earnestly. &#8220;He will sleep
+for a time here, won&#8217;t he?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are very good,&#8221; said my visitor, hesitating a moment.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Put him there!&#8221; said I, flushed with excitement, and with the hitherto
+unknown joy of being able to offer hospitality.</p>
+
+<p>Courvoisier looked meditatively at me for a short time then laid the
+child upon the bed, and arranged the plaid around it as skillfully and
+as quickly as a woman would have done it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How clever he must be,&#8221; I thought, looking at him with awe, and with
+little less awe contemplating the motionless child.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wouldn&#8217;t you like something to put over him?&#8221; I asked, looking
+excitedly about. &#8220;I have an overcoat. I&#8217;ll lend it you.&#8221; And I was
+rushing off to fetch it, but he laughingly laid his hand upon my arm.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let him alone,&#8221; said he; &#8220;he&#8217;s all right.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He won&#8217;t fall off, will he?&#8221; I asked, anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; don&#8217;t be alarmed. Now, if you will be so good, we will see about
+the rooms.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dare you leave him?&#8221; I asked, still with anxiety, and looking back as
+we went toward the door.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I dare because I must,&#8221; replied he.</p>
+
+<p>He closed the door, and we went down-stairs to seek the persons in
+authority. Courvoisier related his business and condition, and asked to
+see rooms. The woman hesitated when she heard there was a child.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The child will never trouble you, madame,&#8221; said he, quietly, but rather
+as if the patience of his look were forced.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, never!&#8221; I added, fervently. &#8220;I will answer for that, Frau Schmidt.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A quick glance, half gratitude, half amusement, shot from his eyes as
+the woman went on to say that she only took gentlemen lodgers, and could
+not do with ladies, children, and nurse-maids. They wanted so much
+attending to, and she did not profess to open her house to them.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;You will not be troubled with either lady or nurse-maid,&#8221; said he. &#8220;I
+take charge of the child myself. You will not know that he is in the
+house.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But your wife&mdash;&#8221; she began.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There will be no one but myself and my little boy,&#8221; he replied, ever
+politely, but ever, as it seemed, to me, with repressed pain or
+irritation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So!&#8221; said the woman, treating him to a long, curious, unsparing look of
+wonder and inquiry, which made me feel hot all over. He returned the
+glance quietly and unsmilingly. After a pause she said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I suppose I must see about it, but it will be the first child I
+ever took into the house, in that way, and only as a favor to Herr
+Helfen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I was greatly astonished, not having known before that I stood in such
+high esteem. Courvoisier threw me a smiling glance as we followed the
+woman up the stairs, up to the top of the house, where I lived. Throwing
+open a door, she said there were two rooms which must go together.
+Courvoisier shook his head.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not want two rooms,&#8221; said he, &#8220;or rather, I don&#8217;t think I can
+afford them. What do you charge?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She told him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If it were so much,&#8221; said he, naming a smaller sum, &#8220;I could do it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Nie!</i>&#8221; said the woman, curtly, &#8220;for that I can&#8217;t do it. <i>Um
+Gotteswillen!</i> One must live.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She paused, reflecting, and I watched anxiously. She was going to
+refuse. My heart sunk. Rapidly reviewing my own circumstances and
+finances, and making a hasty calculation in my mind, I said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why can&#8217;t we arrange it? Here is a big room and a little room. Make the
+little room into a bedroom, and use the big room for a sitting-room. I
+will join at it, and so it will come within the price you wish to pay.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The woman&#8217;s face cleared a little. She had listened with a clouded
+expression and her head on one side. Now she straightened herself, drew
+herself up, smoothed down her apron, and said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, that lets itself be heard. If Herr Helfen agreed to that, she
+would like it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, but I can&#8217;t think of putting you to the extra expense,&#8221; said
+Courvoisier.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I should like it,&#8221; said I. &#8220;I have often wished I had a little more
+room, but, like you, I couldn&#8217;t afford the whole expense. We can have a
+piano, and the child can play there. Don&#8217;t you see?&#8221; I added, with great
+earnestness and touching his arm. &#8220;It is a large airy room; he can run
+about there, and make as much noise as he likes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He still seemed to hesitate.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can afford it,&#8221; said I. &#8220;I&#8217;ve no one but myself, unluckily. If you
+don&#8217;t object to my company, let us try it. We shall be neighbors in the
+orchestra.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why not at home too? I think it an excellent plan. Let us decide it
+so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I was very urgent about it. An hour ago I could not have conceived
+anything which could make me so urgent and set my heart beating so.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If I did not think it would inconvenience you,&#8221; he began.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then it is settled?&#8221; said I. &#8220;Now let us go and see what kind of
+furniture there is in that big room.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Without allowing him to utter any further objection, I dragged him to
+the large room, and we surveyed it. The woman, who for some
+unaccountable reason appeared to have recovered her good-temper in a
+marvelous manner, said quite cheerfully that she would send the maid to
+make the smaller room ready as a bedroom for two. &#8220;One of us won&#8217;t take
+much room,&#8221; said Courvoisier with a laugh, to which she assented with a
+smile, and then left us. The big room was long, low, and rather dark.
+Beams were across the ceiling, and two not very large windows looked
+upon the street below, across to two similar windows of another
+lodging-house, a little to the left of which was the Tonhalle. The floor
+was carpetless, but clean; there was a big square table, and some
+chairs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There,&#8221; said I, drawing Courvoisier to the window, and pointing across:
+&#8220;there is one scene of your future exertions, the St&auml;dtische Tonhalle.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So!&#8221; said he, turning away again from the window&mdash;it was as dark as
+ever outside&mdash;and looking round the room again. &#8220;This is a dull-looking
+place,&#8221; he added, gazing around it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We&#8217;ll soon make it different,&#8221; said I, rubbing my hands and gazing
+round the room with avidity. &#8220;I have <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>long wished to be able to inhabit
+this room. We must make it more cheerful, though, before the child comes
+to it. We&#8217;ll have the stove lighted, and we&#8217;ll knock up some shelves, and
+we&#8217;ll have a piano in, and the sofa from my room, <i>nicht wahr?</i> Oh,
+we&#8217;ll make a place of it, I can tell you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked at me as if struck with my enthusiasm, and I bustled about. We
+set to work to make the room habitable. He was out for a short time at
+the station and returned with the luggage which he had left there. While
+he was away I stole into my room and took a good look at my new
+treasure; he still slept peacefully and calmly on. We were deep in
+impromptu carpentering and contrivances for use and comfort, when it
+occurred to me to look at my watch.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Five minutes to seven!&#8221; I almost yelled, dashing wildly into my room to
+wash my hands and get my violin. Courvoisier followed me. The child was
+awake. I felt a horrible sense of guilt as I saw it looking at me with
+great, soft, solemn, brown eyes, not in the least those of its father,
+but it did not move. I said apologetically that I feared I had awakened
+it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, no! He&#8217;s been awake for some time,&#8221; said Courvoisier. The child saw
+him, and stretched out its arms toward him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Na! junger Taugenichts!</i>&#8221; he said, taking it up and kissing it. &#8220;Thou
+must stay here till I come back. Wilt be happy till I come?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The answer made by the mournful-looking child was a singular one. It put
+both tiny arms around the big man&#8217;s neck, laid its face for a moment
+against his, and loosed him again. Neither word nor sound did it emit
+during the process. A feeling altogether new and astonishing overcame
+me. I turned hastily away, and as I picked up my violin-case, was amazed
+to find my eyes dim. My visitors were something unprecedented to me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are not compelled to go to the theater to-night, you know, unless
+you like,&#8221; I suggested, as we went down-stairs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thanks, it is as well to begin at once.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>On the lowest landing we met Frau Schmidt.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where are you going, <i>mein Herren</i>?&#8221; she demanded.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;To work, madame,&#8221; he replied, lifting his cap with a courtesy which
+seemed to disarm her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But the child?&#8221; she demanded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do not trouble yourself about him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is he asleep?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not just now. He is all right, though.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She gave us a look which meant volumes. I pulled Courvoisier out.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come along, do!&#8221; cried I. &#8220;She will keep you there for half an hour,
+and it is time now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>We rushed along the streets too rapidly to have time or breath to speak,
+and it was five minutes after the time when we scrambled into the
+orchestra, and found that the overture was already begun.</p>
+
+<p>Though there is certainly not much time for observing one&#8217;s fellows when
+one is helping in the overture to &#8220;Tannhauser,&#8221; yet I saw the many
+curious and astonished glances which were cast toward our new member,
+glances of which he took no notice, simply because he apparently did not
+see them. He had the finest absence of self-consciousness that I ever
+saw.</p>
+
+<p>The first act of the opera was over, and it fell to my share to make
+Courvoisier known to his fellow-musicians. I introduced him to the
+director, who was not von Francius, nor any friend of his. Then we
+retired to one of the small rooms on one side of the orchestra.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Hundewetter!</i>&#8221; said one of the men, shivering. &#8220;Have you traveled far
+to-day?&#8221; he inquired of Courvoisier, by way of opening the conversation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;From K&ouml;ln only.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Live there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The man continued his catechism, but in another direction.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you a friend of Helfen&#8217;s?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I rather think Helfen has been a friend to me,&#8221; said Courvoisier,
+smiling.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you found lodgings already?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So!&#8221; said his interlocutor, rather puzzled with the new arrival. I
+remember the scene well. Half a dozen of the men were standing in one
+corner of the room, smoking, drinking beer, and laughing over some not
+very brilliant <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>joke; we three were a little apart. Courvoisier, stately
+and imposing-looking, and with that fine manner of his, politely
+answering his interrogator, a small, sharp-featured man, who looked up
+to him and rattled complacently away, while I sat upon the table among
+the fiddle-cases and beer-glasses, my foot on a chair, my chin in my
+hand, feeling my cheeks glow, and a strange sense of dizziness and
+weakness all over me, a lightness in my head which I could not
+understand. It had quite escaped me that I had neither eaten nor drunk
+since my breakfast at eight o&#8217;clock, on a cup of coffee and dry
+<i>Br&ouml;dchen</i>, and it was now twelve hours later.</p>
+
+<p>The pause was not a long one, and we returned to our places. But
+&#8220;Tannhauser&#8221; is not a short opera. As time went on my sensations of
+illness and faintness increased. During the second pause I remained in
+my place. Courvoisier presently came and sat beside me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m afraid you feel ill,&#8221; said he.</p>
+
+<p>I denied it. But though I struggled on to the end, yet at last a deadly
+faintness overcame me. As the curtain went down amid the applause,
+everything reeled around me. I heard the bustle of the others&mdash;of the
+audience going away. I myself could not move.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Was ist denn mit ihm?</i>&#8221; I heard Courvoisier say as he stooped over me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is that Friedhelm Helfen?&#8221; asked Karl Linders, surveying me. &#8220;<i>Potz
+blitz!</i> he looks like a corpse! he&#8217;s been at his old tricks again,
+starving himself. I expect he has touched nothing the whole day.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let&#8217;s get him out and give him some brandy,&#8221; said Courvoisier. &#8220;Lend
+him an arm, and I&#8217;ll give him one on this side.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Together they hauled me down to the retiring-room.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ei!</i> he wants a schnapps, or something of the kind,&#8221; said Karl, who
+seemed to think the whole affair an excellent joke. &#8220;Look here, <i>alter
+Narr!</i>&#8221; he added; &#8220;you&#8217;ve been going without anything to eat, <i>nicht</i>?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I believe I have,&#8221; I assented, feebly. &#8220;But I&#8217;m all right; I&#8217;ll go
+home.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Rejecting Karl&#8217;s pressing entreaties to join him at supper at his
+favorite Wirthschaft, we went home, purchasing our supper on the way.
+Courvoisier&#8217;s first step was toward the place where he had left the
+child. He was gone.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;<i>Verschwunden!</i>&#8221; cried he, striding off to the sleeping-room, whither I
+followed him. The little lad had been undressed and put to bed in a
+small crib, and was sleeping serenely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s Frau Schmidt, who can&#8217;t do with children and nurse-maids,&#8221; said
+I, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s very kind of her,&#8221; said he, as he touched the child&#8217;s cheek
+slightly with his little finger, and then, without another word,
+returned to the other room, and we sat down to our long-delayed supper.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What on earth made you spend more than twelve hours without food?&#8221; he
+asked me, laying down his knife and fork, and looking at me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll tell you some time perhaps, not now,&#8221; said I, for there had begun
+to dawn upon my mind, like a sun-ray, the idea that life held an
+interest for me&mdash;two interests&mdash;a friend and a child. To a miserable,
+lonely wretch like me, the idea was divine.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox2 bbox">
+<p>Though nothing can bring back the hour<br />
+Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower.<br />
+We will grieve not&mdash;rather find<br />
+Strength in what remains behind;<br />
+In the primal sympathy<br />
+Which having been, must ever be.<br />
+In the soothing thoughts that spring<br />
+Out of human suffering!<br />
+In the faith that looks through death&mdash;<br />
+In years, that bring the philosophic mind.<br /></p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 10em;"><span class="smcap">Wordsworth.</span></span></p></div>
+
+<p>From that October afternoon I was a man saved from myself. Courvoisier
+had said, in answer to my earnest entreaties about joining housekeeping:
+&#8220;We will try&mdash;you may not like it, and if so, remember you are at
+liberty to withdraw when you will.&#8221; The answer contented me, because I
+knew that I should not try to withdraw.</p>
+
+<p>Our friendship progressed by such quiet, imperceptible degrees, each one
+knotting the past more closely and inextricably with the present, that I
+could by no means relate them if I wished it. But I do not wish it. I
+only know, and am content with it, that it has fallen to my lot to be
+blessed with that most precious of all earthly possessions, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>the
+&#8220;friend&#8221; that &#8220;sticketh closer than a brother.&#8221; Our union has grown and
+remained not merely &#8220;<i>fest und treu</i>,&#8221; but immovable, unshakable.</p>
+
+<p>There was first the child. He was two years old; a strange, weird,
+silent child, very beautiful&mdash;as the son of his father could scarcely
+fail to be&mdash;but with a different kind of beauty. How still he was, and
+how patient! Not a fretful child, not given to crying or complaint; fond
+of resting in one place, with solemn, thoughtful eyes fixed, when his
+father was there, upon him; when his father was not there, upon the
+strip of sky which was to be seen, through the window above the
+house-tops.</p>
+
+<p>The child&#8217;s name was Sigmund; he displayed a friendly disposition toward
+me, indeed, he was passively friendly and&mdash;if one may say such a thing
+of a baby&mdash;courteous to all he came in contact with. He had inherited
+his father&#8217;s polished manner; one saw that when he grew up he would be a
+&#8220;gentleman,&#8221; in the finest outer sense of the word. His inner life he
+kept concealed from us. I believe he had some method of communicating
+his ideas to Eugen, even if he never spoke. Eugen never could conceal
+his own mood from the child; it knew&mdash;let him feign otherwise never so
+cunningly&mdash;exactly what he felt, glad or sad, or between the two, and no
+acting could deceive him. It was a strange, intensely interesting study
+to me; one to which I daily returned with fresh avidity. He would let me
+take him in my arms and talk to him; would sometimes, after looking at
+me long and earnestly, break into a smile&mdash;a strange, grave, sweet
+smile. Then I could do no otherwise than set him hastily down and look
+away, for so unearthly a smile I had never seen. He was, though fragile,
+not an unhealthy child; though so delicately formed, and intensely
+sensitive to nervous shocks, had nothing of the coward in him, as was
+proved to us in a thousand ways; shivered through and through his little
+frame at the sight of a certain picture to which he had taken a great
+antipathy, a picture which hung in the public gallery at the Tonhalle;
+he hated it, because of a certain evil-looking man portrayed in it; but
+when his father, taking his hand, said to him, &#8220;Go, Sigmund, and look at
+that man; I wish thee to look at him,&#8221; went without turn or waver, and
+gazed long and earnestly at the low type, bestial visage portrayed to
+him. Eugen had trodden noiselessly behind <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>him; I watched, and he
+watched, how his two little fists clinched themselves at his sides,
+while his gaze never wavered, never wandered, till at last Eugen, with a
+strange expression, caught him in his arms and half killed him with
+kisses.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Mein liebling!</i>&#8221; he murmured, as if utterly satisfied with him.</p>
+
+<p>Courvoisier himself? There were a great many strong and positive
+qualities about this man, which in themselves would have set him
+somewhat apart from other men. Thus he had crotchety ideas about truth
+and honor, such as one might expect from so knightly looking a
+personage. It was Karl Linders, who, at a later period of our
+acquaintance, amused himself by chalking up, &#8220;Prinz Eugen, der edle
+Ritter,&#8221; beneath his name. His musical talent&mdash;or rather genius, it was
+more than talent&mdash;was at that time not one fifth part known to me, yet
+even what I saw excited my wonder. But these, and a long list of other
+active characteristics, all faded into insignificance before the
+towering passion of his existence&mdash;his love for his child. It was
+strange, it was touching, to see the bond between father and son. The
+child&#8217;s thoughts and words, as told in his eyes and from his lips,
+formed the man&#8217;s philosophy. I believe Eugen confided everything to his
+boy. His first thought in the morning, his last at night, was for <i>der
+Kleine</i>. His leisure was&mdash;I can not say &#8220;given up&#8221; to the boy&mdash;but it
+was always passed with him.</p>
+
+<p>Courvoisier soon gained a reputation among our comrades for being a sham
+and a delusion. They said that to look at him one would suppose that no
+more genial, jovial fellow could exist&mdash;there was kindliness in his
+glance, <i>bon camaraderie</i> in his voice, a genial, open, human
+sympathetic kind of influence in his nature, and in all he did. &#8220;And
+yet,&#8221; said Karl Linders to me, with gesticulation, &#8220;one never can get
+him to go anywhere. One may invite him, one may try to be friends with
+him, but, no! off he goes home! What does the fellow want at home? He
+behaves like a young miss of fifteen, whose governess won&#8217;t let her mix
+with vulgar companions.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I laughed, despite myself, at this tirade of Karl. So that was how
+Eugen&#8217;s behavior struck outsiders!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you are every bit as bad as he is, and as soft&mdash;he has made you
+so,&#8221; went on Linders, vehemently. &#8220;It <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>isn&#8217;t right. You two ought to be
+leaders outside as well as in, but you walk yourselves away, and stay at
+home! At home, indeed! Let green goslings and grandfathers stay at
+home.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, Herr Linders was not a person who troubled home much; spending
+his time between morning and night between the theater and concert-room,
+restauration and verein.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you do at home?&#8221; he asked, irately.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s our concern, <i>mein lieber</i>,&#8221; said I, composedly, thinking of
+young Sigmund, whose existence was unknown except to our two selves, and
+laughing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you composing a symphony? or an opera buffa? You might tell a
+fellow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I laughed again, and said we led a peaceable life, as honest citizens
+should; and added, laying my hand upon his shoulder, for I had more of a
+leaning toward Karl, scamp though he was, than to any of the others,
+&#8220;You might do worse than follow our example, old fellow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bah!&#8221; said he, with unutterable contempt. &#8220;I&#8217;m a man; not a milksop.
+Besides, how do I know what your example is? You say you behave
+yourselves; but how am I to know it? I&#8217;ll drop upon you unawares and
+catch you, some time. See if I don&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The next evening, by a rare chance with us, was a free one&mdash;there was no
+opera and no concert; we had had probe that morning, and were at liberty
+to follow the devices and desires of our own hearts that evening.</p>
+
+<p>These devices and desires led us straight home, followed by a sneering
+laugh from Herr Linders, which vastly amused me. The year was drawing to
+a close. Christmas was nigh; the weather was cold and unfriendly. Our
+stove was lighted; our lamp burned pleasantly on the table; our big room
+looked homely and charming by these evening lights. Master Sigmund was
+wide awake in honor of the occasion, and sat upon my knee while his
+father played the fiddle. I have not spoken of his playing before&mdash;it
+was, in its way, unique. It was not a violin that he played&mdash;it was a
+spirit that he invoked&mdash;and a strange answer it sometimes gave forth to
+his summons. To-night he had taken it up suddenly, and sat playing,
+without book, a strange melody which wrung my heart&mdash;full of minor
+cadences, with an infinite wail and weariness in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>it. I closed my eyes
+and listened. It was sad, but it was absorbing. When I opened my eyes
+again and looked down, I found that tears were running from Sigmund&#8217;s
+eyes. He was sobbing quietly, his head against my breast.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I say, Eugen! Look here!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is he crying? Poor little chap! He&#8217;ll have a good deal to go through
+before he has learned all his lessons,&#8221; said Eugen, laying down his
+violin.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What was that? I never heard it before.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have, often,&#8221; said he, resting his chin upon his hand, &#8220;in the sound
+of streams&mdash;in the rush of a crowd&mdash;upon a mountain&mdash;yes, even alone
+with the woman I&mdash;&#8221; He broke off abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But never on a violin before?&#8221; said I, significantly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, never.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why don&#8217;t you print some of those impromptus that you are always
+making?&#8221; I asked.</p>
+
+<p>He shrugged his shoulders. Ere I could pursue the question some one
+knocked at the door, and in answer to our <i>herein!</i> appeared a handsome,
+laughing face, and a head of wavy hair, which, with a tall, shapely
+figure, I recognized as those of Karl Linders.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I told you fellows I&#8217;d hunt you up, and I always keep my word,&#8221; said
+he, composedly. &#8220;You can&#8217;t very well turn me out for calling upon you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He advanced. Courvoisier rose, and with a courteous cordiality offered
+his hand and drew a chair up. Karl came forward, looking round, smiling
+and chuckling at the success of his experiment, and as he came opposite
+to me his eyes fell upon those of the child, who had raised his head and
+was staring gravely at him.</p>
+
+<p>Never shall I forget the start&mdash;the look of amaze, almost of fear, which
+shot across the face of Herr Linders. Amazement would be a weak word in
+which to describe it. He stopped, stood stock-still in the middle of the
+room; his jaw fell&mdash;he gazed from one to the other of us in feeble
+astonishment, then said, in a whisper:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Donnerwetter!</i> A child!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t use bad language before the little innocent,&#8221; said I, enjoying
+his confusion.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Which of you does it belong to? Is it he or she?&#8221; he inquired in an
+awe-struck and alarmed manner.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;His name is Sigmund Courvoisier,&#8221; said I, with difficulty preserving my
+gravity.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, indeed! I&mdash;I wasn&#8217;t aware&mdash;&#8221; began Karl, looking at Eugen in such a
+peculiar manner&mdash;half respectful, half timid, half ashamed&mdash;that I could
+no longer contain my feelings, but burst into such a shout of laughter
+as I had not enjoyed for years. After a moment, Eugen joined in; we
+laughed peal after peal of laughter, while poor Karl stood feebly
+looking from one to the other of the company&mdash;speechless&mdash;crestfallen.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon.&#8221; he said, at last, &#8220;I won&#8217;t intrude any longer.
+Good&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was making for the door, but Eugen made a dash after him, turned him
+round, and pushed him into a chair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sit down, man,&#8221; said he, stifling his laughter. &#8220;Sit down, man; do you
+think the poor little chap will hurt you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Karl cast a distrustful glance sideways at my nursling and spoke not.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m glad to see you,&#8221; pursued Eugen. &#8220;Why didn&#8217;t you come before?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>At that Karl&#8217;s lips began to twitch with a humorous smile; presently he
+too began to laugh, and seemed not to know how or when to stop.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It beats all I ever saw or heard or dreamed of,&#8221; said he, at last.
+&#8220;That&#8217;s what brought you home in such a hurry every night. Let me
+congratulate you, Friedel! You make a first-rate nurse; when everything
+else fails I will give you a character as <i>Kinderm&auml;dchen</i>; clean, sober,
+industrious, and not given to running after young men.&#8221; With which he
+roared again, and Sigmund surveyed him with a somewhat severe, though
+scarcely a disapproving, expression. Karl seated himself near him, and,
+though not yet venturing to address him, cast various glances of
+blandishment and persuasion upon him.</p>
+
+<p>Half an hour passed thus, and a second knock was followed by the
+entrance of Frau Schmidt.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good evening, gentlemen,&#8221; she remarked, in a tone which said
+unutterable things&mdash;scorn, contempt, pity&mdash;all finely blended into a
+withering sneer, as she cast her eyes around, and a slight but awful
+smile played about her lips. &#8220;Half past eight, and that blessed baby not
+in bed yet. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>I knew how it would be. And you all smoking,
+too&mdash;<i>nat&uuml;rlich!</i> You ought to know better, Herr Courvoisier&mdash;you ought,
+at any rate,&#8221; she added, scorn dropping into heart-piercing reproach.
+&#8220;Give him to me,&#8221; she added, taking him from me, and apostrophizing him.
+&#8220;You poor, blessed lamb! Well for you that I&#8217;m here to look after you,
+that have had children of my own, and know a little about the sort of
+way that you ought to be brought up in.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Evident signs of uneasiness on Karl&#8217;s part, as Frau Schmidt, with the
+same extraordinary contortion of the mouth&mdash;half smile, half
+sneer&mdash;brought Sigmund to his father, to say good-night. That process
+over, he was brought to me, and then, as if it were a matter which
+&#8220;understood itself,&#8221; to Karl. Eugen and I, like family men, as we were,
+had gone through the ceremony with willing grace. Karl backed his chair
+a little, looked much alarmed, shot a queer glance at us, at the child,
+and then appealingly up into the woman&#8217;s face. We, through our smoke,
+watched him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He looks so very&mdash;very&mdash;&#8221; he began.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come, come, <i>mein Herr</i>, what does that mean? Kiss the little angel,
+and be thankful you may. The innocent! You ought to be delighted,&#8221; said
+she, standing with grenadier-like stiffness beside him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He won&#8217;t bite you, Karl,&#8221; I said, reassuringly. &#8220;He&#8217;s quite harmless.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Thus encouraged, Herr Linders stooped forward and touched the cheek of
+the child with his lips; then, as if surprised, stroked it with his
+finger.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Lieber Himmel!</i> how soft! Like satin, or rose leaves!&#8221; he murmured, as
+the woman carried the child away, shut the door and disappeared.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Does she tackle you in that way every night?&#8221; he inquired next.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Every evening,&#8221; said Eugen. &#8220;And I little dare open my lips before her.
+You would notice how quiet I kept. It&#8217;s because I am afraid of her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Frau Schmidt, who had at first objected so strongly to the advent of the
+child, was now devoted to it, and would have resented exceedingly the
+idea of allowing any one but herself to put it to bed, dress or undress
+it, or look after it in general. This state of things had crept on very
+gradually; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>she had never said how fond she was of the child, but put
+her kindness upon the ground that as a Christian woman she could not
+stand by and see it mishandled by a couple of <i>men</i>, and oh! the
+unutterable contempt upon the word &#8220;men.&#8221; Under this disguise she
+attempted to cover the fact that she delighted to have it with her, to
+kiss it, fondle it, admire it, and &#8220;do for it.&#8221; We knew now that no
+sooner had we left the house than the child would be brought down, and
+would never leave the care of Frau Schmidt until our return, or until he
+was in bed and asleep. She said he was a quiet child, and &#8220;did not give
+so much trouble.&#8221; Indeed, the little fellow won a friend in whoever saw
+him. He had made another conquest to-night. Karl Linders, after puffing
+away for some time, inquired, with an affectation of indifference:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How old is he&mdash;<i>der kleine Bengel</i>?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Two&mdash;a little more.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Handsome little fellow!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Glad you think so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sure of it. But I didn&#8217;t know, Courvoisier&mdash;so sure as I live, I knew
+nothing about it!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I dare say not. Did I ever say you did?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I saw that Karl wished to ask another question; one which had trembled
+upon my own lips many a time, but which I had never asked&mdash;which I knew
+that I never should ask. &#8220;The mother of that child&mdash;is she alive or
+dead? Why may we never hear one word of her? Why this silence, as of the
+grave? Was she your wife? Did you love her? Did she love you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Questions which could not fail to come to me, and about which my
+thoughts would hang for hours. I could imagine a woman being very deeply
+in love with Courvoisier. Whether he would love very deeply himself,
+whether love would form a mainspring of his life and actions, or whether
+it took only a secondary place&mdash;I speak of the love of woman&mdash;I could
+not guess. I could decide upon many points of his character. He was a
+good friend, a high-minded and a pure-minded man; his every-day life,
+the turn of his thoughts and conversation, showed me that as plainly as
+any great adventure could have done. That he was an ardent musician, an
+artist in the truest and deepest sense, of a quixotically generous and
+unselfish nature&mdash;all this I had already proved. That he loved his child
+with a love <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>not short of passion was patent to me every day. But upon
+the past, silence so utter as I never before met with. Not a hint; not
+an allusion; not one syllable.</p>
+
+<p>Little Sigmund was not yet two and a half. The story upon which his
+father maintained so deep a silence was not, could not, be a very old
+one. His behavior gave me no clew as to whether it had been a joyful or
+a sorrowful one. Mere silence could tell me nothing. Some men are silent
+about their griefs; some about their joys. I knew not in which direction
+his disposition lay.</p>
+
+<p>I saw Karl look at him that evening once or twice, and I trembled lest
+the blundering, good-natured fellow should make the mistake of asking
+some question. But he did not; I need not have feared. People were not
+in the habit of putting obtrusive questions to Eugen Courvoisier. The
+danger was somehow quietly tided over, the delicate ground avoided.</p>
+
+<p>The conversation wandered quietly off to commonplace topics&mdash;the state
+of the orchestra; tales of its doings; the tempers of our different
+conductors&mdash;Malperg of the opera; Woelff of the ordinary concerts, which
+took place two or three times a week, when we fiddled and the public
+ate, drank, and listened; lastly, von Francius, <i>k&ouml;niglicher
+Musik-direktor</i>.</p>
+
+<p>Karl Linders gave his opinion freely upon the men in authority. He had
+nothing to do with them, nothing to hope or fear from them; he filled a
+quiet place among the violoncellists, and had attained his twenty-eighth
+year without displaying any violent talent or tendency to distinguish
+himself, otherwise than by getting as much mirth out of life as possible
+and living in a perpetual state of &#8220;carlesse contente.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He desired to know what Courvoisier thought of von Francius; for
+curiosity&mdash;the fault of those idle persons who afterward develop into
+busybodies&mdash;was already beginning to leave its traces on Herr Linders.
+It was less known than guessed that the state of things between
+Courvoisier and von Francius was less peace than armed neutrality. The
+intense politeness of von Francius to his first violinist, and the
+punctilious ceremoniousness of the latter toward his chief, were topics
+of speculation and amusement to the whole orchestra.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think von Francius would be a fiend if he could,&#8221; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>said Karl,
+comfortably. &#8220;I wouldn&#8217;t stand it if he spoke to me as he speaks to some
+people.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, they like it!&#8221; said Courvoisier; and Karl stared. &#8220;Girls don&#8217;t
+object to a little bullying; anything rather than be left quite alone,&#8221;
+Courvoisier went on, tranquilly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Girls!&#8221; ejaculated Karl.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You mean the young ladies in the chorus, don&#8217;t you?&#8221; asked Courvoisier,
+unmovedly. &#8220;He does bully them, I don&#8217;t deny; but they come back again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I see!&#8221; said Karl, accepting the rebuff.</p>
+
+<p>He had not referred to the young ladies of the chorus.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you heard von Francius play?&#8221; he began next.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Nat&uuml;rlich!</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you think of it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think it is superb!&#8221; said Courvoisier.</p>
+
+<p>Baffled again, Karl was silent.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The power and the daring of it are grand,&#8221; went on Eugen, heartily. &#8220;I
+could listen to him for hours. To see him seat himself before the piano,
+as if he were sitting down to read a newspaper, and do what he does,
+without moving a muscle, is simply superb&mdash;there&#8217;s no other word. Other
+men may play the piano; he takes the key-board and plays with it, and it
+says what he likes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I looked at him, and was satisfied. He found the same want in von
+Francius&#8217; &#8220;superb&#8221; manipulation that I did&mdash;the glitter of a diamond,
+not the glow of a fire.</p>
+
+<p>Karl had not the subtlety to retort, &#8220;Ay, but does it say what we like?&#8221;
+He subsided again, merely giving a meek assent to the proposition, and
+saying, suggestively:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s not liked, though he is such a popular fellow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The public is often a great fool.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, but you can&#8217;t expect it to kiss the hand that slaps it in the
+face, as von Francius does,&#8221; said Karl, driven to metaphor, probably for
+the first time in his life, and seeming astonished at having discovered
+a hitherto unknown mental property pertaining to himself.</p>
+
+<p>Courvoisier laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m certain of one thing: von Francius will go on slapping the public&#8217;s
+face. I won&#8217;t say how it will end; but it would not surprise me in the
+least to see the public at his feet, as it is now at those of&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Humph!&#8221; said Karl, reflectively.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p><p>He did not stay much longer, but having finished his cigar, rose. He
+seemed to feel very apologetic, and out of the fullness of his heart his
+mouth spake.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I really wouldn&#8217;t have intruded if I had known&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Known what?&#8221; inquired Eugen, with well-assumed surprise.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought you were just by yourselves, you know, and&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So we are; but we can do with other society. Friedel here gets very
+tedious sometimes&mdash;in fact, <i>langweilig</i>. Come again, <i>nicht wahr</i>?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t be in your way,&#8221; said Karl, looking round the room with
+somewhat wistful eyes.</p>
+
+<p>We assured him to the contrary, and he promised, with unnecessary
+emphasis, to come again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He will return; I know he will!&#8221; said Eugen, after he had gone.</p>
+
+<p>The next time that Herr Linders arrived, which was ere many days had
+passed, he looked excited and important; and after the first greetings
+were over, he undid a great number of papers which wrapped and infolded
+a parcel of considerable dimensions, and displayed to our enraptured
+view of a white woolly animal of stupendous dimensions, fastened upon a
+green stand, which stand, when pressed, caused the creature to give
+forth a howl like unto no lowing of oxen nor bleating of sheep ever
+heard on earth. This inviting-looking creature he held forth toward
+Sigmund, who stared at it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps he&#8217;s got one already?&#8221; said Karl, seeing that the child did not
+display any violent enthusiasm about the treasure.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, no!&#8221; said Eugen, promptly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps he doesn&#8217;t know what it is,&#8221; I suggested, rather unkindly,
+scarcely able to keep my countenance at the idea of that baby playing
+with such a toy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps not,&#8221; said Karl, more cheerfully, kneeling down by my
+side&mdash;Sigmund sat on my knee&mdash;and squeezing the stand, so that the
+woolly animal howled. &#8220;<i>Sieh!</i> Sigmund! Look at the pretty lamb!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, come, Karl! Are you a lamb? Call it an eagle at once,&#8221; said I,
+skeptically.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is a lamb, ain&#8217;t it?&#8221; said he, turning it over. &#8220;They called it a
+lamb at the shop.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;A very queer lamb; not a German breed, anyhow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now I think of it, my little sister has one, but she calls it a rabbit,
+I believe.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very likely. You might call that anything, and no one could contradict
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, <i>der Kleine</i> doesn&#8217;t know the difference; it&#8217;s a toy,&#8221; said Karl,
+desperately.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not a toy that seems to take his fancy much,&#8221; said I, as Sigmund, with
+evident signs of displeasure, turned away from the animal on the green
+stand, and refused to look at it. Karl looked despondent.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He doesn&#8217;t like the look of it,&#8221; said he, plaintively.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought I was sure to be right in this. My little sister&#8221; (Karl&#8217;s
+little sister had certainly never been so often quoted by her brother
+before) &#8220;plays for hours with that thing that she calls a rabbit.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Eugen had come to the rescue, and grasped the woolly animal which Karl
+had contemptuously thrown aside. After convincing himself by near
+examination as to which was intended for head and which for tail, he
+presented it to his son, remarking that it was &#8220;a pretty toy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ll pray for you after that, Eugen&mdash;often and earnestly,&#8221; said I.</p>
+
+<p>Sigmund looked appealingly at him, but seeing that his father appeared
+able to endure the presence of the beast, and seemed to wish him to do
+the same, from some dark and inscrutable reason not to be grasped by so
+young a mind&mdash;for he was modest as to his own intelligence&mdash;he put out
+his small arm, received the creature into it, and embracing it round the
+body, held it to his side, and looked at Eugen with a pathetic
+expression.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pretty plaything, <i>nicht wahr</i>?&#8221; said Eugen, encouragingly.</p>
+
+<p>Sigmund nodded silently. The animal emitted a howl; the child winced,
+but looked resigned. Eugen rose and stood at some little distance,
+looking on. Sigmund continued to embrace the animal with the same
+resigned expression, until Karl, stooping, took it away.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You mustn&#8217;t <i>make</i> him, just because I brought it,&#8221; said he. &#8220;Better
+luck next time. I see he&#8217;s not a common child. I must try to think of
+something else.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>We commanded our countenances with difficulty, but <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>preserved them.
+Sigmund&#8217;s feelings had been severely wounded. For many days he eyed Karl
+with a strange, cold glance, which the latter used every art in his
+power to change, and at last succeeded. Woolly lambs became a forbidden
+subject. Nothing annoyed Karl more than for us to suggest, if Sigmund
+happened to be a little cross or mournful, &#8220;Suppose you just go home,
+Karl, and fetch the &#8216;lamb-rabbit-lion.&#8217; I&#8217;m sure he would like it.&#8221; From
+that time the child had another worshiper, and we a constant visitor in
+Karl Linders.</p>
+
+<p>We sat together one evening&mdash;Eugen and I, after Sigmund had been in bed
+a long time, after the opera was over&mdash;chatting, as we often did, or as
+often remained silent. He had been reading, and the book from which he
+read was a volume of English poetry. At last, laying the book aside, he
+said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The first night we met, you fainted away from exhaustion and long
+fasting. You said you would tell me why you had allowed yourself to do
+so, but you have never kept your word.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I didn&#8217;t care to eat. People eat to live&mdash;except those who live to eat,
+and I was not very anxious to live, I didn&#8217;t care for my life, in fact,
+I wished I was dead.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why? An unlucky love?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>I, bewahre!</i> I never knew what it was to be in love in my life,&#8221; said
+I, with perfect truth.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is that true, Friedel?&#8221; he asked, apparently surprised.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;As true as possible. I think a timely love affair, however unlucky,
+would have roused me and brought me to my senses again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;General melancholy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I was alone in the world. I had been reading, reading, reading; my
+brain was one dark and misty muddle of Kant, Schopenhauer, von Hartmann,
+and a few others. I read them one after another, as quickly as possible;
+the mixture had the same effect upon my mind as the indiscriminate
+contents of taffy-shop would have upon Sigmund&#8217;s stomach&mdash;it made it
+sick. In my crude, ungainly, unfinished fashion I turned over my
+information, laying down big generalizations upon a foundation of
+experience of the smallest possible dimensions, and all upon one side.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p><p>He nodded. &#8220;<i>Ei!</i> I know it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And after considering the state of the human race&mdash;that is to say the
+half dozen people I knew, and the miseries of the human lot as set forth
+in the books I had read, and having proved to myself, all up in that
+little room, you know&#8221;&mdash;I pointed to my bedroom&mdash;&#8220;that there neither was
+nor could be heaven or hell or any future state, and having decided,
+also from that room, that there was no place for me in the world, and
+that I was very likely actually filling the place of some other man,
+poorer than I was, and able to think life a good thing&#8221; (Eugen was
+smiling to himself in great amusement), &#8220;I came to the conclusion that
+the best thing I could do was to leave the world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Were you going to starve yourself to death? That is rather a tedious
+process, <i>nicht wahr</i>?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, no! I had not decided upon any means of effacing myself; and it was
+really your arrival which brought on that fainting fit, for if you
+hadn&#8217;t turned up when you did I should probably have thought of my
+interior some time before seven o&#8217;clock. But you came. Eugen, I wonder
+what sent you up to my room just at that very time, on that very day!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Von Francius,&#8221; said Eugen, tranquilly. &#8220;I had seen him, and he was very
+busy and referred me to you&mdash;that&#8217;s all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;let us call it von Francius.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But what&#8217;s the end of it? Is that the whole story?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought I might as well help you a bit,&#8221; said I, rather awkwardly.
+&#8220;You were not like other people, you see&mdash;it was the child, I think. I
+was as much amazed as Karl, if I didn&#8217;t show it so much, and after
+that&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;After that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well. There was the child, you see, and things seemed quite different
+somehow. I&#8217;ve been very comfortable&#8221; (this was my way of putting it)
+&#8220;ever since, and I am curious to see what the boy will be like in a few
+years. Shall you make him into a musician too?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Courvoisier&#8217;s brow clouded a little.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; was all he said. Later, I learned the reason of that
+&#8220;don&#8217;t know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So it was no love affair,&#8221; said Eugen again. &#8220;Then I have been wrong
+all the time. I quite fancied it was some girl&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;What could make you think so?&#8221; I asked, with a whole-hearted laugh. &#8220;I
+tell you I don&#8217;t know what it is to be in love. The other fellows are
+always in love. They are in a constant state of <i>Schw&auml;ramerei</i> about
+some girl or other. It goes in epidemics. They have not each a separate
+passion. The whole lot of them will go mad about one young woman. I
+can&#8217;t understand it. I wish I could, for they seem to enjoy it so much.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You heathen!&#8221; said he, but not in a very bantering tone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, Eugen, do you mean to say that you are so very susceptible? Oh, I
+beg your pardon,&#8221; I added, hastily, shocked and confused to find that I
+had been so nearly overstepping the boundary which I had always marked
+out for myself. And I stopped abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s like you, Friedhelm,&#8221; said he, in a tone which was in some way
+different from his usual one. &#8220;I never knew such a ridiculous,
+chivalrous, punctilious fellow as you are. Tell me something&mdash;did you
+never speculate about me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Never impertinently, I assure you, Eugen,&#8221; said I, earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>He laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You impertinent! That is amusing, I must say. But surely you have given
+me a thought now and then, have wondered whether I had a history, or
+sprung out of nothing?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Certainly, and wondered what your story was; but I do not need to know
+it to&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I understand. Well, but it is rather difficult to say this to such an
+unsympathetic person; you won&#8217;t understand it. I have been in love,
+Friedel.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So I can suppose.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I waited for the corollary, &#8220;and been loved in return,&#8221; but it did not
+come. He said, &#8220;And received as much regard in return as I
+deserved&mdash;perhaps more.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As I could not cordially assent to this proposition, I remained silent.</p>
+
+<p>After a pause he went on: &#8220;I am eight-and-twenty, and have lived my
+life. The story won&#8217;t bear raking up now&mdash;perhaps never. For a long time
+I went on my own way, and was satisfied with it&mdash;blindly, inanely,
+densely satisfied <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>with it; then all at once I was brought to reason&mdash;&#8221;
+He laughed, not a very pleasant laugh. &#8220;Brought to reason,&#8221; he resumed,
+&#8220;but how? By waking one morning to find myself a spoiled man, and
+spoiled by myself, too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A pause, while I turned this information over in my mind, and then said,
+composedly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t quite believe in your being a spoiled man. Granted that you
+have made some <i>fiasco</i>&mdash;even a very bad one&mdash;what is to prevent your
+making a life again?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ha, ha!&#8221; said he, ungenially. &#8220;Things not dreamed of, Friedel, by your
+straightforward philosophy. One night I was, take it all in all,
+straight with the world and my destiny; the next night I was an outcast,
+and justly so. I don&#8217;t complain. I have no right to complain.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Again he laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I once knew some one,&#8221; said I, &#8220;who used to say that many a good man
+and many a great man was lost to the world simply because nothing
+interrupted the course of his prosperity.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t suppose that I am an embryo hero of any description,&#8221; said he,
+bitterly. &#8220;I am merely, as I said, a spoiled man, brought to his senses
+and with life before him to go through as best he may, and the knowledge
+that his own fault has brought him to what he is.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But look here! If it is merely a question of name or money,&#8221; I began.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is not merely that; but suppose it were, what then?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It lies with yourself. You may make a name either as a composer or
+performer&mdash;your head or your fingers will secure you money and fame.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;None the less should I be, as I said, a spoiled man,&#8221; he said, quietly.
+&#8220;I should be ashamed to come forward. It was I myself who sent myself
+and my prospects <i>caput</i>;<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> and for that sort of obscurity is the best
+taste and the right sphere.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But there&#8217;s the boy,&#8221; I suggested. &#8220;Let him have the advantage.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t, don&#8217;t!&#8221; he said, suddenly, and wincing visibly, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>as if I had
+touched a raw spot. &#8220;No; my one hope for him is that he may never be
+known as my son.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But&mdash;but&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Poor little beggar! I wonder what will become of him,&#8221; he uttered,
+after a pause, during which I did not speak again.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen puffed fitfully at his cigar, and at last knocking the ash from it
+and avoiding my eyes, he said, in a low voice:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I suppose some time I must leave the boy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Leave him!&#8221; I echoed, intelligently.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When he grows a little older&mdash;before he is old enough to feel it very
+much, though, I must part from him. It will be better.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Another pause. No sign of emotion, no quiver of the lips, no groan,
+though the heart might be afaint. I sat speechless.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have not come to the conclusion lately. I&#8217;ve always known it,&#8221; he
+went on, and spoke slowly. &#8220;I have known it&mdash;and have thought about
+it&mdash;so as to get accustomed to it&mdash;see?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I nodded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At that time&mdash;as you seem to have a fancy for the child&mdash;will you give
+an eye to him&mdash;sometimes, Friedel&mdash;that is, if you care enough for me&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>For a moment I did not speak. Then I said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are quite sure the parting must take place?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He assented.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When it does, will you give him to me&mdash;to my charge altogether?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If he must lose one father, let me grow as like another to him as I
+can.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friedhelm&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;On no other condition,&#8221; said I. &#8220;I will not &#8216;have an eye&#8217; to him
+occasionally. I will not let him go out alone among strangers, and give
+a look in upon him now and then.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Eugen had covered his face with his hands, but spoke not.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will have him with me altogether, or not at all,&#8221; I finished, with a
+kind of jerk.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Impossible!&#8221; said he, looking up with a pale face, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>eyes full of
+anguish&mdash;the more intense in that he uttered not a word of it.
+&#8220;Impossible! You are no relation&mdash;he has not a claim&mdash;there is not a
+reason&mdash;not the wildest reason for such a&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, there is; there is the reason that I won&#8217;t have it otherwise,&#8221;
+said I, doggedly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is fantastic, like your insane self,&#8221; he said, with a forced smile,
+which cut me, somehow, more than if he had groaned.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fantastic! I don&#8217;t know what you mean. What good would it be to me to
+see him with strangers? I should only make myself miserable with wishing
+to have him. I don&#8217;t know what you mean by fantastic.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He drew a long breath. &#8220;So be it, then,&#8221; said he, at last. &#8220;And he need
+know nothing about his father. I may even see him from time to time
+without his knowing&mdash;see him growing into a man like you, Friedel; it
+would be worth the separation, even if one had not to make a merit of
+necessity; yes, well worth it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Like me? <i>Nie, mein lieber</i>; he shall be something rather better than I
+am, let us hope,&#8221; said I; &#8220;but there is time enough to talk about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes! In a year or two from now,&#8221; said he, almost inaudibly. &#8220;The
+worst of it is that in a case like this, the years go so fast, so
+cursedly fast.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I could make no answer to this, and he added, &#8220;Give me thy hand upon it,
+Friedel.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I held out my hand. We had risen, and stood looking steadfastly into
+each other&#8217;s eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish I were&mdash;what I might have been&mdash;to pay you for this,&#8221; he said,
+hesitatingly, wringing my hand and laying his left for a moment on my
+shoulder; then, without another word, went into his room, shutting the
+door after him.</p>
+
+<p>I remained still&mdash;sadder, gladder than I had ever been before. Never had
+I so intensely felt the deep, eternal sorrow of life&mdash;that sorrow which
+can be avoided by none who rightly live; yet never had life towered
+before me so rich and so well worth living out, so capable of high
+exultation, pure purpose, full satisfaction, and sufficient reward. My
+quarrel with existence was made up.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+<p><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">&#8220;The merely great are, all in all,<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">No more than what the merely small<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Esteem them. Man&#8217;s opinion<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Neither conferred nor can remove<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>This</i> man&#8217;s dominion.&#8221;</span></p></div>
+
+<p>Three years passed&mdash;an even way. In three years there happened little of
+importance&mdash;little, that is, of open importance&mdash;to either of us. I read
+that sentence again, and can not help smiling; &#8220;to either of us.&#8221; It
+shows the progress that our friendship has made. Yes, it had grown every
+day.</p>
+
+<p>I had no past, painful or otherwise, which I could even wish to conceal;
+I had no thought that I desired hidden from the man who had become my
+other self. What there was of good in me, what of evil, he saw. It was
+laid open to him, and he appeared to consider that the good predominated
+over the bad; for, from that first day of meeting, our intimacy went on
+steadily in one direction&mdash;increasing, deepening. He was six years older
+than I was. At the end of this time of which I speak he was
+one-and-thirty, I five-and-twenty; but we met on equal ground&mdash;not that
+I had anything approaching his capacities in any way. I do not think
+that had anything to do with it. Our happiness did not depend on mental
+supremacy. I loved him&mdash;because I could not help it; he me,
+because&mdash;upon my word, I can think of no good reason&mdash;probably because
+he did.</p>
+
+<p>And yet we were as unlike as possible. He had habits of reckless
+extravagance, or what seemed to me reckless extravagance, and a lordly
+manner (when he forgot himself) of speaking of things, which absolutely
+appalled my economical burgher soul. I had certain habits, too, the
+outcomes of my training, and my sparing, middle-class way of living,
+which I saw puzzled him very much. To cite only one insignificant
+incident. We were both great readers, and, despite our sometimes arduous
+work, contrived to get through a good amount of books in the year. One
+evening he came home with a brand-new novel, in three volumes, in his
+hands.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Here, Friedel; here is some mental dissipation for to-night. Drop that
+Schopenhauer, and study Heyse. Here is &#8216;Die Kinder der Welt;&#8217; it will
+suit our case exactly, for it is what we are ourselves.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How clean it looks!&#8221; I observed, innocently.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So it ought, seeing that I have just paid for it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Paid for it!&#8221; I almost shouted. &#8220;Paid for it! You don&#8217;t mean that you
+have bought the book!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Calm thy troubled spirit! You don&#8217;t surely mean that you thought me
+capable of stealing the book?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are hopeless. You have paid at least eighteen marks for it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s the figure to a pfennig.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said I, with conscious superiority, &#8220;you might have had the
+whole three volumes from the library for five or six groschen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know. But their copy looked so disgustingly greasy I couldn&#8217;t have
+touched it; so I ordered a new one.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very well. Your accounts will look well when you come to balance and
+take stock,&#8221; I retorted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What a fuss about a miserable eighteen marks!&#8221; said he, stretching
+himself out, and opening a volume. &#8220;Come, Sig, learn how the children of
+the world are wiser in their generation than the children of light, and
+leave that low person to prematurely age himself by beginning to balance
+his accounts before they are ripe for it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know whether you are aware that you are talking the wildest and
+most utter rubbish that was ever conceived,&#8221; said I, nettled. &#8220;There is
+simply no sense in it. Given an income of&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Aber, ich bitte Dich!</i>&#8221; he implored, though laughing; and I was
+silent.</p>
+
+<p>But his three volumes of &#8220;Die Kinder der Welt&#8221; furnished me with many an
+opportunity to &#8220;point a moral or adorn a tale,&#8221; and I believe really
+warned him off one or two other similar extravagances. The idea of men
+in our position recklessly ordering three-volume novels because the
+circulating library copy happened to be greasy, was one I could not get
+over for a long time.</p>
+
+<p>We still inhabited the same rooms at No. 45, in the Wehrhahn. We had
+outstayed many other tenants; men had come and gone, both from our house
+and from those rooms over the way whose windows faced ours. We passed
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>our time in much the same way&mdash;hard work at our profession, and, with
+Eugen at least, hard work out of it; the education of his boy, whom he
+made his constant companion in every leisure moment, and taught, with a
+wisdom that I could hardly believe&mdash;it seemed so like
+inspiration&mdash;composition, translation, or writing of his own&mdash;incessant
+employment of some kind. He never seemed able to pass an idle moment;
+and yet there were times when, it seemed to me, his work did not satisfy
+him, but rather seemed to disgust him.</p>
+
+<p>Once when I asked him if it were so, he laid down his pen and said,
+&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then why do you do it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because&mdash;for no reason that I know; but because I am an unreasonable
+fool.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;An unreasonable fool to work hard?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; but to go on as if hard work now can ever undo what years of
+idleness have done.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you believe in work?&#8221; I asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I believe it is the very highest and holiest thing there is, and the
+grandest purifier and cleanser in the world. But it is not a panacea
+against every ill. I believe that idleness is sometimes as strong as
+work, and stronger. You may do that in a few years of idleness which a
+life-time of afterwork won&#8217;t cover, mend, or improve. You may make holes
+in your coat from sheer laziness, and then find that no amount of
+stitching will patch them up again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I seldom answered these mystic monologues. Love gives a wonderful
+sharpness even to dull wits; it had sharpened mine so that I often felt
+he indulged in those speeches out of sheer desire to work off some grief
+or bitterness from his heart, but that a question might, however
+innocent, overshoot the mark, and touch a sore spot&mdash;the thing I most
+dreaded. And I did not feel it essential to my regard for him to know
+every item of his past.</p>
+
+<p>In such cases, however, when there is something behind&mdash;when one knows
+it, only does not know what it is (and Eugen had never tried to conceal
+from me that something had happened to him which he did not care to
+tell)&mdash;then, even though one accept the fact, as I accepted it, without
+dispute or resentment, one yet involuntarily builds theories, has ideas,
+or rather the ideas shape themselves about the object of interest, and
+take their coloring from him, one <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span>can not refrain from conjectures,
+surmises. Mine were necessarily of the most vague and shadowy
+description; more negative than active, less theories as to what he had
+been or done than inferences from what he let fall in talk or conduct as
+to what he had not been or done.</p>
+
+<p>In our three years&#8217; acquaintance, it is true, there had not been much
+opportunity for any striking display on his part of good or bad
+qualities; but certainly ample opportunity of testing whether he were,
+taken all in all, superior, even with, or inferior to the average man of
+our average acquaintance. And, briefly speaking, to me he had become a
+standing model of a superior man.</p>
+
+<p>I had by this time learned to know that when there were many ways of
+looking at a question, that one, if there were such an one, which was
+less earthily practical, more ideal and less common than the others,
+would most inevitably be the view taken by Eugen Courvoisier, and
+advocated by him with warmth, energy, and eloquence to the very last.
+The point from which he surveyed the things and the doings of life was,
+taken all in all, a higher one than that of other men, and was illumined
+with something of the purple splendor of that &#8220;light that never was on
+sea or land.&#8221; A less practical conduct, a more ideal view of right and
+wrong&mdash;sometimes a little fantastic even&mdash;always imbued with something
+of the knightliness which sat upon him as a natural attribute.
+<i>Ritterlich</i>, Karl Linders called him, half in jest, half in earnest;
+and <i>ritterlich</i> he was.</p>
+
+<p>In his outward demeanor to the world with which he came in contact, he
+was courteous to men; to a friend or intimate, as myself, an ever-new
+delight and joy; to all people, truthful to fantasy; and to women, on
+the rare occasions on which I ever saw him in their company, he was
+polite and deferential&mdash;but rather overwhelmingly so; it was a
+politeness which raised a barrier, and there was a glacial surface to
+the manner. I remarked this, and speculated about it. He seemed to have
+one manner to every woman with whom he had anything to do; the
+maid-servant who, at her leisure or pleasure, was supposed to answer our
+behests (though he would often do a thing himself, alleging that he
+preferred doing so to &#8220;seeing that poor creature&#8217;s apron&#8221;), old Frau
+Henschel who sold the programmes at the kasse at the concerts, to the
+young ladies who presided behind a counter, to every woman to whom he
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>spoke a chance word, up to Frau Sybel, the wife of the great painter,
+who came to negotiate about lessons for the lovely Fr&auml;ulein, her
+daughter, who wished to play a different instrument from that affected
+by every one else. The same inimitable courtesy, the same unruffled,
+unrufflable quiet indifference, and the same utter unconsciousness that
+he, or his appearance, or behavior, or anything about him, could
+possibly interest them. And yet he was a man eminently calculated to
+attract women, only he never to this day has been got to believe so, and
+will often deprecate his poor power of entertaining ladies.</p>
+
+<p>I often watched this little by-play of behavior from and to the fairer
+sex with silent amusement, more particularly when Eugen and I made
+shopping expeditious for Sigmund&#8217;s benefit. We once went to buy
+stockings&mdash;winter stockings for him; it was a large miscellaneous and
+smallware shop, full of young women behind the counters and ladies of
+all ages before them.</p>
+
+<p>We found ourselves in the awful position of being the only male
+creatures in the place. Happy in my insignificance and plainness, I
+survived the glances that were thrown upon us; I did not wonder that
+they fell upon my companions. Eugen consulted a little piece of paper on
+which Frau Schmidt had written down what we were to ask for, and,
+marching straight up to a disengaged shop-woman, requested to be shown
+colored woolen stockings.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For yourself, <i>mein Herr</i>?&#8221; she inquired, with a fascinating smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, thank you; for my little boy,&#8221; says Eugen, politely, glancing
+deferentially round at the piles of wool and packets of hosen around.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, so! For the young gentleman? <i>Bitte, meine Herren</i>, be seated.&#8221; And
+she gracefully pushes chairs for us; on one of which I, unable to resist
+so much affability, sit down.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen remains standing; and Sigmund, desirous of having a voice in the
+matter, mounts upon his stool, kneels upon it, and leans his elbows on
+the counter.</p>
+
+<p>The affable young woman returns, and with a glance at Eugen that speaks
+of worlds beyond colored stockings, proceeds to untie a packet and
+display her wares. He turns them over. Clearly he does not like them,
+and does not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>understand them. They are striped; some are striped
+latitudinally, others longitudinally. Eugen turns them over, and the
+young woman murmurs that they are of the best quality.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are they?&#8221; says he, and his eyes roam round the shop. &#8220;Well, Sigmund,
+wilt thou have legs like a stork, as these long stripes will inevitably
+make them, or wilt thou have legs like a zebra&#8217;s back?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should like legs like a little boy, please,&#8221; is Sigmund&#8217;s modest
+expression of a reasonable desire.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen surveys them.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Von der besten Qualit&auml;t</i>,&#8221; repeats the young woman, impressively.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you no blue ones?&#8221; demands Eugen. &#8220;All blue, you know. He wears
+blue clothes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Assuredly, <i>mein Herr</i>, but of a much dearer description; real English,
+magnificent.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She retires to find them, and a young lady who has been standing near us
+turns and observes:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Excuse me&mdash;you want stockings for your little boy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>We both assent. It is a joint affair, of equal importance to both of us.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wouldn&#8217;t have those,&#8221; says she, and I remark her face.</p>
+
+<p>I have seen her often before&mdash;moreover, I have seen her look very
+earnestly at Eugen. I learned later that her name was Anna Sartorius.
+Ere she can finish, the shop-woman with wreathed smiles still lingering
+about her face, returns and produces stockings&mdash;fine, blue-ribbed
+stockings, such as the children of rich English parents wear. Their
+fineness, and the smooth quality of the wool, and the good shape appear
+to soothe Eugen&#8217;s feelings. He pushes away his heap of striped ones,
+which look still coarser and commoner now, observing hopefully and
+cheerily:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ja wohl!</i> That is more what I mean.&#8221; (The poor dear fellow had meant
+nothing, but he knew what he wanted when he saw it.) &#8220;These look more
+like thy legs, Sigmund, <i>nicht wahr</i>? I&#8217;ll take&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I dug him violently in the ribs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hold on, Eugen! How much do they cost the pair, Fr&auml;ulein?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Two thalers twenty-five; the very best quality,&#8221; she says, with a
+ravishing smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There! eight shillings a pair!&#8221; say I. &#8220;It is ridiculous.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eight shillings!&#8221; he repeats, ruefully. &#8220;That is too much.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They are real English, <i>mein Herr</i>,&#8221; she says, feelingly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But, <i>um Gotteswillen</i>! don&#8217;t we make any like them in Germany?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, sir!&#8221; she says, reproachfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Those others are such brutes,&#8221; he remarks, evidently wavering.</p>
+
+<p>I am in despair. The young woman is annoyed to find that he does not
+even see the amiable looks she has bestowed upon him, so she sweeps back
+the heap of striped stockings and announces that they are only three
+marks the pair&mdash;naturally inferior, but you can not have the best
+article for nothing.</p>
+
+<p>Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius, about to go, says to Eugen:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Mein Herr</i>, ask for such and such an article. I know they keep them,
+and you will find it what you want.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Eugen, much touched and much surprised (as he always is and has been)
+that any one should take an interest in him, makes a bow, and a speech,
+and rushes off to open the door for Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius, thanking her
+profusely for her goodness. The young lady behind the counter smiles
+bitterly, and now looks as if butter would not melt in her mouth. I,
+assuming the practical, mention the class of goods referred to by
+Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius, which she unwillingly brings forth, and we
+straightway purchase. The errand accomplished, Eugen takes Sigmund by
+the hand, makes a grand bow to the young woman, and instructs his son to
+take off his hat, and, this process being complete, we sally forth
+again, and half-way home Eugen remarks that it was very kind of that
+young lady to help us.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very,&#8221; I assent, dryly, and when Sigmund has contributed the artless
+remark that all the ladies laughed at us and looked at us, and has been
+told by his father not to be so self-conceited, for that no one can
+possibly wish to look at us, we arrive at home, and the stockings are
+tried on.</p>
+
+<p>Constantly I saw this willingness to charm on the part <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>of women;
+constantly the same utter ignorance of any such thought on the part of
+Eugen, who was continually expressing his surprise at the kindness of
+people, and adding with the gravest simplicity that he had always found
+it so, at which announcement Karl laughed till he had to hold his sides.</p>
+
+<p>And Sigmund? Since the day when Courvoisier had said to me, slowly and
+with difficulty, the words about parting, he had mentioned the subject
+twice&mdash;always with the same intention expressed. Once it was when I had
+been out during the evening, and he had not. I came into our
+sitting-room, and found it in darkness. A light came from the inner
+room, and, going toward it, I found that he had placed the lamp upon a
+distant stand, and was sitting by the child&#8217;s crib, his arms folded, his
+face calm and sad. He rose when he saw me, brought the lamp into the
+parlor again, and said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pardon, Friedel, that I left you without light. The time of parting
+will come, you know, and I was taking a look in anticipation of the time
+when there will be no one there to look at.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I bowed. There was a slight smile upon his lips, but I would rather have
+heard a broken voice and seen a mien less serene.</p>
+
+<p>The second, and only time, up to now, and the events I am coming to, was
+once when he had been giving Sigmund a music lesson, as we called
+it&mdash;that is to say, Eugen took his violin and played a melody, but
+incorrectly, and Sigmund told him every time a wrong note was played, or
+false time kept. Eugen sat, giving a look now and then at the boy, whose
+small, delicate face was bright with intelligence, whose dark eyes
+blazed with life and fire, and whose every gesture betrayed spirit,
+grace, and quick understanding. A child for a father to be proud of. No
+meanness there; no littleness in the fine, high-bred features;
+everything that the father&#8217;s heart could wish, except perhaps some
+little want of robustness; one might have desired that the limbs were
+less exquisitely graceful and delicate&mdash;more stout and robust.</p>
+
+<p>As Eugen laid aside his violin, he drew the child toward him, and asked
+(what I had never heard him ask before):</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What wilt thou be, Sigmund, when thou art a man?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ja, lieber Vater</i>, I will be just like thee.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;How just like me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will do what thou dost.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So! Thou wilt be a musiker like me and Friedel?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ja wohl!</i>&#8221; said Sigmund, but something else seemed to weigh upon his
+small mind. He eyed his father with a reflective look, then looked down
+at his own small hands and slender limbs (his legs were cased in the new
+stockings).</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How?&#8221; inquired his father.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should like to be a musician,&#8221; said Sigmund, who had a fine
+confidence in his sire, and confided his every thought to him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know how to say it,&#8221; he went on, resting his elbows upon
+Eugen&#8217;s knee, and propping his chin upon his two small fists, he looked
+up into his father&#8217;s face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friedhelm is a musician, but he is not like thee,&#8221; he pursued. Eugen
+reddened; I laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;True as can be, Sigmund,&#8221; I said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;I would I were as honest a man,&#8217;&#8221; said Eugen, slightly altering
+&#8220;Hamlet;&#8221; but as he spoke English I contented myself with shaking my
+head at him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I like Friedel,&#8221; went on Sigmund. &#8220;I love him; he is good. But thou,
+<i>mein Vater</i>&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; asked Eugen again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will be like thee,&#8221; said the boy, vehemently, his eyes filling with
+tears. &#8220;I will. Thou saidst that men who try can do all they will&mdash;and I
+will, I will.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, my child?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was a long earnest look that the child gave the man. Eugen had said
+to me some few days before, and I had fully agreed with him:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That child&#8217;s life is one strife after the beautiful in art, and nature,
+and life&mdash;how will he succeed in the search?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I thought of this&mdash;it flashed subtly through my mind as Sigmund gazed at
+his father with a childish adoration&mdash;then, suddenly springing round his
+neck, said, passionately:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thou art so beautiful&mdash;so beautiful! I must be like thee.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Eugen bit his lip momentarily, saying to me in English:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am his God, you see, Friedel. What will he do when he finds out what
+a common clay figure it was he worshiped?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p><p>But he had not the heart to banter the child; only held the little
+clinging figure to his breast; the breast which Sigmund recognized as
+his heaven.</p>
+
+<p>It was after this that Eugen said to me when we were alone:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It must come before he thinks less of me than he does now, Friedel.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>To these speeches I could never make any answer, and he always had the
+same singular smile&mdash;the same paleness about the lips and unnatural
+light in the eyes when he spoke so.</p>
+
+<p>He had accomplished one great feat in those three years&mdash;he had won over
+to himself his comrades, and that without, so to speak, actively laying
+himself out to do so. He had struck us all as something so very
+different from the rest of us, that, on his arrival and for some time
+afterward, there lingered some idea that he must be opposed to us. But I
+very soon, and the rest by gradual degrees, got to recognize that though
+in, not of us, yet he was no natural enemy of ours; if he made no
+advances, he never avoided or repulsed any, but on the very contrary,
+seemed surprised and pleased that any one should take an interest in
+him. We soon found that he was extremely modest as to his own merits and
+eager to acknowledge those of other people.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And,&#8221; said Karl Linders once, twirling his mustache, and smiling in the
+consciousness that his own outward presentment was not to be called
+repulsive, &#8220;he can&#8217;t help his looks; no fellow can.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>At the time of which I speak, his popularity was much greater than he
+knew, or would have believed if he had been told of it.</p>
+
+<p>Only between him and von Francius there remained a constant gulf and a
+continual coldness. Von Francius never stepped aside to make friends;
+Eugen most certainly never went out of his way to ingratiate himself
+with von Francius. Courvoisier had been appointed contrary to the wish
+of von Francius, which perhaps caused the latter to regard him a little
+coldly&mdash;even more coldly than was usual with him, and he was never
+enthusiastic about any one or anything, while to Eugen there was
+absolutely nothing in von Francius which attracted him, save the
+magnificent <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>power of his musical talent&mdash;a power which was as calm and
+cold as himself.</p>
+
+<p>Max von Francius was a man about whom there were various opinions,
+expressed and unexpressed; he was a person who never spoke of himself,
+and who contrived to live a life more isolated and apart than any one I
+have ever known, considering that he went much into society, and mixed a
+good deal with the world. In every circle in Elberthal which could by
+any means be called select, his society was eagerly sought, nor did he
+refuse it. His days were full of engagements; he was consulted, and his
+opinion deferred to in a singular manner&mdash;singular, because he was no
+sayer of smooth things, but the very contrary; because he hung upon no
+patron, submitted to no dictation, was in his way an autocrat. This
+state of things he had brought about entirely by force of his own will
+and in utter opposition to precedent, for the former directors had been
+notoriously under the thumb of certain influential outsiders, who were
+in reality the directors of the director. It was the universal feeling
+that though the Herr Direktor was the busiest man, and had the largest
+circle of acquaintance of any one in Elberthal, yet that he was less
+really known than many another man of half his importance. His business
+as musik-direktor took up much of his time; the rest might have been
+filled to overflowing with private lessons, but von Francius was not a
+man to make himself cheap; it was a distinction to be taught by him, the
+more so as the position or circumstances of a would-be pupil appeared to
+make not the very smallest impression upon him. Distinguished for hard,
+practical common sense, a ready sneer at anything high-flown or
+romantic, discouraging not so much enthusiasm as the outward
+manifestation of it, which he called melodrama, Max von Francius was the
+cynosure of all eyes in Elberthal, and bore the scrutiny with glacial
+indifference.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>FRIEDHELM&#8217;S STORY.</h3>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 21em;"><span class="smcap">Joachim, Raff</span>. <i>Op.</i> 177.</span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 354px;">
+<img src="images/i147.jpg" width="354" height="350" alt="Music" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>&#8220;Make yourself quite easy, Herr Concertmeister. No child that was left
+to my charge was ever known to come to harm.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Thus Frau Schmidt to Eugen, as she stood with dubious smile and folded
+arms in our parlor, and harangued him, while he and I stood,
+violin-cases in our hands, in a great hurry, and anxious to be off.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are very kind, Frau Schmidt, I hope he will not trouble you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is a well-behaved child, and not nearly so disagreeable <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>and bad to
+do with as most. And at what time will you be back?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is uncertain. It just depends upon the length of the probe.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ha! It is all the same. I am going out for a little excursion this
+afternoon, to the Grafenberg, and I shall take the boy with me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, thank you,&#8221; said Eugen; &#8220;that will be very kind. He wants some
+fresh air, and I&#8217;ve had no time to take him out. You are very kind.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Trust to me, Herr Concertmeister&mdash;trust to me,&#8221; said she, with the
+usual imperial wave of her hand, as she at last moved aside from the
+door-way which she had blocked up and allowed us to pass out. A last
+wave of the hand from Eugen to Sigmund, and then we hurried away to the
+station. We were bound for Cologne, where that year the Lower Rhine
+Musikfest was to be held. It was then somewhat past the middle of April,
+and the fest came off at Whitsuntide, in the middle of May. We, among
+others, were engaged to strengthen the Cologne orchestra for the
+occasion, and we were bidden this morning to the first probe.</p>
+
+<p>We just caught our train, seeing one or two faces of comrades we knew,
+and in an hour were in K&ouml;ln.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The Tower of Babel,&#8221; and Raff&#8217;s Fifth Symphonie, that called &#8220;Lenore,&#8221;
+were the subjects we had been summoned to practice. They, together with
+Beethoven&#8217;s &#8220;Choral Fantasia&#8221; and some solos were to come off on the
+third evening of the fest.</p>
+
+<p>The probe lasted a long time; it was three o&#8217;clock when we left the
+concert-hall, after five hours&#8217; hard work.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come along, Eugen,&#8221; cried I, &#8220;we have just time to catch the three-ten,
+but only just.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t wait for me,&#8221; he answered, with an absent look. &#8220;I don&#8217;t think I
+shall come by it. Look after yourself, Friedel, and <i>auf wiedersehen</i>!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I was scarcely surprised, for I had seen that the music had deeply moved
+him, and I can understand the wish of any man to be alone with the
+remembrance or continuance of such emotions. Accordingly I took my way
+to the station, and there met one or two of my Elberthal comrades, who
+had been on the same errand as myself, and, like me, were returning
+home.</p>
+
+<p>Lively remarks upon the probable features of the coming <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>fest, and the
+circulation of any amount of loose and hazy gossip respecting composers
+and soloists followed, and we all went to our usual restauration and
+dined together. There was an opera that night to which we had probe that
+afternoon, and I scarcely had time to rush home and give a look at
+Sigmund before it was time to go again to the theater.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen&#8217;s place remained empty. For the first time since he had come into
+the orchestra he was absent from his post, and I wondered what could
+have kept him.</p>
+
+<p>Taking my way home, very tired, with fragments of airs from &#8220;Czar und
+Zimmermann,&#8221; in which I had just been playing, the &#8220;March&#8221; from
+&#8220;Lenore,&#8221; and scraps of choruses and airs from the &#8220;Thurm zu Babel,&#8221; all
+ringing in my head in a confused jumble, I sprung up the stairs (up
+which I used to plod so wearily and so spiritlessly), and went into the
+sitting-room. Darkness! After I had stood still and gazed about for a
+time, my eyes grew accustomed to the obscurity. I perceived that a dim
+gray light still stole in at the open window, and that some one reposing
+in an easy-chair was faintly shadowed out against it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is that you, Friedhelm?&#8221; asked Eugen&#8217;s voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Lieber Himmel!</i> Are you there? What are you doing in the dark?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Light the lamp, my Friedel! Dreams belong to darkness, and facts to
+light. Sometimes I wish light and facts had never been invented.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I found the lamp and lighted it, carried it up to him, and stood before
+him, contemplating him curiously. He lay back in our one easy-chair, his
+hands clasped behind his head, his legs outstretched. He had been idle
+for the first time, I think, since I had known him. He had been sitting
+in the dark, not even pretending to do anything.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There are things new under the sun,&#8221; said I, in mingled amusement and
+amaze. &#8220;Absent from your post, to the alarm and surprise of all who know
+you, here I find you mooning in the darkness, and when I illuminate you,
+you smile up at me in a somewhat imbecile manner, and say nothing. What
+may it portend?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He roused himself, sat up, and looked at me with an ambiguous half
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Most punctual of men! most worthy, honest, fidgety old friend,&#8221; said
+he, with still the same suppressed smile, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>&#8220;how I honor you! How I wish
+I could emulate you! How I wish I were like you! and yet, Friedel, old
+boy, you have missed something this afternoon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So! I should like to know what you have been doing. Give an account of
+yourself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have erred and gone astray, and have found it pleasant. I have done
+that which I ought not to have done, and am sorry, for the sake of
+morality and propriety, to have to say that it was delightful; far more
+delightful than to go on doing just what one ought to do. Say, good
+Mentor, does it matter? For this occasion only. Never again, as I am a
+living man.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish you would speak plainly,&#8221; said I, first putting the lamp and
+then myself upon the table. I swung my legs about and looked at him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And not go on telling you stories like that of Munchausen, in Arabesks,
+eh? I will be explicit; I will use the indicative mood, present tense.
+Now then. I like Cologne; I like the cathedral of that town; I like the
+Hotel du Nord; and, above all, I love the railway station.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you raving?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you ever examine the Cologne railway station?&#8221; he went on, lighting
+a cigar. &#8220;There is a great big waiting-room, which they lock up; there
+is a delightful place in which you may get lost, and find yourself
+suddenly alone in a deserted wing of the building, with an impertinent
+porter, who doesn&#8217;t understand one word of Eng&mdash;of your native tongue&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you mad?&#8221; was my varied comment.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And while you are in the greatest distress, separated from your
+friends, who have gone on to Elberthal (like mine), and struggling to
+make this porter understand you, you may be encountered by a mooning
+individual&mdash;a native of the land&mdash;and you may address him. He drives the
+fumes of music from his brain, and looks at you, and finds you
+charming&mdash;more than charming. My dear Friedhelm, the look in your eyes
+is quite painful to see. By the exercise of a little diplomacy, which,
+as you are charmingly na&iuml;ve, you do not see through, he manages to seal
+an alliance by which you and he agree to pass three or four hours in
+each other&#8217;s society, for mutual instruction and entertainment. The
+entertainment consists of cutlets, potatoes&mdash;the kind called kartoffeln
+frittes, which they <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>give you very good at the Nord&mdash;and the wine known
+to us as Doctorberger. The instruction is varied, and is carried on
+chiefly in the aisle of the K&ouml;lner Dom, to the sound of music. And when
+he is quite spell-bound, in a magic circle, a kind of golden net or
+cloud, he pulls out an earthly watch, made of dust and dross (&#8216;More fool
+he,&#8217; your eye says, and you are quite right), and sees that time is
+advancing. A whole army of horned things with stings, called feelings of
+propriety, honor, correctness, the right thing, etc., come in thick
+battalions in <i>sturmschritt</i> upon him, and with a hasty word he hurries
+her&mdash;he gets off to the station. There is still an hour, for both are
+coming to Elberthal&mdash;an hour of unalloyed delight; then&#8221;&mdash;he snapped his
+fingers&mdash;&#8220;a drosky, an address, a crack of the whip, and <i>ade</i>!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I sat and stared at him while he wound up this rhodomontade by singing:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i14">&#8220;Ade, ade, ade!<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Ja, Scheiden und Meiden thut Weh!&#8221;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are too young and fair,&#8221; he presently resumed, &#8220;too slight and
+sober for apoplexy; but a painful fear seizes me that your mental
+faculties are under some slight cloud. There is a vacant look in your
+usually radiant eyes; a want of intelligence in the curve of your rosy
+lips&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eugen! Stop that string of fantastic rubbish! Where have you been, and
+what have you been doing?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have not deserved that from you. Haven&#8217;t I been telling you all this
+time where I have been and what I have been doing? There is a brutality
+in your behavior which is to a refined mind most lamentable.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But where have you been, and what have you done?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Another time, <i>mein lieber</i>&mdash;another time!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With this misty promise I had to content myself. I speculated upon the
+subject for that evening, and came to the conclusion that he had
+invented the whole story, to see whether I would believe it (for we had
+all a reprehensible habit of that kind), and very soon the whole
+circumstance dropped from my memory.</p>
+
+<p>On the following morning I had occasion to go to the public eye
+hospital. Eugen and I had interested ourselves to procure a ticket for
+free, or almost free, treatment <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>as an out-patient for a youth whom we
+knew&mdash;one of the second violins&mdash;whose sight was threatened, and who,
+poor boy, could not afford to pay for proper treatment. Eugen being
+busy, I went to receive the ticket.</p>
+
+<p>It was the first time I had been in the place. I was shown into a room
+with the light somewhat obscured, and there had to wait some few
+minutes. Every one had something the matter with his or her eyes&mdash;at
+least so I thought, until my own fell upon a girl who leaned, looking a
+little tired and a little disappointed, against a tall desk at one side
+of the room.</p>
+
+<p>She struck me on the instant as no feminine appearance had ever struck
+me before. She, like myself, seemed to be waiting for some one or
+something. She was tall and supple in figure, and her face was girlish
+and very innocent-looking; and yet, both in her attitude and countenance
+there was a little pride, some hauteur. It was evidently natural to her,
+and sat well upon her. A slight but exquisitely molded figure, different
+from those of our stalwart Elberthaler <i>M&auml;dchen</i>&mdash;finer, more refined
+and distinguished, and a face to dream of. I thought it then, and I say
+it now. Masses, almost too thick and heavy, of dark auburn hair, with
+here and there a glint of warmer hue, framed that beautiful face&mdash;half
+woman&#8217;s, half child&#8217;s. Dark-gray eyes, with long dark lashes and brows;
+cheeks naturally very pale, but sensitive, like some delicate alabaster,
+showing the red at every wave of emotion; something racy, piquant,
+unique, enveloped the whole appearance of this young girl. I had never
+seen anything at all like her before.</p>
+
+<p>She looked wearily round the room, and sighed a little. Then her eyes
+met mine; and seeing the earnestness with which I looked at her, she
+turned away, and a slight, very slight, flush appeared in her cheek.</p>
+
+<p>I had time to notice (for everything about her interested me) that her
+dress was of the very plainest and simplest kind, so plain as to be
+almost poor, and in its fashion not of the newest, even in Elberthal.</p>
+
+<p>Then my name was called out. I received my ticket, and went to the probe
+at the theater.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2>
+
+<h3>&#8220;Wishes are pilgrims to the vale of tears.&#8221;</h3>
+
+<p>A week&mdash;ten days passed. I did not see the beautiful girl again&mdash;nor did
+I forget her. One night at the opera I found her. It was
+&#8220;Lohengrin&#8221;&mdash;but she has told all that story herself&mdash;how Eugen came in
+late (he had a trick of never coming in till the last minute, and I used
+to think he had some reason for it)&mdash;and the recognition and the cut
+direct, first on her side, then on his.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen and I walked home together, arm in arm, and I felt provoked with
+him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I say, Eugen, did you see the young lady with Vincent and the others in
+the first row of the parquet?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I saw some six or eight ladies of various ages in the first row of the
+parquet. Some were old and some were young. One had a knitted shawl over
+her head, which she kept on during the whole of the performance.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t be so maddening. I said the young lady with Vincent and Fr&auml;ulein
+Sartorius. By the bye, Eugen, do you know, or have you ever known her?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who is she?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, bother! The young lady I mean sat exactly opposite to you and me&mdash;a
+beautiful young girl; an <i>Engl&auml;nderin</i>&mdash;fair, with that hair that we
+never see here, and&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In a brown hat&mdash;sitting next to Vincent. I saw her&mdash;yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She saw you too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She must have been blind if she hadn&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you seen her before?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have seen her before&mdash;yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And spoken to her?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Even spoken to her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do tell me what it all means.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nothing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But, Eugen&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you so struck with her, Friedel? Don&#8217;t lose your heart to her, I
+warn you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Why?&#8221; I inquired, wilily, hoping the answer would give me some clew to
+his acquaintance with her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because, <i>mein Bester</i>, she is a cut above you and me, in a different
+sphere, one that we know nothing about. What is more, she knows it, and
+shows it. Be glad that you can not lay yourself open to the snub that I
+got to-night.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was so much bitterness in his tone that I was surprised. But a
+sudden remembrance flushed into my mind of his strange remarks after I
+had left him that day at Cologne, and I laughed to myself, nor, when he
+asked me, would I tell him why. That evening he had very little to say
+to Karl Linders and myself.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen never spoke to me of the beautiful girl who had behaved so
+strangely that evening, though we saw her again and again.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes I used to meet her in the street, in company with the dark,
+plain girl, Anna Sartorius, who, I fancied, always surveyed Eugen with a
+look of recognition. The two young women formed in appearance an almost
+startling contrast. She came to all the concerts, as if she made music a
+study&mdash;generally she was with a stout, good-natured-looking German
+Fr&auml;ulein, and the young Englishman, Vincent. There was always something
+rather melancholy about her grace and beauty.</p>
+
+<p>Most beautiful she was; with long, slender, artist-like hands, the face
+a perfect oval, but the features more piquant than regular; sometimes a
+subdued fire glowed in her eyes and compressed her lips, which removed
+her altogether from the category of spiritless beauties&mdash;a genus for
+which I never had the least taste.</p>
+
+<p>One morning Courvoisier and I, standing just within the entrance to the
+theater orchestra, saw two people go by. One, a figure well enough known
+to every one in Elberthal, and especially to us&mdash;that of Max von
+Francius. Did I ever say that von Francius was an exceedingly handsome
+fellow, in a certain dark, clean-shaved style? On that occasion he was
+speaking with more animation than was usual with him, and the person to
+whom he had unbent so far was the fair English woman&mdash;that enigmatical
+beauty who had cut my friend at the opera. She also was looking animated
+and very beautiful; her face turned to his with a smile&mdash;a glad,
+gratified smile. He was saying:</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;But in the next lesson, you know&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They passed on. I turned to ask Eugen if he had seen. I needed not to
+put the question. He had seen. There was a forced smile upon his lips.
+Before I could speak he had said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It&#8217;s time to go in, Friedel; come along!&#8221; With which he turned into the
+theater, and I followed thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p>Then it was rumored that at the coming concert&mdash;the benefit of von
+Francius&mdash;a new soprano was to appear&mdash;a young lady of whom report used
+varied tones; some believable facts at least we learned about her. Her
+name, they said was Wedderburn; she was an English woman, and had a most
+wonderful voice. The Herr Direktor took a very deep interest in her; he
+not only gave her lessons; he had asked to give her lessons, and
+intended to form of her an artiste who should one day be to the world a
+kind of Patti, Lucca, or Nilsson.</p>
+
+<p>I had no doubt in my own mind as to who she was, but for all that I felt
+considerable excitement on the evening of the haupt-probe to the
+&#8220;Verlorenes Paradies.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Yes, I was right. Miss Wedderburn, the pupil of von Francius, of whom so
+much was prophesied, was the beautiful, forlorn-looking English girl.
+The feeling which grew upon me that evening, and which I never found
+reason afterward to alter, was that she was modest, gentle, yet
+spirited, very gifted, and an artiste by nature and gift, yet sadly ill
+at ease and out of place in that world into which von Francius wished to
+lead her.</p>
+
+<p>She sat quite near to Eugen and me, and I saw how alone she was, and how
+she seemed to feel her loneliness. I saw how certain young ladies drew
+themselves together, and looked at her (it was on this occasion that I
+first began to notice the silent behavior of women toward each other,
+and the more I have observed, the more has my wonder grown and
+increased), and whispered behind their music, and shrugged their
+shoulders when von Francius, seeing how isolated she seemed, bent
+forward and said a few kind words to her.</p>
+
+<p>I liked him for it. After all, he was a man. But his distinguishing the
+child did not add to the delights of her position&mdash;rather made it worse.
+I put myself in her place as well as I could, and felt her feelings when
+von Francius introduced her to one of the young ladies near her, who
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>first stared at him, then at her, then inclined her head a little
+forward and a little backward, turned her back upon Miss Wedderburn, and
+appeared lost in conversation of the deepest importance with her
+neighbor. And I thought of the words which Karl Linders had said to us
+in haste and anger, and after a disappointment he had lately had, &#8220;<i>Das
+weib ist der teufel.</i>&#8221; Yes, woman is the devil sometimes, thought I, and
+a mean kind of devil too. A female Mephistopheles would not have damned
+Gretchen&#8217;s soul, nor killed her body, she would have left the latter on
+this earthly sphere, and damned her reputation.</p>
+
+<p>Von Francius was a clever man, but he made a grand mistake that night,
+unless he were desirous of making his prot&eacute;g&eacute;e as uncomfortable as
+possible. How could those ladies feel otherwise than insulted at seeing
+the man of ice so suddenly attentive and bland to a nobody, an upstart,
+and a beautiful one?</p>
+
+<p>The probe continued, and still she sat alone and unspoken to, her only
+acquaintance or companion seeming to be Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius, with whom
+she had come in. I saw how, when von Francius called upon her to do her
+part, and the looks which had hitherto been averted from her were now
+turned pitilessly and unwinkingly upon her, she quailed. She bit her
+lip; her hand trembled. I turned to Eugen with a look which said
+volumes. He sat with his arms folded, and his face perfectly devoid of
+all expression, gazing straight before him.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Wedderburn might have been satisfied to the full with her revenge.
+That was a voice! such a volume of pure, exquisite melody as I had
+rarely heard. After hearing that, all doubts were settled. The gift
+might be a blessing or a curse&mdash;let every one decide that for himself,
+according to his style of thinking&mdash;but it was there. She possessed the
+power which put her out of the category of commonplace, and had the most
+melodious &#8220;Open, Sesame!&#8221; with which to besiege the doors of the courts
+in which dwell artists&mdash;creative and interpretative.</p>
+
+<p>The performance finished the gap between her and her companions. Their
+looks said, &#8220;You are not one of us.&#8221; My angry spirit said, &#8220;No; you can
+never be like her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She seemed half afraid of what she had done when it was over, and shrunk
+into herself with downcast eyes and nervous quivering of the lips at the
+subdued applause of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>men. I wanted to applaud too, but I looked at
+Eugen. I had instinctively given him some share in the affairs of this
+lovely creature&mdash;a share, which he always strenuously repudiated, both
+tacitly and openly.</p>
+
+<p>Nevertheless, when I saw him I abstained from applauding, knowing, by a
+lightning-quick intuition, that it would be highly irritating to him. He
+showed no emotion; if he had done, I should not have thought the
+occasion was anything special to him. It was his absurd gravity, stony
+inexpressiveness, which impressed me with the fact that he was
+moved&mdash;moved against his will and his judgment. He could no more help
+approving both of her and her voice than he could help admiring a
+perfect, half-opened rose.</p>
+
+<p>It was over, and we went out of the saal, across the road, and home.</p>
+
+<p>Sigmund, who had not been very well that day, was awake, and restless.
+Eugen took him up, wrapped him in a little bed-gown, carried him into
+the other room, and sat down with him. The child rested his head on the
+loved breast, and was soothed.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>She had gone; the door had closed after her. Eugen turned to me, and
+took Sigmund into his arms again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Mein Vater</i>, who is the beautiful lady, and why did you speak so
+harshly to her? Why did you make her cry?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The answer, though ostensibly spoken to Sigmund, was a revelation to me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That I may not have to cry myself,&#8221; said Eugen, kissing him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Could the lady make thee cry?&#8221; demanded Sigmund, sitting up, much
+excited at the idea.</p>
+
+<p>Another kiss and a half laugh was the answer. Then he bade him go to
+sleep, as he did not understand what he was talking about.</p>
+
+<p>By and by Sigmund did drop to sleep. Eugen carried him to his bed,
+tucked him up, and returned. We sat in silence&mdash;such an uncomfortable
+constrained silence, as had never before been between us. I had a book
+before me. I saw no word of it. I could not drive the vision away&mdash;the
+lovely, pleading face, the penitence. Good heavens! How could he repulse
+her as he had done? Her repeated request that he would take that
+money&mdash;what did it all mean? And, moreover, my heart was sore that he
+had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>concealed it all from me. About the past I felt no resentment;
+there was a secret there which I respected; but I was cut up at this.
+The more I thought of it, the keener was the pain I felt.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friedel!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I looked up. Eugen was leaning across the table and his hand was
+stretched toward me; his eyes looked full into mine. I answered his
+look, but I was not clear yet.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Forgive me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Forgive thee what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This playing with thy confidence.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t mention it,&#8221; I forced myself to say, but the sore feeling still
+remained. &#8220;You have surely a right to keep your affairs to yourself if
+you choose.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will not shake hands? Well, perhaps I have no right to ask it; but
+I should like to tell you all about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I put my hand into his.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was wounded,&#8221; said I, &#8220;it is true. But it is over.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then listen, Friedel.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He told me the story of his meeting with Miss Wedderburn. All he said of
+the impression she had made upon him was:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought her very charming, and the loveliest creature I had ever
+seen. And about the trains. It stands in this way. I thought a few hours
+of her society would make me very happy, and would be like&mdash;oh, well! I
+knew that in the future, if she ever should see me again, she would
+either treat me with distant politeness as an inferior, or, supposing
+she discovered that I had cheated her, would cut me dead. And as it did
+not matter, as I could not possibly be an acquaintance of hers in the
+future, I gave myself that pleasure then. It has turned out a mistake on
+my part, but that is nothing new; my whole existence has been a
+monstrous mistake. However, now she sees what a churl&#8217;s nature was under
+my fair-seeming exterior, her pride will show her what to do. She will
+take a wrong view of my character, but what does that signify? She will
+say that to be deceitful first and uncivil afterward are the main
+features of the German character, and when she is at Cologne on her
+honey-moon, she will tell her bride-groom about this adventure, and he
+will remark that the fellow wanted horsewhipping, and she&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There! You have exercised your imagination quite <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>sufficiently. Then
+you intend to keep up this farce of not recognizing her. Why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He hesitated, looked as nearly awkward as he could, and said, a little
+constrainedly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because I think it will be for the best.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For you or for her?&#8221; I inquired, not very fairly, but I could not
+resist it.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen flushed all over his face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What a question!&#8221; was all he said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not think it such a remarkable question. Either you have grown
+exceedingly nervous as to your own strength of resistance or your fear
+for hers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friedhelm,&#8221; said he, in a cutting voice, &#8220;that is a tone which I should
+not have believed you capable of taking. It is vulgar, my dear fellow,
+and uncalled for; and it is so unlike you that I am astonished. If you
+had been one of the other fellows&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I fired up.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Excuse me, Eugen, it might be vulgar if I were merely chaffing you, but
+I am not; and I think, after what you have told me, that I have said
+very little. I am not so sure of her despising you. She looks much more
+as if she were distressed at your despising her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pre&mdash;pos&mdash;ter&mdash;ous!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you can mention an instance in her behavior this evening which
+looked as if she were desirous of snubbing you, I should be obliged by
+your mentioning it,&#8221; I continued:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;well&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;well. If she had wished to snub you she would have sent you that
+money through the post, and made an end of it. She simply desired, as
+was evident all along, to apologize for having been rude to a person who
+had been kind to her. I can quite understand it, and I am not sure that
+your behavior will not have the very opposite effect to that you
+expect.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think you are mistaken. However, it does not matter; our paths lie
+quite apart. She will have plenty of other things to take up her time
+and thoughts. Anyhow I am glad that you and I are quits once more.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So was I. We said no more upon the subject, but I always felt as if a
+kind of connecting link existed between my friend and me, and that
+beautiful, solitary English girl.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p><p>The link was destined to become yet closer. The concert was over at
+which she sung. She had a success. I see she has not mentioned it; a
+success which isolated her still more from her companions, inasmuch as
+it made her more distinctly professional and them more severely
+virtuous.</p>
+
+<p>One afternoon when Eugen and I happened to have nothing to do, we took
+Sigmund to the Grafenberg. We wandered about in the fir wood, and at
+last came to a pause and rested. Eugen lay upon his back and gazed up
+into the thickness of brown-green fir above, and perhaps guessed at the
+heaven beyond the dark shade. I sat and stared before me through the
+straight red-brown stems across the ground,</p>
+
+<p class="center">&#8220;With sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged,&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>to an invisible beyond which had charms for me, and was a kind of
+symphonic beauty in my mind. Sigmund lay flat upon his stomach, kicked
+his heels and made intricate patterns with the fir needles, while he
+hummed a gentle song to himself in a small, sweet voice, true as a
+lark&#8217;s, but sadder. There was utter stillness and utter calm all round.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Eugen&#8217;s arm stole around Sigmund and drew him closer and
+closer to him, and they continued to look at each other until a mutual
+smile broke upon both faces, and the boy said, his whole small frame as
+well as his voice quivering (the poor little fellow had nerves that
+vibrated to the slightest emotion): &#8220;I love thee.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A light leaped into the father&#8217;s eyes; a look of pain followed it
+quickly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And I shall never leave thee,&#8221; said Sigmund.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen parried the necessity of speaking by a kiss.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I love thee too, Friedel,&#8221; continued he, taking my hand. &#8220;We are very
+happy together, aren&#8217;t we?&#8221; And he laughed placidly to himself.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen, as if stung by some tormenting thought, sprung up and we left the
+wood.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, far back, by-gone day! There was a soft light over you shed by a
+kindly sun. That was a time in which joy ran a golden thread through the
+gray homespun of every-day life.</p>
+
+<p>Back to the restauration at the foot of the <i>berg</i>, where <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>Sigmund was
+supplied with milk and Eugen and I with beer, where we sat at a little
+wooden table in a garden and the pleasant clack of friendly conversation
+sounded around; where the women tried to make friends with Sigmund, and
+the girls whispered behind their coffee-cups or (<i>pace</i>, elegant
+fiction!) their beer-glasses, and always happened to be looking up if
+our eyes roved that way. Two poor musiker and a little boy; persons of
+no importance whatever, who could scrape their part in the symphony with
+some intelligence and feel they had done their duty. Well, well! it is
+not all of us who can do even so much. I know some instruments that are
+always out of tune. Let us be complacent where we justly can. The
+opportunities are few.</p>
+
+<p>We took our way home. The days were long, and it was yet light when we
+returned and found the reproachful face of Frau Schmidt looking for us,
+and her arms open to receive the weary little lad who had fallen asleep
+on his father&#8217;s shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>I went upstairs, and, by a natural instinct, to the window. Those facing
+it were open; some one moved in the room. Two chords of a piano were
+struck. Some one came and stood by the window, shielded her eyes from
+the rays of the setting sun which streamed down the street and looked
+westward. Eugen was passing behind me. I pulled him to the window, and
+we both looked&mdash;silently, gravely.</p>
+
+<p>The girl dropped her hand; her eyes fell upon us. The color mounted to
+her cheek; she turned away and went to the interior of the room. It was
+May Wedderburn.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Also!&#8221; said Eugen, after a pause. &#8220;A new neighbor; it reminds me of one
+of Andersen&#8217;s &#8216;M&auml;rchen,&#8217; but I don&#8217;t know which.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+<p><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">&#8220;For though he lived aloof from ken,<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The world&#8217;s unwitnessed denizen,<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">The love within him stirs<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Abroad, and with the hearts of men<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 3.5em;">His own confers.&#8221;</span></p></div>
+
+<p>The story of my life from day to day was dull enough, same enough for
+some time after I went to live at the Wehrhahn. I was studying hard, and
+my only variety <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>was the letters I had from home; not very cheering,
+these. One, which I received from Adelaide, puzzled me somewhat. After
+speaking of her coming marriage in a way which made me sad and
+uncomfortable, she condescended to express her approval of what I was
+doing, and went on:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;I am catholic in my tastes. I suppose all our friends would faint
+at the idea of there being a &#8216;singer&#8217; in the family. Now, I should
+rather like you to be a singer&mdash;only be a great one&mdash;not a little
+twopenny-halfpenny person who has to advertise for engagements.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now I am going to give you some advice. This Herr von
+Francius&mdash;your teacher or whatever he is. Be cautious what you are
+about with him. I don&#8217;t say more, but I say that again. Be
+cautious! Don&#8217;t burn your fingers. Now, I have not much time, and I
+hate writing letters, as you know. In a week I am to be married,
+and then&mdash;<i>nous verrons</i>. We go to Paris first, and then on to
+Rome, where we shall winter&mdash;to gratify my taste, I wonder, or Sir
+Peter&#8217;s for moldering ruins, ancient pictures, and the Coliseum by
+moonlight? I have no doubt that we shall do our duty by the
+respectable old structures. Remember what I said, and write to me
+now and then.</p></div>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 19em;">&#8220;A.&#8221;<br /></span></p>
+
+<p>I frowned and puzzled a little over this letter. Be cautious? In what
+possible way could I be cautious? What need could there be for it when
+all that passed between me and von Francius was the daily singing lesson
+at which he was so strict and severe, sometimes so sharp and cutting
+with me. I saw him then; I saw him also at the constant proben to
+concerts whose season had already begun; proben to the &#8220;Passions-musik,&#8221;
+the &#8220;Messiah,&#8221; etc. At one or two of these concerts I was to sing. I did
+not like the idea, but I could not make von Francius see it as I did. He
+said I must sing&mdash;it was part of my studies, and I was fain to bend to
+his will.</p>
+
+<p>Von Francius&mdash;I looked at Adelaide&#8217;s letter, and smiled again. Von
+Francius had kept his word; he had behaved to me as a kind elder
+brother. He seemed instinctively to understand the wish, which was very
+strong on my part, not to live entirely at Miss Hallam&#8217;s expense&mdash;to
+provide, partially at any rate, for myself, if possible. He helped me to
+do this. Now he brought me some music to be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>copied; now he told me of a
+young lady who wanted lessons in English&mdash;now of one little thing&mdash;now
+of another, which kept me, to my pride and joy, in such slender
+pocket-money as I needed. Truly, I used to think in those days, it does
+not need much money nor much room for a person like me to keep her place
+in the world. I wished to trouble no one&mdash;only to work as hard as I
+could, and do the work that was set for me as well as I knew how. I had
+my wish and so far was not unhappy.</p>
+
+<p>But what did Adelaide mean? True, I had once described von Francius to
+her as young, that is youngish, clever and handsome. Did she,
+remembering my well-known susceptibility, fear that I might fall in love
+with him and compromise myself by some silly <i>Schw&auml;rmerei</i>? I laughed
+about all by myself at the very idea of such a thing. Fall in love with
+von Francius, and&mdash;my eyes fell upon the two windows over the way. No;
+my heart was pure of the faintest feeling for him, save that of respect,
+gratitude, and liking founded at that time more on esteem than
+spontaneous growth. And he&mdash;I smiled at that idea, too.</p>
+
+<p>In all my long interviews with von Francius throughout our intercourse
+he maintained one unvaried tone, that of a kind, frank, protecting
+interest, with something of the patron on his part. He would converse
+with me about Schiller and Goethe, true; he would also caution me
+against such and such shop-keepers as extortioners, and tell me the
+place where they gave the largest discount on music paid for on the
+spot; would discuss the &#8220;Waldstein&#8221; or &#8220;Appassionata&#8221; with me, or the
+beauties of Rubinstein or the deep meanings of Schumann, also the
+relative cost of living <i>en pension</i> or providing for one&#8217;s self.</p>
+
+<p>No. Adelaide was mistaken. I wished, parenthetically, that she could
+make the acquaintance of von Francius, and learn how mistaken&mdash;and again
+my eyes fell upon the opposite windows. Friedhelm Helfen leaned from
+one, holding fast Courvoisier&#8217;s boy. The rich Italian coloring of the
+lovely young face; the dusky hair; the glow upon the cheeks, the deep
+blue of his serge dress, made the effect of a warmly tinted southern
+flower; it was a flower-face too; delicate and rich at once.</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide&#8217;s letter dropped unheeded to the floor. Those two could not see
+me, and I had a joy in watching them.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p><p>To say, however, that I actually watched my opposite neighbors would not
+be true. I studiously avoided watching them; never sat in the window;
+seldom showed myself at it, though in passing I sometimes allowed myself
+to linger, and so had glimpses of those within. They were three and I
+was one. They were the happier by two. Or if I knew that they were out,
+that a probe was going on, or an opera or concert, there was nothing I
+liked better than to sit for a time and look to the opposite windows.
+They were nearly always open, as were also mine, for the heat of the
+stove was oppressive to me, and I preferred to temper it with a little
+of the raw outside air. I used sometimes to hear from those opposite
+rooms the practicing or playing of passages on the violin and
+violoncello&mdash;scales, shakes, long complicated flourishes and phrases.
+Sometimes I heard the very strains that I had to sing to: airs, scraps
+of airs, snatches from operas, concerts and symphonies. They were always
+humming and singing things. They came home haunted with &#8220;The Last Rose,&#8221;
+from &#8220;Marta&#8221;&mdash;now some air from &#8220;Faust,&#8221; &#8220;Der Freisch&uuml;tz,&#8221; or
+&#8220;Tannhauser.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But one air was particular to Eugen, who seemed to be perfectly
+possessed by it&mdash;that which I had heard him humming when I first met
+him&mdash;the March from &#8220;Lenore.&#8221; He whistled it and sung it; played it on
+violin, &#8217;cello and piano; hummed it first thing in the morning and last
+thing at night; harped upon it until in despair his companion threw
+books and music at him, and he, dodging them, laughed, begged pardon,
+was silent for five minutes, and then the March <i>da Capo</i> set in a
+halting kind of measure to the ballad.</p>
+
+<p>By way of a slight and wholesome variety there was the whole repertory
+of &#8220;Volkslieder,&#8221; from</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">&#8220;Du, du, liegst mir im Herzen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Du, du, liegst mir im Sinn,&#8221;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>up to</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">&#8220;M&auml;dele, ruck, ruck, ruck<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">An meine g&uuml;rne Seite.&#8221;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>Sometimes they&mdash;one or both of them with the boy&mdash;might be seen at the
+window leaning out, whistling or talking. When doors banged and quick
+steps rushed up or down the stairs two steps at a time I knew it was
+Courvoisier. Friedhelm <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>Helfen&#8217;s movements were slower and more sedate.
+I grew to know his face as well as Eugen&#8217;s, and to like it better the
+more I saw of it. A quite young, almost boyish face, with an
+inexpressibly pure, true, and good expression upon the mouth and in the
+dark-brown eyes. Reticent, as most good faces are, but a face which made
+you desire to know the owner of it, made you feel that you could trust
+him in any trial. His face reminded me in a distant manner of two
+others, also faces of musicians, but greater in their craft than he,
+they being creators and pioneers, while he was only a disciple, of
+Beethoven and of the living master, Rubinstein. A gentle, though far
+from weak face, and such a contrast in expression and everything else to
+that of my musician, as to make me wonder sometimes whether they had
+been drawn to each other from very oppositeness of disposition and
+character. That they were very great friends I could not doubt; that the
+leadership was on Courvoisier&#8217;s side was no less evident. Eugen&#8217;s
+affection for Helfen seemed to have something fatherly in it, while I
+could see that both joined in an absorbing worship of the boy, who was a
+very Cr&oelig;sus in love if in nothing else. Sigmund had, too, an adorer
+in a third musician, a violoncellist, one of their comrades, who
+apparently spent much of his spare substance in purchasing presents of
+toys and books and other offerings, which he laid at the shrine of St.
+Sigmund, with what success I could not tell. Beyond this young fellow,
+Karl Linders, they had not many visitors. Young men used occasionally to
+appear with violin-cases in their hands, coming for lessons, probably.</p>
+
+<p>All these things I saw without absolutely watching for them; they made
+that impression upon me which the most trifling facts connected with a
+person around whom cling all one&#8217;s deepest pleasures and deepest pains
+ever do and must make. I was glad to know them, but at the same time
+they impressed the loneliness and aloofness of my own life more
+decidedly upon me.</p>
+
+<p>I remember one small incident which at the time it happened struck home
+to me. My windows were open; it was an October afternoon, mild and
+sunny. The yellow light shone with a peaceful warmth upon the afternoon
+quietness of the street. Suddenly that quietness was broken. The sound
+of music, the peculiar blatant noise of trumpets smote the air. It came
+nearer, and with it the measured <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>tramp of feet. I rose and went to look
+out. A Hussar regiment was passing; before them was borne a soldier&#8217;s
+coffin; they carried a comrade to his grave. The music they played was
+the &#8220;Funeral March for the Death of a Hero,&#8221; from the &#8220;Sinfonia Eroica.&#8221;
+Muffled, slow, grand and mournful, it went wailing and throbbing by. The
+procession passed slowly on in the October sunshine, along the
+Schadowstrasse, turning off by the Hofgarten, and so on to the cemetery.
+I leaned out of the window and looked after it&mdash;forgetting all outside,
+till just as the last of the procession passed by my eyes fell upon
+Courvoisier going into his house, and who presently entered the room. He
+was unperceived by Friedhelm and Sigmund, who were looking after the
+procession. The child&#8217;s face was earnest, almost solemn&mdash;he had not seen
+his father come up. I saw Helfen&#8217;s lip caress Sigmund&#8217;s loose black hair
+that waved just beneath them.</p>
+
+<p>Then I saw a figure&mdash;only a black shadow to my eyes which were dazzled
+by the sun&mdash;come behind them. One hand was laid upon Helfen&#8217;s shoulder,
+another turned the child&#8217;s chin. What a change! Friedhelm&#8217;s grave face
+smiled: Sigmund sprung aside, made a leap to his father, who stooped to
+him, and clasping his arms tight round his neck was raised up in his
+arms.</p>
+
+<p>They were all satisfied&mdash;all smiling&mdash;all happy. I turned away. That was
+a home&mdash;that was a meeting of three affections. What more could they
+want? I shut the window&mdash;shut it all out, and myself with it into the
+cold, feeling my lips quiver. It was very fine, this life of
+independence and self-support, but it was dreadfully lonely.</p>
+
+<p>The days went on. Adelaide was now Lady Le Marchant. She had written to
+me again, and warned me once more to be careful what I was about. She
+had said that she liked her life&mdash;at least she said so in her first two
+or three letters, and then there fell a sudden utter silence about
+herself, which seemed to me ominous.</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide had always acted upon the assumption that Sir Peter was a far
+from strong-minded individual, with a certain hardness and cunning
+perhaps in relation to money matters, but nothing that a clever wife
+with a strong enough sense of her own privileges could not overcome.</p>
+
+<p>She said nothing to me about herself. She told me about Rome; who was
+there; what they did and looked <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>like; what she wore; what compliments
+were paid to her&mdash;that was all.</p>
+
+<p>Stella told me my letters were dull&mdash;and I dare say they were&mdash;and that
+there was no use in her writing, because nothing ever happened in
+Skernford, which was also true. And for Eugen, we were on exactly the
+same terms&mdash;or rather no terms&mdash;as before. Opposite neighbors, and as
+far removed as if we had lived at the antipodes.</p>
+
+<p>My life, as time went on, grew into a kind of fossilized dream, in which
+I rose up and lay down, practiced so many hours a day, ate and drank and
+took my lesson, and it seemed as if I had been living so for years, and
+should continue to live on so to the end of my days&mdash;until one morning
+my eyes would not open again, and for me the world would have come to an
+end.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox2 bbox">
+<p>&#8220;And nearer still shall further be,<br />
+And words shall plague and vex and buffet thee.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>It was December, close upon Christmas. Winter at last in real earnest. A
+black frost. The earth bound in fetters of iron. The land gray; the sky
+steel; the wind a dagger. The trees, leafless and stark, rattled their
+shriveled boughs together in that wind.</p>
+
+<p>It met you at corners and froze the words out of your mouth; it whistled
+a low, fiendish, malignant whistle round the houses; as vicious and
+little louder than the buzz of a mosquito. It swept, thin, keen and
+cutting, down the K&ouml;nigsall&eacute;e, and blew fine black dust into one&#8217;s face.</p>
+
+<p>It cut up the skaters upon the pond in the Neue Anlage, which was in the
+center of the town, and comparatively sheltered; but it was in its glory
+whistling across the flat fields leading to the great skating-ground of
+Elberthal in general&mdash;the Schwanenspiegel at the Grafenbergerdahl.</p>
+
+<p>The Grafenberg was a low chain of what, for want of a better name, may
+be called hills, lying to the north of Elberthal. The country all around
+this unfortunate apology for a range of hills was, if possible, flatter
+than ever. The Grafenbergerdahl was, properly, no &#8220;dale&#8221; at all, but a
+broad plain of meadows, with the railway cutting them at one point, then
+diverging and running on under the Grafenberg.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p><p>One vast meadow which lay, if possible, a trifle lower than the rest,
+was flooded regularly by the autumn rains, but not deeply. It was frozen
+over now, and formed a model skating place, and so, apparently, thought
+the townspeople, for they came out, singly or in bodies, and from nine
+in the morning till dusk the place was crowded, and the merry music of
+the iron on the ice ceased not for a second.</p>
+
+<p>I discovered this place of resort by accident one day when I was taking
+a constitutional, and found myself upon the borders of the great frozen
+mere covered with skaters. I stood looking at them, and my blood warmed
+at the sight. If there were one thing&mdash;one accomplishment upon which I
+prided myself, it was this very one&mdash;skating.</p>
+
+<p>In a drawing-room I might feel awkward&mdash;confused among clever people,
+bashful among accomplished ones; shy about music and painting, diffident
+as to my voice, and deprecatory in spirit as to the etiquette to be
+observed at a dinner-party. Give me my skates and put me on a sheet of
+ice, and I was at home.</p>
+
+<p>As I paused and watched the skaters, it struck me that there was no
+reason at all why I should deny myself that seasonable enjoyment. I had
+my skates, and the mere was large enough to hold me as well as the
+others&mdash;indeed, I saw in the distance great tracts of virgin ice to
+which no skater seemed yet to have reached.</p>
+
+<p>I went home, and on the following afternoon carried out my resolution;
+though it was after three o&#8217;clock before I could set out.</p>
+
+<p>A long, bleak way. First up the merry J&auml;gerhofstrasse, then through the
+Malkasten garden, up a narrow lane, then out upon the open, bleak road,
+with that bitter wind going ping-ping at one&#8217;s ears and upon one&#8217;s
+cheek. Through a big gate-way, and a court-yard pertaining to an orphan
+asylum&mdash;along a lane bordered with apple-trees, through a rustic arch,
+and, hurrah! the field was before me&mdash;not so thickly covered as
+yesterday, for it was getting late, and the Elberthalers did not seem to
+understand the joy of careering over the black ice by moonlight, in the
+night wind. It was, however, as yet far from dark, and the moon was
+rising in silver yonder, in a sky of a pale but clear blue.</p>
+
+<p>I quickly put on my skates&mdash;stumbled to the edge, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>set off. I took a
+few turns, circling among the people&mdash;then, seeing several turn to look
+at me, I fixed my eyes upon a distant clump of reeds rising from the
+ice, and resolved to make it my goal. I could only just see it, even
+with my long-sighted eyes, but struck out for it bravely. Past group
+after group of the skaters who turned to look at my scarlet shawl as it
+flashed past. I glanced at them and skimmed smoothly on, till I came to
+the outside circle where there was a skater all alone, his hands thrust
+deep into his great-coat pockets, the collar of the same turned high
+about his ears, and the inevitable little gray cloth <i>Studentenhut</i>
+crowning the luxuriance of waving dark hair. He was gliding round in
+complicated figures and circles, doing the outside edge for his own
+solitary gratification, so far as I could see; active, graceful, and
+muscular, with practiced ease and assured strength in every limb. It
+needed no second glance on my part to assure me who he was&mdash;even if the
+dark bright eyes had not been caught by the flash of my cloak, and
+gravely raised for a moment as I flew by. I dashed on, breasting the
+wind. To reach the bunch of reeds seemed more than ever desirable now. I
+would make it my sole companion until it was time to go away. At least
+he had seen me, and I was safe from any <i>contretemps</i>&mdash;he would avoid me
+as strenuously as I avoided him. But the first fresh lust after pleasure
+was gone. Just one moment&#8217;s glance into a face had had the power to
+alter everything so much. I skated on, as fast, as surely as ever, but,</p>
+
+<p class="center">&#8220;A joy has taken flight.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The pleasant sensation of solitude, which I could so easily have felt
+among a thousand people had he not been counted among them, was gone.
+The roll of my skates upon the ice had lost its music for me; the wind
+felt colder&mdash;I sadder. At least I thought so. Should I go away again now
+that this disturbing element had appeared upon the scene? No, no, no,
+said something eagerly within me, and I bit my lip, and choked back a
+kind of sob of disgust as I realized that despite my gloomy reflections
+my heart was beating a high, rapid march of&mdash;joy! as I skimmed, all
+alone, far away from the crowd, among the dismal withered reeds, and
+round the little islets of stiffened grass and rushes which were frozen
+upright in their places.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p><p>The daylight faded, and the moon rose. The people were going away. The
+distant buzz of laughter had grown silent. I could dimly discern some
+few groups, but very few, still left, and one or two solitary figures.
+Even my preternatural eagerness could not discern who they were! The
+darkness, the long walk home, the probe at seven, which I should be too
+tired to attend, all had quite slipped from my mind; it was possible
+that among those figures which I still dimly saw, was yet remaining that
+of Courvoisier, and surely there was no harm in my staying here.</p>
+
+<p>I struck out in another direction, and flew on in the keen air; the
+frosty moon shedding a weird light upon the black ice; I saw the railway
+lines, polished, gleaming too in the light; the belt of dark firs to my
+right; the red sand soil frozen hard and silvered over with frost. Flat
+and tame, but still beautiful. I felt a kind of rejoicing in it; I felt
+it home. I was probably the first person who had been there since the
+freezing of the mere, thought I, and that idea was soon converted to a
+certainty in my mind, for in a second my rapid career was interrupted.
+At the furthest point from help or human presence the ice gave way with
+a crash, and I shrieked aloud at the shock of the bitter water. Oh, how
+cold it was! how piercing, frightful, numbing! It was not deep&mdash;scarcely
+above my knees, but the difficulty was how to get out. Put my hand where
+I would the ice gave way. I could only plunge in the icy water, feeling
+the sodden grass under my feet. What sort of things might there not be
+in that water? A cold shudder, worse than any ice, shot through me at
+the idea of newts and rats and water-serpents, absurd though it was. I
+screamed again in desperation, and tried to haul myself out by catching
+at the rushes. They were rotten with the frost and gave way in my hand.
+I made a frantic effort at the ice again; stumbled and fell on my knees
+in the water. I was wet all over now, and I gasped. My limbs ached
+agonizingly with the cold. I should be, if not drowned, yet benumbed,
+frozen to death here alone in the great mere, among the frozen reeds and
+under the steely sky.</p>
+
+<p>I was pausing, standing still, and rapidly becoming almost too benumbed
+to think or hold myself up, when I heard the sound of skates and the
+weird measure of the &#8220;Lenore March&#8221; again. I held my breath; I desired
+intensely <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>to call out, shriek aloud for help, but I could not. Not a
+word would come.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I did hear some one,&#8221; he muttered, and then in the moonlight he came
+skating past, saw me, and stopped.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Sie</i>, Fr&auml;ulein!&#8221; he began, quickly, and then altering his tone. &#8220;The
+ice has broken. Let me help you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t come too near; the ice is very thin&mdash;it doesn&#8217;t hold at all,&#8221; I
+chattered, scarcely able to get the words out.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are cold?&#8221; he asked, and smiled. I felt the smile cruel; and
+realized that I probably looked rather ludicrous.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Cold!&#8221; I repeated, with an irrepressible short sob.</p>
+
+<p>He knelt down upon the ice at about a yard&#8217;s distance from me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Here it is strong,&#8221; said he, holding out his arms. &#8220;Lean this way,
+<i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>, and I will lift you out.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, no! You will certainly fall in yourself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do as I tell you,&#8221; he said, imperatively, and I obeyed, leaning a
+little forward. He took me round the waist, lifted me quietly out of the
+water, and placed me upon the ice at a discreet distance from the hole
+in which I had been stuck, then rose himself, apparently undisturbed by
+the effort.</p>
+
+<p>Miserable, degraded object that I felt! My clothes clinging round me;
+icy cold, shivering from head to foot; so aching with cold that I could
+no longer stand. As he opened his mouth to say something about its being
+&#8220;happily accomplished,&#8221; I sunk upon my knees at his feet. My strength
+had deserted me; I could no longer support myself.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Frozen!&#8221; he remarked to himself, as he stooped and half raised me. &#8220;I
+see what must be done. Let me take off your skates&mdash;<i>sonst geht&#8217;s
+nicht</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I sat down upon the ice, half hysterical, partly from the sense of the
+degrading, ludicrous plight I was in, partly from intense yet painful
+delight at being thus once more with him, seeing some recognition in his
+eyes again, and hearing some cordiality in his voice.</p>
+
+<p>He unfastened my skates deftly and quickly, slung them over his arm, and
+helped me up again. I essayed feebly to walk, but my limbs were numb
+with cold. I could not put one foot before the other, but could only
+cling to his arm in silence.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;So!&#8221; said he, with a little laugh. &#8220;We are all alone here! A fine time
+for a moonlight skating.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah! yes,&#8221; said I, wearily, &#8220;but I can&#8217;t move.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You need not,&#8221; said he. &#8220;I am going to carry you away in spite of
+yourself, like a popular preacher.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He put his arm round my waist and bade me hold fast to his shoulder. I
+obeyed, and directly found myself carried along in a swift, delightful
+movement, which seemed to my drowsy, deadened senses, quick as the
+nimble air, smooth as a swallow&#8217;s flight. He was a consummate master in
+the art of skating&mdash;that was evident. A strong, unfailing arm held me
+fast. I felt no sense of danger, no fear lest he should fall or stumble;
+no such idea entered my head.</p>
+
+<p>We had far to go&mdash;from one end of the great Schwanenspiegel to the
+other. Despite the rapid motion, numbness overcame me; my eyes closed,
+my head sunk upon my hands, which were clasped over his shoulder. A sob
+rose to my throat. In the midst of the torpor that was stealing over me,
+there shot every now and then a shiver of ecstasy so keen as to almost
+terrify me. But then even that died away. Everything seemed to whirl
+round me&mdash;the meadows and trees, the stiff rushes and the great black
+sheet of ice, and the white moon in the inky heavens became only a
+confused dream. Was it sleep or faintness, or coma? What was it that
+seemed to make my senses as dull as my limbs, and as heavy? I scarcely
+felt the movement, as he lifted me from the ice to the ground. His shout
+did not waken me, though he sent the full power of his voice ringing out
+toward the pile of buildings to our left.</p>
+
+<p>With the last echo of his voice I lost consciousness entirely; all
+failed and faded, and then vanished before me, until I opened my eyes
+again feebly, and found myself in a great stony-looking room, before a
+big black stove, the door of which was thrown open. I was lying upon a
+sofa, and a woman was bending over me. At the foot of the sofa, leaning
+against the wall, was Courvoisier, looking down at me, his arms folded,
+his face pensive.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, dear!&#8221; cried I, starting up. &#8220;What is the matter? I must go home.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You shall&mdash;when you can,&#8221; said Courvoisier, smiling <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>as he had smiled
+when I first knew him, before all these miserable misunderstandings had
+come between us.</p>
+
+<p>My apprehensions were stilled. It did me good, warmed me, sent the tears
+trembling to my eyes, when I found that his voice had not resumed the
+old accent of ice, nor his eyes that cool, unrecognizing stare which had
+frozen me so many a time in the last few weeks.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Trinken sie</i> &#8217;<i>mal, Fr&auml;ulein</i>,&#8221; said the woman, holding a glass to my
+lips; it held hot spirits and water, which smoked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bah!&#8221; replied I, gratefully, and turning away. &#8220;<i>Nie, nie!</i>&#8221; she
+repeated. &#8220;You must drink just a <i>Schn&auml;ppschen</i>, Fr&auml;ulein.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I pushed it away with some disgust. Courvoisier took it from her hand
+and held it to me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t be so foolish and childish. Think of your voice after this,&#8221; said
+he, smiling kindly; and I, with an odd sensation, choked down my tears
+and drank it. It was bad&mdash;despite my desire to please, I found it very
+bad.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I know,&#8221; said he, with a sympathetic look, as I made a horrible
+face after drinking it, and he took the glass. &#8220;And now this woman will
+lend you some dry things. Shall I go straight to Elberthal and send a
+drosky here for you, or will you try to walk home?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I will walk. I am sure it would be the best&mdash;if&mdash;do you think it
+would?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you feel equal to it? is the question,&#8221; he answered, and I was
+surprised to see that though I was looking hard at him he did not look
+at me, but only into the glass he held.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said I. &#8220;And they say that people who have been nearly drowned
+should always walk; it does them good.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In that case then,&#8221; said he, repressing a smile, &#8220;I should say it would
+be better for you to try. But pray make haste and get your wet things
+off, or you will come to serious harm.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will be as quick as ever I can.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now hurry,&#8221; he replied, sitting down, and pulling one of the woman&#8217;s
+children toward him. &#8220;Come, <i>mein Junge</i>, tell me how old you are?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I followed the woman to an inner room, where she divested me of my
+dripping things, and attired me in a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>costume consisting of a short full
+brown petticoat, a blue woolen jacket, thick blue knitted stockings, and
+a pair of wide low shoes, which habiliments constituted the uniform of
+the orphan asylum of which she was matron, and belonged to her niece.</p>
+
+<p>She expatiated upon the warmth of the dress, and did not produce any
+outer wrap or shawl, and I, only anxious to go, said nothing, but
+twisted up my loose hair, and went back into the large stony room before
+spoken of, from which a great noise had been proceeding for some time.</p>
+
+<p>I stood in the door-way and saw Eugen surrounded by other children, in
+addition to the one he had first called to him. There were likewise two
+dogs, and they&mdash;the children, the dogs, and Herr Concertmeister
+Courvoisier most of all&mdash;were making as much noise as they possibly
+could. I paused for a moment to have the small gratification of watching
+the scene. One child on his knee and one on his shoulder pulling his
+hair, which was all ruffled and on end, a laugh upon his face, a dancing
+light in his eyes as if he felt happy and at home among all the little
+flaxen heads.</p>
+
+<p>Could he be the same man who had behaved so coldly to me? My heart went
+out to him in this kinder moment. Why was he so genial with those
+children and so harsh to me, who was little better than a child myself?</p>
+
+<p>His eye fell upon me as he held a shouting and kicking child high in the
+air, and his own face laughed all over in mirth and enjoyment.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come here, Miss Wedderburn; this is Hans, there is Fritz, and here is
+Franz&mdash;a jolly trio; aren&#8217;t they?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He put the child into his mother&#8217;s arms, who regarded him with an eye of
+approval, and told him that it was not every one who knew how to
+ingratiate himself with her children, who were uncommonly spirited.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ready?&#8221; he asked, surveying me and my costume and laughing. &#8220;Don&#8217;t you
+feel a stranger in these garments?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No! Why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should have said silk and lace and velvet, or fine muslins and
+embroideries, were more in your style.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are quite mistaken. I was just thinking how admirably this costume
+suits me, and that I should do well to adopt it permanently.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Perhaps there was a mirror in the inner room,&#8221; he suggested.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A mirror! Why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then your idea would quite be accounted for. Young ladies must of
+course wish to wear that which becomes them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very becoming!&#8221; I sneered, grandly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very,&#8221; he replied, emphatically. &#8220;It makes me wish to be an orphan.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, <i>mein Herr</i>,&#8221; said the woman, reproachfully, for he had spoken
+German. &#8220;Don&#8217;t jest about that. If you have parents&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I haven&#8217;t,&#8221; he interposed, hastily.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Or children either?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should not else have understood yours so well,&#8221; he laughed. &#8220;Come,
+my&mdash;Miss Wedderburn, if you are ready.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>After arranging with the woman that she should dry my things and return
+them, receiving her own in exchange, we left the house.</p>
+
+<p>It was quite moonlight now; the last faint streak of twilight had
+disappeared. The way that we must traverse to reach the town stretched
+before us, long, straight, and flat.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where is your shawl?&#8221; he asked, suddenly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I left it; it was wet through.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Before I knew what he was doing, he had stripped off his heavy overcoat,
+and I felt its warmth and thickness about my shoulders.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, don&#8217;t!&#8221; I cried, in great distress, as I strove to remove it again,
+and looked imploringly into his face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t do that. You will get cold; you will&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Get cold!&#8221; he laughed, as if much amused, as he drew the coat around me
+and fastened it, making no more ado of my resisting hands than if they
+had been bits of straw.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So!&#8221; said he, pushing one of my arms through the sleeve. &#8220;Now,&#8221; as he
+still held it fastened together, and looked half laughingly at me, &#8220;do
+you intend to keep it on or not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I suppose I must.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I call that gratitude. Take my arm&mdash;so. You are weak yet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>We walked on in silence for some time. I was happy; for the first time
+since the night I had heard &#8220;Lohengrin&#8221; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>I was happy and at rest. True,
+no forgiveness had been asked or extended; but he had ceased to behave
+as if I were not forgiven.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Am I not going too fast?&#8221; he inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;N&mdash;no.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I am, I see. We will moderate the pace a little.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>We walked more slowly. Physically I was inexpressibly weary. The
+reaction after my drenching had set in; I felt a languor which amounted
+to pain, and an aching and weakness in every limb. I tried to regret the
+event, but could not; tried to wish it were not such a long walk to
+Elberthal, and found myself perversely regretting that it was such a
+short one.</p>
+
+<p>At length the lights of the town came in sight. I heaved a deep sigh.
+Soon it would be over&mdash;&#8220;the glory and the dream.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think we are exactly on the way to your house, <i>nicht wahr</i>?&#8221; said
+he.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; and to yours since we are opposite neighbors.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are not as lonely as I am, though; you have companions.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;oh&mdash;Friedhelm; yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And&mdash;your little boy.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sigmund also,&#8221; was all he said.</p>
+
+<p>But &#8220;<i>auch</i> Sigmund&#8221; may express much more in German than in English. It
+did so then.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you?&#8221; he added.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am alone,&#8221; said I.</p>
+
+<p>I did not mean to be foolishly sentimental. The sigh that followed my
+words was involuntary.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So you are. But I suppose you like it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Like it? What can make you think so?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, at least you have good friends.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have I? Oh, yes, of course!&#8221; said I, thinking of von Francius.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you get on with your music?&#8221; he next inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hope so. I&mdash;do you think it strange that I should live there all
+alone?&#8221; I asked, tormented with a desire to know what he did think of
+me, and crassly ready to burst into explanations on the least
+provocation. I was destined to be undeceived.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I have not thought about it at all; it is not my business.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Snub number one. He had spoken quickly, as if to clear himself as much
+as possible from any semblance of interest to me.</p>
+
+<p>I went on, rashly plunging into further intricacies of conversation:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is curious that you and I should not only live near to each other,
+but actually have the same profession at last.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Snub number two. But I persevered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Music. Your profession is music, and mine will be.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not see the resemblance. There is little point of likeness between
+a young lady who is in training for a prima-donna and an obscure
+musiker, who contributes his share of shakes and runs to the symphony.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I in training for a prima-donna! How can you say so?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do we not all know the forte of Herr von Francius? And&mdash;excuse me&mdash;are
+not your windows opposite to ours, and open as a rule? Can I not hear
+the music you practice, and shall I not believe my own ears?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am sure your own ears do not tell you that a future prima-donna lives
+opposite to you,&#8221; said I, feeling most insanely and unreasonably hurt
+and cut up at the idea.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you tell me that you are not studying for the stage?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I never said I was not. I said I was not a future prima-donna. My voice
+is not half good enough. I am not clever enough, either.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;As if voice or cleverness had anything to do with it. Personal
+appearance and friends at court are the chief things. I have known
+prime-donne&mdash;seen them, I mean&mdash;and from my place below the foot-lights
+I have had the impertinence to judge them upon their own merits.
+Provided they were handsome, impudent, and unscrupulous enough, their
+public seemed gladly to dispense with art, cultivation, or genius in
+their performances and conceptions.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you think that I am, or shall be in time, handsome, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>impudent, and
+unscrupulous enough,&#8221; said I, in a low choked tone.</p>
+
+<p>My fleeting joy was being thrust back by hands most ruthless. Unmixed
+satisfaction for even the brief space of an hour or so was not to be
+included in my lot.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>O, bewahre!</i>&#8221; said he, with a little laugh, that chilled me still
+further. &#8220;I think no such thing. The beauty is there, <i>mein
+Fr&auml;ulein</i>&mdash;pardon me for saying so&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Indeed, I was well able to pardon it. Had he been informing his
+grandmother that there were the remains of a handsome woman to be traced
+in her, he could not have spoken more unenthusiastically.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The beauty is there. The rest, as I said, when one has friends, these
+things are arranged for one.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I have no friends.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; with again that dry little laugh. &#8220;Perhaps they will be provided
+at the proper time, as Elijah was fed by the ravens. Some fine
+night&mdash;who knows&mdash;I may sit with my violin in the orchestra at your
+benefit, and one of the bouquets with which you are smothered may fall
+at my feet and bring me <i>aus der fuge</i>. When that happens, will you
+forgive me if I break a rose from the bouquet before I toss it on to the
+feet of its rightful owner? I promise that I will seek for no note, nor
+spy out any ring or bracelet. I will only keep the rose in remembrance
+of the night when I skated with you across the Schwanenspiegel, and
+prophesied unto you the future. It will be a kind of &#8216;I told you so,&#8217; on
+my part.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mock sentiment, mock respect, mock admiration; a sneer in the voice, a
+dry sarcasm in the words. What was I to think? Why did he veer round in
+this way, and from protecting kindness return to a raillery which was
+more cruel than his silence? My blood rose, though, at the mockingness
+of his tone.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know what you mean,&#8221; said I, coldly. &#8220;I am studying operatic
+music. If I have any success in that line, I shall devote myself to it.
+What is there wrong in it? The person who has her living to gain must
+use the talents that have been given her. My talent is my voice; it is
+the only thing I have&mdash;except, perhaps, some capacity to
+love&mdash;those&mdash;who are kind to me. I can do that, thank God! Beyond that I
+have nothing, and I did not make myself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;A capacity to love those who are kind to you,&#8221; he said, hastily. &#8220;And
+do you love all who are kind to you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said I, stoutly, though I felt my face burning.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And hate them that despitefully use you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Naturally,&#8221; I said, with a somewhat unsteady laugh. A rush of my ruling
+feeling&mdash;propriety and decent reserve&mdash;tied my tongue, and I could not
+say, &#8220;Not all&mdash;not always.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He, however, snapped, as it were, at my remark or admission, and chose
+to take it as if it were in the deepest earnest; for he said, quickly,
+decisively, and, as I thought, with a kind of exultation:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, then I will be disagreeable to you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This remark, and the tone in which it was uttered, came upon me with a
+shock which I can not express. He would be disagreeable to me because I
+hated those who were disagreeable to me, <i>ergo</i>, he wished me to hate
+him. But why? What was the meaning of the whole extraordinary
+proceeding?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221; I asked, mechanically, and asked nothing more.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because then you will hate me, unless you have the good sense to do so
+already.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why? What effect will my hatred have upon you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;None. Not a jot. <i>Gar keine.</i> But I wish you to hate me, nevertheless.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So you have begun to be disagreeable to me by pulling me out of the
+water, lending me your coat, and giving me your arm all along this hard,
+lonely road,&#8221; said I, composedly.</p>
+
+<p>He laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That was before I knew of your peculiarity. From to-morrow morning on I
+shall begin. I will make you hate me. I shall be glad if you hate me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I said nothing. My head felt bewildered; my understanding benumbed. I
+was conscious that I was very weary&mdash;conscious that I should like to
+cry, so bitter was my disappointment.</p>
+
+<p>As we came within the town, I said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am very sorry, Herr Courvoisier, to have given you so much trouble.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;That means that I am to put you into a cab and relieve you of my
+company.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It does not,&#8221; I ejaculated, passionately, jerking my hand from his arm.
+&#8220;How can you say so? How dare you say so?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You might meet some of your friends, you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And I tell you I have no friends except Herr von Francius, and I am not
+accountable to him for my actions.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We shall soon be at your house now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr Courvoisier, have you forgiven me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Forgiven you what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My rudeness to you once.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>,&#8221; said he, shrugging his shoulders a little and
+smiling slightly, &#8220;you are under a delusion about that circumstance. How
+can I forgive that which I never resented?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This was putting the matter in a new, and, for me, an humbling light.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Never resented!&#8221; I murmured, confusedly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Never. Why should I resent it? I forgot myself, <i>nicht wahr</i>! and you
+showed me at one and the same time my proper place and your own
+excellent good sense. You did not wish to know me, and I did not resent
+it. I had no right to resent it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Excuse me,&#8221; said I, my voice vibrating against my will; &#8220;you are wrong
+there, and either you are purposely saying what is not true, or you have
+not the feelings of a gentleman.&#8221; His arm sprung a little aside as I
+went on, amazed at my own boldness. &#8220;I did not show you your &#8216;proper
+place.&#8217; I did not show my own good sense. I showed my ignorance, vanity,
+and surprise. If you do not know that, you are not what I take you
+for&mdash;a gentleman.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps not,&#8221; said he, after a pause. &#8220;You certainly did not take me
+for one then. Why should I be a gentleman? What makes you suppose I am
+one?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Questions which, however satisfactorily I might answer them to myself, I
+could not well reply to in words. I felt that I had rushed upon a topic
+which could not be explained, since he would not own himself offended. I
+had made a fool of myself and gained nothing by it. While I was racking
+my brain for some satisfactory closing remark, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>we turned a corner and
+came into the Wehrhahn. A clock struck seven.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Gott im Himmel!</i>&#8221; he exclaimed. &#8220;Seven o&#8217;clock! The opera&mdash;<i>da geht</i>&#8217;<i>s
+schon an!</i> Excuse me, Fr&auml;ulein, I must go. Ah, here is your house.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He took the coat gently from my shoulders, wished me <i>gute besserung</i>,
+and ringing the bell, made me a profound bow, and either not noticing or
+not choosing to notice the hand which I stretched out toward him, strode
+off hastily toward the theater, leaving me cold, sick, and miserable, to
+digest my humble pie with what appetite I might.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2>
+
+<h3>CUI BONO?</h3>
+
+<p>Christmas morning. And how cheerfully I spent it! I tried first of all
+to forget that it was Christmas, and only succeeded in impressing the
+fact more forcibly and vividly upon my mind, and with it others; the
+fact that I was alone especially predominating. And a German Christmas
+is not the kind of thing to let a lonely person forget his loneliness
+in; its very bustle and union serves to emphasize their solitude to
+solitary people.</p>
+
+<p>I had seen such quantities of Christmas-trees go past the day before.
+One to every house in the neighborhood. One had even come here, and the
+widow of the piano-tuner had hung it with lights and invited some
+children to make merry for the feast of Weihnachten Abend.</p>
+
+<p>Every one had a present except me. Every one had some one with whom to
+spend their Christmas&mdash;except me. A little tiny Christmas-tree had gone
+to the rooms whose windows faced mine. I had watched its arrival; for
+once I had broken through my rule of not deliberately watching my
+neighbors, and had done so. The tree arrived in the morning. It was kept
+a profound mystery from Sigmund, who was relegated, much to his disgust,
+to the society of Frau Schmidt down-stairs, who kept a vigilant watch
+upon him and would not let him go upstairs on any account.</p>
+
+<p>The afternoon gradually darkened down. My landlady invited me to join
+her party down-stairs; I declined. The rapturous, untutored joy of half
+a dozen children had no attraction for me; the hermit-like watching of
+the scene over the way had. I did not light my lamp. I was secure <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>of
+not being disturbed; for Frau Lutzler, when I would not come to her, had
+sent my supper upstairs, and said she would not be able to come to me
+again that evening.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So much the better!&#8221; I murmured, and put myself in a window corner.</p>
+
+<p>The lights over the way were presently lighted. For a moment I trembled
+lest the blinds were going to be put down, and all my chance of spying
+spoiled. But no; my neighbors were careless fellows&mdash;not given to
+watching their neighbors themselves nor to suspecting other people of
+it. The blinds were left up, and I was free to observe all that passed.</p>
+
+<p>Toward half past five I saw by the light of the street-lamp, which was
+just opposite, two people come into the house; a young man who held the
+hand of a little girl. The young man was Karl Linders, the
+violoncellist; the little girl, I supposed, must be his sister. They
+went upstairs, or rather Karl went upstairs; his little sister remained
+below.</p>
+
+<p>There was a great shaking of hands and some laughing when Karl came into
+the room. He produced various packages which were opened, their contents
+criticised, and hung upon the tree. Then the three men surveyed their
+handiwork with much satisfaction. I could see the whole scene. They
+could not see my watching face pressed against the window, for they were
+in light and I was in darkness.</p>
+
+<p>Friedhelm went out of the room, and, I suppose, exerted his lungs from
+the top of the stairs, for he came back, flushed and laughing, and
+presently the door opened, and Frau Schmidt, looking like the mother of
+the Gracchi, entered, holding a child by each hand. She never moved a
+muscle. She held a hand of each, and looked alternately at them.
+Breathless, I watched. It was almost as exciting as if I had been
+joining in the play&mdash;more so, for to me everything was <i>sur
+l</i>&#8217;<i>impr&eacute;vu</i>&mdash;revealed piecemeal, while to them some degree of
+foreknowledge must exist, to deprive the ceremony of some of its charms.</p>
+
+<p>There was awed silence for a time. It was a pretty scene. In the middle
+of the room a wooden table; upon it the small green fir, covered with
+little twinkling tapers; the orthodox waxen angels, and strings of balls
+and bonbons hanging about&mdash;the white <i>Christ-kind</i> at the top in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>the
+arms of Father Christmas. The three men standing in a semi-circle at one
+side; how well I could see them! A suppressed smile upon Eugen&#8217;s face,
+such as it always wore when pleasing other people. Friedhelm not
+allowing the smile to fully appear upon his countenance, but with a
+grave delight upon his face, and with great satisfaction beaming from
+his luminous brown eyes. Karl with his hands in his pockets, and an
+attitude by which I knew he said, &#8220;There! what do you think of that?&#8221;
+Frau Schmidt and the two children on the other side.</p>
+
+<p>The tree was not a big one. The wax-lights were probably cheap ones; the
+gifts that hung upon the boughs or lay on the table must have been
+measured by the available funds of three poor musicians. But the whole
+affair did its mission admirably&mdash;even more effectively than an official
+commission to (let us say) inquire into the cause of the loss of an
+ironclad. It&mdash;the tree I mean, not the commission&mdash;was intended to
+excite joy and delight, and it did excite them to a very high extent. It
+was meant to produce astonishment in unsophisticated minds&mdash;it did that
+too, and here it has a point in common with the proceedings of the
+commission respectfully alluded to.</p>
+
+<p>The little girl who was a head taller than Sigmund, had quantities of
+flaxen hair plaited in a pigtail and tied with light blue ribbon&mdash;new;
+and a sweet face which was a softened girl miniature of her brother&#8217;s.
+She jumped for joy, and eyed the tree and the bonbons, and everything
+else with irrepressible rapture. Sigmund was not given to effusive
+declaration of his emotion, but after gazing long and solemnly at the
+show, his eyes turned to his father, and the two smiled in the odd
+manner they had, as if at some private understanding existing between
+themselves. Then the festivities were considered inaugurated.</p>
+
+<p>Friedhelm Helfen took the rest of the proceedings into his own hands;
+and distributed the presents exactly as if he had found them all growing
+on the tree, and had not the least idea what they were nor whence they
+came. A doll which fell to the share of the little Gretchen was from
+Sigmund, as I found from the lively demonstrations that took place.
+Gretchen kissed him, at which every one laughed, and made him kiss the
+doll, or receive a kiss from it&mdash;a waxy salute which did not seem to
+cause him much enthusiasm.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p><p>I could not see what the other things were, only it was evident that
+every one gave every one else something, and Frau Schmidt&#8217;s face relaxed
+into a stern smile on one or two occasions, as the young men presented
+her one after the other with some offering, accompanied with speeches
+and bows and ceremony. A conspicuous parcel done up in white paper was
+left to the last. Then Friedhelm took it up, and apparently made a long
+harangue, for the company&mdash;especially Karl Linders&mdash;became attentive. I
+saw a convulsive smile twitch Eugen&#8217;s lips now and then, as the oration
+proceeded. Karl by and by grew even solemn, and it was with an almost
+awe-struck glance that he at last received the parcel from Friedhelm&#8217;s
+hands, who gave it as if he were bestowing his blessing.</p>
+
+<p>Great gravity, eager attention on the part of the children, who pressed
+up to him as he opened it; then the last wrapper was torn off, and to my
+utter amazement and bewilderment Karl drew forth a white woolly animal
+of indefinite race, on a green stand. The look which crossed his face
+was indescribable; the shout of laughter which greeted the discovery
+penetrated even to my ears.</p>
+
+<p>With my face pressed against the window I watched; it was really too
+interesting. But my spying was put an end to. A speech appeared to be
+made to Frau Schmidt, to which she answered by a frosty smile and an
+elaborate courtesy. She was apparently saying good-night, but, with the
+instinct of a housekeeper, set a few chairs straight, pulled a
+table-cloth, and pushed a footstool to its place, and in her tour round
+the room her eyes fell upon the windows. She came and put the shutters
+to. In one moment it had all flashed from my sight&mdash;tree and faces and
+lamp-light and brightness.</p>
+
+<p>I raised my chin from my hands, and found that I was cold, numb, and
+stiff. I lighted the lamp, and passed my hands over my eyes; but could
+not quite find myself, and instead of getting to some occupation of my
+own, I sat with Richter&#8217;s &#8220;Through Bass and Harmony&#8221; before me and a pen
+in my hand, and wondered what they were doing now.</p>
+
+<p>It was with the remembrance of this evening in my mind to emphasize my
+loneliness that I woke on Christmas morning.</p>
+
+<p>At post-time my landlady brought me a letter, scented, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>monogrammed,
+with the Roman post-mark. Adelaide wrote:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;I won&#8217;t wish you a merry Christmas. I think it is such nonsense.
+Who does have a merry Christmas now, except children and paupers?
+And, all being well&mdash;or rather ill, so far as I am concerned&mdash;we
+shall meet before long. We are coming to Elberthal. I will tell you
+why when we meet. It is too long to write&mdash;and too vexatious&#8221; (this
+word was half erased), &#8220;troublesome. I will let you know when we
+come, and our address. How are you getting on?</p></div>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 19em;">&#8220;<span class="smcap">Adelaide</span>.&#8221;<br /></span></p>
+
+<p>I was much puzzled with this letter, and meditated long over it.
+Something lay in the background. Adelaide was not happy. It surely could
+not be that Sir Peter gave her any cause for discomfort. Impossible! Did
+he not dote upon her? Was not the being able to &#8220;turn him round her
+finger&#8221; one of the principal advantages of her marriage? And yet, that
+she should be coming to Elberthal of her own will, was an idea which my
+understanding declined to accept. She must have been compelled to
+it&mdash;and by nothing pleasant. This threw another shadow over my spirit.</p>
+
+<p>Going to the window, I saw again how lonely I was. The people were
+passing in groups and throngs; it was Christmas-time; they were glad.
+They had nothing in common with me. I looked inside my room&mdash;bare,
+meager chamber that it was&mdash;the piano the only thing in it that was more
+than barely necessary, and a great wonder came over me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is the use of it all? What is the use of working hard? Why am I
+leading this life? To earn money, and perhaps applause&mdash;some time. Well,
+and when I have got it&mdash;even supposing, which is extremely improbable,
+that I win it while I am young and can enjoy it&mdash;what good will it do
+me? I don&#8217;t believe it will make me very happy. I don&#8217;t know that I long
+for it very much. I don&#8217;t know why I am working for it, except because
+Herr von Francius has a stronger will than I have, and rather compels me
+to it. Otherwise&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, what should I like? What do I wish for?&#8221; At the moment I seemed
+to feel myself free from all prejudice <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>and all influence, and surveying
+with a calm, impartial eye possibilities and prospects, I could not
+discover that there was anything I particularly wished for. Had
+something within me changed during the last night?</p>
+
+<p>I had been so eager before; I felt so apathetic now. I looked across the
+way. I dimly saw Courvoisier snatch up his boy, hold him in the air, and
+then, gathering him to him, cover him with kisses. I smiled. At the
+moment I felt neutral&mdash;experienced neither pleasure nor pain from the
+sight. I had loved the man so eagerly and intensely&mdash;with such warmth,
+fervor, and humility. It seemed as if now a pause had come (only for a
+time, I knew, but still a pause) in the warm current of delusion, and I
+contemplated facts with a dry, unmoved eye. After all&mdash;what was he? A
+man who seemed quite content with his station&mdash;not a particularly good
+or noble man that I could see; with some musical talent which he turned
+to account to earn his bread. He had a fine figure, a handsome face, a
+winning smile, plenty of presence of mind, and an excellent opinion of
+himself.</p>
+
+<p>Stay! Let me be fair&mdash;he had only asserted his right to be treated as a
+gentleman by one whom he had treated in every respect as a lady. He did
+not want me&mdash;nor to know anything about me&mdash;else, why could he laugh for
+very glee as his boy&#8217;s eyes met his? Want me? No! he was rich already.
+What he had was sufficient for him, and no wonder, I thought, with a
+jealous pang.</p>
+
+<p>Who would want to have anything to do with grown-up people, with their
+larger selfishnesses, more developed self-seeking&mdash;robust jealousies and
+full-grown exactions and sophistications, when they had a beautiful
+little one like that? A child of one&#8217;s own&mdash;not any child, but that very
+child to love in that ideal way. It was a relation that one scarcely
+sees out of a romance; it was the most beautiful thing I ever saw.</p>
+
+<p>His life was sufficient to him. He did not suffer as I had been
+suffering. Suppose some one were to offer him a better post than that he
+now had. He would be glad, and would take it without a scruple. Perhaps,
+for a little while some casual thought of me might now and then cross
+his mind&mdash;but not for long; certainly in no importunate or troublesome
+manner. While I&mdash;why was I there, if not for his sake? What, when I
+accepted the proposal of von <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>Francius, had been my chief thought? It
+had been, though all unspoken, scarcely acknowledged&mdash;yet a whispered
+force&mdash;&#8220;I shall not lose sight of him&mdash;of Eugen Courvoisier.&#8221; I was
+rightly punished.</p>
+
+<p>I felt no great pain just now in thinking of this. I saw myself, and
+judged myself, and remembered how Faust had said once, in an immortal
+passage, half to himself, half to Mephisto:</p>
+
+<p class="center">&#8220;Entbehren sollst du; sollst entbehren.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And that read both ways, it comes to the same thing.</p>
+
+<p class="center">&#8220;Entbehren sollst du; sollst entbehren.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It flitted rhythmically through my mind on this dreamful morning, when I
+seemed a stranger to myself; or rather, when I seemed to stand outside
+myself, and contemplate, calmly and judicially, the heart which had of
+late beaten and throbbed with such vivid, and such unreasoning,
+unconnected pangs. It is as painful and as humiliating a description of
+self-vivisection as there is, and one not without its peculiar merits.</p>
+
+<p>The end of my reflections was the same as that which is, I believe,
+often arrived at by the talented class called philosophers, who spend
+much learning and science in going into the questions about whose skirts
+I skimmed; many of them, like me, after summing up, say, <i>Cui bono?</i></p>
+
+<p>So passed the morning, and the gray cloud still hung over my spirits. My
+landlady brought me a slice of <i>kuchen</i> at dinner-time, for Christmas,
+and wished me <i>guten appetit</i> to it, for which I thanked her with
+gravity.</p>
+
+<p>In the afternoon I turned to the piano. After all it was Christmas-day.
+After beginning a bravura singing exercise, I suddenly stopped myself,
+and found myself, before I knew what I was about, singing the &#8220;Adeste
+Fidelis&#8221;&mdash;till I could not sing any more. Something rose in my
+throat&mdash;ceasing abruptly, I burst into tears, and cried plentifully over
+the piano keys.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In tears, Fr&auml;ulein May! <i>Aber</i>&mdash;what does that mean?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I looked up. Von Francius stood in the door-way, looking not unkindly at
+me, with a bouquet in his hand of Christmas roses and ferns.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is only because it is Christmas,&#8221; said I.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you quite alone?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So am I.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You! But you have so many friends.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have I? It is true, that if friends count by the number of invitations
+that one has, I have many. Unfortunately I could not make up my mind to
+accept any. As I passed through the flower-market this morning I thought
+of you&mdash;naturally. It struck me that perhaps you had no one to come and
+wish you the Merry Christmas and Happy New-year which belongs to you of
+right, so I came, and have the pleasure to wish it you now, with these
+flowers, though truly they are not <i>Maibl&uuml;mchen</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He raised my hand to his lips, and I was quite amazed at the sense of
+strength, healthiness, and new life which his presence brought.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am very foolish,&#8221; I remarked; &#8220;I ought to know better. But I am
+unhappy about my sister, and also I have been foolishly thinking of old
+times, when she and I were at home together.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ei!</i> That is foolish. Those things&mdash;old times and all that&mdash;are the
+very deuce for making one miserable. Strauss&mdash;he who writes dance
+music&mdash;has made a waltz, and called it &#8216;The Good Old times.&#8217; <i>Lieber
+Himmel!</i> Fancy waltzing to the memory of old times. A requiem or a
+funeral march would have been intelligible.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, you must not sit here and let these old times say what they like
+to you. Will you come out with me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Go out!&#8221; I echoed, with an unwilling shrinking from it. My soul
+preferred rather to shut herself up in her case and turn surlily away
+from the light outside. But, as usual, he had his way.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;out. The two loneliest people in Elberthal will make a little
+zauberfest for themselves. I will show you some pictures. There are some
+new ones at the exhibition. Make haste.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>So calm, so matter-of-fact was his manner, so indisputable did he seem
+to think his proposition, that I half rose; then I sat down again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to go out, Herr von Francius.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is foolish. Quick! before the daylight fades and it grows too dark
+for the pictures.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Scarcely knowing why I complied, I went to my room <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>and put on my
+things. What a shabby sight I looked! I felt it keenly; so much, that
+when I came back and found him seated at the piano, and playing a
+wonderful in-and-out fugue of immense learning and immense difficulty,
+and quite without pathos or tenderness, I interrupted him incontinently.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Here I am, Herr von Francius. You have asked the most shabbily dressed
+person in Elberthal to be your companion. I have a mind to make you hold
+to your bargain, whether you like it or not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Von Francius turned, surveying me from head to foot, with a smile. All
+the pedagogue was put off. It was holiday-time. I was half vexed at
+myself for beginning to feel as if it were holiday-time with me too.</p>
+
+<p>We went out together. The wind was raw and cold, the day dreary, the
+streets not so full as they had been. We went along the street past the
+Tonhalle, and there we met Courvoisier alone. He looked at us, but though
+von Francius raised his hat, he did not notice us. There was a pallid
+change upon his face, a fixed look in his eyes, a strange, drawn,
+subdued expression upon his whole countenance. My heart leaped with an
+answering pang. That mood of the morning had fled. I had &#8220;found myself
+again,&#8221; but again not &#8220;happily.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I followed von Francius up the stairs of the picture exhibition. No one
+was in the room. All the world had other occupations on Christmas
+afternoon, or preferred the stove-side and the family circle.</p>
+
+<p>Von Francius showed me a picture which he said every one was talking
+about.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221; I inquired when I had contemplated it, and failed to find it
+lovely.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The drawing, the grouping, are admirable, as you must see. The art
+displayed is wonderful. I find the picture excellent.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But the subject?&#8221; said I.</p>
+
+<p>It was not a large picture, and represented the interior of an artist&#8217;s
+atelier. In the foreground a dissipated-looking young man tilted his
+chair backward as he held his gloves in one hand, and with the other
+stroked his mustache, while he contemplated a picture standing on an
+easel before him. The face was hard, worn, <i>blas&eacute;</i>; the features,
+originally good, and even beautiful, had had all the latent <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>loveliness
+worn out of them by a wrong, unbeautiful life. He wore a tall hat, very
+much to one side, as if to accent the fact that the rest of the company,
+upon whom he had turned his back, certainly did not merit that he should
+be at the trouble of baring his head to them. And the rest of the
+company&mdash;a girl, a model, seated on a chair upon a raised dais, dressed
+in a long, flounced white skirt, not of the freshest, some kind of
+Oriental wrap falling negligently about it&mdash;arms, models of shapeliness,
+folded, and she crouching herself together as if wearied, or
+contemptuous, or perhaps a little chilly. Upon a divan near her a
+man&mdash;presumably the artist to whom the establishment
+pertained&mdash;stretched at full length, looking up carelessly into her
+face, a pipe in his mouth, with indifference and&mdash;scarcely
+impertinence&mdash;it did not take the trouble to be a fully developed
+impertinence&mdash;in every gesture. This was the picture; faithful to life,
+significant in its very insignificance, before which von Francius sat,
+and declared that the drawing, coloring, and grouping were perfect.<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The subject?&#8221; he echoed, after a pause. &#8220;It is only a scrap of
+artist-life.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is that artist-life?&#8221; said I, shrugging my shoulders. &#8220;I do not like it
+at all; it is common, low, vulgar. There is no romance about it; it only
+reminds one of stale tobacco and flat champagne.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are too particular,&#8221; said von Francius, after a pause, and with a
+flavor of some feeling which I did not quite understand tincturing his
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>For my part, I was looking at the picture and thinking of what
+Courvoisier had said: &#8220;Beauty, impudence, assurance, and an admiring
+public.&#8221; That the girl was beautiful&mdash;at least, she had the battered
+remains of a decided beauty; she had impudence certainly, and assurance
+too, and an admiring public, I supposed, which testified its admiration
+by lolling on a couch and staring at her, or keeping its hat on and
+turning its back to her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you really admire the picture, Herr von Francius?&#8221; I inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed I do. It is so admirably true. That is the kind of life into
+which I was born, and in which I was for a long time brought up; but I
+escaped from it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p><p>I looked at him in astonishment. It seemed so extraordinary that that
+model of reticence should speak to me, above all, about himself. It
+struck me for the very first time that no one ever spoke of von Francius
+as if he had any one belonging to him. Calm, cold, lonely,
+self-sufficing&mdash;and self-sufficing, too, because he must be so, because
+he had none other to whom to turn&mdash;that was his character, and viewing
+him in that manner I had always judged him. But what might the truth be?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Were you not happy when you were young?&#8221; I asked, on a quick impulse.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Happy! Who expects to be happy? If I had been simply not miserable, I
+should have counted my childhood a good one; but&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He paused a moment, then went on:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your great novelist, Dickens, had a poor, sordid kind of childhood in
+outward circumstances. But mine was spiritually sordid&mdash;hideous,
+repulsive. There are some plants which spring from and flourish in mud
+and slime; they are but a flabby, pestiferous growth, as you may
+suppose. I was, to begin with, a human specimen of that kind; I was in
+an atmosphere of moral mud, an intellectual hot-bed. I don&#8217;t know what
+there was in me that set me against the life; that I never can tell. It
+was a sort of hell on earth that I was living in. One day something
+happened&mdash;I was twelve years old then&mdash;something happened, and it seemed
+as if all my nature&mdash;its good and its evil, its energies and indolence,
+its pride and humility&mdash;all ran together, welded by the furnace of
+passion into one furious, white-hot rage of anger, rebellion. In an
+instant I had decided my course; in an hour I had acted upon it. I am an
+odd kind of fellow, I believe. I quitted that scene and have never
+visited it since. I can not describe to you the anger I then felt, and
+to which I yielded. Twelve years old I was then. I fought hard for many
+years; but, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>&#8221;&mdash;(he looked at me, and paused a
+moment)&mdash;&#8220;that was the first occasion upon which I ever was really
+angry; it has been the last. I have never felt the sensation of anger
+since&mdash;I mean personal anger. Artistic anger I have known; the anger at
+bad work, at false interpretations, at charlatanry in art; but I have
+never been angry with the anger that resents. I tell you this as a
+curiosity of character. With that brief flash all resentment seemed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>to
+evaporate from me&mdash;to exhaust itself in one brief, resolute, effective
+attempt at self-cleansing, self-government.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He paused.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tell me more, Herr von Francius,&#8221; I besought. &#8220;Do not leave off there.
+Afterward?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You really care to hear? Afterward I lived through hardships in plenty;
+but I had effectually severed the whole connection with that which
+dragged me down. I used all my will to rise. I am not boasting, but
+simply stating a peculiarity of my temperament when I tell you that what
+I determine upon I always accomplish. I determined upon rising, and I
+have risen to what I am. I set it, or something like it, before me as my
+goal, and I have attained it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; I asked, with some eagerness; for I, after all my unfulfilled
+strivings, had asked myself <i>Cui bono?</i> &#8220;And what is the end of it? Are
+you satisfied?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How quickly and how easily you see!&#8221; said he, with a smile. &#8220;I value
+the position I have, in a certain way&mdash;that is, I see the advantage it
+gives me, and the influence. But that deep inner happiness, which lies
+outside of condition and circumstances&mdash;that feeling of the poet in
+&#8216;Faust&#8217;&mdash;don&#8217;t you remember?&mdash;</p>
+
+<p class="center">&#8220;&#8216;I nothing had, and yet enough&#8217;&mdash;</p>
+
+<p>all that is unknown to me. For I ask myself, <i>Cui bono?</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Like me,&#8221; I could not help saying.</p>
+
+<p>He added:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fr&auml;ulein May, the nearest feeling I have had to happiness has been the
+knowing you. Do you know that you are a person who makes joy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, indeed I did not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is true, though. I should like, if you do not mind&mdash;if you can say
+it truly&mdash;to hear from your lips that you look upon me as your friend.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed, Herr von Francius, I feel you my very best friend, and I would
+not lose your regard for anything,&#8221; I was able to assure him.</p>
+
+<p>And then, as it was growing dark, the woman from the receipt of custom
+by the door came in and told us that she must close the rooms.</p>
+
+<p>We got up and went out. In the street the lamps were lighted, and the
+people going up and down.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p><p>Von Francius left me at the door of my lodgings.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good-evening, <i>liebes Fr&auml;ulein</i>; and thank you for your company this
+afternoon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>A light burned steadily all evening in the sitting-room of my opposite
+neighbors; but the shutters were closed. I only saw a thin stream coming
+through a chink.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;">&#8220;Es ist bestimmt, in Gottes Rath,<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dass man vom Liebsten was man hat<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Muss scheiden.&#8221;</span></p></div>
+
+<p>Our merry little zauberfest of Christmas-eve was over. Christmas morning
+came. I remember that morning well&mdash;a gray, neutral kind of day, whose
+monotony outside emphasized the keenness of emotion within.</p>
+
+<p>On that morning the postman came&mdash;a rather rare occurrence with us; for,
+except with notes from pupils, notices of proben, or other official
+communications, he seldom troubled us.</p>
+
+<p>It was Sigmund who opened the door; it was he who took the letter, and
+wished the postman &#8220;good-morning&#8221; in his courteous little way. I dare
+say that the incident gave an additional pang afterward to the father,
+if he marked it, and seldom did the smallest act or movement of his
+child escape him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Father, here is a letter,&#8221; he said, giving it into Eugen&#8217;s hand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps it is for Friedel; thou art too ready to think that everything
+appertains to thy father,&#8221; said Eugen, with a smile, as he took the
+letter and looked at it; but before he had finished speaking the smile
+had faded. There remained a whiteness, a blank, a haggardness.</p>
+
+<p>I had caught a glimpse of the letter; it was large, square, massive, and
+there was a seal upon the envelope&mdash;a regular letter of fate out of a
+romance.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen took it into his hand, and for once he made no answer to the
+caress of his child, who put his arms round his neck and wanted to climb
+upon his knee. He allowed the action, but passively.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let me open it!&#8221; cried Sigmund. &#8220;Let me open thy letter!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;No, no, child!&#8221; said Eugen, in a sharp, pained tone. &#8220;Let it alone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sigmund looked surprised, and recoiled a little; a shock clouding his
+eyes. It was all right if his father said no, but a shade presently
+crossed his young face. His father did not usually speak so; did not
+usually have that white and pallid look about the eyes&mdash;above all, did
+not look at his son with a look that meant nothing.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen was usually prompt enough in all he did, but he laid aside that
+letter, and proposed in a subdued tone that we should have breakfast.
+Which we had, and still the letter lay unopened. And when breakfast was
+over he even took up his violin and played runs and shakes and
+scales&mdash;and the air of a drinking song, which sounded grotesque in
+contrast with the surroundings. This lasted for some time, and yet the
+letter was not opened. It seemed as if he could not open it. I knew that
+it was with a desperate effort that he at last took it up, and&mdash;went
+into his room and shut the door.</p>
+
+<p>I was reading&mdash;that is, I had a book in my hands, and was stretched out
+in the full luxury of an unexpected holiday upon the couch; but I could
+no more have read under the new influence, could no more have helped
+watching Sigmund, than I could help breathing and feeling.</p>
+
+<p>He, Sigmund, stood still for a moment, looking at the closed door;
+gazing at it as if he expected it to open, and a loved hand to beckon
+him within. But it remained pitilessly shut, and the little boy had to
+accommodate himself as well as he could to a new phase in his mental
+history&mdash;the being excluded&mdash;left out in the cold. After making an
+impulsive step toward the door he turned, plunged his hands into his
+pockets as if to keep them from attacking the handle of that closed
+door, and walking to the window, gazed out, silent and motionless. I
+watched; I was compelled to watch. He was listening with every faculty,
+every fiber, for the least noise, the faintest movement from the room
+from which he was shut out. I did not dare to speak to him. I was very
+miserable myself; and a sense of coming loss and disaster was driven
+firmly into my mind and fixed there&mdash;a heavy prevision of inevitable
+sorrow and pain overhung my mind. I turned to my book and tried to read.
+It was one of the most delightful of romances that I held&mdash;no other than
+&#8220;Die Kinder der Welt&#8221;&mdash;and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>the scene was that in which Edwin and
+Toinette make that delightful, irregular Sunday excursion to the
+Charlottenburg, but I understood none of it. With that pathetic little
+real figure taking up so much of my consciousness, and every moment more
+insistently so, I could think of nothing else.</p>
+
+<p>Dead silence from the room within; utter and entire silence, which
+lasted so long that my misery grew acute, and still that little figure,
+which was now growing terrible to me, neither spoke nor stirred. I do
+not know how long by the clock we remained in these relative positions;
+by my feelings it was a week; by those of Sigmund, I doubt not, a
+hundred years. But he turned at last, and with a face from which all
+trace of color had fled walked slowly toward the closed door.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sigmund!&#8221; I cried, in a loud whisper. &#8220;Come here, my child! Stay here,
+with me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I must go in,&#8221; said he. He did not knock. He opened the door softly,
+and went in, closing it after him. I know not what passed. There was
+silence as deep as before, after one short, inarticulate murmur. There
+are some moments in this our life which are at once sacrificial,
+sacramental, and strong with the virtue of absolution for sins past;
+moments which are a crucible from which a stained soul may come out
+white again. Such were these&mdash;I know it now&mdash;in which father and son
+were alone together.</p>
+
+<p>After a short silence, during which my book hung unheeded from my hand,
+I left the house, out of a sort of respect for my two friends. I had
+nothing particular to do, and so strolled aimlessly about, first into
+the Hofgarten, where I watched the Rhine, and looked Hollandward along
+its low, flat shores, to where there was a bend, and beyond the bend,
+Kaiserswerth. It is now long since I saw the river. Fair are his banks
+higher up&mdash;not at Elberthal would he have struck the stranger as being a
+stream for which to fight and die; but to me there is no part of his
+banks so lovely as the poor old Sch&ouml;ne Aussicht in the Elberthal
+Hofgarten, from whence I have watched the sun set flaming over the broad
+water, and felt my heart beat to the sense of precious possessions in
+the homely town behind. Then I strolled through the town, and coming
+down the K&ouml;nigsall&eacute;e, beheld some bustle in front of a large,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>imposing-looking house, which had long been shut up and uninhabited. It
+had been a venture by a too shortly successful banker. He had built the
+house, lived in it three months, and finding himself bankrupt, had one
+morning disposed of himself by cutting his throat. Since then the house
+had been closed, and had had an ill name, though it was the handsomest
+building in the most fashionable part of the town, with a grand
+<i>porte-coch&egrave;re</i> in front, and a pleasant, enticing kind of bowery garden
+behind&mdash;the house faced the Exerzierplatz, and was on the promenade of
+Elberthal. A fine chestnut avenue made the street into a pleasant wood,
+and yet K&ouml;nigsall&eacute;e No. 3 always looked deserted and depressing. I
+paused to watch the workmen who were throwing open the shutters and
+uncovering the furniture. There were some women-servants busy with brush
+and duster in the hall, and a splendid barouche was being pushed through
+the <i>porte-coch&egrave;re</i> into the back premises; a couple of trim-looking
+English grooms with four horses followed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is some one coming to live here?&#8221; I demanded of a workman, who made
+answer:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ja wohl!</i> A rich English milord has taken the house furnished for six
+months&mdash;Sir Le Marchant, <i>oder so etwas</i>. I do not know the name quite
+correctly. He comes in a few days.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So!&#8221; said I, wondering what attraction Elberthal could offer to a rich
+English sir or milord, and feeling at the same time a mild glow of
+curiosity as to him and his circumstances, for I humbly confess it&mdash;I
+had never seen an authentic milord. Elberthal and K&ouml;ln were almost the
+extent of my travels, and I only remembered that at the
+Niederrheinisches Musikfest last year some one had pointed out to me a
+decrepit-looking old gentleman, with a bottle-nose and a meaningless
+eye, as a milord&mdash;very, very rich, and exceedingly good. I had sorrowed
+a little at the time in thinking that he did not personally better grace
+his circumstances and character, but until this moment I had never
+thought of him again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is his secretary,&#8221; pursued the workman to me, in an under-tone, as
+he pointed out a young man who was standing in the middle of the hall,
+note-book in hand. &#8220;Herr Arkwright. He is looking after us.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When does the <i>Engl&auml;nder</i> come?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;In a few days, with his servants and milady, and milady&#8217;s maid and dogs
+and bags and everything. And she&mdash;milady&mdash;is to have those rooms&#8221;&mdash;he
+pointed overhead, and grinned&mdash;&#8220;those where Banquier Klein was found
+with his throat cut. <i>H&egrave;!</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He laughed, and began to sing lustily, &#8220;In Berlin, sagt&#8217; er.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>After giving one more short survey to the house, and wondering why the
+apartments of a suicide should be assigned to a young and beautiful
+woman (for I instinctively judged her to be young and beautiful), I went
+on my way, and my thoughts soon returned to Eugen and Sigmund, and that
+trouble which I felt was hanging inevitably over us.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>Eugen was, that evening, in a mood of utter, cool aloofness. His trouble
+did not appear to be one that he could confide&mdash;at present, at least. He
+took up his violin and discoursed most eloquent music, in the dark, to
+which music Sigmund and I listened. Sigmund sat upon my knee, and Eugen
+went on playing&mdash;improvising, or rather speaking the thoughts which were
+uppermost in his heart. It was wild, strange, melancholy, sometimes
+sweet, but ever with a ringing note of woe so piercing as to stab,
+recurring perpetually&mdash;such a note as comes throbbing to life now and
+then in the &#8220;Sonate Pathetique,&#8221; or in Raff&#8217;s Fifth Symphony.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen always went to Sigmund after he had gone to bed, and talked to him
+or listened to him. I do not know if he taught him something like a
+prayer at such times, or spoke to him of supernatural things, or upon
+what they discoursed. I only know that it was an interchange of soul,
+and that usually he came away from it looking glad. But to-night, after
+remaining longer than usual, he returned with a face more haggard than I
+had seen it yet.</p>
+
+<p>He sat down opposite me at the table, and there was silence, with an
+ever-deepening, sympathetic pain on my part. At last I raised my eyes to
+his face; one elbow rested upon the table, and his head leaned upon his
+hand. The lamp-light fell full upon his face, and there was that in it
+which would let me be silent no longer, any more than one could see a
+comrade bleeding to death, and not try to stanch the wound. I stepped up
+to him and laid my hand <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>upon his shoulder. He looked up drearily,
+unrecognizingly, unsmilingly at me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eugen, what hast thou?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>La mort dans l</i>&#8217;<i>&acirc;me</i>,&#8221; he answered, quoting from a poem which we had
+both been reading.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And what has caused it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Must you know, friend?&#8221; he asked. &#8220;If I did not need to tell it, I
+should be very glad.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I must know it, or&mdash;or leave you to it!&#8221; said I, choking back some
+emotion. &#8220;I can not pass another day like this.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And I had no right to let you spend such a day as this,&#8221; he answered.
+&#8220;Forgive me once again, Friedel&mdash;you who have forgiven so much and so
+often.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well,&#8221; said I, &#8220;let us have the worst, Eugen. It is something about&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I glanced toward the door, on the other side of which Sigmund was
+sleeping.</p>
+
+<p>His face became set, as if of stone. One word, and one alone, after a
+short pause, passed his lips&mdash;&#8220;<i>Ja!</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I breathed again. It was so then.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I told you, Friedel, that I should have to leave him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The words dropped out one by one from his lips, distinct, short, steady.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That was bad, very bad. The worst, I thought, that could befall; but it
+seems that my imagination was limited.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eugen, what is it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall not have to leave him. I shall have to send him away from me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As if with the utterance of the words, the very core and fiber of
+resolution melted away and vanished, and the broken spirit turned
+writhing and shuddering from the phantom that extended its arms for the
+sacrifice, he flung his arms upon the table; his shoulders heaved. I
+heard two suppressed, choked-down sobs&mdash;the sobs of a strong man&mdash;strong
+alike in body and mind; strongest of all in the heart and spirit and
+purpose to love and cherish.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>La mort dans l</i>&#8217;<i>&acirc;me</i>,&#8221; indeed! He could have chosen no fitter
+expression.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Send him away!&#8221; I echoed, beneath my breath.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Send my child away from me&mdash;as if I&mdash;did not&mdash;want him,&#8221; said
+Courvoisier, slowly, and in a voice made low <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>and halting with anguish,
+as he lifted his gaze, dim with the desperate pain of coming parting,
+and looked me in the face.</p>
+
+<p>I had begun in an aimless manner to pace the room, my heart on fire, my
+brain reaching wildly after some escape from the fetters of
+circumstance, invisible but iron strong, relentless as cramps and
+glaives of tempered steel. I knew no reason, of course. I knew no
+outward circumstances of my friend&#8217;s life or destiny. I did not wish to
+learn any. I did know that since he said it was so it must be so.
+Sigmund must be sent away! He&mdash;we&mdash;must be left alone; two poor men,
+with the brightness gone from our lives.</p>
+
+<p>The scene does not let me rightly describe it. It was an anguish allied
+in its intensity to that of Gethsemane. Let me relate it as briefly as I
+can.</p>
+
+<p>I made no spoken assurance of sympathy. I winced almost at the idea of
+speaking to him. I knew then that we may contemplate, or believe we
+contemplate, some coming catastrophe for years, believing that so the
+suffering, when it finally falls, will be lessened. This is a delusion.
+Let the blow rather come short, sharp, and without forewarning;
+preparation heightens the agony.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friedel,&#8221; said he at last, &#8220;you do not ask why must this be.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not need to ask why. I know that it must be, or you would not do
+it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I would tell you if I could&mdash;if I might.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For Heaven&#8217;s sake, don&#8217;t suppose that I wish to pry&mdash;&#8221; I began. He
+interrupted me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will make me laugh in spite of myself,&#8221; said he. &#8220;You wish to pry!
+Now, let me see how much more I can tell you. You perhaps think it
+wrong, in an abstract light, for a father to send his young son away
+from him. That is because you do not know what I do. If you did, you
+would say, as I do, that it must be so&mdash;I never saw it till now. That
+letter was a revelation. It is now all as clear as sunshine.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I assented.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then you consent to take my word that it must be so, without more.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed, Eugen, I wish for no more.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked at me. &#8220;If I were to tell you,&#8221; said he, suddenly, and an
+impulsive light beamed in his eyes. A <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>look of relief&mdash;it was nothing
+else&mdash;of hope, crossed his face. Then he sunk again into his former
+attitude&mdash;as if tired and wearied with some hard battle; exhausted, or
+what we more expressively call <i>niedergeschlagen</i>.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now something more,&#8221; he went on; and I saw the frown of desperation
+that gathered upon his brow. He went on quickly, as if otherwise he
+could not say what had to be said: &#8220;When he goes from me, he goes to
+learn to become a stranger to me. I promise not to see him, nor write to
+him, nor in any way communicate with him, or influence him. We
+part&mdash;utterly and entirely.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eugen! Impossible! <i>Herrgott!</i> Impossible!&#8221; cried I, coming to a stop,
+and looking incredulously at him. That I did not believe. &#8220;Impossible!&#8221;
+I repeated, beneath my breath.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;By faith men can move mountains,&#8221; he retorted.</p>
+
+<p>This, then, was the flavoring which made the cup so intolerable.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You say that that is and must be wrong under all circumstances,&#8221; said
+Eugen, eying me steadily.</p>
+
+<p>I paused. I could almost have found it in my heart to say, &#8220;Yes, I do.&#8221;
+But my faith in and love for this man had grown with me; as a daily
+prayer grows part of one&#8217;s thoughts, so was my confidence in him part of
+my mind. He looked as if he were appealing to me to say that it must be
+wrong, and so give him some excuse to push it aside. But I could not.
+After wavering for a moment, I answered:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. I am sure you have sufficient reasons.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have. God knows I have.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>In the silence that ensued my mind was busy. Eugen Courvoisier was not a
+religious man, as the popular meaning of religious runs. He did not say
+of his misfortune, &#8220;It is God&#8217;s will,&#8221; nor did he add, &#8220;and therefore
+sweet to me.&#8221; He said nothing of whose will it was; but I felt that had
+that cause been a living thing&mdash;had it been a man, for instance, he
+would have gripped it and fastened to it until it lay dead and impotent,
+and he could set his heel upon it.</p>
+
+<p>But it was no strong, living, tangible thing. It was a breathless
+abstraction&mdash;a something existing in the minds of men, and which they
+call &#8220;Right!&#8221; and being that&mdash;not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>an outside law which an officer of
+the law could enforce upon him; being that abstraction, he obeyed it.</p>
+
+<p>As for saying that because it was right he liked it, or felt any
+consolation from the knowledge&mdash;he never once pretended to any such
+thing; but, true to his character of Child of the World, hated it with a
+hatred as strong as his love for the creature which it deprived him of.
+Only&mdash;he did it. He is not alone in such circumstances. Others have
+obeyed and will again obey this invisible law in circumstances as
+anguishing as those in which he stood, will steel their hearts to
+hardness while every fiber cries out, &#8220;Relent!&#8221; or will, like him,
+writhe under the lash, shake their chained hands at Heaven, and&mdash;submit.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;One more question, Eugen. When?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Soon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A year would seem soon to any of us three.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In a very short time. It may be in weeks; it may be in days. Now,
+Friedhelm, have a little pity and don&#8217;t probe any further.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But I had no need to ask any more questions. The dreary evening passed
+somehow over, and bed-time came, and the morrow dawned.</p>
+
+<p>For us three it brought the knowledge that for an indefinite time
+retrospective happiness must play the part of sun on our mental horizon.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2>
+
+<h3>&#8220;My Lady&#8217;s Glory.&#8221;</h3>
+
+<p>&#8220;K&ouml;nigsall&eacute;e, No. 3,&#8221; wrote Adelaide to me, &#8220;is the house which has been
+taken for us. We shall be there on Tuesday evening.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I accepted this communication in my own sense, and did not go to meet
+Adelaide, nor visit her that evening, but wrote a card, saying I would
+come on the following morning. I had seen the house which had been taken
+for Sir Peter and Lady Le Marchant&mdash;a large, gloomy-looking house, with
+a tragedy attached to it, which had stood empty ever since I had come to
+Elberthal.</p>
+
+<p>Up to the fashionable K&ouml;nigsall&eacute;e, under the naked chestnut avenue, and
+past the great long Caserne and Exerzierplatz&mdash;a way on which I did not
+as a rule intrude my ancient and poverty-stricken garments, I went on
+the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>morning after Adelaide&#8217;s arrival. Lady Le Marchant had not yet left
+her room, but if I were Miss Wedderburn I was to be taken to her
+immediately. Then I was taken upstairs, and had time to remark upon the
+contrast between my sister&#8217;s surroundings and my own, before I was
+delivered over to a lady&#8217;s-maid&mdash;French in nationality&mdash;who opened a
+door and announced me as Mlle. Veddairebairne. I had a rapid, dim
+impression that it was quite the chamber of a <i>grande dame</i>, in the
+midst of which stood my lady herself, having slowly risen as I came in.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At last you have condescended to come,&#8221; said the old proud, curt voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How are you, Adelaide?&#8221; said I, originally, feeling that any display of
+emotion would be unwelcome and inappropriate, and moreover, feeling any
+desire to indulge in the same suddenly evaporate.</p>
+
+<p>She took my hand loosely, gave me a little chilly kiss on the cheek, and
+then held me off at arms&#8217;-length to look at me.</p>
+
+<p>I did not speak. I could think of nothing agreeable to say. The only
+words that rose to my lips were, &#8220;How very ill you look!&#8221; and I wisely
+concluded not to say them. She was very beautiful, and looked prouder
+and more imperious than ever. But she was changed. I could not tell what
+it was. I could find no name for the subtle alteration; ere long I knew
+only too well what it was. Then, I only knew that she was different from
+what she had been, and different in a way that aroused tenfold all my
+vague forebodings.</p>
+
+<p>She was wasted too&mdash;had gone, for her, quite thin; and the repressed
+restlessness of her eyes made a disagreeable impression upon me. Was she
+perhaps wasted with passion and wicked thoughts? She looked as if it
+would not have taken much to bring the smoldering fire into a blaze of
+full fury&mdash;as if fire and not blood ran in her veins.</p>
+
+<p>She was in a loose silk dressing-gown, which fell in long folds about
+her stately figure. Her thick black hair was twisted into a knot about
+her head. She was surrounded on all sides with rich and costly things.
+All the old severe simplicity of style had vanished&mdash;it seemed as if she
+had gratified every passing fantastic wish or whim of her restless,
+reckless spirit, and the result was a curious medley of the ugly,
+grotesque, ludicrous and beautiful&mdash;a feverish <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>dream of Cleopatra-like
+luxury, in the midst of which she stood, as beautiful and sinuous as a
+serpent, and looking as if she could be, upon occasion, as poisonous as
+the same.</p>
+
+<p>She looked me over from head to foot with piercing eyes, and then said
+half scornfully, half enviously:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How well a stagnant life seems to suit some people! Now you&mdash;you are
+immensely improved&mdash;unspeakably improved. You have grown into a pretty
+woman&mdash;more than a pretty woman. I shouldn&#8217;t have thought a few months
+could make such an alteration in any one.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her words struck me as a kind of satire upon herself.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I might say the same to you,&#8221; said I, constrainedly. &#8220;I think you are
+very much altered.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Indeed I felt strangely ill at ease with the beautiful creature who, I
+kept trying to convince myself, was my sister Adelaide, but who seemed
+further apart from me than ever. But the old sense of fascination which
+she had been wont to exercise over me returned again in all or in more
+than its primitive strength.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want to talk to you,&#8221; said she, forcing me into a deep easy-chair. &#8220;I
+have millions of things to ask you. Take off your hat and mantle. You
+must stay all day. Heavens! how shabby you are! I never saw anything so
+worn out&mdash;and yet your dress suits you, and you look nice in it.&#8221; (She
+sighed deeply.) &#8220;Nothing suits me now. Formerly I looked well in
+everything. I should have looked well in rags, and people would have
+turned to look after me. Now, whatever I put on makes me look hideous.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nonsense!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It does&mdash;And I am glad of it,&#8221; she added, closing her lips as if she
+closed in some bitter joy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish you would tell me why you have come here,&#8221; I inquired,
+innocently. &#8220;I was so astonished. It was the last place I should have
+thought of your coming to.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Naturally. But you see Sir Peter adores me so that he hastens to
+gratify my smallest wish. I expressed a desire one day to see you, and
+two days afterward we were <i>en route</i>. He said I should have my wish.
+Sisterly love was a beautiful thing, and he felt it his duty to
+encourage it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I looked at her, and could not decide whether she were in jest or
+earnest. If she were in jest, it was but a sorry <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>kind of joke&mdash;if in
+earnest, she chose a disagreeably flippant manner of expressing herself.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sir Peter has great faith in annoying and thwarting me,&#8221; she went on.
+&#8220;He has been looking better and more cheerful ever since we left Rome.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But Adelaide&mdash;if you wished to leave Rome&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I did not wish to leave Rome. I wished to stay&mdash;so we came away,
+you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The suppressed rage and hatred in her tone made me feel uncomfortable. I
+avoided speaking, but I could not altogether avoid looking at her. Our
+eyes met, and Adelaide burst into a peal of harsh laughter.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, your face, May! It is a study! I had a particular objection to
+coming to Elberthal, therefore Sir Peter instantly experienced a
+particular desire to come. When you are married you will understand
+these things. I was almost enjoying myself in Rome; I suppose Sir Peter
+was afraid that familiarity might bring dislike, or that if we stayed
+too long I might feel it dull. This is a gay, lively place, I
+believe&mdash;we came here, and for aught I know we are going to stay here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She laughed again, and I sat aghast. I had been miserable about
+Adelaide&#8217;s marriage, but I had very greatly trusted in what she had
+prognosticated about being able to do what she liked with him. I began
+now to think that there must have been some miscalculation&mdash;that she had
+mistaken the metal and found it not quite so ductile as she had
+expected. I knew enough of her to be aware that I was probably the first
+person to whom she had spoken in such a manner, and that not even to me
+would she have so spoken unless some strong feeling had prompted her to
+it. This made me still more uneasy. She held so fast by the fine polish
+of the outside of the cup and platter. Very likely the world in general
+supposed that she and Sir Peter were a model couple.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am glad you are here,&#8221; she pursued. &#8220;It is a relief to have some one
+else than Arkwright to speak to.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who is Arkwright?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sir Peter&#8217;s secretary&mdash;a very good sort of boy. He knows all about our
+domestic bliss and other concerns&mdash;because he can&#8217;t help. Sir Peter
+tells him&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A hand on the door-handle outside. A pause ere the persons came in, for
+Sir Peter&#8217;s voice was audible, giving <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>directions to some one, probably
+the secretary of whom Adelaide had spoken. She started violently; the
+color fled from her face; pale dismay painted itself for a moment upon
+her lips, but only for a moment. In the next she was outwardly herself
+again. But the hand trembled which passed her handkerchief over her
+lips.</p>
+
+<p>The door was fully opened, and Sir Peter came in.</p>
+
+<p>Yes; that was the same face, the same pent-house of ragged eyebrow over
+the cold and snaky eye beneath, the same wolfish mouth and permanent
+hungry smile. But he looked better, stouter, stronger; more cheerful. It
+seemed as if my lady&#8217;s society had done him a world of good, and acted
+as a kind of elixir of life.</p>
+
+<p>I observed Adelaide. As he came in her eyes dropped; her hand closed
+tightly over the handkerchief she held, crushing it together in her
+grasp; she held her breath; then, recovered, she faced him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Heyday! Whom have we here?&#8221; he asked, in a voice which time and a
+residence in hearing of the language of music had not mollified. &#8220;Whom
+have we here? Your dress-maker, my lady? Have you had to send for a
+dress-maker already? Ha! what? Your sister? Impossible! Miss May, I am
+delighted to see you again! Are you very well? You look a
+little&mdash;a&mdash;shabby, one might almost say, my dear&mdash;a little seedy, hey?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I had no answer ready for this winning greeting.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Rather like my lady before she was my lady,&#8221; he continued, pleasantly,
+as his eyes roved over the room, over its furniture, over us.</p>
+
+<p>There was power&mdash;a horrible kind of strength and vitality in that
+figure&mdash;a crushing impression of his potency to make one miserable,
+conveyed in the strong, rasping voice. Quite a different Sir Peter from
+my erstwhile wooer. He was a masculine, strong, planning creature, whose
+force of will was able to crush that of my sister as easily as her
+forefinger might crush a troublesome midge. He was not blind or
+driveling; he could reason, plot, argue, concoct a systematic plan for
+revenge, and work it out fully and in detail; he was able at once to
+grasp the broadest bearing and the minute details of a position, and to
+act upon their intimations with crushing accuracy. He was calm, decided,
+keen, and all in a certain small, bounded, positive way which made him
+all the more efficient as a ruling <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>factor in this social sphere, where
+small, bounded, positive strength, without keen sympathies save in the
+one direction&mdash;self&mdash;and without idea of generosity, save with regard to
+its own merits, pays better than a higher kind of strength&mdash;better than
+the strength of Joan of Arc, or St. Stephen, or Christ.</p>
+
+<p>This was the real Sir Peter, and before the revelation I stood aghast.
+And that look in Adelaide&#8217;s eyes, that tone in her voice, that
+restrained spring in her movements, would have been rebellion,
+revolution, but in the act of breaking forth it became&mdash;fear. She had
+been outwitted, most thoroughly and completely. She had got a jailer and
+a prison. She feared the former, and every tradition of her life bade
+her remain in the latter.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Peter, pleasantly exhilarated by my confusion and my lady&#8217;s sullen
+silence, proceeded with an agreeable smile:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you never coming down-stairs, madame? I have been deprived long
+enough of the delights of your society. Come down! I want you to read to
+me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am engaged, as you may see,&#8221; she answered in a low voice of
+opposition.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then the engagement must be deferred. There is a great deal of reading
+to do. There is the &#8216;Times&#8217; for a week.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hate the &#8216;Times,&#8217; and I don&#8217;t understand it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So much the more reason why you should learn to do so. In half an
+hour,&#8221; said Sir Peter, consulting his watch, &#8220;I shall be ready, or say
+in quarter of an hour.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Absurd! I can not be ready in quarter of an hour. Where is Mr.
+Arkwright?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is Mr. Arkwright to you, my dear? You may be sure that Mr.
+Arkwright&#8217;s time is not being wasted. If his mamma knew what he was
+doing she would be quite satisfied&mdash;oh, quite. In quarter of an hour.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was leaving the room, but paused at the door, with a suspicious look.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss May, it is a pity for you to go away. It will do you good to see
+your sister, I am sure. Pray spend the day with us. Now, my lady, waste
+no more time.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With that he finally departed. Adelaide&#8217;s face was white, but she did
+not address me. She rang for her maid.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dress my hair, Toinette, and do it as quickly as possible. Is my dress
+ready?&#8221; was all she said.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;<i>Mais oui, madame.</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Quick!&#8221; she repeated. &#8220;You have only quarter of an hour.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Despite the suppressed cries, expostulations, and announcements that it
+was impossible, Adelaide was dressed in quarter of an hour.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will stay, May?&#8221; said she; and I knew it was only the presence of
+Toinette which restrained her from urgently imploring me to stay.</p>
+
+<p>I remained, though not all day; only until it was time to go and have my
+lesson from von Francius. During my stay, however, I had ample
+opportunity to observe how things were.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Peter appeared to have lighted upon a congenial occupation somewhat
+late in life, or perhaps previous practice had made him an adept in it.
+His time was fully occupied in carrying out a series of experiments upon
+his wife&#8217;s pride, with a view to humble and bring it to the ground. If
+he did not fully succeed in that, he succeeded in making her hate him as
+scarcely ever was man hated before.</p>
+
+<p>They had now been married some two or three months, and had forsworn all
+semblance of a pretense at unity or concord. She thwarted him as much as
+she could, and defied him as far as she dared. He played round and round
+his victim, springing upon her at last, with some look, or word, or
+hint, or smile, which meant something&mdash;I know not what&mdash;that cowed her.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, it was a pleasant household!&mdash;a cheerful, amiable scene of connubial
+love, in which this fair woman of two-and-twenty found herself, with
+every prospect of its continuing for an indefinite number of years; for
+the Le Marchants were a long-lived family, and Sir Peter ailed nothing.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+<p>&#8220;Wenn Menschen aus einander gehen,<br />
+So sagen sie, Auf Wiedersehen!<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Auf Wiedersehen!&#8221;</span></p></div>
+
+<p>Eugen had said, &#8220;Very soon&mdash;it may be weeks, it may be days,&#8221; and had
+begged me not to inquire further into the matter. Seeing his anguish, I
+had refrained; but when two or three days had passed, and nothing was
+done or said, I began to hope that the parting might not be deferred
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>even a few weeks; for I believe the father suffered, and with him the
+child, enough each day to wipe out years of transgression.</p>
+
+<p>It was impossible to hide from Sigmund that some great grief threatened,
+or had already descended upon his father, and therefore upon him. The
+child&#8217;s sympathy with the man&#8217;s nature, with every mood and feeling&mdash;I
+had almost said his intuitive understanding of his father&#8217;s very
+thoughts, was too keen and intense to be hoodwinked or turned aside. He
+did not behave like other children, of course&mdash;<i>versteht sich</i>, as Eugen
+said to me with a dreary smile. He did not hang about his father&#8217;s neck,
+imploring to hear what was the matter; he did not weep or wail, or make
+complaints. After that first moment of uncontrollable pain and anxiety,
+when he had gone into the room whose door was closed upon him, and in
+which Eugen had not told him all that was coming, he displayed no
+violent emotion; but he did what was to Eugen and me much more
+heart-breaking&mdash;brooded silently; grew every day wanner and thinner, and
+spent long intervals in watching his father, with eyes which nothing
+could divert and nothing deceive. If Eugen tried to be cheerful, to put
+on a little gayety of demeanor which he did not feel in his heart,
+Sigmund made no answer to it, but continued to look with the same
+solemn, large and mournful gaze.</p>
+
+<p>His father&#8217;s grief was eating into his own young heart. He asked not
+what it was; but both Eugen and I knew that in time, if it went on long
+enough, he would die of it. The picture, &#8220;Innocence Dying of
+Blood-stain,&#8221; which Hawthorne has suggested to us, may have its
+prototypes and counterparts in unsuspected places. Here was one. Nor did
+Sigmund, as some others, children both of larger and smaller growth,
+might have done, turn to me and ask me to tell him the meaning of the
+sad change which had crept silently and darkly into our lives. He
+outspartaned the Spartan in many ways. His father had not chosen to tell
+him; he would die rather than ask the meaning of the silence.</p>
+
+<p>One night&mdash;when some three days had passed since the letter had come&mdash;as
+Eugen and I sat alone, it struck me that I heard a weary turning over in
+the little bed in the next room, and a stifled sob coming distinctly to
+my ears. I lifted my head. Eugen had heard too; he was looking, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>with an
+expression of pain and indecision, toward the door. With a vast
+effort&mdash;the greatest my regard for him had yet made&mdash;I took it upon
+myself, laid my hand on his arm, and coercing him again into the chair
+from which he had half risen, whispered:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will tell him. You can not. <i>Nicht wahr?</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A look was the only, but a very sufficient answer.</p>
+
+<p>I went into the inner room and closed the door. A dim whiteness of
+moonlight struggled through the shutters, and very, very faintly showed
+me the outline of the child who was dear to me. Stooping down beside
+him, I asked if he were awake.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ja, ich wache</i>,&#8221; he replied, in a patient, resigned kind of small
+voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why dost thou not sleep, Sigmund? Art thou not well?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I am not well,&#8221; he answered; but with an expression of double
+meaning. &#8220;<i>Mir ist</i>&#8217;<i>s nicht wohl.</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What ails thee?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you know what ails him, you know what ails me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you not know yourself?&#8221; I asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; said Sigmund, with a short sob. &#8220;He says he can not tell me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I slipped upon my knees beside the little bed, and paused a moment. I am
+not ashamed to say that I prayed to something which in my mind existed
+outside all earthly things&mdash;perhaps to the &#8220;Freude&#8221; which Schiller sung
+and Beethoven composed to&mdash;for help in the hardest task of my life.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Can not tell me.&#8221; No wonder he could not tell that soft-eyed, clinging
+warmth; that subtle mixture of fire and softness, spirit and
+gentleness&mdash;that spirit which in the years of trouble they had passed
+together had grown part of his very nature&mdash;that they must part! No
+wonder that the father, upon whom the child built his every idea of what
+was great and good, beautiful, right and true in every shape and form,
+could not say, &#8220;You shall not stay with me; you shall be thrust forth to
+strangers; and, moreover, I will not see you nor speak to you, nor shall
+you hear my name; and this I will do without telling you why&#8221;&mdash;that he
+could not say this&mdash;what had the man been who could have said it?</p>
+
+<p>As I knelt in the darkness by Sigmund&#8217;s little bed, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>and felt his pillow
+wet with his silent tears, and his hot cheek touching my hand, I knew it
+all. I believe I felt for once as a man who has begotten a child and
+must hurt it, repulse it, part from it, feels.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, my child, he can not tell thee, because he loves thee so dearly,&#8221;
+said I. &#8220;But I can tell thee; I have his leave to tell thee, Sigmund.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friedel?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thou art a very little boy, but thou art not like other boys; thy
+father is not just like other fathers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I know it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is very sad.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And his life which he has to live will be a sad one.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The child began to weep again. I had to pause. How was I to open my lips
+to instruct this baby upon the fearful, profound abyss of a subject&mdash;the
+evil and the sorrow that are in the world&mdash;how, how force those little
+tender, bare feet, from the soft grass on to the rough up-hill path all
+strewed with stones, and all rugged with ups and downs? It was horribly
+cruel.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Life is very sad sometimes, <i>mein</i> Sigmund.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Some people, too, are much sadder than others. I think thy father
+is one of those people. Perhaps thou art to be another.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What my father is I will be,&#8221; said he, softly; and I thought that it
+was another and a holier version of Eugen&#8217;s words to me, wrung out of
+the inner bitterness of his heart. &#8220;The sins of the fathers shall be
+visited upon the children, even unto the third and fourth generation,
+whether they deserve it or not.&#8221; The child, who knew nothing of the
+ancient saying, merely said with love and satisfaction swelling his
+voice to fullness, &#8220;What my father is, I will be.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Couldst thou give up something very dear for his sake?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What a queer question!&#8221; said Sigmund. &#8220;I want nothing when I am with
+him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ei! mein kind!</i> Thou dost not know what I mean. What is the greatest
+joy of thy life? To be near thy father and see him, hear his voice, and
+touch him, and feel him near thee; <i>nicht?</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said he, in a scarcely audible whisper.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p><p>There was a pause, during which I was racking my brains to think of some
+way of introducing the rest without shocking him too much, when suddenly
+he said, in a clear, low voice:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is it. He would never let me leave him, and he would never leave
+me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Silence again for a few moments, which seemed to deepen some sneaking
+shadow in the boy&#8217;s mind, for he repeated through clinched teeth, and in
+a voice which fought hard against conviction, &#8220;Never, never, never!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sigmund&mdash;never of his own will. But remember what I said, that he is
+sad, and there is something in his life which makes him not only unable
+to do what he likes, but obliged to do exactly what he does not
+like&mdash;what he most hates and fears&mdash;to&mdash;to part from thee.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Nein, nein, nein!</i>&#8221; said he. &#8220;Who can make him do anything he does not
+wish? Who can take me away from him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not know. I only know that it must be so. There is no escaping
+from it, and no getting out of it. It is horrible, but it is so.
+Sometimes, Sigmund, there are things in the world like this.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The world must be a very cruel place,&#8221; he said, as if first struck with
+that fact.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now dost thou understand, Sigmund, why he did not speak? Couldst thou
+have told him such a thing?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where is he?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There, in the next room, and very sad for thee.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sigmund, before I knew what he was thinking of, was out of bed and had
+opened the door. I saw that Eugen looked up, saw the child standing in
+the door-way, sprung up, and Sigmund bounded to meet him. A cry as of a
+great terror came from the child. Self-restraint, so long maintained,
+broke down; he cried in a loud, frightened voice:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Mein Vater</i>, Friedel says I must leave thee!&#8221; and burst into a storm
+of sobs and crying such as I had never before known him yield to. Eugen
+folded him in his arms, laid his head upon his breast, and clasping him
+very closely to him, paced about the room with him in silence, until the
+first fit of grief was over. I, from the dark room, watched them in a
+kind of languor, for I was weary, as though I had gone through some
+physical struggle.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p><p>They passed to and fro like some moving dream. Bit by bit the child
+learned from his father&#8217;s lips the pitiless truth, down to the last
+bitter drop; that the parting was to be complete, and they were not to
+see each other.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But never, never?&#8221; asked Sigmund, in a voice of terror and pain
+mingled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When thou art a man that will depend upon thyself,&#8221; said Eugen. &#8220;Thou
+wilt have to choose.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Choose what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Whether thou wilt see me again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When I am a man may I choose?&#8221; he asked, raising his head with sudden
+animation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; I shall see to that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, very well. I have chosen now,&#8221; said Sigmund, and the thought gave
+him visible joy and relief.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen kissed him passionately. Blessed ignorance of the hardening
+influences of the coming years! Blessed tenderness of heart and
+singleness of affection which could see no possibility that
+circumstances might make the acquaintance of a now loved and adored
+superior being appear undesirable! And blessed sanguineness of five
+years old, which could bridge the gulf between then and manhood, and
+cry, <i>Auf wiedersehen!</i></p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>During the next few days more letters were exchanged. Eugen received one
+which he answered. Part of the answer he showed to me, and it ran thus:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I consent to this, but only upon one condition, which is that when my
+son is eighteen years old, you tell him all, and give him his choice
+whether he see me again or not. My word is given not to interfere in the
+matter, and I can trust yours when you promise that it shall be as I
+stipulate. I want your answer upon this point, which is very simple, and
+the single condition I make. It is, however, one which I can not and
+will not waive.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thirteen years, Eugen,&#8221; said I.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; in thirteen years I shall be forty-three.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will let me know what the answer to that is,&#8221; I went on.</p>
+
+<p>He nodded. By return of post the answer came.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is &#8216;yes,&#8217;&#8221; said he, and paused. &#8220;The day after to-morrow he is to
+go.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not alone, surely?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;No; some one will come for him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I heard some of the instructions he gave his boy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is one man where you are going, whom I wish you to obey as you
+would me, Sigmund,&#8221; he told him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is he like thee?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; much better and wiser than I am. But, remember, he never commands
+twice. Thou must not question and delay as thou dost with thy
+weak-minded old father. He is the master in the place thou art going
+to.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is it far from here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not exceedingly far.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hast thou been there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes,&#8221; said Eugen, in a peculiar tone, &#8220;often.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What must I call this man?&#8221; inquired Sigmund.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He will tell thee that. Do thou obey him and endeavor to do what he
+wishes, and so thou mayst know thou art best pleasing me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And when I am a man I can choose to see thee again. But where wilt thou
+be?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When the time comes thou wilt soon find me if it is necessary&mdash;And thy
+music,&#8221; pursued Eugen. &#8220;Remember that in all troubles that may come to
+thee, and whatever thou mayst pass through, there is one great,
+beautiful goddess who abides above the troubles of men, and is often
+most beautiful in the hearts that are most troubled. Remember&mdash;whom?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Beethoven,&#8221; was the prompt reply.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Just so. And hold fast to the service of the goddess Music, the most
+beautiful thing in the world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And thou art a musician,&#8221; said Sigmund, with a little laugh, as if it
+&#8220;understood itself&#8221; that his father should naturally be a priest of &#8220;the
+most beautiful thing in the world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I hurry over that short time before the parting came. Eugen said to me:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They are sending for him&mdash;an old servant. I am not afraid to trust him
+with him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And one morning he came&mdash;the old servant. Sigmund happened at the moment
+not to be in the sitting-room; Eugen and I were. There was a knock, and
+in answer to our <i>Herein!</i> there entered an elderly man of soldierly
+appearance, with a grizzled mustache, and stiff, military bearing; he
+was dressed in a very plain, but very handsome <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>livery, and on entering
+the room and seeing Eugen, he paused just within the door, and saluted
+with a look of deep respect; nor did he attempt to advance further.
+Eugen had turned very pale.</p>
+
+<p>It struck me that he might have something to say to this messenger of
+fate, and with some words to that effect I rose to leave them together.
+Eugen laid his hand upon my arm.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sit still, Friedhelm.&#8221; And turning to the man, he added: &#8220;How were all
+when you left, Heinrich?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, Herr Gr&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Courvoisier.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All were well, <i>mein Herr</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wait a short time,&#8221; said he.</p>
+
+<p>A silent inclination on the part of the man. Eugen went into the inner
+room where Sigmund was, and closed the door. There was silence. How long
+did it endure? What was passing there? What throes of parting? What
+grief not to be spoken or described?</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the elderly man-servant remained in his sentinel attitude, and
+with fixed expressionless countenance, within the door-way. Was the time
+long to him, or short?</p>
+
+<p>At last the door opened, and Sigmund came out alone. God help us all! It
+is terrible to see such an expression upon a child&#8217;s soft face. White
+and set and worn as if with years of suffering was the beautiful little
+face. The elderly man started, surprised from his impassiveness, as the
+child came into the room. An irrepressible flash of emotion crossed his
+face; he made a step forward. Sigmund seemed as if he did not see us. He
+was making a mechanical way to the door, when I interrupted him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sigmund, do not forget thy old Friedhelm!&#8221; I cried, clasping him in my
+arms, and kissing his little pale face, thinking of the day, three years
+ago, when his father had brought him wrapped up in the plaid on that wet
+afternoon, and my heart had gone out to him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Lieber</i> Friedhelm!&#8221; he said, returning my embrace, &#8220;Love my father
+when I&mdash;am gone. And&mdash;<i>auf&mdash;auf&mdash;wiedersehen</i>!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He loosed his arms from round my neck and went up to the man, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am ready.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The large horny hand clasped round the small delicate <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>one. The
+servant-man turned, and with a stiff, respectful bow to me, led Sigmund
+from the room. The door closed after him&mdash;he was gone. The light of two
+lonely lives was put out. Was our darling right or wrong in that
+persistent <i>auf wiedersehen</i> of his?</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox3 bbox"><p>Resignation! Welch&#8217; elendes Hulfsmittel! und doch bleibt es mir das
+einzig Uebrige&mdash;<i>Briefe</i> <span class="smcap">Beethoven&#8217;s</span>.</p></div>
+
+<p>Several small events which took place at this time had all their
+indirect but strong bearing on the histories of the characters in this
+veracious narrative. The great concert of the &#8220;Passions-musik&#8221; of Bach
+came off on the very evening of Sigmund&#8217;s departure. It was, I confess,
+with some fear and trembling that I went to call Eugen to his duties,
+for he had not emerged from his own room since he had gone into it to
+send Sigmund away.</p>
+
+<p>He raised his face as I came in; he was sitting looking out of the
+window, and told me afterward that he had sat there, he believed, ever
+since he had been unable to catch another glimpse of the carriage which
+bore his darling away from him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What is it, Friedel?&#8221; he asked, when I came in.</p>
+
+<p>I suggested in a subdued tone that the concert began in half an hour.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, true!&#8221; said he, rising; &#8220;I must get ready. Let me see, what is it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The &#8216;Passions-musik.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;To be sure! Most appropriate music! I feel as if I could write a
+Passion Music myself just now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>We had but to cross the road from our dwelling to the concert-room. As
+we entered the corridor two ladies also stepped into it from a very
+grand carriage. They were accompanied by a young man, who stood a little
+to one side to let them pass; and as they came up and we came up, von
+Francius came up too.</p>
+
+<p>One of the ladies was May Wedderburn, who was dressed in black, and
+looked exquisitely lovely to my eyes, and, I felt, to some others, with
+her warm auburn hair in shining coils upon her head. The other was a
+woman in whose pale, magnificent face I traced some likeness to our fair
+singer, but she was different; colder, grander, more severe. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>It so
+happened that the ladies barred the way as we arrived, and we had to
+stand by for a few moments as von Francius shook hands with Miss
+Wedderburn, and asked her smilingly if she were in good voice.</p>
+
+<p>She answered in the prettiest broken German I ever heard, and then
+turned to the lady, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Adelaide, may I introduce Herr von Francius&mdash;Lady Le Marchant.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A stately bow from the lady&mdash;a deep reverence, with a momentary glance
+of an admiration warmer than I had ever seen in his eyes, on the part of
+von Francius&mdash;a glance which was instantly suppressed to one of
+conventional inexpressiveness. I was pleased and interested with this
+little peep at a rank which I had never seen, and could have stood
+watching them for a long time; the splendid beauty and the great pride
+of bearing of the English lady were a revelation to me, and opened quite
+a large, unknown world before my mental eyes. Romances and poems, and
+men dying of love, or killing each other for it, no longer seemed
+ridiculous; for a smile or a warmer glance from that icily beautiful
+face must be something not to forget.</p>
+
+<p>It was Eugen who pushed forward, with a frown on his brow, and less than
+his usual courtesy. I saw his eyes and Miss Wedderburn&#8217;s meet; I saw the
+sudden flush that ran over her fair face; the stern composure of his. He
+would own nothing; but I was strangely mistaken if he could say that it
+was merely because he had nothing to own.</p>
+
+<p>The concert was a success, so far as Miss Wedderburn went. If von
+Francius had allowed repetitions, one song at least would have been
+encored. As it was, she was a success. And von Francius spent his time
+in the pauses with her and her sister; in a grave, sedate way he and the
+English lady seemed to &#8220;get on.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The concert was over. The next thing that was of any importance to us
+occurred shortly afterward. Von Francius had long been somewhat
+unpopular with his men, and at silent enmity with Eugen, who was, on the
+contrary, a universal favorite. There came a crisis, and the men sent a
+deputation to Eugen to say that if he would accept the post of leader
+they would strike, and refuse to accept any other than he.</p>
+
+<p>This was an opportunity for distinguishing himself. He <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>declined the
+honor; his words were few; he said something about how kind we had all
+been to him, &#8220;from the time when I arrived; when Friedhelm Helfen, here,
+took me in, gave me every help and assistance in his power, and showed
+how appropriate his name was;<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a> and so began a friendship which, please
+Heaven, shall last till death divides us, and perhaps go on afterward.&#8221;
+He ended by saying some words which made a deep impression upon me.
+After saying that he might possibly leave Elberthal, he added: &#8220;Lastly,
+I can not be your leader because I never intend to be any one&#8217;s
+leader&mdash;more than I am now,&#8221; he added, with a faint smile. &#8220;A kind of
+deputy, you know. I am not fit to be a leader. I have no gift in that
+line&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Doch!</i>&#8221; from half a dozen around.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;None whatever. I intend to remain in my present condition&mdash;no lower if
+I can help it, but certainly no higher. I have good reasons for knowing
+it to be my duty to do so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>And then he urged them so strongly to stand by Herr von Francius that we
+were quite astonished. He told them that von Francius would some time
+rank with Schumann, Raff, or Rubinstein, and that the men who rejected
+him now would then be pointed out as ignorant and prejudiced.</p>
+
+<p>And amid the silence that ensued, he began to direct us&mdash;we had a probe
+to Liszt&#8217;s &#8220;Prometheus,&#8221; I remember.</p>
+
+<p>He had won the day for von Francius, and von Francius, getting to hear
+of it, came one day to see him and frankly apologized for his prejudice
+in the past, and asked Eugen for his friendship in the future. Eugen&#8217;s
+answer puzzled me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am glad, you know, that I honor your genius, and wish you well,&#8221; said
+he, &#8220;and your offer of friendship honors me. Suppose I say I accept
+it&mdash;until you see cause to withdraw it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are putting rather a remote contingency to the front,&#8221; said von
+Francius.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps&mdash;perhaps not,&#8221; said Eugen, with a singular smile. &#8220;At least I
+am glad to have had this token of your sense of generosity. We are on
+different paths, and my friends are not on the same level as yours&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Excuse me; every true artist must be a friend of every <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>other true
+artist. We recognize no division of rank or possession.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Eugen bowed, still smiling ambiguously, nor could von Francius prevail
+upon him to say anything nearer or more certain. They parted, and long
+afterward I learned the truth, and knew the bitterness which must have
+been in Eugen&#8217;s heart; the shame, the gloom; the downcast sorrow, as he
+refused indirectly but decidedly the thing he would have liked so
+well&mdash;to shake the hand of a man high in position and honorable in
+name&mdash;look him in the face and say, &#8220;I accept your friendship&mdash;nor need
+you be ashamed of wearing mine openly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He refused the advance; he refused that and every other opening for
+advancement. The man seemed to have a horror of advancement, or of
+coming in any way forward. He rejected even certain offers which were
+made that he should perform some solos at different concerts in
+Elberthal and the neighborhood. I once urged him to become rich and have
+Sigmund back again. He said: &#8220;If I had all the wealth in Germany, it
+would divide us further still.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I have said nothing about the blank which Sigmund&#8217;s absence made in our
+lives, simply because it was too great a blank to describe. Day after
+day we felt it, and it grew keener, and the wound smarted more sharply.
+One can not work all day long, and in our leisure hours we learned to
+know only too well that he was gone&mdash;and gone indeed. That which
+remained to us was the &#8220;Resignation,&#8221; the &#8220;miserable assistant&#8221; which
+poor Beethoven indicated with such a bitter smile. We took it to us as
+inmate and <i>Hausfreund</i>, and made what we could of it.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII</h2>
+
+<h3>&#8220;So runs the world away.&#8221;</h3>
+
+<p>K&ouml;nigsall&eacute;e, No. 3, could scarcely be called a happy establishment. I
+saw much of its inner life, and what I saw made me feel mortally
+sad&mdash;envy, hatred, and malice; no hour of satisfaction; my sister&#8217;s
+bitter laughs and sneers and jibes at men and things; Sir Peter&#8217;s calm
+consciousness of his power, and his no less calm, crushing, unvarying
+manner of wielding it&mdash;of silently and horribly making it felt.
+Adelaide&#8217;s very nature appeared to have changed. From a lofty
+indifference to most things, to sorrow and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>joy, to the hopes, fears,
+and feelings of others, she had become eager, earnest, passionate,
+resenting ill-usage, strenuously desiring her own way, deeply angry when
+she could not get it. To say that Sir Peter&#8217;s influence upon her was
+merely productive of a negative dislike would be ridiculous. It was
+productive of an intense, active hatred, a hatred which would gladly, if
+it could, have vented itself in deeds. That being impossible, it showed
+itself in a haughty, unbroken indifference of demeanor which it seemed
+to be Sir Peter&#8217;s present aim in some way to break down, for not only
+did she hate him&mdash;he hated her.</p>
+
+<p>She used to the utmost what liberty she had. She was not a woman to talk
+of regret for what she had done, or to own that she had miscalculated
+her game. Her life was a great failure, and that failure had been
+brought home to her mind in a mercilessly short space of time; but of
+what use to bewail it? She was not yet conquered. The bitterness of
+spirit which she carried about with her took the form of a scoffing
+pessimism. A hard laugh at the things which made other people shake
+their heads and uplift their hands; a ready scoff at all tenderness; a
+sneer at anything which could by any stretch of imagination be called
+good; a determined running up of what was hard, sordid, and worldly, and
+a persistent and utter skepticism as to the existence of the reverse of
+those things; such was now the yea, yea, and nay, nay, of her
+communication.</p>
+
+<p>To a certain extent she had what she had sold herself for; outside pomp
+and show in plenty&mdash;carriages, horses, servants, jewels, and clothes.
+Sir Peter liked, to use his own expression, &#8220;to see my lady blaze
+away&#8221;&mdash;only she must blaze away in his fashion, not hers. He declared he
+did not know how long he might remain in Elberthal; spoke vaguely of
+&#8220;business at home,&#8221; about which he was waiting to hear, and said that
+until he heard the news he wanted, he could not move from the place he
+was in. He was in excellent spirits at seeing his wife chafing under the
+confinement to a place she detested, and appeared to find life sweet.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile she, using her liberty, as I said, to the utmost extent, had
+soon plunged into the midst of the fastest set in Elberthal.</p>
+
+<p>There was a fast set there as there was a musical set, an artistic set,
+a religious set, a free-thinking set; for though <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>it was not so large or
+so rich as many dull, wealthy towns in England, it presented from its
+mixed inhabitants various phases of society.</p>
+
+<p>This set into which Adelaide had thrown herself was the fast one; a
+coterie of officers, artists, the richer merchants and bankers, medical
+men, literati, and the young (and sometimes old) wives, sisters and
+daughters of the same; many of them priding themselves upon not being
+natives of Elberthal, but coming from larger and gayer towns&mdash;Berlin,
+Dresden, Hamburg, Frankfurt, and others.</p>
+
+<p>They led a gay enough life among themselves&mdash;a life of theater, concert,
+and opera-going, of dances, private at home, public at the Malkasten or
+Artists&#8217; Club, flirtations, marriages, engagements, disappointments, the
+usual dreary and monotonous round. They considered themselves the only
+society worthy the name in Elberthal, and whoever was not of their set
+was <i>niemand</i>.</p>
+
+<p>I was partly dragged, partly I went to a certain extent of my own will,
+into this vortex. I felt myself to have earned a larger experience now
+of life and life&#8217;s realities. I questioned when I should once have
+discreetly inclined the head and held my peace. I had a mind to examine
+this clique and the characters of some of its units, and see in what it
+was superior to some other acquaintances (in an humbler sphere) with
+whom my lot had been cast. As time went on I found the points of
+superiority to decrease&mdash;those of inferiority rapidly to increase.</p>
+
+<p>I troubled myself little about them and their opinions. My joys and
+griefs, hopes and fears, lay so entirely outside their circle that I
+scarce noticed whether they noticed me or not. I felt and behaved coldly
+toward them! to the women because their voices never had the ring of
+genuine liking in speaking to me; to the men because I found them as a
+rule shallow, ignorant, and pretentious; repellent to me, as I dare say
+I, with my inability to understand them, was to them. I saw most men and
+things through a distorting glass; that of contrast, conscious or
+unconscious, with Courvoisier.</p>
+
+<p>My musician, I reasoned, wrongly or rightly, had three times their wit,
+three times their good looks, manners and information, and many times
+three times their common sense, as well as a juster appreciation of his
+own merits; besides which, my musician was not a person whose
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>acquaintance and esteem were to be had for the asking&mdash;or even for a
+great deal more than the asking, while it seemed that these young
+gentleman gave their society to any one who could live in a certain
+style and talk a certain <i>argot</i>, and their esteem to every one who
+could give them often enough the savory meat that their souls loved, and
+the wine of a certain quality which made glad their hearts, and rendered
+them of a cheerful countenance.</p>
+
+<p>But my chief reason for mixing with people who were certainly as a rule
+utterly distasteful and repugnant to me, was because I could not bear to
+leave Adelaide alone. I pitied her in her lonely and alienated misery;
+and I knew that it was some small solace to her to have me with her.</p>
+
+<p>The tale of one day will give an approximate idea of most of the days I
+spent with her. I was at the time staying with her. Our hours were late.
+Breakfast was not over till ten, that is by Adelaide and myself. Sir
+Peter was an exceedingly active person, both in mind and body, who saw
+after the management of his affairs in England in the minutest manner
+that absence would allow. Toward half past eleven he strolled into the
+room in which we were sitting, and asked what we were doing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Looking over costumes,&#8221; said I, as Adelaide made no answer, and I
+raised my eyes from some colored illustrations.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Costumes&mdash;what kind of costumes?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Costumes for the maskenball,&#8221; I answered, taking refuge in brevity of
+reply.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh!&#8221; He paused. Then, turning suddenly to Adelaide:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And what is this entertainment, my lady?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The Carnival Ball,&#8221; said she, almost inaudibly, between her closed
+lips, as she shut the book of illustrations, pushed it away from her,
+and leaned back in her chair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you think you would like to go to the Carnival Ball, hey?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, I do not,&#8221; said she, as she stroked her lap-dog with a long, white
+hand on which glittered many rings, and steadily avoided looking at him.
+She did wish to go to the ball, but she knew that it was as likely as
+not that if she displayed any such desire he would prevent it. Despite
+her curt reply she foresaw impending the occurrence which she most of
+anything disliked&mdash;a conversation with Sir <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>Peter. He placed himself in
+our midst, and requested to look at the pictures. In silence I handed
+him the book. I never could force myself to smile when he was there, nor
+overcome a certain restraint of demeanor which rather pleased and
+flattered him than otherwise. He glanced sharply round in the silence
+which followed his joining our company, and turning over the
+illustrations, said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought I heard some noise when I came in. Don&#8217;t let me interrupt the
+conversation.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But the conversation was more than interrupted; it was dead&mdash;the life
+frozen out of it by his very appearance.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When is the carnival, and when does this piece of tomfoolery come off?&#8221;
+he inquired, with winning grace of diction.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The carnival begins this year on the 26th of February. The ball is on
+the 27th,&#8221; said I, confining myself to facts and figures.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And how do you get there? By paying?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, you have to pay&mdash;yes. But you must get your tickets from some
+member of the Malkasten Club. It is the artists&#8217; ball, and they arrange
+it all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;H&#8217;m! Ha! And as what do you think of going, Adelaide?&#8221; he inquired,
+turning with suddenness toward her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I tell you I had not thought of going&mdash;nor thought anything about it.
+Herr von Francius sent us the pictures, and we were looking over them.
+That is all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sir Peter turned over the pages and looked at the commonplace costumes
+therein suggested&mdash;Joan of Arc, Cleopatra, Picardy Peasant, Maria
+Stuart, a Snow Queen, and all the rest of them.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I don&#8217;t see anything here that I would wear if I were a woman,&#8221;
+he said, as he closed the book. &#8220;February, did you say?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said I, as no one else spoke.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, it is the middle of January now. You had better be looking out
+for something; but don&#8217;t let it be anything in those books. Let the
+beggarly daubers see how English women do these things.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you intend me to understand that you wish us to go to the ball?&#8221;
+inquired Adelaide, in an icy kind of voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I do,&#8221; almost shouted Sir Peter. Adelaide could, despite the whip
+and rein with which he held her, exasperate and irritate him&mdash;by no
+means more thoroughly than <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>by pretending that she did not understand
+his grandiloquent allusions, and the vague grandness of the commands
+which he sometimes gave. &#8220;I mean you to go, and your little sister here,
+and Arkwright too. I don&#8217;t know about myself. Now, I am going to ride.
+Good-morning.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As Sir Peter went out, von Francius came in. Sir Peter greeted him with
+a grin and exaggerated expressions of affability at which von Francius
+looked silently scornful. Sir Peter added:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Those two ladies are puzzled to know what they shall wear at the
+Carnival Ball. Perhaps you can give them your assistance.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then he went away. It was as if a half-muzzled wolf had left the room.</p>
+
+<p>Von Francius had come to give me my lesson, which was now generally
+taken at my sister&#8217;s house and in her presence, and after which von
+Francius usually remained some half hour or so in conversation with one
+or both of us. He had become an <i>intime</i> of the house. I was glad of
+this, and that without him nothing seemed complete, no party rounded,
+scarcely an evening finished.</p>
+
+<p>When he was not with us in the evening, we were somewhere where he was;
+either at a concert or a probe, or at the theater or opera, or one of
+the fashionable lectures which were then in season.</p>
+
+<p>It could hardly be said that von Francius was a more frequent visitor
+than some other men at the house, but from the first his attitude with
+regard to Adelaide had been different. Some of those other men were, or
+professed to be, desperately in love with the beautiful English woman;
+there was always a half gallantry in their behavior, a homage which
+might not be very earnest, but which was homage all the same, to a
+beautiful woman. With von Francius it had never been thus, but there had
+been a gravity and depth about their intercourse which pleased me. I had
+never had the least apprehension with regard to those other people; she
+might amuse herself with them; it would only be amusement, and some
+contempt.</p>
+
+<p>But von Francius was a man of another mettle. It had struck me almost
+from the first that there might be some danger, and I was unfeignedly
+thankful to see that as time went on and his visits grew more and more
+frequent and the intimacy deeper, not a look, not a sign occurred to
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>hint that it ever was or would be more than acquaintance, liking,
+appreciation, friendship, in successive stages. Von Francius had never
+from the first treated her as an ordinary person, but with a kind of
+tacit understanding that something not to be spoken of lay behind all
+she did and said, with the consciousness that the skeleton in Adelaide&#8217;s
+cupboard was more ghastly to look upon than most people&#8217;s secret
+specters, and that it persisted, with an intrusiveness and want of
+breeding peculiar to guests of that caliber, in thrusting its society
+upon her at all kinds of inconvenient times.</p>
+
+<p>I enjoyed these music lessons, I must confess. Von Francius had begun to
+teach me music now, as well as singing. By this time I had resigned
+myself to the conviction that such talent as I might have lay in my
+voice, not my fingers, and accepted it as part of the conditions which
+ordain that in every human life shall be something <i>manqu&eacute;</i>, something
+incomplete.</p>
+
+<p>The most memorable moments with me have been those in which pain and
+pleasure, yearning and satisfaction, knowledge and seeking, have been so
+exquisitely and so intangibly blended, in listening to some deep sonata,
+some stately and pathetic old <i>ciacconna</i> or gavotte, some concerto or
+symphony; the thing nearest heaven is to sit apart with closed eyes
+while the orchestra or the individual performer interprets for one the
+mystic poetry, or the dramatic fire, or the subtle cobweb refinements of
+some instrumental poem.</p>
+
+<p>I would rather have composed a certain little &#8220;Traumerei&#8221; of Schumann&#8217;s
+or a &#8220;Barcarole&#8221; of Rubinstein&#8217;s, or a sonata of Schubert&#8217;s than have
+won all the laurels of Grisi, all the glory of Malibran and Jenny Lind.</p>
+
+<p>But it was not to be. I told myself so, and yet I tried so hard in my
+halting, bungling way to worship the goddess of my idolatry, that my
+master had to restrain me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Stop!&#8221; said he this morning, when I had been weakly endeavoring to
+render a <i>ciacconna</i> from a suite of Lachner&#8217;s, which had moved me to
+thoughts too deep for tears at the last symphonie concert. &#8220;Stop,
+Fr&auml;ulein May! Duty first; your voice before your fingers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let me try once again!&#8221; I implored.</p>
+
+<p>He shut up the music and took it from the desk.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Entbehren sollst du; sollst entbehren!</i>&#8221; said he, dryly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p><p>I took my lesson and then practiced shakes for an hour, while he talked
+to Adelaide; and then, she being summoned to visitors, he went away.</p>
+
+<p>Later I found Adelaide in the midst of a lot of visitors&mdash;Herr Hauptmann
+This, Herr Lieutenant That, Herr Maler The Other, Herr Concertmeister
+So-and-So&mdash;for von Francius was not the only musician who followed in
+her train. But there I am wrong. He did not follow in her train; he
+might stand aside and watch the others who did; but following was not in
+his line.</p>
+
+<p>There were ladies there too&mdash;gay young women, who rallied round Lady Le
+Marchant as around a master spirit in the art of <i>Zeitvertreib</i>.</p>
+
+<p>This lev&eacute;e lasted till the bell rang for lunch, when we went into the
+dining-room, and found Sir Peter and his secretary, young Arkwright,
+already seated. He&mdash;Arkwright&mdash;was a good-natured, tender-hearted lad,
+devoted to Adelaide. I do not think he was very happy or very well
+satisfied with his place, but from his salary he half supported a mother
+and sister, and so was fain to &#8220;grin and bear it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sir Peter was always exceedingly affectionate to me. I hated to be in
+the same room with him, and while I detested him, was also conscious of
+an unheroic fear of him. For Adelaide&#8217;s sake I was as attentive to him
+as I could make myself, in order to free her a little from his
+surveillance, for poor Adelaide Wedderburn, with her few pounds of
+annual pocket-money, and her proud, restless, ambitious spirit, had been
+a free, contented woman in comparison with Lady Le Marchant.</p>
+
+<p>On the day in question he was particularly amiable, called me &#8220;my dear&#8221;
+every time he spoke to me, and complimented me upon my good looks,
+telling me I was growing monstrous handsome&mdash;ay, devilish handsome, by
+Gad! far outstripping my lady, who had gone off dreadfully in her good
+looks, hadn&#8217;t she, Arkwright?</p>
+
+<p>Poor Arkwright, tingling with a scorching blush, and ready to sink
+through the floor with confusion, stammered out that he had never
+thought of venturing to remark upon my Lady Le Marchant&#8217;s looks.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What a lie, Arkwright! You know you watch her as if she was the apple
+of your eye,&#8221; chuckled Sir Peter, smiling round upon the company with
+his cold, glittering eyes. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>&#8220;What are you blushing so for, my pretty
+May? Isn&#8217;t there a song something about my pretty May, my dearest May,
+eh?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My pretty Jane, I suppose you mean,&#8221; said I, nobly taking his attention
+upon myself, while Adelaide sat motionless and white as marble, and
+Arkwright cooled down somewhat from his state of shame and anguish at
+being called upon to decide which of us eclipsed the other in good
+looks.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pretty Jane! Whoever heard of a pretty Jane?&#8221; said Sir Peter. &#8220;If it
+isn&#8217;t May, it ought to be. At any rate, there was a Charming May.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The month&mdash;not a person.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pretty Jane, indeed! You must sing me that after lunch, and then we can
+see whether the song was pretty or not, my dear, eh?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Certainly, Sir Peter, if you like.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I do like. My lady here seems to have lost her voice lately. I
+can&#8217;t imagine the reason. I am sure she has everything to make her sing
+for joy; have you not, my dear?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Everything, and more than everything,&#8221; replies my lady, laconically.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And she has a strong sense of duty, too; loves those whom she ought to
+love, and despises those whom she ought to despise. She always has done,
+from her infancy up to the time when she loved me and despised public
+opinion for my sake.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The last remark was uttered in tones of deeper malignity, while the eyes
+began to glare, and the under lip to droop, and the sharp eye-teeth,
+which lent such a very emphatic point to all Sir Peter&#8217;s smiles, sneers,
+and facial movements in general, gleamed.</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide&#8217;s lip quivered for a second; her color momentarily faded.</p>
+
+<p>In this kind of light and agreeable badinage the meal passed over, and
+we were followed into the drawing-room by Sir Peter, loudly demanding
+&#8220;&#8216;My Pretty Jane&#8217;&mdash;or May, or whatever it was.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We are going out,&#8221; said my lady. &#8220;You can have it another time. May can
+not sing the moment she has finished lunch.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hold your tongue, my dear,&#8221; said Sir Peter; and inspired <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>by an
+agreeable and playful humor, he patted his wife&#8217;s shoulder and pinched
+her ear.</p>
+
+<p>The color fled from her very lips and she stood pale and rigid with a
+look in her eyes which I interpreted to mean a shuddering recoil,
+stopped by sheer force of will.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Peter turned with an engaging laugh to me:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss May&mdash;bonny May&mdash;made me a promise, and she must keep it; or if she
+doesn&#8217;t I shall take the usual forfeit. We know what that is. Upon my
+word, I almost wish she would break her promise.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have no wish to break my promise,&#8221; said I, hastening to the piano,
+and then and there singing &#8220;My Pretty Jane,&#8221; and one or two others,
+after which he released us, chuckling at having contrived to keep my
+lady so long waiting for her drive.</p>
+
+<p>The afternoon&#8217;s programme was, I confess, not without attraction to me;
+for I knew that I was pretty, and I had not one of the strong and
+powerful minds which remained unelated by admiration and undepressed by
+the absence of it.</p>
+
+<p>We drove to the picture exhibitions, and at both of them had a little
+crowd attending us. That crowd consisted chiefly of admirers, or
+professed admirers, of my sister, with von Francius in addition, who
+dropped in at the first exhibition.</p>
+
+<p>Von Francius did not attend my sister; it was by my side that he
+remained and it was to me that he talked. He looked on at the men who
+were around her, but scarcely addressed her himself.</p>
+
+<p>There was a clique of young artists who chose to consider the wealth of
+Sir Peter Le Marchant as fabulous, and who paid court to his wife from
+mixed motives; the prevailing one being a hope that she would be smitten
+by some picture of theirs at a fancy price, and order it to be sent
+home&mdash;as if she ever saw with anything beyond the most superficial
+outward eye those pictures, and as if it lay in her power to order any
+one, even the smallest and meanest of them. These ingenuous artists had
+yet to learn that Sir Peter&#8217;s picture purchases were formed from his own
+judgment, through the medium of himself or his secretary, armed with
+strict injunctions as to price, and upon the most purely practical and
+business-like principles&mdash;not in the least at the caprice of his wife.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p><p>We went to the larger gallery last. As we entered it I turned aside with
+von Francius to look at a picture in a small back room, and when we
+turned to follow the others, they had all gone forward into the large
+room; but standing at the door by which we had entered, and looking
+calmly after us, was Courvoisier.</p>
+
+<p>A shock thrilled me. It was some time since I had seen him; for I had
+scarcely been at my lodgings for a fortnight, and we had had no
+haupt-proben lately. I had heard some rumor that important things&mdash;or,
+as Frau Lutzler gracefully expressed it, <i>was wichtiges</i>&mdash;had taken
+place between von Francius and the kapelle, and that Courvoisier had
+taken a leading part in the affair. To-day the greeting between the two
+men was a cordial if a brief one.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen&#8217;s eyes scarcely fell upon me; he included me in his bow&mdash;that was
+all. All my little day-dream of growing self-complacency was shattered,
+scattered; the old feeling of soreness, smallness, wounded pride, and
+bruised self-esteem came back again. I felt a wild, angry desire to
+compel some other glance from those eyes than that exasperating one of
+quiet indifference. I felt it like a lash every time I encountered it.
+Its very coolness and absence of emotion stung me and made me quiver.</p>
+
+<p>We and Courvoisier entered the large room at the same time. While
+Adelaide was languidly making its circuit, von Francius and I sat upon
+the ottoman in the middle of the room. I watched Eugen, even if he took
+no notice of me&mdash;watched him till every feeling of rest, every hard-won
+conviction of indifference to him and feeling of regard conquered came
+tumbling down in ignominious ruins. I knew he had had a fiery trial. His
+child, for whom I used to watch his adoration with a dull kind of envy,
+had left him. There was some mystery about it, and much pain. Frau
+Lutzler had begun to tell me a long story culled from one told her by
+Frau Schmidt, and I had stopped her, but knew that &#8220;Herr Courvoisier was
+not like the same man any more.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>That trouble was visible in firmly marked lines, even now; he looked
+subdued, older, and his face was thin and worn. Yet never had I noticed
+so plainly before the bright light of intellect in his eye; the noble
+stamp of mind upon his brow. There was more than the grace of a kindly
+nature in the pleasant curve of the lips&mdash;there was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>thought, power,
+intellectual strength. I compared him with the young men who were at
+this moment dangling round my sister. Not one among them could approach
+him&mdash;not merely in stature and breadth and the natural grace and dignity
+of carriage, but in far better things&mdash;in the mind that dominates sense;
+the will that holds back passion with a hand as strong and firm as that
+of a master over the dog whom he chooses to obey him. This man&mdash;I write
+from knowledge&mdash;had the capacity to appreciate and enjoy life&mdash;to taste
+its pleasures&mdash;never to excess, but with no ascetic&#8217;s lips. But the
+natural prompting&mdash;the moral &#8220;eat, drink, and be merry,&#8221; was held back
+with a ruthless hand, with chain of iron, and biting thong to chastise
+pitilessly each restive movement. He dreed out his weird most
+thoroughly, and drank the cup presented to him to the last dregs.</p>
+
+<p>When the weird is very long and hard&mdash;when the flavor of the cup is
+exceeding bitter, this process leaves its effects in the form of sobered
+mien, gathering wrinkles, and a permanent shadow on the brow, and in the
+eyes. So it was with him.</p>
+
+<p>He went round the room, looking at a picture here and there with the eye
+of a connoisseur&mdash;then pausing before the one which von Francius had
+brought me to look at on Christmas-day, Courvoisier, folding his arms,
+stood before it and surveyed it, straightly, and without moving a
+muscle; coolly, criticisingly and very fastidiously. The <i>blas&eacute;</i>-looking
+individual in the foreground received, I saw, a share of his
+attention&mdash;the artist, too, in the background; the model, with the white
+dress, oriental fan, bare arms, and half-bored, half-cynic look. He
+looked at them all long&mdash;attentively&mdash;then turned away; the only token
+of approval or disapproval which he vouchsafed being a slight smile and
+a slight shrug, both so very slight as to be almost imperceptible. Then
+he passed on&mdash;glanced at some other pictures&mdash;at my sister, on whom his
+eyes dwelt for a moment as if he thought that she at least made a very
+beautiful picture; then out of the room.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you know him?&#8221; said von Francius, quite softly, to me.</p>
+
+<p>I started violently. I had utterly forgotten that he was at my side, and
+I know not what tales my face had been <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>telling. I turned to find the
+dark and impenetrable eyes of von Francius fixed on me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A little,&#8221; I said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then you know a generous, high-minded man&mdash;a man who has made me feel
+ashamed of myself&mdash;and a man to whom I made an apology the other day
+with pleasure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>My heart warmed. This praise of Eugen by a man whom I admired so
+devotedly as I did Max von Francius seemed to put me right with myself
+and the world.</p>
+
+<p>Soon afterward we left the exhibition, and while the others went away it
+appeared somehow by the merest casualty that von Francius was asked to
+drive back with us and have afternoon tea, <i>englischerweise</i>&mdash;which he
+did, after a moment&#8217;s hesitation.</p>
+
+<p>After tea he left for an orchestra probe to the next Saturday&#8217;s concert;
+but with an <i>auf wiedersehen</i>, for the probe will not last long, and we
+shall meet again at the opera and later at the Malkasten Ball.</p>
+
+<p>I enjoyed going to the theater. I knew my dress was pretty. I knew that
+I looked nice, and that people would look at me, and that I, too, should
+have my share of admiration and compliments as a <i>sch&ouml;ne Engl&auml;nderin</i>.</p>
+
+<p>We were twenty minutes late&mdash;naturally. All the people in the place
+stare at us and whisper about us, partly because we have a conspicuous
+place&mdash;the proscenium loge to the right of the stage, partly because we
+are in full toilet&mdash;an almost unprecedented circumstance in that homely
+theater&mdash;partly, I suppose, because Adelaide is supremely beautiful.</p>
+
+<p>Mr. Arkwright was already with us. Von Francius joined us after the
+first act, and remained until the end. Almost the only words he
+exchanged with Adelaide were:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you seen this opera before, Lady Le Marchant?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; never.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was Auber&#8217;s merry little opera, &#8220;Des Teufels Antheil.&#8221; The play was
+played. Von Francius was beside me. Whenever I looked down I saw Eugen,
+with the same calm, placid indifference upon his face; and again I felt
+the old sensation of soreness, shame, and humiliation. I feel wrought up
+to a great pitch of nervous excitement when we leave the theater and
+drive to the Malkasten, where there is more music&mdash;dance music, and
+where the ball is at its height. And in a few moments I find myself
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>whirling down the room in the arms of von Francius, to the music of
+&#8220;Mein sch&ouml;nster Tag in Baden,&#8221; and wishing very earnestly that the
+heart-sickness I feel would make me ill or faint, or anything that would
+send me home to quietness and&mdash;him. But it does not have the desired
+effect. I am in a fever; I am all too vividly conscious, and people tell
+me how well I am looking, and that rosy cheeks become me better than
+pale ones.</p>
+
+<p>They are merry parties, these dances at the Malkasten, in the quaintly
+decorated saal of the artists&#8217; club-house. There is a certain license in
+the dress. Velvet coats, and coats, too, in many colors, green and prune
+and claret, vying with black, are not tabooed. There are various
+uniforms of hussars, infantry, and uhlans, and some of the women, too,
+are dressed in a certain fantastically picturesque style to please their
+artist brothers or <i>fianc&eacute;s</i>.</p>
+
+<p>The dancing gets faster, and the festivities are kept up late. Songs are
+sung which perhaps would not be heard in a quiet drawing-room; a little
+acting is done with them. Music is played, and von Francius, in a
+vagrant mood, sits down and improvises a fitful, stormy kind of
+fantasia, which in itself and in his playing puts me much in mind of the
+weird performances of the Abbate Liszt.</p>
+
+<p>I at least hear another note than of yore, another touch. The soul that
+it wanted seems gradually creeping into it. He tells a strange story
+upon the quivering keys&mdash;it is becoming tragic, sad, pathetic. He says
+hastily to me and in an under-tone: &#8220;Fr&auml;ulein May, this is a thought of
+one of your own poets:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">&#8220;&#8216;How sad, and mad, and bad it was,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">And yet how it was sweet.&#8217;&#8221;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>I am almost in tears, and every face is affording illustrations for &#8220;The
+Expressions of the Emotions in Men and Women,&#8221; when it suddenly breaks
+off with a loud, Ha! ha! ha! which sounds as if it came from a human
+voice, and jars upon me, and then he breaks into a waltz, pushing the
+astonished musicians aside, and telling the company to dance while he
+pipes.</p>
+
+<p>A mad dance to a mad tune. He plays and plays on, ever faster, and ever
+a wilder measure, with strange eerie clanging chords in it which are not
+like dance notes, until Adelaide prepares to go, and then he suddenly
+ceases, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>springs up, and comes with us to our carriage. Adelaide looks
+white and worn.</p>
+
+<p>Again at the carriage door, &#8220;a pair of words&#8221; passes between them.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Milady is tired?&#8221; from him, in a courteous tone, as his dark eyes dwell
+upon her face.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thanks, Herr Direktor, I am generally tired,&#8221; from her, with a slight
+smile, as she folds her shawl across her breast with one hand, and
+extends the other to him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Milady, adieu.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Adieu, Herr von Francius.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The ball is over, and I think we have all had enough of it.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE CARNIVAL BALL.</h3>
+
+<p>&#8220;Aren&#8217;t you coming to the ball, Eugen?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I? No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I would if I were you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But you are yourself, you see, and I am I. What was it that Heinrich
+Mohr in &#8216;The Children of the World&#8217; was always saying? <i>Ich bin ich, und
+setze mich selbst.</i> Ditto me, that&#8217;s all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is no end of a lark,&#8221; I pursued.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My larking days are over.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you can talk to any one you like.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am going to talk to myself, thanks. I have long wanted a little
+conversation with that interesting individual, and while you are
+masquerading, I will be doing the reverse. By the time you come home I
+shall be so thoroughly self-investigated and set to rights that a mere
+look at me will shake all the frivolity out of you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Wedderburn will be there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hope she may enjoy it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At least she will look so lovely that she will make others enjoy it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He made no answer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You won&#8217;t go&mdash;quite certain?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Quite certain, <i>mein lieber</i>. Go yourself, and may you have much
+pleasure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Finding that he was in earnest, I went out to hire one <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>domino and
+purchase one mask, instead of furnishing myself, as I had hoped, with
+two of each of those requisites.</p>
+
+<p>It was Sunday, the first day of the carnival, and that devoted to the
+ball of the season. There were others given, but this was the Malerball,
+or artists&#8217; ball. It was considered rather select, and had I not been
+lucky enough to have one or two pupils, members of the club, who had
+come forward with offerings of tickets, I might have tried in vain to
+gain admittance.</p>
+
+<p>Everybody in Elherthal who was anybody would be at this ball. I had
+already been at one like it, as well as at several of the less select
+and rougher entertainments, and I found a pleasure which was somewhat
+strange even to myself in standing to one side and watching the motley
+throng and the formal procession which was every year organized by the
+artists who had the management of the proceedings.</p>
+
+<p>The ball began at the timely hour of seven; about nine I enveloped
+myself in my domino, and took my way across the road to the scene of the
+festivities, which took up the whole three saals of the Tonhalle.</p>
+
+<p>The night was bitter cold, but cold with that rawness which speaks of a
+coming thaw. The lamps were lighted, and despite the cold there was a
+dense crowd of watchers round the front of the building and in the
+gardens, with cold, inquisitive noses flattened against the long glass
+doors through which I have seen the people stream in the pleasant May
+evenings after the concert or musikfest into the illuminated gardens.</p>
+
+<p>The last time I had been in the big saal had been to attend a dry probe
+to a dry concert&mdash;the &#8220;Erste Walpurgisnacht&#8221; of Mendelssohn. The scene
+was changed now; the whole room was a mob&mdash;&#8220;motley the only wear.&#8221; It
+was full to excess, so that there was scarcely room to move about, much
+less for dancing. For that purpose the middle saal of the three had been
+set aside, or rather a part of it railed off.</p>
+
+<p>I felt a pleasant sense of ease and well-being&mdash;a security that I should
+not be recognized, as I had drawn the pointed hood of my domino over my
+head, and enveloped myself closely in its ample folds, and thus I could
+survey the brilliant Maskenball as I surveyed life from a quiet,
+unnoticed obscurity, and without taking part in its active affairs.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p><p>There was music going on as I entered. It could scarcely be heard above
+the Babel of tongues which was sounding. People were moving as well as
+they could. I made my way slowly and unobtrusively toward the upper end
+of the saal, intending to secure a place on the great orchestra, and
+thence survey the procession.</p>
+
+<p>I recognized dozens of people whom I knew personally, or by sight, or
+name, transformed from sober Rhenish burger, or youths of the period,
+into persons and creatures whose appropriateness or inappropriateness to
+their every-day character it gave me much joy to witness. The most
+foolish young man I knew was attired as Cardinal Richelieu; the wisest,
+in certain respects, had a buffoon&#8217;s costume, and plagued the statesman
+and churchman grievously.</p>
+
+<p>By degrees I made my way through the mocking, taunting, flouting,
+many-colored crowd, to the orchestra, and gradually up its steps until I
+stood upon a fine vantage-ground. Near me were others; I looked round.
+One party seemed to keep very much together&mdash;a party which for richness
+and correctness of costume outshone all others in the room. Two ladies,
+one dark and one fair, were dressed as Elsa and Ortrud. A man, whose
+slight, tall, commanding figure I soon recognized, was attired in the
+blue mantle, silver helm and harness of Lohengrin the son of Percivale;
+and a second man, too boyish-looking for the character, was masked as
+Frederic of Telramund. Henry the Fowler was wanting, but the group was
+easily to be recognized as personating the four principal characters
+from Wagner&#8217;s great opera.</p>
+
+<p>They had apparently not been there long, for they had not yet unmasked.
+I had, however, no difficulty in recognizing any of them. The tall, fair
+girl in the dress of Elsa was Miss Wedderburn; the Ortrud was Lady Le
+Marchant, and right well she looked the character. Lohengrin was von
+Francius, and Friedrich von Telramund was Mr. Arkwright, Sir Peter&#8217;s
+secretary. Here was a party in whom I could take some interest, and I
+immediately and in the most unprincipled manner devoted myself to
+watching them&mdash;myself unnoticed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who in all that motley crowd would I wish to be?&#8221; I thought, as my eyes
+wandered over them.</p>
+
+<p>The procession was just forming; the voluptuous <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>music of &#8220;Die Tausend
+und eine Nacht&#8221; waltzes was floating from the gallery and through the
+room. They went sweeping past&mdash;or running, or jumping; a ballet-girl
+whose mustache had been too precious to be parted with and a lady of the
+<i>vielle cour</i> beside her, nuns and corpses; Christy Minstrels (English,
+these last, whose motives were constantly misunderstood), fools and
+astrologers, Gretchens, Cl&auml;rchens, devils, Egmonts, Joans of Arc enough
+to have rescued France a dozen times, and peasants of every race: Turks
+and Finns; American Indians and Alfred the Great&mdash;it was tedious and
+dazzling.</p>
+
+<p>Then the procession was got into order; a long string of German legends,
+all the misty chronicle of Gudrun, the &#8220;Nibelungenlied&#8221; and the
+Rheingold&mdash;Siegfried and Kriemhild&mdash;those two everlasting figures of
+beauty and heroism, love and tragedy, which stand forth in hues of pure
+brightness that no time can dim; Brunhild and von Tronje-Hagen&mdash;this was
+before the days of Bayreuth and the Tetralogy&mdash;Tannhauser and Lohengrin,
+the Loreley, Walther von der Vogelweide, the two Elizabeths of the
+Wartburg, dozens of obscure legends and figures from &#8220;Volkslieder&#8221; and
+Folklore which I did not recognize; &#8220;Dornroschen,&#8221; Rubezahl; and the
+music to which they marched, was the melancholy yet noble measure, &#8220;The
+Last Ten of the Fourth Regiment.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I surveyed the masks and masquerading for some time, keeping my eye all
+the while upon the party near me. They presently separated. Lady Le
+Marchant took the arm which von Francius offered her, and they went down
+the steps. Miss Wedderburn and the young secretary were left alone. I
+was standing near them, and two other masks, both in domino, hovered
+about. One wore a white domino with a scarlet rosette on the breast. The
+other was a black domino, closely disguised, who looked long after von
+Francius and Lady Le Marchant, and presently descended the orchestra
+steps and followed in their wake.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do not remain with me, Mr. Arkwright,&#8221; I heard Miss Wedderburn say.
+&#8220;You want to dance. Go and enjoy yourself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I could not think of leaving you alone, Miss Wedderburn.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes, you could, and can. I am not going to move <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>from here. I want
+to look on&mdash;not to dance. You will find me here when you return.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Again she urged him not to remain with her, and finally he departed in
+search of amusement among the crowd below.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Wedderburn was now alone. She turned; her eyes, through her mask,
+met mine through my mask, and a certain thrill shot through me. This was
+such an opportunity as I had never hoped for, and I told myself that I
+should be a great fool if I let it slip. But how to begin? I looked at
+her. She was very beautiful, this young English girl, with the wonderful
+blending of fire and softness which had made me from the first think her
+one of the most attractive women I had ever seen.</p>
+
+<p>As I stood, awkward and undecided, she beckoned me to her. In an instant
+I was at her side, bowing but maintaining silence.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are Herr Helfen, <i>nicht wahr</i>?&#8221; said she, inquiringly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said I, and removed my mask. &#8220;How did you know it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Something in your figure and attitude. Are you not dancing?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;oh, no!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nor I&mdash;I am not in the humor for it. I never felt less like dancing,
+nor less like a masquerade.&#8221; Then&mdash;hesitatingly&mdash;&#8220;Are you alone
+to-night?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Eugen would not come.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He will not be here at all?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not at all?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am surprised.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I tried to persuade him to come,&#8221; said I, apologetically. &#8220;But he would
+not. He said he was going to have a little conversation at home with
+himself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So!&#8221; She turned to me with a mounting color, which I saw flush to her
+brow above her mask, and with parted lips.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He has never cared for anything since Sigmund left us,&#8221; I continued.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sigmund&mdash;was that the dear little boy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You say very truly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tell me about him. Was not his father very fond of him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Fond! I never saw a man idolize his child so much. It was only
+need&mdash;the hardest need that made them part.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How&mdash;need? You do not mean poverty?&#8221; said she, somewhat awe-struck.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, no! Moral necessity. I do not know the reason. I have never asked.
+But I know it was like a death-blow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221; said she, and with a sudden movement removed her mask, as if she
+felt it stifling her, and looked me in the face with her beautiful clear
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who could oblige him to part with his own child?&#8221; she asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That I do not know, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>. What I do know is that some shadow
+darkens my friend&#8217;s life and imbitters it&mdash;that he not only can not do
+what he wishes, but is forced to do what he hates&mdash;and that parting was
+one of the things.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She looked at me with eagerness for some moments; then said, quickly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can not help being interested in all this, but I fancy I ought not to
+listen to it, for&mdash;for&mdash;I don&#8217;t think he would like it. He&mdash;he&mdash;I
+believe he dislikes me, and perhaps you had better say no more.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Dislikes you!&#8221; I echoed. &#8220;Oh, no!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes! he does,&#8221; she repeated, with a faint smile, which struggled
+for a moment with a look of pain, and then was extinguished. &#8220;I
+certainly was once very rude to him, but I should not have thought he
+was an ungenerous man&mdash;should you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is not ungenerous; the very reverse; he is too generous.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It does not matter, I suppose,&#8221; said she, repressing some emotion. &#8220;It
+can make no difference, but it pains me to be so misunderstood and so
+behaved to by one who was at first so kind to me&mdash;for he was very kind.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>,&#8221; said I, eager, though puzzled, &#8220;I can not explain it;
+it is as great a mystery to me as to you. I know nothing of his
+past&mdash;nothing of what he has been or done; nothing of who he is&mdash;only of
+one thing I am sure&mdash;that he is not what he seems to be. He may be
+called Eugen Courvoisier, or he may call himself Eugen Courvoisier; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>he
+was once known by some name in a very different world to that he lives
+in now. I know nothing about that, but I know this&mdash;that I believe in
+him. I have lived more than three years with him; he is true and
+honorable; fantastically, chivalrously honorable&#8221; (her eyes were
+downcast and her cheeks burning). &#8220;He never did anything false or
+dishonest&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A slight, low, sneering laugh at my right hand caused me to look up.
+That figure in a white domino with a black mask, and a crimson rosette
+on the breast, stood leaning up against the foot of the organ, but other
+figures were near; the laugh might have come from one of them; it might
+have nothing to do with us or our remarks. I went on in a vehement and
+eager tone:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is what we Germans call a <i>ganzer kerl</i>&mdash;thorough in all&mdash;out and
+out good. Nothing will ever make me believe otherwise. Perhaps the
+mystery will never be cleared up. It doesn&#8217;t matter to me. It will make
+no difference in my opinion of the only man I love.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A pause. Miss Wedderburn was looking at me; her eyes were full of tears;
+her face strangely moved. Yes&mdash;she loved him. It stood confessed in the
+very strength of the effort she made to be calm and composed. As she
+opened her lips to speak, that domino that I mentioned glided from her
+place and stooping down between us, whispered or murmured:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are a fool for your pains. Believe no one&mdash;least of all those who
+look most worthy of belief. He is not honest; he is not honorable. It is
+from shame and disgrace that he hides himself. Ask him if he remembers
+the 20th of April five years ago; you will hear what he has to say about
+it, and how brave and honorable he looks.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Swift as fire the words were said, and rapidly as the same she had
+raised herself and disappeared. We were left gazing at each other. Miss
+Wedderburn&#8217;s face was blanched&mdash;she stared at me with large dilated
+eyes, and at last in a low voice of anguish and apprehension said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, what does it mean?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her voice recalled me to myself.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It may mean what it likes,&#8221; said I, calmly. &#8220;As I said, it makes no
+difference to me. I do not and will not believe that he ever did
+anything dishonorable.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Do you not?&#8221; said she, tremulously. &#8220;But&mdash;but&mdash;Anna Sartorius does know
+something of him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who is Anna Sartorius?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why, that domino who spoke to us just now. But I forgot. You will not
+know her. She wanted long ago to tell me about him, and I would not let
+her, so she said I might learn for myself, and should never leave off
+until I knew the lesson by heart. I think she has kept her word,&#8221; she
+added, with a heartsick sigh.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You surely would not believe her if she said the same thing fifty times
+over,&#8221; said I, not very reasonably, certainly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not know,&#8221; she replied, hesitatingly. &#8220;It is very difficult to
+know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I would not. If the whole world accused him I would believe
+nothing except from his own lips.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish I knew all about Anna Sartorius,&#8221; said she, slowly, and she
+looked as if seeking back in her memory to remember some dream. I stood
+beside her; the motley crowd ebbed and flowed beneath us, but the
+whisper we had heard had changed everything; and yet, no&mdash;to me not
+changed, but only darkened things.</p>
+
+<p>In the meantime it had been growing later. Our conversation, with its
+frequent pauses, had taken a longer time than we had supposed. The crowd
+was thinning. Some of the women were going.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wonder where my sister is!&#8221; observed Miss Wedderburn, rather wearily.
+Her face was pale, and her delicate head drooped as if it were
+overweighed and pulled down by the superabundance of her beautiful
+chestnut hair, which came rippling and waving over her shoulders. A
+white satin petticoat, stiff with gold embroidery; a long trailing blue
+mantle of heavy brocade, fastened on the shoulders with golden clasps; a
+golden circlet in the gold of her hair; such was the dress, and right
+royally she became it. She looked a vision of loveliness. I wondered if
+she would ever act Elsa in reality; she would be assuredly the loveliest
+representative of that fair and weak-minded heroine who ever trod the
+boards. Supposing it ever came to pass that she acted Elsa to some one
+else&#8217;s Lohengrin, would she think of this night? Would she remember the
+great orchestra&mdash;and me, and the lights, and the people&mdash;our words&mdash;a
+whisper? A pause.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;But where can Adelaide be?&#8221; she said, at last. &#8220;I have not seen them
+since they left us.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They are there,&#8221; said I, surveying from my vantage-ground the thinning
+ranks. &#8220;They are coming up here too. And there is the other gentleman,
+Graf von Telramund, following them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They drew up to the foot of the orchestra, and then Mr. Arkwright came
+up to seek us.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Wedderburn, Lady Le Marchant is tired and thinks it is time to be
+going.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So am I tired,&#8221; she replied. I stepped back, but before she went away
+she turned to me, holding out her hand:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good-night, Herr Helfen. I, too, will not believe without proof.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>We shook hands, and she went away.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>The lamp still burning, the room cold, the stove extinct. Eugen seated
+motionless near it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eugen, art thou asleep?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I asleep, my dear boy! Well, how was it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eugen, I wish you had been there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221; He roused himself with an effort and looked at me. His brow was
+clouded, his eyes too.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because you would have enjoyed it. I did. I saw Miss Wedderburn, and
+spoke to her. She looked lovely.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In that case it would have been odd indeed if you had not enjoyed
+yourself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are inexplicable.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is bed-time,&#8221; he remarked, rising and speaking, as I thought,
+coldly.</p>
+
+<p>We both retired. As for the whisper, frankly and honestly, I did not
+give it another thought.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2>
+
+<h3>MAY&#8217;S STORY.</h3>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 27.5em;"><span class="smcap">Schumann.</span></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 405px;">
+<img src="images/i241.jpg" width="405" height="334" alt="Music2" title="" />
+</div>
+
+<p>Following Arkwright, I joined Adelaide and von Francius at the foot of
+the orchestra. She had sent word that she was tired. Looking at her, I
+thought indeed she must be very tired, so white, so sad she looked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Adelaide,&#8221; I expostulated, &#8220;why did you remain so long?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I did not know it was so late. Come!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>We made our way out of the hall through the veranda to the entrance.
+Lady Le Merchant&#8217;s carriage, it seemed, was ready and waiting. It was a
+pouring night. The thaw had begun. The steady downpour promised a
+cheerful ending to the carnival doings of the Monday and Tuesday; all
+but a few homeless or persevering wretches had been driven away. We
+drove away too. I noticed that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>the &#8220;good-night&#8221; between Adelaide and
+von Francius was of the most laconical character. They barely spoke, did
+not shake hands, and he turned and went to seek his cab before we had
+all got into the carriage.</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide uttered not a word during our drive home, and I, leaning back,
+shut my eyes and lived the evening over again. Eugen&#8217;s friend had
+laughed the insidious whisper to scorn. I could not deal so summarily
+with it; nor could I drive the words of it out of my head. They set
+themselves to the tune of the waltz, and rang in my ears:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is not honest; he is not honorable. It is from shame and disgrace
+that he is hiding. Ask him if he remembers the 20th of April five years
+ago.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The carriage stopped. A sleepy servant let us in. Adelaide, as we went
+upstairs, drew me into her dressing-room.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A moment, May. Have you enjoyed yourself?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;H&#8217;m&mdash;well&mdash;yes and no. And you, Adelaide?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I never enjoy myself now,&#8221; she replied, very gently. &#8220;I am getting used
+to that, I think.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She clasped her jeweled hands and stood by the lamp, whose calm light
+lighted her calm face, showing it wasted and unutterably sad.</p>
+
+<p>Something&mdash;a terror, a shrinking as from a strong menacing hand&mdash;shook
+me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you ill, Adelaide?&#8221; I cried.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No. Good-night, dear May. <i>Schlaf</i>&#8217; <i>wohl</i>, as they say here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>To my unbounded astonishment, she leaned forward and gave me a gentle
+kiss; then, still holding my hand, asked: &#8220;Do you still say your
+prayers, May?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sometimes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you say?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh! the same that I always used to say; they are better than any I can
+invent.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. I never do say mine now. I rather think I am afraid to begin
+again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Good-night, Adelaide,&#8221; I said, inaudibly; and she loosed my hand.</p>
+
+<p>At the door I turned. She was still standing by the lamp; still her face
+wore the same strange, subdued look. With a heart oppressed by new
+uneasiness, I left her.</p>
+
+<p>It must have been not till toward dawn that I fell into a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>sleep, heavy,
+but not quiet&mdash;filled with fantastic dreams, most of which vanished as
+soon as they had passed my mind. But one remained. To this day it is as
+vivid before me, as if I had actually lived through it.</p>
+
+<p>Meseemed again to be at the Grafenbergerdahl, again to be skating, again
+rescued&mdash;and by Eugen Courvoisier. But suddenly the scene changed; from
+a smooth sheet of ice, across which the wind blew nippingly, and above
+which the stars twinkled frostily, there was a huge waste of water which
+raged, while a tempest howled around&mdash;the clear moon was veiled, all was
+darkness and chaos. He saved me, not by skating with me to the shore,
+but by clinging with me to some floating wood until we drove upon a bank
+and landed. But scarcely had we set foot upon the ground, than all was
+changed again. I was alone, seated upon a bench in the Hofgarten, on a
+spring afternoon. It was May; the chestnuts and acacias were in full
+bloom, and the latter made the air heavy with their fragrance. The
+nightingales sung richly, and I sat looking, from beneath the shade of a
+great tree, upon the fleeting Rhine, which glided by almost past my
+feet. It seemed to me that I had been sad&mdash;so sad as never before. A
+deep weight appeared to have been just removed from my heart, and yet so
+heavy had it been that I could not at once recover from its pressure;
+and even then, in the sunshine, and feeling that I had no single cause
+for care or grief, I was unhappy, with a reflex mournfulness.</p>
+
+<p>And as I sat thus, it seemed that some one came and sat beside me
+without speaking, and I did not turn to look at him; but ever as I sat
+there and felt that he was beside me, the sadness lifted from my heart,
+until it grew so full of joy that tears rose to my eyes. Then he who was
+beside me placed his hand upon mine, and I looked at him. It was Eugen
+Courvoisier. His face and his eyes were full of sadness; but I knew that
+he loved me, though he said but one word, &#8220;Forgive!&#8221; to which I
+answered, &#8220;Can you forgive?&#8221; But I knew that I alluded to something much
+deeper than that silly little episode of having cut him at the theater.
+He bowed his head; and then I thought I began to weep, covering my face
+with my hands; but they were tears of exquisite joy, and the peace at my
+heart was the most entire I had ever felt. And he loosened my hands, and
+drew me to him and kissed me, saying &#8220;My love!&#8221; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>And as I felt&mdash;yes,
+actually felt&mdash;the pressure of his lips upon mine, and felt the spring
+shining upon me, and heard the very echo of the twitter of the birds,
+saw the light fall upon the water, and smelled the scent of the acacias,
+and saw the Lotus-blume as she&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">&#8220;Duftet und weinet und zittert<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Vor Liebe und Liebesweh,&#8221;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>I awoke, and confronted a gray February morning, felt a raw chilliness
+in the air, heard a cold, pitiless rain driven against the window; knew
+that my head ached, my heart harmonized therewith; that I was awake, not
+in a dream; that there had been no spring morning, no acacias, no
+nightingales; above all, no love&mdash;remembered last night, and roused to
+the consciousness of another day, the necessity of waking up and living
+on.</p>
+
+<p>Nor could I rest or sleep. I rose and contemplated through the window
+the driving rain and the soaking street, the sorrowful naked trees, the
+plain of the parade ground, which looked a mere waste of mud and
+half-melted ice; the long plain line of the Caserne itself&mdash;a cheering
+prospect truly!</p>
+
+<p>When I went down-stairs I found Sir Peter, in heavy traveling overcoat,
+standing in the hall; a carriage stood at the door; his servant was
+putting in his master&#8217;s luggage and rugs. I paused in astonishment. Sir
+Peter looked at me and smiled with the dubious benevolence which he was
+in the habit of extending to me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am very sorry to be obliged to quit your charming society, Miss
+Wedderburn, but business calls me imperatively to England; and, at
+least, I am sure that my wife can not be unhappy with such a companion
+as her sister.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are going to England?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am going to England. I have been called so hastily that I can make no
+arrangements for Adelaide to accompany me, and indeed it would not be at
+all pleasant for her, as I am only going on business; but I hope to
+return for her and bring her home in a few weeks. I am leaving Arkwright
+with you. He will see that you have all you want.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Sir Peter was smiling, ever smiling, with the smile which was my horror.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A brilliant ball, last night, was it not?&#8221; he added, extending <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>his
+hand to me, in farewell, and looking at me intently with eyes that
+fascinated and repelled me at once.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very, but&mdash;but&mdash;you were not there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Was I not? I have a strong impression that I was. Ask my lady if she
+thinks I was there. And now good-bye, and <i>au revoir</i>!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He loosened my hand, descended the steps, entered the carriage, and was
+driven away. His departure ought to have raised a great weight from my
+mind, but it did not; it impressed me with a sense of coming disaster.</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide breakfasted in her room. When I had finished I went to her. Her
+behavior puzzled me. She seemed elated, excited, at the absence of Sir
+Peter, and yet, suddenly turning to me, she exclaimed, eagerly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, May! I wish I had been going to England, too! I wish I could leave
+this place, and never see it again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Was Sir Peter at the ball, Adelaide?&#8221; I asked.</p>
+
+<p>She turned suddenly pale; her lip trembled; her eye wavered, as she said
+in a low, uneasy voice:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I believe he was&mdash;yes; in domino.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What a sneaking thing to do!&#8221; I remarked, candidly. &#8220;He had told us
+particularly that he was not coming.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That very statement should have put us on our guard,&#8221; she remarked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;On our guard? Against what?&#8221; I asked, unsuspectingly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, nothing&mdash;nothing! I wonder when he will return! I would give a
+world to be in England!&#8221; she said, with a heartsick sigh; and I, feeling
+very much bewildered, left her.</p>
+
+<p>In the afternoon, despite wind and weather, I sallied forth, and took my
+way to my old lodgings in the Wehrhahn. Crossing a square leading to the
+street I was going to, I met Anna Sartorius. She bowed, looking at me
+mockingly. I returned her salutation, and remembered last night again
+with painful distinctness. The air seemed full of mysteries and
+uncertainties; they clung about my mind like cobwebs, and I could not
+get rid of their soft, stifling influence.</p>
+
+<p>Having arrived at my lodgings, I mounted the stairs. Frau Lutzler met
+me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Na</i>, <i>na</i>, Fr&auml;ulein! You do not patronize me much <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>now. My rooms are
+becoming too small for you, I reckon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed, Frau Lutzler, I wish I had never been in any larger ones,&#8221; I
+answered her, earnestly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So! Well, &#8217;tis true you look thin and worn&mdash;not as well as you used to.
+And were you&mdash;but I heard you were, so where&#8217;s the use of telling lies
+about it&mdash;at the Maskenball last night? And how did you like it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, it was all very new to me. I never was at one before.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Nicht?</i> Then you must have been astonished. They say there was a
+Mephisto so good he would have deceived the devil himself. And you,
+Fr&auml;ulein&mdash;I heard that you looked very beautiful.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So! It must have been a mistake.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Doch nicht!</i> I have always maintained that at certain times you were
+far from bad-looking, and dressed and got up for the stage, would be
+absolutely handsome. Nearly any one can be that&mdash;if you are not too near
+the foot-lights, that is, and don&#8217;t go behind the scenes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With which neat slaying of a particular compliment by a general one, she
+released me, and let me go on my way upstairs.</p>
+
+<p>Here I had some books and some music. But the room was cold; the books
+failed to interest me, and the music did not go&mdash;the piano was like
+me&mdash;out of tune. And yet I felt the need of some musical expression of
+the mood that was upon me. I bethought myself of the Tonhalle, next
+door, almost, and that in the rittersaal it would be quiet and
+undisturbed, as the ball that night was not to be held there, but in one
+of the large rooms of the Caserne.</p>
+
+<p>Without pausing to think a second time of the plan, I left the house and
+went to the Tonhalle, only a few steps away. In consequence of the rain
+and bad weather almost every trace of the carnival had disappeared. I
+found the Tonhalle deserted save by a bar-maid at the restauration. I
+asked her if the rittersaal were open, and she said yes. I passed on. As
+I drew near the door I heard music; the piano was already being played.
+Could it be von Francius who was there? I did not think so. The touch
+was not his&mdash;neither so practiced, so brilliant, nor so sure.</p>
+
+<p>Satisfied, after listening a moment, that it was not he, I resolved to
+go in and pass through the room. If it were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>any one whom I could send
+away I would do so, if not, I could go away again myself.</p>
+
+<p>I entered. The room was somewhat dark, but I went in and had almost come
+to the piano before I recognized the player&mdash;Courvoisier. Overcome with
+vexation and confusion at the <i>contretemps</i>, I paused a moment,
+undecided whether to turn back and go out again. In any case I resolved
+not to remain in the room. He was seated with his back to me, and still
+continued to play. Some music was on the desk of the piano before him.</p>
+
+<p>I might turn back without being observed. I would do so. Hardly,
+though&mdash;a mirror hung directly before the piano, and I now saw that
+while he continued to play, he was quietly looking at me, and that his
+keen eyes&mdash;that hawk&#8217;s glance which I knew so well&mdash;must have recognized
+me. That decided me. I would not turn back. It would be a silly,
+senseless proceeding, and would look much more invidious than my
+remaining. I walked up to the piano, and he turned, still playing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Guten Tag, mein Fr&auml;ulein.</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I merely bowed, and began to search through a pile of songs and music
+upon the piano. I would at any rate take some away with me to give some
+color to my proceedings. Meanwhile he played on.</p>
+
+<p>I selected a song, not in the least knowing what it was, and rolling it
+up, was turning away.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you busy, Miss Wedderburn?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;N&mdash;no.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Would it be asking too much of you to play the pianoforte
+accompaniment?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will try,&#8221; said I, speaking briefly, and slowly drawing off my
+gloves.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If it is disagreeable to you, don&#8217;t do it,&#8221; said he, pausing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not in the very least,&#8221; said I, avoiding looking at him.</p>
+
+<p>He opened the music. It was one of Jensen&#8217;s &#8220;Wanderbilder&#8221; for piano and
+violin&mdash;the &#8220;Kreuz am Wege.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have only tried it once before,&#8221; I remarked, &#8220;and I am a dreadful
+bungler.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Bitte sehr!</i>&#8221; said he, smiling, arranging his own music on one of the
+stands and adding, &#8220;Now I am ready.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I found my hands trembling so much that I could scarcely <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>follow the
+music. Truly this man, with his changes from silence to talkativeness,
+from ironical hardness to cordiality, was a puzzle and a trial to me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Das Kreuz am Wege&#8221; turned out rather lame. I said so when it was over.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Suppose we try it again,&#8221; he suggested, and we did so. I found my
+fingers lingering and forgetting their part as I listened to the
+piercing beauty of his notes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is dismal,&#8221; said he.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is a dismal subject, is it not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Suggestive, at least. &#8216;The Cross by the Wayside.&#8217; Well, I have a mind
+for something more cheerful. Did you leave the ball early last night?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; not very early.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you enjoy it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was all new to me&mdash;very interesting&mdash;but I don&#8217;t think I quite
+enjoyed it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, you should see the balls at Florence, or Venice, or Vienna!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He smiled as he leaned back, as if thinking over past scenes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said I, dubiously, &#8220;I don&#8217;t think I care much for such things,
+though it is interesting to watch the little drama going on around.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And to act in it,&#8221; I also thought, remembering Anna Sartorius and her
+whisper, and I looked at him. &#8220;Not honest, not honorable. Hiding from
+shame and disgrace.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I looked at him and did not believe it. For the moment the torturing
+idea left me. I was free from it and at peace.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Were you going to practice?&#8221; he asked. &#8220;I fear I disturb you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, no! It does not matter in the least. I shall not practice now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want to try some other things,&#8221; said he, &#8220;and Friedhelm&#8217;s and my
+piano was not loud enough for me, nor was there sufficient space between
+our walls for the sounds of a symphony. Do you not know the mood?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I am afraid to ask you to accompany me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You seem unwilling.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am not: but I should have supposed that my unwillingness&mdash;if <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>I had
+been unwilling&mdash;would have been an inducement to you to ask me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Herrgott!</i> Why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Since you took a vow to be disagreeable to me, and to make me hate
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A slight flush passed rapidly over his face, as he paused for a moment
+and bit his lips.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>&mdash;that night I was in bitterness of spirit&mdash;I hardly
+knew what I was saying&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will accompany you,&#8221; I interrupted him, my heart beating. &#8220;Only how
+can I begin unless you play, or tell me what you want to play?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;True,&#8221; said he, laughing, and yet not moving from his place beside the
+piano, upon which he had leaned his elbow, and across which he now
+looked at me with the self-same kindly, genial glance as that he had
+cast upon me across the little table at the K&ouml;ln restaurant. And yet not
+the self-same glance, but another, which I would not have exchanged for
+that first one.</p>
+
+<p>If he would but begin to play I felt that I should not mind so much; but
+when he sat there and looked at me and half smiled, without beginning
+anything practical, I felt the situation at least trying.</p>
+
+<p>He raised his eyes as the door opened at the other end of the saal.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, there is Friedhelm,&#8221; said he, &#8220;now he will take seconds.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then I will not disturb you any longer.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;On the contrary,&#8221; said he, laying his hand upon my wrist. (My dream of
+the morning flashed into my mind.) &#8220;It would be better if you remained,
+then we could have a trio. Friedel, come here! You are just in time.
+Fr&auml;ulein Wedderburn will be good enough to accompany us, and we can try
+the Fourth Symphony.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What you call &#8216;Spring&#8217;?&#8221; inquired Helfen, coming up smilingly. &#8220;With
+all my heart. Where is the score?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What you call Spring?&#8221; Was it possible that in winter&mdash;on a cold and
+unfriendly day&mdash;we were going to have spring, leafy bloom, the desert
+filled with leaping springs, and blossoming like a rose? Full of wonder,
+surprise, and a certain excitement at the idea, I sat still and thought
+of my dream, and the rain beat against the windows, and a draughty wind
+fluttered the tinselly decorations of last <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>night. The floor was strewed
+with fragments of garments torn in the crush&mdash;paper and silken flowers,
+here a rosette, there a buckle, a satin bow, a tinsel spangle. Benches
+and tables were piled about the room, which was half dark; only to
+westward, through one window, was visible a paler gleam, which might by
+comparison be called light.</p>
+
+<p>The two young men turned over the music, laughing at something, and
+chaffing each other. I never in my life saw two such entire friends as
+these; they seemed to harmonize most perfectly in the midst of their
+unlikeness to each other.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Excuse that we kept you waiting, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>,&#8221; said Courvoisier,
+placing some music before me. &#8220;This fellow is so slow, and will put
+everything into order as he uses it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well for you that I am, <i>mein lieber</i>,&#8221; said Helfen, composedly. &#8220;If
+any one had the enterprise to offer a prize to the most extravagant,
+untidy fellow in Europe, the palm would be yours&mdash;by a long way too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friedel binds his music and numbers it,&#8221; observed Courvoisier. &#8220;It is
+one of the most beautiful and affecting of sights to behold him with
+scissors, paste-pot, brush and binding. It occurs periodically about
+four times a year, I think, and moves me almost to tears when I see it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Der edle Ritter</i> leaves his music unbound, and borrows mine on every
+possible occasion when his own property is scattered to the four winds
+of heaven.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Aber! aber!</i>&#8221; cried Eugen. &#8220;That is too much! I call Frau Schmidt to
+witness that all my music is put in one place.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I never said it wasn&#8217;t. But you never can find it when you want it, and
+the confusion is delightfully increased by your constantly rushing off
+to buy a new <i>partitur</i> when you can&#8217;t find the old one; so you have
+three or four of each.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This is all to show off what he considers his own good qualities; a
+certain slow, methodical plodding and a good memory, which are natural
+gifts, but which he boasts of as if they were acquired virtues. He binds
+his music because he is a pedant and a prig, and can&#8217;t help it; a bad
+fellow to get on with. Now, <i>mein bester</i>, for the &#8216;Fruhling.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But the Fr&auml;ulein ought to have it explained,&#8221; expostulated Helfen,
+laughing. &#8220;Every one has not the misfortune <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>to be so well acquainted
+with you as I am. He has rather insane fancies sometimes,&#8221; he added,
+turning to me, &#8220;without rhyme or reason that I am aware, and he chooses
+to assert that Beethoven&#8217;s Fourth Symphony, or the chief motive of it,
+occurred to him on a spring day, when the master was, for a time, quite
+charmed from his bitter humor, and had, perhaps, some one by his side
+who put his heart in tune with the spring songs of the birds, the green
+of the grass, the scent of the flowers. So he calls it the &#8216;Fruhling
+Symphonie,&#8217; and will persist in playing it as such. I call the idea
+rather far-fetched, but then that is nothing unusual with him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Having said your remarkably stupid say, which Miss Wedderburn has far
+too much sense to heed in the least, suppose you allow us to begin,&#8221;
+said Courvoisier, giving the other a push toward his violin.</p>
+
+<p>But we were destined to have yet another coadjutor in the shape of Karl
+Linders, who at that moment strolled in, and was hailed by his friends
+with jubilation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come and help! Your &#8217;cello will give just the mellowness that is
+wanted,&#8221; said Eugen.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I must go and get it then,&#8221; said Karl, looking at me.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen, with an indescribable expression as he intercepted the glance,
+introduced us to one another. Karl and Friedhelm Helfen went off to
+another part of the Tonhalle to fetch Karl&#8217;s violoncello, and we were
+left alone again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps I ought not to have introduced him. I forgot &#8216;Lohengrin,&#8217;&#8221; said
+Eugen.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You know that you did not,&#8221; said I, in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No,&#8221; he answered, almost in the same tone. &#8220;It was thinking of that
+which led me to introduce poor old Karl to you. I thought, perhaps, that
+you would accept it as a sign&mdash;will you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A sign of what?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That I feel myself to have been in the wrong throughout&mdash;and forgive.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As I sat, amazed and a little awed at this almost literal fulfillment of
+my dream, the others returned.</p>
+
+<p>Karl contributed the tones of his mellowest of instruments, which he
+played with a certain pleasant breadth and brightness of coloring, and
+my dream came ever truer and truer. The symphony was as spring-like as
+possible. We tried it nearly all through; the hymn-like and yet
+fairy-<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>like first movement; the second, that song of universal love,
+joy, and thanksgiving, with Beethoven&#8217;s masculine hand evident
+throughout. To the notes there seemed to fall a sunshine into the room,
+and we could see the fields casting their covering of snow, and withered
+trees bursting into bloom; brooks swollen with warm rain, birds busy at
+nest-making; clumps of primroses on velvet leaves, and the subtle scent
+of violets; youths and maidens with love in their eyes; and even a hint
+of later warmth, when hedges should be white with hawthorn, and the
+woodland slopes look, with their sheets of hyacinths, as if some of
+heaven&#8217;s blue had been spilled upon earth&#8217;s grass.</p>
+
+<p>As the last strong, melodious modulations ceased, Courvoisier pointed to
+one of the windows.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friedhelm, you wretched unbeliever, behold the refutation of your
+theories. The symphony has brought the sun out.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For the first time,&#8221; said Friedhelm, as he turned his earnest young
+face with its fringe of loose brown hair toward the sneaking sun-ray,
+which was certainly looking shyly in. &#8220;As a rule the very heavens weep
+at the performance. Don&#8217;t you remember the last time we tried it, it
+began to rain instantly?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Wedderburn&#8217;s co-operation must have secured its success then on
+this occasion,&#8221; said Eugen, gravely, glancing at me for a moment.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hear! hear!&#8221; murmured Karl, screwing up his violoncello and smiling
+furtively.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I am afraid I hindered rather than helped,&#8221; said I, &#8220;but it is very
+beautiful.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But not like spring, is it?&#8221; asked Friedhelm.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I think it is.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There! I knew she would declare for me,&#8221; said Courvoisier, calmly, at
+which Karl Linders looked up in some astonishment.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Shall we try this &#8216;Traumerei,&#8217; Miss Wedderburn, if you are not too
+tired?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I turned willingly to the piano, and we played Schumann&#8217;s little
+&#8220;Dreams.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah,&#8221; said Eugen, with a deep sigh (and his face had grown sad), &#8220;isn&#8217;t
+that the essence of sweetness and poetry? Here&#8217;s another which is
+lovely. &#8216;Noch ein Paar,&#8217; <i>nicht wahr?</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;And it will be &#8216;noch ein Paar&#8217; until our fingers drop off,&#8221; scolded
+Friedhelm, who seemed, however, very willing to await that consummation.
+We went through many of the Kinderscenen and some of the Kreissleriana,
+and just as we finished a sweet little &#8220;Bittendes Kind,&#8221; the twilight
+grew almost into darkness, and Courvoisier laid his violin down.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Wedderburn, thank you a thousand times!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, <i>bitte sehr</i>!&#8221; was all I could say. I wanted to say so much more;
+to say that I had been made happy; my sadness dispelled, a dream half
+fulfilled, but the words stuck, and had they come ever so flowingly I
+could not have uttered them with Friedhelm Helfen, who knew so much,
+looking at us, and Karl Linders on his best behavior in what he
+considered superior company.</p>
+
+<p>I do not know how it was that Karl and Friedhelm, as we all came from
+the Tonhalle, walked off to the house, and Eugen and I were left to walk
+alone through the soaking streets, emptied of all their revelers, and
+along the dripping K&ouml;nigsall&eacute;e, with its leafless chestnuts, to Sir
+Peter&#8217;s house. It was cold, it was wet&mdash;cheerless, dark, and dismal, and
+I was very happy&mdash;very insanely so. I gave a glance once or twice at my
+companion. The brightness had left his face; it was stern and worn
+again, and his lips set as if with the repression of some pain.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr Courvoisier, have you heard from your little boy?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not expect to hear from him, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>. When he left me we
+parted altogether.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, how dreadful!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>No answer. And we spoke no more until he said &#8220;Good-evening&#8221; to me at
+the door of No. 3. As I went in I reflected that I might never meet him
+thus face to face again. Was it an opportunity missed, or was it a brief
+glimpse of unexpected joy?</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2>
+
+<h3>THE TRUTH.</h3>
+
+<p>As days went on and grew into weeks, and weeks paired off until a month
+passed, and I still saw the same stricken <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>look upon my sister&#8217;s face,
+my heart grew full of foreboding.</p>
+
+<p>One morning the astonishing news came that Sir Peter had gone to
+America.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;America!&#8221; I ejaculated (it was always I who acted the part of chorus
+and did the exclamations and questioning), and I looked at Harry
+Arkwright, who had communicated the news, and who held an open letter in
+his hand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, to America, to see about a railway which looks very bad. He has no
+end of their bonds,&#8221; said Harry, folding up the letter.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When will he return?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He doesn&#8217;t know. Meanwhile we are to stay where we are.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide, when we spoke of this circumstance, said, bitterly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Everything is against me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Against you, Adelaide?&#8221; said I, looking apprehensively at her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, everything!&#8221; she repeated.</p>
+
+<p>She had never been effusive in her behavior to others; she was now, if
+possible, still less so, but the uniform quietness and gentleness with
+which she now treated all who came in contact with her, puzzled and
+troubled me. What was it that preyed upon her mind? In looking round for
+a cause my thoughts lighted first on one person, then on another; I
+dismissed the idea of all, except von Francius, with a smile. Shortly I
+abandoned that idea too. True, he was a man of very different caliber
+from the others; a man, too, for whom Adelaide had conceived a decided
+friendship, though in these latter days even that seemed to be dying
+out. He did not come so often; when he did come they had little to say
+to each other. Perhaps, after all, the cause of her sadness lay no
+deeper than her every-day life, which must necessarily grow more
+mournful day by day. She could feel intensely, as I had lately become
+aware, and had, too, a warm, quick imagination. It might be that a
+simple weariness of life and the anticipation of long years to come of
+such a life lay so heavily upon her soul as to have wrought that gradual
+change.</p>
+
+<p>Sometimes I was satisfied with this theory; at others it dwindled into a
+miserably inadequate measure. When Adelaide once or twice kissed me,
+smiled at me, and called <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>me &#8220;dear,&#8221; it was on my lips to ask the
+meaning of the whole thing, but it never passed them. I dared not speak
+when it came to the point.</p>
+
+<p>One day, about this time, I met Anna Sartorius in one of the picture
+exhibitions. I would have bowed and passed her, but she stopped and
+spoke to me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have not seen you often lately,&#8221; said she; &#8220;but I assure you, you
+will hear more of me some time&mdash;and before long.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Without replying, I passed on. Anna had ceased even to pretend to look
+friendly upon me, and I did not feel much alarm as to her power for or
+against my happiness or peace of mind.</p>
+
+<p>Regularly, once a month, I wrote to Miss Hallam and occasionally had a
+few lines from Stella, who had become a prot&eacute;g&eacute;e of Miss Hallam&#8217;s too.
+They appeared to get on very well together, at which I did not wonder;
+for Stella, with all her youthfulness, was of a cynical turn of mind,
+which must suit Miss Hallam well.</p>
+
+<p>My greatest friend in Elberthal was good little Dr. Mittendorf, who had
+brought his wife to call upon me, and to whose house I had been invited
+several times since Miss Hallam&#8217;s departure.</p>
+
+<p>During this time I worked more steadily than ever, and with a deeper
+love of my art for itself. Von Francius was still my master and my
+friend. I used to look back upon the days, now nearly a year ago, when I
+first saw him, and seeing him, distrusted and only half liked him, and
+wondered at myself; for I had now as entire a confidence in him as can
+by any means be placed in a man. He had thoroughly won my esteem,
+respect, admiration&mdash;in a measure, too, my affection. I liked the power
+of him; the strong hand with which he carried things in his own way; the
+idiomatic language, and quick, curt sentences in which he enunciated his
+opinions. I felt him like a strong, kind, and thoughtful elder brother,
+and have had abundant evidence in his deeds and in some brief
+unemotional words of his that he felt a great regard of the fraternal
+kind for me. It has often comforted me, that friendship&mdash;pure,
+disinterested and manly on his side, grateful and unwavering on mine.</p>
+
+<p>I still retained my old lodgings in the Wehrhahn, and was determined to
+do so. I would not be tied to remain <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>in Sir Peter Le Marchant&#8217;s house
+unless I choose. Adelaide wished me to come and remain with her
+altogether. She said Sir Peter wished it too; he had written and said
+she might ask me. I asked what was Sir Peter&#8217;s motive in wishing it? Was
+it not a desire to humiliate both of us, and to show us that we&mdash;the
+girl who had scorned him, and the woman who had sold herself to
+him&mdash;were in the end dependent upon him, and must follow his will and
+submit to his pleasure?</p>
+
+<p>She reddened, sighed, and owned that it was true; nor did she press me
+any further.</p>
+
+<p>A month, then, elapsed between the carnival in February and the next
+great concert in the latter end of March. It was rather a special
+concert, for von Francius had succeeded, in spite of many obstacles, in
+bringing out the Choral Symphony.</p>
+
+<p>He conducted well that night; and he, Courvoisier, Friedhelm Helfen,
+Karl Linders, and one or two others, formed in their white heat of
+enthusiasm a leaven which leavened the whole lump. Orchestra and chorus
+alike did a little more than their possible, without which no great
+enthusiasm can be carried out. As I watched von Francius, it seemed to
+me that a new soul had entered into the man. I did not believe that a
+year ago he could have conducted the Choral Symphony as he did that
+night. Can any one enter into the broad, eternal clang of the great
+&#8220;world-story&#8221; unless he has a private story of his own which may serve
+him in some measure as a key to its mystery? I think not. It was a night
+of triumph for Max von Francius. Not only was the glorious music cheered
+and applauded, he was called to receive a meed of thanks for having once
+more given to the world a never-dying joy and beauty.</p>
+
+<p>I was in the chorus. Down below I saw Adelaide and her devoted
+attendant, Harry Arkwright. She looked whiter and more subdued than
+ever. All the splendor of the praise of &#8220;joy&#8221; could not bring joy to her
+heart&mdash;</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">&#8220;Diesen Kuss der ganzen Welt&#8221;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>brought no warmth to her cheek, nor lessened the load on her breast.</p>
+
+<p>The concert over, we returned home. Adelaide and I retired to her
+dressing-room, and her maid brought us tea. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>She seated herself in
+silence. For my part, I was excited and hot, and felt my cheeks glowing.
+I was so stirred that I could not sit still, but moved to and fro,
+wishing that all the world could hear that music, and repeating lines
+from the &#8220;Ode to Joy,&#8221; the grand march-like measure, feeling my heart
+uplifted with the exaltation of its opening strain:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">&#8220;Freude, sch&ouml;ner Gotterfunken!<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Tochter aus Elysium!&#8221;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>As I paced about thus excitedly, Adelaide&#8217;s maid came in with a note.
+Mr. Arkwright had received it from Herr von Francius, who had desired
+him to give it to Lady Le Marchant.</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide opened it and I went on with my chant. I know now how dreadful
+it must have sounded to her.</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">&#8220;Freude trinken alle Wesen<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">An den Br&uuml;sten der Natur&mdash;&#8221;</span></div></div>
+
+<p>&#8220;May!&#8221; said Adelaide, faintly.</p>
+
+<p>I turned in my walk and looked at her. White as death, she held the
+paper toward me with a steady hand, and I, the song of joy slain upon my
+lips, took it. It was a brief note from von Francius.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I let you know, my lady, first of all that I have accepted the post of
+Musik-Direktor in &mdash;&mdash;. It will be made known to-morrow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I held the paper and looked at her. Now I knew the reason of her pallid
+looks. I had indeed been blind. I might have guessed better.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you read it?&#8221; she asked, and she stretched her arms above her
+head, as if panting for breath.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Adelaide!&#8221; I whispered, going up to her; &#8220;Adelaide&mdash;oh!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She fell upon my neck. She did not speak, and I, speechless, held her to
+my breast.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You love him, Adelaide?&#8221; I said, at last.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;With my whole soul!&#8221; she answered, in a low, very low, but vehement
+voice. &#8220;With my whole soul.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you have owned it to him?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Tell me,&#8221; said I, &#8220;how it was.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think I have loved him since almost the first time I saw him&mdash;he made
+quite a different impression upon me <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>than other men do&mdash;quite. I hardly
+knew myself. He mastered me. No other man ever did&mdash;except&mdash;&#8221; she
+shuddered a little, &#8220;and that only because I tied myself hand and foot.
+But I liked the mastery. It was delicious; it was rest and peace. It
+went on for long. We knew&mdash;each knew quite well that we loved, but he
+never spoke of it. He saw how it was with me and he helped me&mdash;oh, why
+is he so good? He never tried to trap me into any acknowledgment. He
+never made any use of the power he knew he had except to keep me right.
+But at the Maskenball&mdash;I do not know how it was&mdash;we were alone in all
+the crowd&mdash;there was something said&mdash;a look. It was all over. But he was
+true to the last. He did not say, &#8216;Throw everything up and come to me.&#8217;
+He said, &#8216;Give me the only joy that we may have. Tell me you love me.&#8217;
+And I told him. I said, &#8216;I love you with my life and my soul, and
+everything I have, for ever and ever.&#8217; And that is true. He said, &#8216;Thank
+you, milady. I accept the condition of my knighthood,&#8217; and kissed my
+hand. There was some-one following us. It was Sir Peter. He heard all,
+and he has punished me for it since. He will punish me again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A pause.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is all that has been said. He does not know that Sir Peter knows,
+for he has never alluded to it since. He has spared me. I say he is a
+noble man.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She raised herself, and looked at me.</p>
+
+<p>Dear sister! With your love and your pride, your sins and your folly,
+inexpressibly dear to me! I pressed a kiss upon her lips.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Von Francius is good, Adelaide; he is good.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Von Francius would have told me this himself, but he has been afraid
+for me; some time ago he said to me that he had the offer of a post at a
+distance. That was asking my advice. I found out what it was, and said,
+&#8216;Take it.&#8217; He has done so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then you have decided?&#8221; I stammered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;To part. He has strength. So have I. It was my own fault. May&mdash;I could
+bear it if it were for myself alone. I have had my eyes opened now. I
+see that when people do wrong they drag others into it&mdash;they punish
+those they love&mdash;it is part of their own punishment.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A pause. Facts, I felt, were pitiless; but the glow of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>friendship for
+von Francius was like a strong fire. In the midst of the keenest pain
+one finds a true man, and the discovery is like a sudden soothing of
+sharp anguish, or like the finding a strong comrade in a battle.</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide had been very self-restrained and quiet all this time, but now
+suddenly broke out into low, quick, half sobbed-out words:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I love him, I love him! It is dreadful! How shall I go through with
+it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ay, there was the rub! Not one short, sharp pang, and over&mdash;all fire
+quenched in cool mists of death and unconsciousness, but long years to
+come of daily, hourly, paying the price; incessant compunction, active
+punishment. A prospect for a martyr to shirk from, and for a woman who
+has made a mistake to&mdash;live through.</p>
+
+<p>We needed not further words. The secret was told, and the worst known.
+We parted. Von Francius was from this moment a sacred being to me.</p>
+
+<p>But from this time he scarcely came near the house&mdash;not even to give me
+my lessons. I went to my lodging and had them there. Adelaide said
+nothing, asked not a question concerning him, nor mentioned his name,
+and the silence on his side was almost as profound as that on hers. It
+seemed as if they feared that should they meet, speak, look each other
+in the eyes, all resolution would be swept away, and the end hurry
+resistless on.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox3 bbox"><p>&#8220;And behold, though the way was light and the sun did shine, yet my
+heart was ill at ease, for a sinister blot did now and again fleck
+the sun, and a muttered sound perturbed the air. And he repeated
+oft &#8216;One hath told me&mdash;thus&mdash;or thus.&#8217;&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>Karl Linders, our old acquaintance, was now our fast friend. Many
+changes had taken place in the <i>personnel</i> of our fellow-workmen in the
+kapelle, but Eugen, Karl, and I remained stationary in the same places
+and holding the same rank as on the day we had first met. He, Karl, had
+been from the first more congenial to me than any other of my fellows
+(Eugen excepted, of course). Why, I could never exactly tell. There was
+about him a contagious cheerfulness, good-humor, and honesty. He was a
+sinner, but no rascal; a wild fellow&mdash;<i>Taugenichts</i>&mdash;<i>wilder Gesell</i>,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>as our phraseology had it, but the furthest thing possible from a
+knave.</p>
+
+<p>Since his visits to us and his earnest efforts to curry favor with
+Sigmund by means of nondescript wool beasts, domestic or of prey, he had
+grown much nearer to us. He was the only intimate we had&mdash;the only
+person who came in and out of our quarters at any time; the only man who
+sat and smoked with us in an evening. At the time when Karl put in his
+first appearance in these pages he was a young man not only not
+particular, but utterly reckless as to the society he frequented. Any
+one, he was wont to say, was good enough to talk with, or to listen
+while talked to. Karl&#8217;s conversation could not be called either affected
+or pedantic; his taste was catholic, and comprised within wide bounds;
+he considered all subjects that were amusing appropriate matter of
+discussion, and to him most subjects were&mdash;or were susceptible of being
+made&mdash;amusing.</p>
+
+<p>Latterly, however, it would seem that a process of growth had been going
+on in him. Three years had worked a difference. In some respects he was,
+thank Heaven! still the old Karl&mdash;the old careless, reckless, aimless
+fellow; but in others he was metamorphosed.</p>
+
+<p>Karl Linders, a handsome fellow himself and a slave to beauty, as he was
+careful to inform us&mdash;susceptible in the highest degree to real
+loveliness&mdash;so he often told us&mdash;and in love on an average, desperately
+and forever, once a week, had at last fallen really and actually in
+love.</p>
+
+<p>For a long time we did not guess it&mdash;or rather, accepting his being in
+love as a chronic state of his being&mdash;one of the &#8220;inseparable
+accidents,&#8221; which may almost be called qualities, we wondered what lay
+at the bottom of his sudden intense sobriety of demeanor and propriety
+of conduct, and looked for some cause deeper than love, which did not
+usually have that effect upon him; we thought it might be debt. We
+studied the behavior itself; we remarked that for upward of ten days he
+had never lauded the charms of any young woman connected with the choral
+or terpsichorean staff of the opera, and wondered.</p>
+
+<p>We saw that he had had his hair very much cut, and we told him frankly
+that we did not think it improved him. To our great surprise he told us
+that we knew nothing about it, and requested us to mind our own
+business, adding testily, after a pause, that he did not see why on
+earth <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>a set of men like us should make ourselves conspicuous by the
+fashion of our hair, as if we were Absaloms or Samsons.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Samson had a Delilah, <i>mein lieber</i>,&#8221; said I, eying him. &#8220;She shore his
+locks for him. Tell us frankly who has acted the part by you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bah! Can a fellow have no sense in his own head to find such things
+out? Go and do likewise, and I can tell you you&#8217;ll be improved.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But we agreed when he was gone that the loose locks, drooping over the
+laughing glance, suited him better than that neatly cropped propriety.</p>
+
+<p>Days passed, and Karl was still not his old self. It became matter of
+public remark that his easy, short jacket, a mongrel kind of garment to
+which he was deeply attached, was discarded, not merely for grand
+occasions, but even upon the ordinary Saturday night concert, yea, even
+for walking out at midday, and a superior frock-coat substituted for
+it&mdash;a frock-coat in which, we told him, he looked quite <i>edel</i>. At which
+he pished and pshawed, but surreptitiously adjusted his collar before
+the looking-glass which the propriety and satisfactoriness of our
+behavior had induced Frau Schmidt to add to our responsibilities, pulled
+his cuffs down, and remarked <i>en passant</i> that &#8220;the &#8217;cello was a
+horribly ungraceful instrument.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not as you use it,&#8221; said we both, politely, and allowed him to lead the
+way to the concert-room.</p>
+
+<p>A few evenings later he strolled into our room, lighted a cigar, and
+sighed deeply.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What ails thee, then, Karl?&#8221; I asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;ve something on my mind,&#8221; he replied, uneasily.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That we know,&#8221; put in Eugen; &#8220;and a pretty big lump it must be, too.
+Out with it, man! Has she accepted the bottle-nosed oboist after all?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you got into debt? How much? I dare say we can manage it between
+us.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No&mdash;oh, no! I am five thalers to the good.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Our countenances grow more serious. Not debt? Then what was it, what
+could it be?</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hope nothing has happened to Gretchen,&#8221; suggested Eugen, for
+Gretchen, his sister, was the one permanently strong love of Karl&#8217;s
+heart.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Oh, no! <i>Das M&auml;del</i> is very well, and getting on in her classes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then what is it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m&mdash;engaged&mdash;to be married.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I grieve to say that Eugen and I, after staring at him for some few
+minutes, until we had taken in the announcement, both burst into the
+most immoderate laughter&mdash;till the tears ran down our cheeks, and our
+sides ached.</p>
+
+<p>Karl sat quite still, unresponsive, puffing away at his cigar; and when
+we had finished, or rather were becoming a little more moderate in the
+expression of our amusement, he knocked the ash away from his weed, and
+remarked:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That&#8217;s blind jealousy. You both know that there isn&#8217;t a <i>M&auml;dchen</i> in
+the place who would look at you, so you try to laugh at people who are
+better off than yourselves.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This was so stinging (from the tone more than the words) as coming from
+the most sweet-tempered fellow I ever knew, that we stopped. Eugen
+apologized, and we asked who the lady was.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shouldn&#8217;t suppose you cared to know,&#8221; said he, rather sulkily. &#8220;And
+it&#8217;s all very fine to laugh, but let me see the man who even smiles at
+her&mdash;he shall learn who I am.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>We assured him, with the strongest expressions that we could call to our
+aid, that it was the very idea of his being engaged that made us
+laugh&mdash;not any disrespect, and begged his pardon again. By degrees he
+relented. We still urgently demanded the name of the lady.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Als verlobte empfehlen sich</i> Karl Linders and&mdash;who else?&#8221; asked Eugen.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Als verlobte empfehlen sich</i><a name="FNanchor_D_4" id="FNanchor_D_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_D_4" class="fnanchor">[D]</a> Karl Linders and Clara Steinmann,&#8221;
+said Karl, with much dignity.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Clara Steinmann,&#8221; we repeated, in tones of respectful gravity, &#8220;I never
+heard of her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, she keeps herself rather reserved and select,&#8221; said Karl,
+impressively. &#8220;She lives with her aunt in the All&eacute;estrasse, at number
+39.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Number 39!&#8221; we both ejaculated.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Exactly so! What have you to say against it?&#8221; demanded <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>Herr Linders,
+glaring round upon us with an awful majesty.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nothing&mdash;oh, less than nothing. But I know now where you mean. It is a
+boarding-house, <i>nicht wahr?</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He nodded sedately.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have seen the young lady,&#8221; said I, carefully observing all due
+respect. &#8220;Eugen, you must have seen her too. Miss Wedderburn used to
+come with her to the Instrumental Concerts before she began to sing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Right!&#8221; said Karl, graciously. &#8220;She did. Clara liked Miss Wedderburn
+very much.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed!&#8221; said we, respectfully, and fully recognizing that this was
+quite a different affair from any of the previous flirtations with
+chorus-singers and ballet-girls which had taken up so much of his
+attention.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know her,&#8221; said I, &#8220;I have not that pleasure, but I am sure you
+are to be congratulated, old fellow&mdash;so I do congratulate you very
+heartily.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank you,&#8221; said he.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can&#8217;t congratulate you, Karl, as I don&#8217;t know the lady,&#8221; said Eugen,
+&#8220;but I do congratulate her,&#8221; laying his hand upon Karl&#8217;s shoulder; &#8220;I
+hope she knows the kind of man she has won, and is worthy of him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A smile of the Miss Squeers description&mdash;&#8220;Tilda, I pities your ignorance
+and despises you&#8221;&mdash;crossed Karl&#8217;s lips as he said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank you. No one else knows. It only took place&mdash;decidedly, you know,
+to-night. I said I should tell two friends of mine&mdash;she said she had no
+objection. I should not have liked to keep it from you two. I wish,&#8221;
+said Karl, whose eyes had been roving in a seeking manner round the
+room, and who now brought his words out with a run; &#8220;I wish Sigmund had
+been here too. I wish she could have seen him. She loves children; she
+has been very good to Gretchen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Eugen&#8217;s hand dropped from our friend&#8217;s shoulder. He walked to the window
+without speaking, and looked out into the darkness&mdash;as he was then in
+more senses than one often wont to do&mdash;nor did he break the silence nor
+look at us again until some time after Karl and I had resumed the
+conversation.</p>
+
+<p>So did the quaint fellow announce his engagement to us. It was quite a
+romantic little history, for it turned out that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>he had loved the girl
+for full two years, but for a long time had not been able even to make
+her acquaintance, and when that was accomplished, had hardly dared to
+speak of his love for her; for though she was sprung from much the same
+class as himself, she was in much better circumstances, and accustomed
+to a life of ease and plenty, even if she were little better in reality
+than a kind of working housekeeper. A second suitor for her hand had,
+however, roused Karl into boldness and activity; he declared himself,
+and was accepted. Despite the opposition of Frau Steinmann, who thought
+the match in every way beneath her niece (why, I never could tell), the
+lovers managed to carry their purpose so far as the betrothal or
+<i>verlobung</i> went; marriage was a question strictly of the future. It was
+during the last weeks of suspense and uncertainty that Karl had been
+unable to carry things off in quite his usual light-hearted manner; it
+was after finally conquering that he came to make us partners in his
+satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>In time we had the honor of an introduction to Fr&auml;ulein Steinmann, and
+our amazement and amusement were equally great. Karl was a tall,
+handsome, well-knit fellow, with an exceptionally graceful figure and
+what I call a typical German face (typical, I mean, in one line of
+development)&mdash;open, frank, handsome, with the broad traits, smiling
+lips, clear and direct guileless eyes, waving hair and aptitude for
+geniality which are the chief characteristics of that type&mdash;not the
+highest, perhaps, but a good one, nevertheless&mdash;honest, loyal, brave&mdash;a
+kind which makes good fathers and good soldiers&mdash;how many a hundred are
+mourned since 1870-71!</p>
+
+<p>He had fallen in love with a little stout dumpy <i>M&auml;dchen</i>, honest and
+open as himself, but stupid in all outside domestic matters. She was
+evidently desperately in love with him, and could understand a good
+waltz or a sentimental song, so that his musical talents were not
+altogether thrown away. I liked her better after a time. There was
+something touching in the way in which she said to me once:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He might have done so much better. I am such an ugly, stupid thing, but
+when he said did I love him or could I love him, or something like that,
+<i>um Gotteswillen</i>, Herr Helfen, what could I say?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am sure you did the best possible thing both for him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>and for you,&#8221; I
+was able to say, with emphasis and conviction.</p>
+
+<p>Karl had now become a completely reformed and domesticated member of
+society; now he wore the frock-coat several times a week, and confided
+to me that he thought he must have a new one soon. Now too did other
+strange results appear of his engagement to Fr&auml;ulein Clara (he got
+sentimental and called her Cl&auml;rchen sometimes). He had now the <i>entr&eacute;e</i>
+of Frau Steinmann&#8217;s house and there met feminine society several degrees
+above that to which he had been accustomed. He was obliged to wear a
+permanently polite and polished manner (which, let me hasten to say, was
+not the least trouble to him). No chaffing of these young ladies&mdash;no
+offering to take them to places of amusement of any but the very
+sternest and severest respectability.</p>
+
+<p>He took Fr&auml;ulein Clara out for walks. They jogged along arm in arm, Karl
+radiant, Clara no less so, and sometimes they were accompanied by
+another inmate of Frau Steinmann&#8217;s house&mdash;a contrast to them both. She
+lived <i>en famille</i> with her hostess, not having an income large enough
+to admit of indulging in quite separate quarters, and her name was Anna
+Sartorius.</p>
+
+<p>It was very shortly after his engagement that Karl began to talk to me
+about Anna Sartorius. She was a clever young woman, it seemed&mdash;or as he
+called her, a <i>gescheidtes M&auml;dchen</i>. She could talk most wonderfully.
+She had traveled&mdash;she had been in England and France, and seen the
+world, said Karl. They all passed very delightful evenings together
+sometimes, diversified with music and song and the racy jest&mdash;at which
+times Frau Steinmann became quite another person, and he, Karl, felt
+himself in heaven.</p>
+
+<p>The substance of all this was told me by him one day at a probe, where
+Eugen had been conspicuous by his absence. Perhaps the circumstance
+reminded Karl of some previous conversation, for he said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She must have seen Courvoisier before somewhere. She asks a good many
+questions about him, and when I said I knew him she laughed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Look here, Karl, don&#8217;t go talking to outsiders about Eugen&mdash;or any of
+us. His affairs are no business of Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius, or any other
+busybody.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I talk about him! What do you mean? Upon my word I don&#8217;t know how the
+conversation took that turn; but I am sure she knows something about
+him. She said &#8216;Eugen Courvoisier indeed!&#8217; and laughed in a very peculiar
+way.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She is a fool. So are you if you let her talk to you about him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She is no fool, and I want to talk to no one but my own <i>M&auml;dchen</i>,&#8221;
+said he, easily; &#8220;but when a woman is talking one can&#8217;t stop one&#8217;s
+ears.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Time passed. The concert with the Choral Symphony followed. Karl had had
+the happiness of presenting tickets to Fr&auml;ulein Clara and her aunt, and
+of seeing them, in company with Miss Sartorius, enjoying looking at the
+dresses, and saying how loud the music was. His visits to Frau Steinmann
+continued.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friedel,&#8221; he remarked abruptly one day to me, as we paced down the
+Casernenstrasse, &#8220;I wonder who Courvoisier is!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have managed to exist very comfortably for three or four years
+without knowing.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is something behind all his secrecy about himself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius says so, I suppose,&#8221; I remarked, dryly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;N&mdash;no; she never said so; but I think she knows it is so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And what if it be so?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, nothing! But I wonder what can have driven him here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Driven him here? His own choice, of course.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Karl laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Nee</i>, <i>nee</i>, Friedel, not quite.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should advise you to let him and his affairs alone, unless you want a
+row with him. I would no more think of asking him than of cutting off my
+right hand.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Asking him&mdash;<i>lieber Himmel!</i> no; but one may wonder&mdash;It was a very
+queer thing his sending poor Sigmund off in that style. I wonder where
+he is.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did he never tell you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Queer!&#8221; said Karl, reflectively. &#8220;I think there is something odd behind
+it all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now listen, Karl. Do you want to have a row with Eugen? Are you anxious
+for him never to speak to you again?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Herrgott</i>, no!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then take my advice, and just keep your mouth shut. Don&#8217;t listen to
+tales, and don&#8217;t repeat them.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But, my dear fellow, when there is a mystery about a man&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mystery! Nonsense! What mystery is there in a man&#8217;s choosing to have
+private affairs? We didn&#8217;t behave in this idiotic manner when you were
+going on like a lunatic about Fr&auml;ulein Clara. We simply assumed that as
+you didn&#8217;t speak you had affairs which you chose to keep to yourself.
+Just apply the rule, or it may be worse for you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For all that, there is something queer,&#8221; he said, as we turned into the
+restauration for dinner.</p>
+
+<p>Yet again, some days later, just before the last concert came off, Karl,
+talking to me, said, in a tone and with a look as if the idea troubled
+and haunted him:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I say, Friedel, do you think Courvoisier&#8217;s being here is all square?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All square?&#8221; I repeated, scornfully.</p>
+
+<p>He nodded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Of course all has been right since he came here; but don&#8217;t you
+think there may be something shady in the background?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean by &#8216;shady&#8217;?&#8221; I asked, more annoyed than I cared to
+confess at his repeated returning to the subject.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, you know, there must be a reason for his being here&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I burst into a fit of laughter, which was not so mirthful as it might
+seem.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should rather think there must. Isn&#8217;t there a reason for every one
+being somewhere? Why am I here? Why are you here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; but this is quite a different thing. We are all agreed that
+whatever he may be now, he has not always been one of us, and I like
+things to be clear about people.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is a most extraordinary thing that you should only <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>have felt the
+anxiety lately,&#8221; said I, witheringly, and then, after a moment&#8217;s
+reflection, I said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Look here, Karl; no one could be more unwilling than I to pick a
+quarrel with you, but quarrel we must if this talking of Eugen behind
+his back goes on. It is nothing to either of us what his past has been.
+I want no references. If you want to gossip about him or any one else,
+go to the old women who are the natural exchangers of that commodity.
+Only if you mention it again to me it comes to a quarrel&mdash;<i>verstehst
+du?</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I meant no harm, and I can see no harm in it,&#8221; said he.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very well; but I do. I hate it. So shake hands, and let there be an end
+of it. I wish now that I had spoken out at first. There&#8217;s a dirtiness,
+to my mind, in the idea of speculating about a person with whom you are
+intimate, in a way that you wouldn&#8217;t like him to hear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, if you will have it so,&#8221; said he; but there was not the usual
+look of open satisfaction upon his face. He did not mention the subject
+to me again, but I caught him looking now and then earnestly at Eugen,
+as if he wished to ask him something. Then I knew that in my anxiety to
+avoid gossiping about the friend whose secrets were sacred to me, I had
+made a mistake. I ought to have made Karl tell me whether he had heard
+anything specific about him or against him, and so judge the extent of
+the mischief done.</p>
+
+<p>It needed but little thought on my part to refer Karl&#8217;s suspicions and
+vague rumors to the agency of Anna Sartorius. Lately I had begun to
+observe this young lady more closely. She was a tall, dark, plain girl,
+with large, defiant-looking eyes, and a bitter mouth; when she smiled
+there was nothing genial in the smile. When she spoke, her voice had a
+certain harsh flavor; her laugh was hard and mocking&mdash;as if she laughed
+at, not with, people. There was something rather striking in her
+appearance, but little pleasing. She looked at odds with the world, or
+with her lot in it, or with her present circumstances, or something. I
+was satisfied that she knew something of Eugen, though, when I once
+pointed her out to him and asked if he knew her, he looked at her, and
+after a moment&#8217;s look, as if he remembered, shook his head, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There is something a little familiar to me in her face, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>but I am sure
+that I have never seen her&mdash;most assuredly never spoken to her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Yet I had often seen her look at him long and earnestly, usually with a
+certain peculiar smile, and with her head a little to one side as if she
+examined some curiosity or <i>lusus natur&aelig;</i>. I was too little curious
+myself to know Eugen&#8217;s past to speculate much about it; but I was quite
+sure that there was some link between him and that dark, bitter,
+sarcastic-looking girl, Anna Sartorius.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox4 bbox">
+<p>&#8220;Didst thou, or didst thou not? Just tell me, friend!<br />
+Not that <i>my</i> conscience may be satisfied,<br />
+<i>I</i> never for a moment doubted thee&mdash;<br />
+But that I may have wherewithal in hand<br />
+To turn against them when they point at thee:<br />
+A whip to flog them with&mdash;a rock to crush&mdash;<br />
+Thy word&mdash;thy simple downright &#8216;No, I did not.&#8217;<br />
+
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br />
+
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Why! How!<br /></span>
+What&#8217;s this? He does not, will not speak. Oh, God!<br />
+Nay, raise thy head and look me in the eyes!<br />
+Canst not? What is this thing?&#8221;<br /></p></div>
+
+<p>It was the last concert of the season, and the end of April, when
+evenings were growing pleasantly long and the air balmy. Those last
+concerts, and the last nights of the opera, which closed at the end of
+April, until September, were always crowded. That night I remember we
+had Liszt&#8217;s &#8220;Prometheus,&#8221; and a great violinist had been announced as
+coming to enrapture the audience with the performance of a Concerto of
+Beethoven&#8217;s.</p>
+
+<p>The concert was for the benefit of von Francius, and was probably the
+last one at which he would conduct us. He was leaving to assume the post
+of K&ouml;niglicher Musik-Direktor at &mdash;&mdash;. Now that the time came there was
+not a man among us who was not heartily sorry to think of the parting.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Wedderburn was one of the soloists that evening and her sister and
+Mr. Arkwright were both there.</p>
+
+<p>Karl Linders came on late. I saw that just before he appeared by the
+orchestra entrance, his beloved, her aunt, and Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius had
+taken their places in the parquet. Karl looked sullen and discontented,
+and utterly unlike himself. Anna Sartorius was half smiling. Lady <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>Le
+Marchant, I noticed, passingly, looked the shadow of her former self.</p>
+
+<p>Then von Francius came on; he too looked disturbed, for him very much
+so, and glanced round the orchestra and the room; and then coming up to
+Eugen, drew him a little aside, and seemed to put a question to him. The
+discussion, though carried on in low tones, was animated, and lasted
+some time. Von Francius appeared greatly to urge Courvoisier to
+something&mdash;the latter to resist. At last some understanding appeared to
+be come to. Von Francius returned to his estrade, Eugen to his seat, and
+the concert began.</p>
+
+<p>The third piece on the list was the Violin Concerto, and when its turn
+came all eyes turned in all directions in search of &mdash;&mdash;, the
+celebrated, who was to perform it. Von Francius advanced and made a
+short enough announcement.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Meine Herrschaften</i>, I am sorry to say that I have received a telegram
+from Herr &mdash;&mdash;, saying that sudden illness prevents his playing
+to-night. I am sorry that you should be disappointed of hearing him, but
+I can not regret that you should have an opportunity of listening to one
+who will be a very effectual substitute&mdash;Herr Concertmeister
+Courvoisier, your first violin.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stepped back. Courvoisier rose. There was a dead silence in the hall.
+Eugen stood in the well-known position of the prophet without honor,
+only that he had not yet begun to speak. The rest of the orchestra and
+von Francius were waiting to begin Beethoven&#8217;s Concerto; but Eugen,
+lifting his voice, addressed them in his turn:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am sorry to say that I dare not venture upon the great Concerto; it
+is so long since I attempted it. I shall have pleasure in trying to play
+a <i>Chaconne</i>&mdash;one of the compositions of Herr von Francius.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Von Francius started up as if to forbid it. But Eugen had touched the
+right key. There was a round of applause, and then an expectant settling
+down to listen on the part of the audience, who were, perhaps, better
+pleased to hear von Francius the living and much discussed than
+Beethoven the dead and undisputed.</p>
+
+<p>It was a minor measure, and one unknown to the public, for it had not
+yet been published. Von Francius had lent Eugen the score a few days
+ago, and he had once or twice <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>said to me that it was full not merely of
+talent; it was replete with the fire of genius.</p>
+
+<p>And so, indeed, he proved to us that night. Never, before or since, from
+professional or private <i>virtuoso</i>, have I heard such playing as that.
+The work was in itself a fine one; original, strong, terse and racy,
+like him who had composed it. It was sad, very sad, but there was a
+magnificent elevation running all through it which raised it far above a
+mere complaint, gave a depth to its tragedy while it pointed at hope.
+And this, interpreted by Eugen, whose mood and whose inner life it
+seemed exactly to suit, was a thing not to be forgotten in a life-time.
+To me the scene and the sounds come freshly as if heard yesterday. I see
+the great hall full of people, attentive&mdash;more than attentive&mdash;every
+moment more inthralled. I see the pleased smile which had broken upon
+every face of his fellow-musicians at this chance of distinction
+gradually subside into admiration and profound appreciation; I feel
+again the warm glow of joy which filled my own heart; I meet again May&#8217;s
+eyes and see the light in them, and see von Francius shade his face with
+his hand to conceal the intensity of the artist&#8217;s delight he felt at
+hearing his own creation so grandly, so passionately interpreted.</p>
+
+<p>Then I see how it was all over, and Eugen, pale with the depth of
+emotion with which he had played the passionate music, retired, and
+there came a burst of enthusiastic applause&mdash;applause renewed again and
+again&mdash;it was a veritable <i>succ&egrave;s fou</i>.</p>
+
+<p>But he would make no response to the plaudits. He remained obstinately
+seated, and there was no elation, but rather gloom upon his face. In
+vain von Francius besought him to come forward. He declined, and the
+calls at last ceased. It was the last piece on the first part of the
+programme. The people at last let him alone. But there could be no doubt
+that he had both roused a great interest in himself and stimulated the
+popularity of von Francius in no common degree. And at last he had to go
+down the orchestra steps to receive a great many congratulations, and go
+through several introductions, while I sat still and mentally rubbed my
+hands.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile Karl Linders, with nearly all the other instrumentalists, had
+disappeared from the orchestra. I saw him appear again in the body of
+the hall, among all the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>people, who were standing up, laughing and
+discussing and roving about to talk to their friends. He had a long
+discussion with Fr&auml;ulein Clara and Anna Sartorius.</p>
+
+<p>And then I turned my attention to Eugen again, who, looking grave and
+unelated, released himself as soon as possible from his group of new
+acquaintance and joined me.</p>
+
+<p>Then von Francius brought Miss Wedderburn up the steps, and left her
+sitting near us. She turned to Eugen and said, &#8220;<i>Ich gratuliere</i>,&#8221; to
+which he only bowed rather sadly. Her chair was quite close to ours, and
+von Francius stood talking to her. Others were quickly coming. One or
+two were around and behind us.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen was tuning his violin, when a touch on the shoulder roused me. I
+looked up. Karl stood there, leaning across me toward Eugen. Something
+in his face told me that it&mdash;that which had been hanging so long over
+us&mdash;was coming. His expression, too, attracted the attention of several
+other people&mdash;of all who were immediately around.</p>
+
+<p>Those who heard Karl were myself, von Francius, Miss Wedderburn, and
+some two or three others, who had looked up as he came, and had paused
+to watch what was coming.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eugen,&#8221; said he, &#8220;a foul lie has been told about you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course I don&#8217;t believe a word of it. I&#8217;m not such a fool. But I have
+been challenged to confront you with it. It only needs a syllable on
+your side to crush it instantly; for I will take your word against all
+the rest of the world put together.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221; said Eugen, whose face was white, and whose voice was low.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A lady has said to me that you had a brother who had acted the part of
+father to you, and that you rewarded his kindness by forging his name
+for a sum of money which you could have had for the asking, for he
+denied you nothing. It is almost too ridiculous to repeat, and I beg
+your pardon for doing it; but I was obliged. Will you give me a word of
+denial?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Silence!</p>
+
+<p>I looked at Eugen. We were all looking at him. Three things I looked for
+as equally likely for him to do; but he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>did none. He did not start up
+in an indignant denial; he did not utter icily an icy word of contempt;
+he did not smile and ask Karl if he were out of his senses. He dropped
+his eyes, and maintained a deadly silence.</p>
+
+<p>Karl was looking at him, and his candid face changed. Doubt, fear,
+dismay succeeded one another upon it. Then, in a lower and changed
+voice, as if first admitting the idea that caution might be necessary:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Um Gotteswillen</i>, Eugen! Speak!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked up&mdash;so may look a dog that is being tortured&mdash;and my very
+heart sickened; but he did not speak.</p>
+
+<p>A few moments&mdash;not half a minute&mdash;did we remain thus. It seemed a
+hundred years of slow agony. But during that time I tried to comprehend
+that my friend of the bright, clear eyes, and open, fearless glance; the
+very soul and flower of honor; my ideal of almost Quixotic
+chivalrousness, stood with eyes that could not meet ours that hung upon
+him; face white, expression downcast, accused of a crime which came, if
+ever crime did, under the category &#8220;dirty,&#8221; and not denying it!</p>
+
+<p>Karl, the wretched beginner of the wretched scene, came nearer, took the
+other&#8217;s hand, and, in a hoarse whisper, said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For God&#8217;s sake, Eugen, speak! Deny it! You can deny it&mdash;you must deny
+it!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked up at last, with a tortured gaze; looked at Karl, at me, at
+the faces around. His lips quivered faintly. Silence yet. And yet it
+seemed to me that it was loathing that was most strongly depicted upon
+his face; the loathing of a man who is obliged to intimately examine
+some unclean thing; the loathing of one who has to drag a corpse about
+with him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Say it is a lie, Eugen!&#8221; Karl conjured him.</p>
+
+<p>At last came speech; at last an answer; slow, low, tremulous, impossible
+to mistake or explain away.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; I can not say so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His head&mdash;that proud, high head&mdash;dropped again, as if he would fain
+avoid our eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Karl raised himself. His face too was white. As if stricken with some
+mortal blow, he walked away. Some people who had surrounded us turned
+aside and began to whisper to each other behind their music. Von
+Francius looked impenetrable; May Wedderburn white. The noise <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>and
+bustle was still going on all around, louder than before. The drama had
+not taken three minutes to play out.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen rested his brow for a moment on his hand, and his face was hidden.
+He looked up, rising as he did so, and his eyes met those of Miss
+Wedderburn. So sad, so deep a gaze I never saw. It was a sign to me, a
+significant one, that he could meet her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>Then he turned to von Francius.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr Direktor, Helfen will take my place, <i>nicht wahr?</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Von Francius bowed. Eugen left his seat, made his way, without a word,
+from the orchestra, and von Francius rapped sharply, the preliminary
+tumult subsided; the concert began.</p>
+
+<p>I glanced once or twice toward Karl; I received no answering look. I
+could not even see his face; he had made himself as small as possible
+behind his music.</p>
+
+<p>The concert over&mdash;it seemed to me interminable&mdash;I was hastening away,
+anxious only to find Eugen, when Karl Linders stopped me in a retired
+corner, and holding me fast, said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friedel, I am a damned fool.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am sorry not to be able to contradict you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Listen,&#8221; said he. &#8220;You must listen, or I shall follow you and make you.
+I made up my mind not to hear another word against him, but when I went
+to <i>die Clara</i> after the solo, I found her and that confounded girl
+whispering together. She&mdash;Anna Sartorius&mdash;said it was very fine for such
+scamps to cover their sins with music. I asked her pretty stiffly what
+she meant, for she is always slanging Eugen, and I thought she might
+have let him alone for once. She said she meant that he was a
+blackguard&mdash;that&#8217;s the word she used&mdash;<i>ein lauter Spitzbube</i>&mdash;a forger,
+and worse. I told her I believed it was a lie. I did not believe it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Ask him,&#8217; said she. I said I would be&mdash;something&mdash;first. But Clara
+would have nothing to say to me, and they both badgered me until for
+mere quietness I agreed to do as they wished.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He went on in distress for some time.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, drop it!&#8221; said I, impatiently. &#8220;You have done the mischief. I don&#8217;t
+want to listen to your whining over <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>it. Go to the Fr&auml;ulein Steinmann
+and Sartorius. They will confer the reward of merit upon you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Gott beh&uuml;te!</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I shook myself loose from him and took my way home. It was with a
+feeling not far removed from tremulousness that I entered the room. That
+poor room formed a temple which I had no intention of desecrating.</p>
+
+<p>He was sitting at the table when I entered, and looked at me absently.
+Then, with a smile in which sweetness and bitterness were strangely
+mingled, said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So! you have returned? I will not trouble you much longer. Give me
+house-room for to-night. In the morning I shall be gone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I went up to him, pushed the writing materials which lay before him
+away, and took his hands, but could not speak for ever so long.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, Friedhelm,&#8221; he asked, after a pause, during which the drawn and
+tense look upon his face relaxed somewhat, &#8220;what have you to say to the
+man who has let you think him honest for three years?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Whom I know, and ever have known, to be an honest man.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He laughed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There are degrees and grades even in honesty. One kind of honesty is
+lower than others. I am honest now because my sin has found me out, I
+can&#8217;t keep up appearances any longer.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pooh! do you suppose that deceives me?&#8221; said I, contemptuously. &#8220;Me,
+who have known you for three years. That would be a joke, but one that
+no one will enjoy at my expense.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A momentary expression of pleasure unutterable flashed across his face
+and into his eyes; then was repressed, as he said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must listen to reason. Have I not told you all along that my life
+had been spoiled by my own fault?&mdash;that I had disqualified myself to
+take any leading part among men?&mdash;that others might advance, but I
+should remain where I was? And have you not the answer to all here? You
+are a generous soul, I know, like few others. My keenest regret now is
+that I did not tell you long ago how things stood, but it would have
+cost me your friendship, and I have not too many things to make life
+sweet to me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Eugen, why did you not tell me before? I know the reason; for the very
+same reason which prevents you from looking me in the eyes now, and
+saying, &#8216;I am guilty. I did that of which I am accused,&#8217; because it is
+not true. I challenge you; meet my eyes, and say, &#8216;I am guilty!&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked at me; his eyes were dim with anguish. He said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friedel, I&mdash;can not tell you that I am innocent.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I did not ask you to do so. I asked you to say you were guilty, and on
+your soul be it if you lie to me. That I could never forgive.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Again he looked at me, strove to speak, but no word came. I never
+removed my eyes from his; the pause grew long, till I dropped his hands
+and turned away with a smile.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let a hundred busybodies raise their clamoring tongues, they can never
+divide you and me. If it were not insulting I should ask you to believe
+that every feeling of mine for you is unchanged, and will remain so as
+long as I live.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is incredible. Such loyalty, such&mdash;Friedel, you are a fool!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His voice broke.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish you could have heard Miss Wedderburn sing her English song after
+you were gone. It was called, &#8216;What would You do, Love?&#8217; and she made us
+all cry.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, Miss Wedderburn! How delightful she is.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If it is any comfort to you to know, I can assure you that she thinks
+as I do. I am certain of it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Comfort&mdash;not much. It is only that if I ever allowed myself to fall in
+love again, which I shall not do, it would be with Miss Wedderburn.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The tone sufficiently told me that he was much in love with her already.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She is bewitching,&#8221; he added.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you do not mean to allow yourself to fall in love with her,&#8221; I
+remarked, sententiously, &#8220;because it seems that &#8216;allowing&#8217; is a matter
+for her to decide, not the men who happen to know her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I shall not see much more of her. I shall not remain here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>As this was what I had fully expected to hear, I said <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>nothing, but I
+thought of Miss Wedderburn, and grieved for her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I must go forth from hence,&#8221; he pursued. &#8220;I suppose I ought to be
+satisfied that I have had three years here. I wonder if there is any way
+in which a man could kill all trace of his old self; a man who has every
+desire to lead henceforth a new life, and be at peace and charity with
+all men. I suppose not&mdash;no. I suppose the brand has to be carried about
+till the last; and how long it may be before that &#8216;last&#8217; comes!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I was silent. I had put a good face upon the matter and spoken bravely
+about it. I had told him that I did not believe him guilty&mdash;that my
+regard and respect were as high as ever, and I spoke the truth. Both
+before and since then he had told me that I had a bump of veneration and
+one of belief ludicrously out of proportion to the exigencies of the age
+in which I lived.</p>
+
+<p>Be it so. Despite my cheerful words, and despite the belief I did feel
+in him, I could not help seeing that he carried himself now as a marked
+man. The free, open look was gone; a blight had fallen upon him, and he
+withered under it. There was what the English call a &#8220;down&#8221; look upon
+his face, which had not been there formerly, even in those worst days
+when the parting from Sigmund was immediately before and behind us.</p>
+
+<p>In the days which immediately followed the scene at the concert I
+noticed how he would set about things with a kind of hurried zeal, then
+suddenly stop and throw them aside, as if sick of them, and fall to
+brooding with head sunk upon his breast, and lowering brow; a state and
+a spectacle which caused me pain and misery not to be described. He
+would begin sudden conversations with me, starting with some question,
+as:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friedel, do you believe in a future state?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do, and I don&#8217;t. I mean to say that I don&#8217;t know anything about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you know what my idea of heaven would be?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed, I don&#8217;t,&#8221; said I, feebly endeavoring a feeble joke. &#8220;A place
+where all the fiddles are by Stradivarius and Guanarius, and all the
+music comes up to Beethoven.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; but a place where there are no mistakes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No mistakes?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ja wohl!</i> Where it would not be possible for a man <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>with fair chances
+to spoil his whole career by a single mistake. Or, if there were
+mistakes, I would arrange that the punishment should be in some
+proportion to them&mdash;not a large punishment for a little sin, and <i>vice
+vers&acirc;</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, I should think that if there is any heaven there would be some
+arrangement of that kind.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;As for hell,&#8221; he went on, in a low, calm tone which I had learned to
+understand meant with him intense earnestness, &#8220;there are people who
+wonder that any one could invent a hell. My only wonder is why they
+should have resorted to fire and brimstone to enhance its terrors when
+they had the earth full of misery to choose from.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You think this world a hell, Eugen?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sometimes I think it the very nethermost hell of hells, and I think if
+you had my feelings you would think so too. A poet, an English poet (you
+do not know the English poets as you ought, Friedhelm), has said that
+the fiercest of all hells is the failure in a great purpose. I used to
+think that a fine sentiment; now I sometimes wonder whether to a man who
+was once inclined to think well of himself it may not be a much fiercer
+trial to look back and find that he has failed to be commonly honest and
+upright. It is a nice little distinction&mdash;a moral wire-drawing which I
+would recommend to the romancers if I knew any.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Once and only once was Sigmund mentioned between us, and Eugen said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nine years, were you speaking of? No&mdash;not in nineteen, nor in
+ninety-nine shall I ever see him again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The other night, and what occurred then, decided me. Till then I had
+some consolation in thinking that the blot might perhaps be wiped
+out&mdash;the shame lived down. Now I see that that is a fallacy. With God&#8217;s
+help I will never see him nor speak to him again. It is better that he
+should forget me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His voice did not tremble as he said this, though I knew that the idea
+of being forgotten by Sigmund must be to him anguish of a refinement not
+to be measured by me.</p>
+
+<p>I bided my time, saying nothing. I at least was too much engrossed with
+my own affairs to foresee the cloud then first dawning on the horizon,
+which they who looked toward France and Spain might perhaps perceive.</p>
+
+<p>It had not come yet&mdash;the first crack of that thunder <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>which rattled so
+long over our land, and when we saw the dingy old J&auml;ger Hof at one end
+of the Hofgarten, and heard by chance the words of
+Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen, no premonition touched us. My mind was made
+up, that let Eugen go when and where he would, I would go with him.</p>
+
+<p>I had no ties of duty, none of love or of ambition to separate me from
+him; his God should be my God, and his people my people; if the God were
+a jealous God, dealing out wrath and terror, and the people should
+dwindle to outcasts and pariahs, it mattered not to me. I loved him.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox4 bbox">
+<p>Nein, l&auml;nger kann ich diesen Kampf nicht k&auml;mpfen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Den Riesenkampf der Pflicht.<br /></span>
+Kannst du des Herzens Flammentrieb nicht d&auml;mpfen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So fordre, Tugend, dieses Opfer nicht.<br /></span></p>
+
+<p>Geschworen hab&#8217; ich &#8217;s, ja, ich hab&#8217;s geschworen,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mich selbst zu b&auml;ndigen.<br /></span>
+Hier ist dein Kranz, er sei auf ewig mir verloren;<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nimm ihn zur&uuml;ck und lass mich s&uuml;ndigen.<br /></span></p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Schiller.</span></span></p></div>
+
+<p>If I had never had a trouble before I had one now&mdash;large, stalwart,
+robust. For what seemed to me a long time there was present to my mind&#8217;s
+eye little but the vision of a large, lighted room&mdash;a great undefined
+crowd surging around and below, a small knot of persons and faces in
+sharp distinctness immediately around me; low-spoken words with a
+question; no answer&mdash;vehement imploring for an answer&mdash;still no reply;
+yet another sentence conjuring denial, and then the answer itself&mdash;the
+silence that succeeded it; the face which had become part of my thoughts
+all changed and downcast&mdash;the man whom I had looked up to, feared,
+honored, as chivalrous far beyond his station and circumstances slowly
+walking away from the company of his fellows, disgraced, fallen, having
+himself owned to the disgrace being merited, pointed at as a
+cheat&mdash;bowing to the accusation.</p>
+
+<p>It drove me almost mad to think of it. I suffered the more keenly
+because I could speak to no one of what had happened. What sympathy
+should I get from any living soul by explaining my sick looks and absent
+demeanor with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>the words, &#8220;I love that man who is disgraced?&#8221; I smiled
+dryly in the midst of my anguish, and locked it the deeper in my own
+breast.</p>
+
+<p>I had believed in him so devotedly, so intensely, had loved him so
+entirely, and with such a humility, such a consciousness of my own
+shortcomings and of his superiority. The recoil at first was such as one
+might experience who embraces a veiled figure, presses his lips to where
+its lips should be, and finds that he kisses a corpse.</p>
+
+<p>Such, I say, was the recoil at first. But a recoil, from its very
+nature, is short and vehement. There are some natures, I believe, which
+after a shock turn and flee from the shocking agent. Not so I. After
+figuratively springing back and pressing my hands over my eyes, I
+removed them again, and still saw his face&mdash;and it tortured me to have
+to own it, but I had to do so&mdash;still loved that face beyond all earthly
+things.</p>
+
+<p>It grew by degrees familiar to me again. I caught myself thinking of the
+past and smiling at the remembrance of the jokes between Eugen and
+Helfen on Carnival Monday, then pulled myself up with a feeling of
+horror, and the conviction that I had no business to be thinking of him
+at all. But I did think of him day by day and hour by hour, and tortured
+myself with thinking of him, and wished, yet dreaded, to see him, and
+wondered how I possibly could see him, and could only live on in a hope
+which was not fulfilled. For I had no right to seek him out. His
+condition might be much&mdash;very much to me. My sympathy or pity or
+thought&mdash;as I felt all too keenly&mdash;could be nothing to him.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile, as is usual in such cases, circumstance composedly took my
+affairs into her hands and settled them for me without my being able to
+move a finger in the matter.</p>
+
+<p>The time was approaching for the departure of von Francius. Adelaide and
+I did not exchange a syllable upon the subject. Of what use? I knew to a
+certain extent what was passing within her. I knew that this child of
+the world&mdash;were we not all children of the world, and not of light?&mdash;had
+braced her moral forces to meet the worst, and was awaiting it calmly.</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide, like me, based her actions not upon religion. Religion was for
+both of us an utter abstraction; it touched us not. That which gave
+Adelaide force to withstand <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>temptation, and to remain stoically in the
+drear sphere in which she already found herself, was not religion; it
+was pride on the one hand, and on the other love for Max von Francius.</p>
+
+<p>Pride forbade her to forfeit her reputation, which was dear to her,
+though her position had lost the charms with which distance had once
+gilded it for her. Love for von Francius made her struggle with all the
+force of her nature to remain where she was, renounce him blamelessly
+rather than yield at the price which women must pay who do such things
+as leave their husbands.</p>
+
+<p>It was wonderful to me to see how love had developed in her every higher
+emotion. I remembered how cynical she had always been as to the merits
+of her own sex. Women, according to her, were an inferior race, who
+gained their poor ends by poor means. She had never been hard upon
+female trickery and subterfuge. Bah! she said, how else are they to get
+what they want? But now with the exalted opinion of a man, had come
+exalted ideas as to the woman fit for his wife.</p>
+
+<p>Since to go to him she must be stained and marked forever, she would
+remain away from him. Never should any circumstance connected with him
+be made small or contemptible by any act of hers. I read the motive,
+and, reading it, read her.</p>
+
+<p>Von Francius was, equally with herself, distinctly and emphatically a
+child of the world&mdash;as she honored him he honored her. He proved his
+strength and the innate nobility of his nature by his stoic abstinence
+from evasion of or rebellion against the decree which had gone out
+against their love. He was a better man, a greater artist, a more
+sympathetic nature now than before. His passage through the furnace had
+cleansed him. He was a standing example to me that despite what our
+preachers and our poets, our philosophers and our novelists are
+incessantly dinning into our ears, there are yet men who can
+renounce&mdash;men to whom honor and purity are still the highest goddesses.</p>
+
+<p>I saw him, naturally, and often during these days&mdash;so dark for all of
+us. He spoke to me of his prospects in his new post. He asked me if I
+would write to him occasionally, even if it should be only three or four
+times in the year.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Indeed I will, if you care to hear from me,&#8221; said I, much moved.</p>
+
+<p>This was at our last music lesson, in my dark little room at the
+Wehrhahn. Von Francius had made it indeed a lesson, more than a lesson,
+a remembrance to carry with me forever, for he had been playing
+Beethoven and Schubert to me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fr&auml;ulein May, everything concerning you and yours will ever be of the
+very deepest interest to me,&#8221; he said, looking earnestly at me. &#8220;Take a
+few words of advice and information from one who has never felt anything
+for you since he first met you but the truest friendship. You have in
+you the materials of a great artist; whether you have the Spartan
+courage and perseverance requisite to attain the position, I can hardly
+tell. If you choose to become an artist, <i>eine vollkommene K&uuml;nstlerin</i>,
+you must give everything else up&mdash;love and marriage and all that
+interferes with your art, for, <i>liebes Fr&auml;ulein</i>, you can not pursue two
+things at once.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then I have every chance of becoming as great an artist as possible,&#8221;
+said I; &#8220;for none of those things will ever interfere with my pursuit of
+art.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wait till the time of probation comes; you are but eighteen yet,&#8221; said
+he, kindly, but skeptically.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr von Francius&#8221;&mdash;the words started to my lips as the truth into my
+mind, and fell from them in the strong desire to speak to some one of
+the matter that then filled my whole soul&mdash;&#8220;I can tell you the
+truth&mdash;you will understand&mdash;the time of probation has been&mdash;it is
+over&mdash;past. I am free for the future.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So!&#8221; said he, in a very low voice, and his eyes were filled, less with
+pity than with a fellow-feeling which made them &#8220;wondrous kind.&#8221; &#8220;You
+too have suffered, and given up. There are then four people&mdash;you and I,
+and one whose name I will not speak, and&mdash;may I guess once, Fr&auml;ulein
+May?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I bowed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My first violinist, <i>nicht wahr?</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Again I assented silently. He went on:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fate is perverse about these things. And now, my fair pupil, you
+understand somewhat more that no true artist is possible without sorrow
+and suffering and renunciation. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>And you will think sometimes of your
+old, fault-finding, grumbling master&mdash;<i>ja</i>?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Herr von Francius!&#8221; cried I, laying my hand upon the key-board of
+the piano, and sobbing aloud. &#8220;The kindest, best, most patient,
+gentle&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I could say no more.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is mere nonsense, my dear May,&#8221; he said, passing his hand over my
+prostrate head; and I felt that it&mdash;the strong hand&mdash;trembled. &#8220;I want a
+promise from you. Will you sing for me next season?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If I am alive, and you send for me, I will.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thanks. And&mdash;one other word. Some one very dear to us both is very sad;
+she will become sadder. You, my child, have the power of allaying
+sadness, and soothing grief and bitterness in a remarkable degree. Will
+you expend some of that power upon her when her burden grows very hard,
+and think that with each word of kindness to her you bind my heart more
+fast to yourself?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will&mdash;indeed I will!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We will not say good-bye, but only <i>auf wiedersehen</i>!&#8221; said he. &#8220;You
+and I shall meet again. I am sure of that. <i>Meine liebe, gute
+Sch&uuml;lerin</i>, adieu!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Choked with tears, I passively let him raise my hand to his lips. I hid
+my face in my handkerchief to repress my fast-flowing tears. I would
+not, because I dared not, look at him. The sight of his kind and trusted
+face would give me too much pain.</p>
+
+<p>He loosed my hand. I heard steps; a door opened and closed. He was gone!
+My last lesson was over. My trusty friend had departed. He was to leave
+Elberthal on the following day.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>The next night there was an entertainment&mdash;half concert, half
+theatricals, wholly <i>dilettante</i>&mdash;at the Malkasten, the Artists&#8217; Club.
+We, as is the duty of a decorous English family, buried all our private
+griefs, and appeared at the entertainment, to which, indeed, Adelaide
+had received a special invitation. I was going to remain with Adelaide
+until Sir Peter&#8217;s return, which, we understood, was to be in the course
+of a few weeks, and then I was going to &mdash;&mdash;, by the advice of von
+Francius, there to finish my studies.</p>
+
+<p>Dearly though I loved music, divine as she ever has been, and will be,
+to me, yet the idea of leaving von Francius <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>for other masters had at
+first almost shaken my resolution to persevere. But, as I said, all this
+was taken out of my hands by an irresistible concourse of circumstances,
+over which I had simply no control whatever.</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide, Harry, and I went to the Malkasten. The gardens were gayly
+illuminated; there was a torch-light procession round the little
+artificial lake, and chorus singing&mdash;merry choruses, such as &#8220;Wenn Zwei
+sich gut sind, sie finden den Weg&#8221;&mdash;which were cheered and laughed at.
+The fantastically dressed artists and their friends were flitting, torch
+in hand, about the dark alleys under the twisted acacias and elms, the
+former of which made the air voluptuous with their scent. Then we
+adjourned to the saal for the concert, and heard on all sides regrets
+about the absence of von Francius.</p>
+
+<p>We sat out the first part of the festivities, which were to conclude
+with theatricals. During the pause we went into the garden. The May
+evening was balmy and beautiful; no moonlight, but many stars and the
+twinkling lights in the garden.</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide and I had seated ourselves on a circular bench surrounding a
+big tree, which had the mighty word <span class="smcap">Goethe</span> cut deeply into its rugged
+bark. When the others began to return to the Malkasten, Adelaide,
+turning to Arkwright, said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Harry, will you go in and leave my sister and me here, that&#8217;s a good
+boy? You can call for us when the play is over.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;All right, my lady,&#8221; assented he, amiably, and left us.</p>
+
+<p>Presently Adelaide and I moved to another seat, near to a small table
+under a thick shade of trees. The pleasant, cool evening air fanned our
+faces; all was still and peaceful. Not a soul but ourselves had remained
+out-of-doors. The still drama of the marching stars was less attractive
+than the amateur murdering of &#8220;Die Piccolomin&#8221; within. The tree-tops
+rustled softly over our heads. The lighted pond gleamed through the
+low-hanging boughs at the other end of the garden. A peal of laughter
+and a round of applause came wafted now and then from within. Ere long
+Adelaide&#8217;s hand stole into mine, which closed over it, and we sat
+silent.</p>
+
+<p>Then there came a voice. Some one&mdash;a complaisant <i>dilettantin</i>&mdash;was
+singing Thekla&#8217;s song. We heard the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>refrain&mdash;distance lent enchantment;
+it sounded what it really was, deep as eternity:</p>
+
+<p class="center">&#8220;Ich habe gelebt und geliebet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide moved uneasily; her hand started nervously, and a sigh broke
+from her lips.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Schiller wrote from his heart,&#8221; said she, in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed, yes, Adelaide.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you say good-bye to von Francius, May, yesterday?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;at least, we said <i>au revoir</i>. He wants me to sing for him next
+winter.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Was he very down?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;very. He&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A footstep close at hand. A figure passed in the uncertain light, dimly
+discerned us, paused, and glanced at us.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Max!&#8221; exclaimed Adelaide, in a low voice, full of surprise and emotion,
+and she half started up.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is you! That is too wonderful!&#8221; said he, pausing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are not yet gone?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have been detained to-day. I leave early to-morrow. I thought I would
+take at least one turn in the Malkasten garden, which I may perhaps
+never see or enter again. I did not know you were here.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We&mdash;May and I&mdash;thought it so pleasant that we would not go in again to
+listen to the play.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Von Francius had come under the trees and was now leaning against a
+massive trunk; his slight, tall figure almost lost against it; his arms
+folded, and an imposing calm upon his pale face, which was just caught
+by the gleam of a lamp outside the trees.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Since this accidental meeting has taken place, I may have the privilege
+of saying adieu to your ladyship.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;&#8221; said Adelaide, in a strange, low, much-moved tone.</p>
+
+<p>I felt uneasy, I was sorry this meeting had taken place. The shock and
+revulsion of feeling for Adelaide, after she had been securely
+calculating that von Francius was a hundred miles on his way to &mdash;&mdash;,
+was too severe. I could tell from the very <i>timbre</i> of her voice and its
+faint vibration how agitated she was, and as she seated herself again
+beside me, I felt that she trembled like a reed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is more happiness than I expected,&#8221; went on von <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>Francius, and his
+voice too was agitated. Oh, if he would only say &#8220;Farewell,&#8221; and go!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Happiness!&#8221; echoed Adelaide, in a tone whose wretchedness was too deep
+for tears.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah! You correct me. Still it is a happiness; there are some kinds of
+joy which one can not distinguish from griefs, my lady, until one comes
+to think that one might have been without them, and then one knows their
+real nature.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She clasped her hands. I saw her bosom rise and fall with long, stormy
+breaths.</p>
+
+<p>I trembled for both; for Adelaide, whose emotion and anguish were, I
+saw, mastering her; for von Francius, because if Adelaide failed he must
+find it almost impossible to repulse her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr von Francius,&#8221; said I, in a quick, low voice, making one step
+toward him, and laying my hand upon his arm, &#8220;leave us! If you do love
+us,&#8221; I added, in a whisper, &#8220;leave us! Adelaide, say good-bye to
+him&mdash;let him go!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are right,&#8221; said von Francius to me, before Adelaide had time to
+speak; &#8220;you are quite right.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A pause. He stepped up to Adelaide. I dared not interfere. Their eyes
+met, and his will not to yield produced the same in her, in the shape of
+a passive, voiceless acquiescence in his proceedings. He took her hands,
+saying:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My lady, adieu! Heaven send you peace, or death, which brings it,
+or&mdash;whatever is best.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Loosing her hands he turned to me, saying distinctly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;As you are a woman, and her sister, do not forsake her now.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then he was gone. She raised her arms and half fell against the trunk of
+the giant acacia beneath which we had been sitting, face forward, as if
+drunk with misery.</p>
+
+<p>Von Francius, strong and generous, whose very submission seemed to brace
+one to meet trouble with a calmer, firmer front, was gone. I raised my
+eyes, and did not even feel startled, only darkly certain that
+Adelaide&#8217;s evil star was high in the heaven of her fate, when I saw,
+calmly regarding us, Sir Peter Le Marchant.</p>
+
+<p>In another moment he stood beside his wife, smiling, and touched her
+shoulder; with a low cry she raised her face, shrinking away from him.
+She did not seem surprised <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>either, and I do not think people often are
+surprised at the presence, however sudden and unexpected, of their evil
+genius. It is good luck which surprises the average human being.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You give me a cold welcome, my lady,&#8221; he remarked. &#8220;You are so
+overjoyed to see me, I suppose. Your carriage is waiting outside. I came
+in it, and Arkwright told me I should find you here. Suppose you come
+home. We shall be less disturbed there than in these public gardens.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Tone and words all convinced me that he had heard most of what had
+passed, and would oppress her with it hereafter.</p>
+
+<p>The late scene had apparently stunned her. After the first recoil she
+said, scarcely audibly, &#8220;I am ready,&#8221; and moved. He offered her his arm;
+she took it, turning to me and saying, &#8220;Come, May!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Excuse me,&#8221; observed Sir Peter, &#8220;you are better alone. I am sorry I can
+not second your invitation to my charming sister-in-law. I do not think
+you fit for any society&mdash;even hers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can not leave my sister, Sir Peter; she is not fit to be left,&#8221; I
+found voice to say.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She is not &#8216;left,&#8217; as you say, my dear. She has her husband. She has
+me,&#8221; said he.</p>
+
+<p>Some few further words passed. I do not chronicle them. Sir Peter was as
+firm as a rock&mdash;that I was helpless before him is a matter of course. I
+saw my sister handed into her carriage; I saw Sir Peter follow her&mdash;the
+carriage drive away. I was left alone, half mad with terror at the idea
+of her state, to go home to my lodgings.</p>
+
+<p>Sir Peter had heard the words of von Francius to me; &#8220;do not forsake her
+now,&#8221; and had given himself the satisfaction of setting them aside as if
+they had been so much waste paper. Von Francius was, as I well knew,
+trying to derive comfort in this very moment from the fact that I at
+least was with her; I who loved them both, and would have laid down my
+life for them. Well, let him have the comfort! In the midst of my sorrow
+I rejoiced that he did not know the worst, and would not be likely to
+imagine for himself a terror grimmer than any feeling I had yet known.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox3 bbox"><p>&#8220;Some say, &#8216;A queen discrowned,&#8217; and some call it &#8216;Woman&#8217;s shame.&#8217;
+Others name it &#8216;A false step,&#8217; or &#8216;Social suicide,&#8217; just as it
+happens to strike their minds, or such understanding as they may be
+blessed with. In these days one rarely hears seriously mentioned
+such unruly words as &#8216;Love,&#8217; or &#8216;Wretchedness,&#8217; or &#8216;Despair,&#8217; which
+may nevertheless be important factors in bringing about that result
+which stands out to the light of day for public inspection.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>The three days which I passed alone and in suspense were very terrible
+ones to me. I felt myself physically as well as mentally ill, and it was
+in vain that I tried to learn anything of or from Adelaide, and I waited
+in a kind of breathless eagerness for the end of it all, for I knew as
+well as if some one had shouted it aloud from the house-tops that that
+farewell in the Malkasten garden was not the end.</p>
+
+<p>Early one morning, when the birds were singing and the sunshine
+streaming into the room, Frau Lutzler came into the room and put a
+letter into my hand, which she said a messenger had left. I took it, and
+paused a moment before I opened it. I was unwilling to face what I knew
+was coming&mdash;and yet, how otherwise could the whole story have ended?</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;<span class="smcap">Dear May</span>,&mdash;You, like me, have been suffering during these three
+days. I have been trying&mdash;yes, I have tried to believe I could bear
+this life, but it is too horrible. Isn&#8217;t it possible that sometimes
+it may be right to do wrong? It is of no use telling you what has
+passed, but it is enough. I believe I am only putting the crowning
+point to my husband&#8217;s revenge when I leave him. He will be glad&mdash;he
+does not mind the disgrace for himself; and he can get another
+wife, as good as I, when he wants one. When you read this, or not
+long afterward, I shall be with Max von Francius. I wrote to him&mdash;I
+asked him to save me, and he said, &#8216;Come!&#8217; It is not because I want
+to go, but I must go somewhere. I have made a great mess of my
+life. I believe everybody does make a mess of it who tries to
+arrange things for himself. Remember that, May.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wonder if we shall ever meet again. Not likely, when you are
+married to some respectable, conventional <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>man, who will shield you
+from contamination with such as I. I must not write more or I shall
+write nonsense. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye! What will be the end
+of me? Think of me sometimes, and try not to think too hardly.
+Listen to your heart&mdash;not to what people say. Good-bye again!</p></div>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 19em;">&#8220;<span class="smcap">Adelaide</span>.&#8221;</span></p>
+
+<p>I received this stroke without groan or cry, tear or shiver. It struck
+home to me. The heavens were riven asunder&mdash;a flash came from them,
+descended upon my head, and left me desolate. I stood, I know not how
+long, stock-still in the place where I had read that letter. In novels I
+had read of such things; they had had little meaning for me. In real
+life I had only heard them mentioned dimly and distantly, and here I was
+face to face with the awful thing, and so far from being able to deal
+out hearty, untempered condemnation, I found that the words of
+Adelaide&#8217;s letter came to me like throes of a real heart. Bald, dry,
+disjointed sentences on the outside; without feeling they might seem,
+but to me they were the breathless exclamations of a soul in supreme
+torture and peril. My sister! with what a passion of love my heart went
+out to her. Think of you, Adelaide, and think of you not too hardly? Oh,
+why did not you trust me more?</p>
+
+<p>I saw her as she wrote these words: &#8220;I have made a great mess of it.&#8221; To
+make a mess of one&#8217;s life&mdash;one mistake after another, till what might
+have been at least honest, pure, and of good report, becomes a stained,
+limp, unsightly thing, at which men feel that they may gaze openly, and
+from which women turn away in scorn unutterable; and that Adelaide, my
+proudest of proud sisters, had come to this!</p>
+
+<p>I was not thinking of what people would say. I was not wondering how it
+had come about; I was feeling Adelaide&#8217;s words ever more and more
+acutely, till they seemed to stand out from the paper and turn into
+cries of anguish in my very ears. I put my hands to my ears; I could not
+bear those notes of despair.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What will be the end of me?&#8221; she said, and I shook from head to foot as
+I repeated the question. If her will and that of von Francius ever came
+in contact. She had put herself at his mercy utterly; her whole future
+now depended <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>upon the good pleasure of a man&mdash;and men were selfish.</p>
+
+<p>With a faint cry of terror and foreboding, I felt everything whirl
+unsteadily around me; the letter fell from my hand; the icy band that
+had held me fast gave way. All things faded before me, and I scarcely
+knew that I was sinking upon the floor. I thought I was dying; then
+thought faded with the consciousness that brings it.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+<p>&#8220;Allein, allein! und so soll ich genesen?<br />
+Allein, allein! und das des Schicksals Segen!<br />
+Allein, allein! O Gott, ein einzig Wesen,<br />
+Um dieses Haupt an seine Brust zu legen!&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>I had a sharp, if not a long attack of illness, which left me weak,
+shaken, passive, so that I felt neither ability nor wish to resist those
+who took me into their hands. I remember being surprised at the goodness
+of every one toward me; astonished at Frau Lutzler&#8217;s gentle kindness,
+amazed at the unfailing goodness of Dr. Mittendorf and his wife, at that
+of the medical man who attended me in my illness. Yes, the world seemed
+full of kindness, full of kind people who were anxious to keep me in it,
+and who managed, in spite of my effort to leave it, to retain me.</p>
+
+<p>Dr. Mittendorf, the oculist, had been my guardian angel. It was he who
+wrote to my friends and told them of my illness; it was he who went to
+meet Stella and Miss Hallam&#8217;s Merrick, who came over to nurse me&mdash;and
+take me home. The fiat had gone forth. I was to go home. I made no
+resistance, but my very heart shrunk away in fear and terror from the
+parting, till one day something happened which reconciled me to going
+home, or rather made me evenly and equally indifferent whether I went
+home, or stayed abroad, or lived, or died, or, in short, what became of
+me.</p>
+
+<p>I sat one afternoon for the first time in an arm-chair opposite the
+window. It was June, and the sun streamed warmly and richly in. The room
+was scented with a bunch of wall-flowers and another of mignonette,
+which Stella had brought in that morning from the market. Stella was
+very kind to me, but in a superior, patronizing way. I had always felt
+deferentially backward before the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>superior abilities of both my
+sisters, but Stella quite over-awed me by her decided opinions and calm
+way of setting me right upon all possible matters.</p>
+
+<p>This afternoon she had gone out with Merrick to enjoy a little fresh
+air. I was left quite alone, with my hands in my lap, feeling very weak,
+and looking wistfully toward the well-remembered windows on the other
+side of the street.</p>
+
+<p>They were wide open; I could see inside the room. No one was
+there&mdash;Friedhelm and Eugen had gone out, no doubt.</p>
+
+<p>The door of my room opened, and Frau Lutzler came in. She looked
+cautiously around, and then, having ascertained that I was not asleep,
+asked in a nerve-disturbing whisper if I had everything that I wanted.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Everything, thank you, Frau Lutzler,&#8221; said I. &#8220;But come in! I want to
+speak to you. I am afraid I have given you no end of trouble.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ach, ich bitte sie, Fr&auml;ulein!</i> Don&#8217;t mention the trouble. We have
+managed to keep you alive.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>How they all did rejoice in having won a victory over that gray-winged
+angel, Death! I thought to myself, with a curious sensation of wonder.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are very kind,&#8221; I said, &#8220;and I want you to tell me something, Frau
+Lutzler: how long have I been ill?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fourteen days, Fr&auml;ulein; little as you may think it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed! I have heard nothing about any one in that time. Who has been
+made musik-direktor in place of Herr von Francius?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Frau Lutzler folded her arms and composed herself to tell me a history.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ja, Fr&auml;ulein</i>, the post would have been offered to Herr Courvoisier,
+only, you see, he has turned out a good-for-nothing. But perhaps you
+heard about that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes! I know all about it,&#8221; said I, hastily, as I passed my
+handkerchief over my mouth to hide the spasm of pain which contracted
+it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Of course, considering all that, the Direktion could not offer it to
+him, so they proposed it to Herr Helfen&mdash;you know Herr Helfen, Fr&auml;ulein,
+<i>nicht</i>?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I nodded.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A good young man! a worthy young man, and so popular with his
+companions! <i>Aber denken sie nur!</i> <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>The authorities might have been
+offering him an insult instead of a good post. He refused it then and
+there; would not stop to consider about it&mdash;in fact, he was quite angry
+about it. The gentleman who was chosen at last was a stranger, from
+Hanover.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr Helfen refused it&mdash;why, do you know?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They say, because he was so fond of Herr Courvoisier, and would not be
+set above him. It may be so. I know for a certainty that, so far from
+taking part against Herr Courvoisier, he would not even believe the
+story against him, though he could not deny it, and did not try to deny
+it. <i>Aber</i>, Fr&auml;ulein&mdash;what hearts men must have! To have lived three
+years, and let the world think him an honest man, when all the time he
+had that on his conscience! <i>Schrecklich!</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Adelaide and Courvoisier, it seemed, might almost be pelted with the
+same stones.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;His wife, they say, died of grief at the disgrace&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said I, wincing. I could not bear this any longer, nor to discuss
+Courvoisier with Frau Lutzler, and the words &#8220;his wife,&#8221; uttered in that
+speculatively gossiping tone, repelled me. She turned the subject to
+Helfen again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr Helfen must indeed have loved his friend, for when Herr
+Courvoisier went away he went with him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr Courvoisier is gone?&#8221; I inquired, in a voice so like my usual one
+that I was surprised.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, certainly he is gone. I don&#8217;t know where, I am sure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps they will return?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Frau Lutzler shook her head, and smiled slightly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Nee</i>, Fr&auml;ulein! Their places were filled immediately. They are
+gone&mdash;<i>ganz und gar</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I tried to listen to her, tried to answer her as she went on giving her
+opinions upon men and things, but the effort collapsed suddenly. I had
+at last to turn my head away and close my eyes, and in that weary, weary
+moment I prayed to God that He would let me die, and wondered again, and
+was almost angry with those who had nursed me, for having done their
+work so well. &#8220;We have managed to save you,&#8221; Frau Lutzler had said. Save
+me from what, and for what?</p>
+
+<p>I knew the truth, as I sat there; it was quite too strong <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>and too clear
+to be laid aside, or looked upon with doubtful eyes. I was fronted by a
+fact, humiliating or not&mdash;a fact which I could not deny.</p>
+
+<p>It was bad enough to have fallen in love with a man who had never showed
+me by word or sign that he cared for me, but exactly and pointedly the
+reverse; but now it seemed the man himself was bad too. Surely a
+well-regulated mind would have turned away from him&mdash;uninfluenced.</p>
+
+<p>If so, then mine was an ill-regulated mind. I had loved him from the
+bottom of my heart; the world without him felt cold, empty and
+bare&mdash;desolate to live in, and shorn of its sweetest pleasures. He had
+influenced me, he influenced me yet&mdash;I still felt the words true:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">&#8220;The <i>greater</i> soul that draweth thee<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Hath left his shadow plain to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">On thy fair face, Persephone!&#8221;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>He had bewitched me; I did feel capable of &#8220;making a fool of myself&#8221; for
+his sake. I did feel that life by the side of any other man would be
+miserable, though never so richly set; and that life by his side would
+be full and complete though never so poor and sparing in its
+circumstances. I make no excuses, no apologies for this state of things.
+It simply was so.</p>
+
+<p>Gone! And Friedhelm with him! I should probably never see either of them
+again. &#8220;I have made a mess of my life,&#8221; Adelaide had said, and I felt
+that I might chant the same dirge. A fine ending to my boasted artistic
+career! I thought of how I had sat and chattered so aimlessly to
+Courvoisier in the cathedral at K&ouml;ln, and had little known how large and
+how deep a shadow his influence was to cast over my life.</p>
+
+<p>I still retained a habit of occasionally kneeling by my bedside and
+saying my prayers, and this night I felt the impulse to do so. I tried
+to thank God for my recovery. I said the Lord&#8217;s Prayer; it is a
+universal petition and thanksgiving; it did not too nearly touch my
+woes; it allowed itself to be said, but when I came to something nearer,
+tried to say a thanksgiving for blessings and friends who yet remained,
+my heart refused, my tongue cleaved to my mouth. Alas! I was not
+regenerate. I could not thank God for what had happened. I found myself
+thinking <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span>of &#8220;the pity on&#8217;t,&#8221; and crying most bitterly till tears
+streamed through my folded fingers, and whispering, &#8220;Oh, if I could only
+have died while I was so ill! no one would have missed me, and it would
+have been so much better for me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>In the beginning of July, Stella, Merrick, and I returned to England, to
+Skernford, home. I parted in silent tears from my trusted friends, the
+Mittendorfs, who begged me to come and stay with them at some future
+day. The anguish of leaving Elberthal did not make itself fully felt at
+first&mdash;that remained to torment me at a future day. And soon after our
+return came printed in large type in all the newspapers, &#8220;Declaration of
+War between France and Germany.&#8221; Mine was among the hearts which panted
+and beat with sickening terror in England while the dogs of war were
+fastened in deadly grip abroad.</p>
+
+<p>My time at home was spent more with Miss Hallam than in my own home. I
+found her looking much older, much feebler, and much more subdued than
+when she had been in Germany. She seemed to find some comfort from my
+society, and I was glad to devote myself to her. But for her I should
+never have known all those pains and pleasures which, bitter though
+their remembrance might be, were, and ever would be to me, the dearest
+thing of my life.</p>
+
+<p>Miss Hallam seemed to know this; she once asked me: &#8220;Would I return to
+Germany if I could?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said I, &#8220;I would.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>To say that I found life dull, even in Skernford, at that time would be
+untrue. Miss Hallam was a furious partisan of the French, and I dared
+not mention the war to her, but I took in the &#8220;Daily News&#8221; from my
+private funds, and read it in my bedroom every night with dimmed eyes,
+fast-coming breath, and beating heart. I knew&mdash;knew well, that Eugen
+must be fighting&mdash;unless he were dead. And I knew, too, by some
+intuition founded, I suppose, on many small negative evidences unheeded
+at the time, that he would fight, not like the other men who were
+battling for the sake of hearth and home, and sheer love and pride for
+the Fatherland, but as one who has no home and no Fatherland, as one who
+seeks a grave, not as one who combats a wrong.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p><p>Stella saw the pile of newspapers in my room, and asked me how I could
+read those dreary accounts of battles and bombardments. Beyond these
+poor newspapers I had, during the sixteen months that I was at home, but
+scant tidings from without. I had implored Clara Steinmann to write me
+now and then, and tell me the news of Elberthal, but her penmanship was
+of the most modest and retiring description, and she was, too, so
+desperately excited about Karl as to be able to think scarce of anything
+else. Karl belonged to a Landwehr regiment which had not yet been called
+out, but to which that frightful contingency might happen any day; and
+what should she, Clara, do in that case? She told me no news; she
+lamented over the possibility of Karl&#8217;s being summoned upon active
+service. It was, she said, <i>grausam, schrecklich</i>! It made her almost
+faint to write about it, and yet she did compose four whole pages in
+that condition. The barrack, she informed me, was turned into a
+hospital, and she and &#8220;Tante&#8221; both worked hard. There was much
+work&mdash;dreadful work to do&mdash;such poor groaning fellows to nurse!
+&#8220;<i>Herrgott!</i>&#8221; cried poor little Clara, &#8220;I did not know that the world
+was such a dreadful place!&#8221; Everything was so dear, so frightfully dear,
+and Karl&mdash;that was the burden of her song&mdash;might have to go into battle
+any day.</p>
+
+<p>Also through the public papers I learned that Adelaide and Sir Peter Le
+Marchant were divided forever. As to what happened afterward I was for
+some time in uncertainty, longing most intensely to know, not daring to
+speak of it. Adelaide&#8217;s name was the signal for a cold stare from
+Stella, and angry, indignant expostulation from Miss Hallam. To me it
+was a sorrowful spell which I carried in my heart of hearts.</p>
+
+<p>One day I saw in a German musical periodical which I took in, this
+announcement: &#8220;Herr Musik-direktor Max von Francius in &mdash;&mdash; has lately
+published a new symphony in B minor. The productions of this gifted
+composer are slowly but most surely making the mark which they deserve
+to leave in the musical history of our nation; he has, we believe, left
+&mdash;&mdash; for &mdash;&mdash; for a few weeks to join his lady (<i>seine Gemahlin</i>), who
+is one of the most active and valuable hospitable nurses of that town,
+now, alas! little else than a hospital.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This paragraph set my heart beating wildly. Adelaide <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>was then the wife
+of von Francius. My heart yearned from my solitude toward them both. Why
+did not they write? They knew how I loved them. Adelaide could not
+suppose that I looked upon her deed with the eyes of the world at
+large&mdash;with the eyes of Stella or Miss Hallam. Had I not grieved with
+her? Had I not seen the dreadful struggle? Had I not proved the nobility
+of von Francius? On an impulse I seized pen and paper, and wrote to
+Adelaide, addressing my letter under cover to her husband at the town in
+which he was musik-direktor; to him I also wrote&mdash;only a few words&mdash;&#8220;Is
+your pupil forgotten by her master? he has never been forgotten by her.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>At last the answer came. On the part of Adelaide it was short:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;<span class="smcap">Dear May</span>,&mdash;I have had no time till now to answer your letter. I
+can not reply to all your questions. You ask whether I repent what
+I have done. I repent my whole life. If I am happy&mdash;how can I be
+happy? I am busy now, and have many calls upon my time. My husband
+is very good: he never interposes between me and my work. Shall I
+ever come to England again?&mdash;never.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">&#8220;Yours,<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 19em;">&#8220;A. <span class="smcap">von</span> F.&#8221;</span></p>
+
+<p>No request to write again! No inquiry after friends or relations! This
+letter showed me that whatever I might feel to her&mdash;however my heart
+might beat and long, how warm soever the love I bore her, yet that
+Adelaide was now apart from me&mdash;divided in every thought. It was a cruel
+letter, but in my pain I could not see that it had not been cruelly
+intended. Her nature had changed. But behind this pain lay comfort. On
+the back of the same sheet as that on which Adelaide&#8217;s curt epistle was
+written, were some lines in the hand I knew well.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;<span class="smcap">Liebe Mai</span>&#8221;&mdash;they said&mdash;&#8220;Forgive your master, who can never forget
+you, nor ever cease to love you. You suffer. I know it; I read it
+in those short, constrained lines, so unlike your spontaneous words
+and frank smile. My dear child, remember the storms that are
+beating on every side&mdash;over our country, in on our hearts. Once I
+asked you to sing for me some time: you promised. When the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>war is
+over I shall remind you of your promise. At present, believe me,
+silence is best.</p></div>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">&#8220;Your old music-master,<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 19em;">&#8220;<span class="smcap">M. v. F.</span>&#8221;<br /></span></p>
+
+<p>Gall and honey, roses and thistles, a dagger at the heart and a caress
+upon the lips; such seemed to me the characters of the two letters on
+the same sheet which I held in my hand. Adelaide made my heart ache; von
+Francius made tears stream from my eyes. I reproached myself for having
+doubted him, but oh, I treasured the proof that he was true! It was the
+one tangible link between me, reality, and hard facts, and the misty yet
+beloved life I had quitted. My heart was full to overflowing; I must
+tell some one&mdash;I must speak to some one.</p>
+
+<p>Once again I tried to talk to Stella about Adelaide, but she gazed at me
+in that straight, strange way, and said coldly that she preferred not to
+speak of &#8220;that.&#8221; I could not speak to Miss Hallam about it. Alone in the
+broad meadows, beside the noiseless river, I sometimes whispered to
+myself that I was not forgotten, and tried to console myself with the
+feeling that what von Francius promised he did&mdash;I should touch his hand,
+hear his voice again&mdash;and Adelaide&#8217;s. For the rest, I had to lock the
+whole affair&mdash;my grief and my love, my longing and my anxiety, fast
+within my own breast, and did so.</p>
+
+<p>It was a long lesson&mdash;a hard one; it was conned with bitter tears, wept
+long and alone in the darkness; it was a sorrow which lay down and rose
+up with me. It taught (or rather practiced me until I became expert in
+them) certain things in which I had been deficient; reticence,
+self-reliance, a quicker ability to decide in emergencies. It certainly
+made me feel old and sad, and Miss Hallam often said that Stella and I
+were &#8220;as quiet as nuns.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Stella had the power which I so ardently coveted: she was a first-rate
+instrumentalist. The only topic she and I had in common was the music I
+had heard and taken part in. To anything concerning that she would
+listen for hours.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile the war rolled on, and Paris capitulated, and peace was
+declared. The spring passed and Germany laughed in glee, and bleeding
+France roused herself to look with a haggard eye around her; what she
+saw, we all <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>know&mdash;desolation, and mourning, and woe. And summer glided
+by, and autumn came, and I did not write either to Adelaide or von
+Francius. I had a firm faith in him&mdash;and absolute trust. I felt I was
+not forgotten.</p>
+
+<p>In less than a year after my return to England, Miss Hallam died. The
+day before her death she called me to her, and said words which moved me
+very much.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May, I am an eccentric old woman, and lest you should be in any doubt
+upon the subject of my feelings toward you, I wish to tell you that my
+life has been more satisfactory to me ever since I knew you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is much more praise than I deserve, Miss Hallam.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, it isn&#8217;t. I like both you and Stella. Three months ago I made a
+codicil to my will by which I endeavored to express that liking. It is
+nothing very brilliant, but I fancy it will suit the views of both of
+you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Utterly astounded, I stammered out some incoherent words.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There, don&#8217;t thank me,&#8221; said she. &#8220;If I were not sure that I shall die
+to-morrow&mdash;or thereabouts, I should put my plan into execution at once,
+but I shall not be alive at the end of the week.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Her words proved true. Grim, sardonic, and cynical to the last, she died
+quietly, gladly closing her eyes which had so long been sightless. She
+was sixty-five years old, and had lived alone since she was
+five-and-twenty.</p>
+
+<p>The codicil to her will, which she had spoken of with so much composure,
+left three hundred pounds to Stella and me. She wished a portion of it
+to be devoted to our instruction in music, vocal and instrumental, at
+any German conservatorium we might select. She preferred that of L&mdash;&mdash;.
+Until we were of age, our parents or guardians saw to the dispensing of
+the money, after that it was our own&mdash;half belonging to each of us; we
+might either unite our funds or use them separately as we choose.</p>
+
+<p>It need scarcely be said that we both chose that course which she
+indicated. Stella&#8217;s joy was deep and intense&mdash;mine had an unavoidable
+sorrow mingled with it. At the end of September, 18&mdash;, we departed for
+Germany, and before going to L&mdash;&mdash; it was agreed that we should pay a
+visit at Elberthal, to my friend Dr. Mittendorf.</p>
+
+<p>It was a gusty September night, with wind dashing angrily about and
+showers of rain flying before the gale, on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>which I once again set foot
+in Elberthal&mdash;the place I had thought never more to see.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox5 bbox">
+<p>&#8220;Freude trinken alle Wesen<br />
+An den Br&uuml;sten der Natur;<br />
+Alle Guten, alle B&ouml;sen<br />
+Folgen ihrer Rosenspur.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>I felt a deep rapture in being once more in that land where my love, if
+he did not live, slept. But I forbear to dwell on that rapture, much as
+it influenced me. It waxes tedious when put into words&mdash;loses color and
+flavor, like a pressed flower.</p>
+
+<p>I was at first bitterly disappointed to find that Stella and I were only
+to have a few days at Elberthal. Dr. Mittendorf no longer lived there;
+but only had his official residence in the town, going every week-end to
+his country house, or &#8220;Schloss,&#8221; as he ambitiously called it, at
+Lahnburg, a four-hours&#8217; railway journey from Elberthal.</p>
+
+<p>Frau Mittendorf, who had been at Elberthal on a visit, was to take
+Stella and me with her to Lahnburg on the Tuesday morning after our
+arrival, which was on Friday evening.</p>
+
+<p>The good doctor&#8217;s schloss, an erection built like the contrivances of
+the White Knight in &#8220;Through the Looking-glass,&#8221; on &#8220;a plan of his own
+invention,&#8221; had been his pet hobby for years, and now that it was
+finished, he invited every invitable person to come and stay at it.</p>
+
+<p>It was not likely that he would excuse a person for whom he had so much
+regard as he professed for me from the honor, and I was fain to conceal
+the fact that I would much rather have remained in Elberthal, and make
+up my mind to endure as well as I could the prospect of being buried in
+the country with Frau Mittendorf and her children.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>It was Sunday afternoon. An equinoctial gale was raging, or rather had
+been raging all day. It had rained incessantly, and the wind had howled.
+The skies were cloud-laden, the wind was furious. The Rhine was so
+swollen that the streets in the lower part of the town sloping to the
+river were under water, and the people going about in boats.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p><p>But I was tired of the house; the heated rooms stifled me. I was weary
+of Frau Mittendorf&#8217;s society, and thoroughly dissatisfied with my own.</p>
+
+<p>About five in the afternoon I went to the window and looked out. I
+perceived a strip of pale, watery blue through a rift in the storm-laden
+clouds, and I chose to see that, and that only, ignoring the wind-lashed
+trees of the allee; the leaves, wet, and sodden and sere, hurrying
+panic-stricken before the gale, ignoring, too, the low wail promising a
+coming hurricane, which sighed and soughed beneath the wind&#8217;s shrill
+scream.</p>
+
+<p>There was a temporary calm, and I bethought myself that I would go to
+church&mdash;not to the Protestant church attended by the English
+clique&mdash;heaven forbid! but to my favorite haunt, the Jesuiten Kirche.</p>
+
+<p>It was just the hour at which the service would be going on. I asked
+Stella in a low voice if she would not like to come; she declined with a
+look of pity at me, so, notifying my intention to Frau Mittendorf, and
+mildly but firmly leaving the room before she could utter any
+remonstrance, I rushed upstairs, clothed myself in my winter mantle,
+threw a shawl over my arm, and set out.</p>
+
+<p>The air was raw, but fresh, life-giving and invigorating. The smell of
+the stove, which clung to me still, was quickly dissipated by it. I
+wrapped my shawl around me, turned down a side street, and was soon in
+the heart of the old part of the town, where all Roman Catholic churches
+were, the quarter lying near the river and wharves and bridge of boats.</p>
+
+<p>I liked to go to the Jesuiten Kirche, and placing myself in the
+background, kneel as others knelt, and, without taking part in the
+service, think my own thoughts and pray my own prayers.</p>
+
+<p>Here none of the sheep looked wolfish at you unless you kept to a
+particular pen, for the privilege of sitting in which you paid so many
+marks <i>per quartal</i> to a respectable functionary who came to collect
+them. Here the men came and knelt down, cap in hand, and the women
+seemed really to be praying, and aware of what they were praying for,
+not looking over their prayer-books at each other&#8217;s clothes.</p>
+
+<p>I entered the church. Within the building it was already almost dark. A
+reddish light burned in a great glittering censer, which swung gently to
+and fro in the chancel.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p><p>There were many people in the church, kneeling in groups and rows, and
+all occupied with their prayers. I, too, knelt down, and presently as
+the rest sat up I sat up too. A sad-looking monk had ascended the
+pulpit, and was beginning to preach. His face was thin, hollow, and
+ascetic-looking; his eyes blazed bright from deep, sunken sockets. His
+cowl came almost up to his ears. I could dimly see the white cord round
+his waist as he began to preach, at first in a low and feeble voice,
+which gradually waxed into power.</p>
+
+<p>He was in earnest&mdash;whether right or wrong, he was in earnest. I listened
+with the others to what he said. He preached the beauties of
+renunciation, and during his discourse quoted the very words which had
+so often haunted me&mdash;<i>Entbehren sollst du! sollst entbehren!</i></p>
+
+<p>His earnestness moved me deeply. His voice was musical, sweet. His
+accent made the German burr soft; he was half Italian. I had been at the
+instrumental concert the previous night, for old association&#8217;s sake, and
+they had played the two movements of Schubert&#8217;s unfinished symphony&mdash;the
+B minor. The refrain in the last movement haunted me&mdash;a refrain of seven
+cadences, which rises softly and falls, dies away, is carried softly
+from one instrument to another, wanders afar, returns again, sinks lower
+and lower, deeper and deeper, till at last the &#8217;celli (if I mistake not)
+takes it up for the last time, and the melody dies a beautiful death,
+leaving you undecided whether to weep or smile, but penetrated through
+and through with its dreamy loveliness.</p>
+
+<p>This exquisite refrain lingered in my memory and echoed in my mind, like
+a voice from some heavenly height, telling me to rest and be at peace,
+in time to the swinging of the censer, in harmony with the musical
+southern voice of that unknown Brother Somebody.</p>
+
+<p>By degrees I began to think that the censer did not sway so regularly,
+so like a measured pendulum as it had done, but was moving somewhat
+erratically, and borne upon the gale came a low, ominous murmur, which
+first mingled itself with the voice of the preacher, and then threatened
+to dominate it. Still the refrain of the symphony rang in my ears, and I
+was soothed to rest by the inimitable nepenthe of music.</p>
+
+<p>But the murmur of which I had so long been, as it were, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>half-conscious,
+swelled and drove other sounds and the thoughts of them from my mind. It
+grew to a deep, hollow roar&mdash;a very hurricane of a roar. The preacher&#8217;s
+voice ceased, drowned.</p>
+
+<p>I think none of us were at first certain about what was happening; we
+only felt that something tremendous was going on. Then, with one mighty
+bang and blow of the tempest, the door by which I had entered the church
+was blown bodily in, and fell crashing upon the floor; and after the
+hurricane came rushing through the church with the howl of a triumphant
+demon, and hurried round the building, extinguishing every light, and
+turning a temple of God into Hades.</p>
+
+<p>Sounds there were as of things flapping from the walls, as of wood
+falling; but all was in the pitchiest darkness&mdash;a very &#8220;darkness which
+might be felt.&#8221; Amid the roar of the wind came disjointed, broken
+exclamations of terrified women and angry, impatient men. &#8220;<i>Ach Gott!</i>&#8221;
+&#8220;<i>Du meine Zeit!</i>&#8221; &#8220;<i>Herr du meine G&uuml;te!</i>&#8221; &#8220;<i>Oh je!</i>&#8221; etc., rang all
+round, and hurrying people rushed past me, making confusion worse
+confounded as they scrambled past to try to get out.</p>
+
+<p>I stood still, not from any bravery or presence of mind, but from utter
+annihilation of both qualities in the shock and surprise of it all. At
+last I began trying to grope my way toward the door. I found it. Some
+people&mdash;I heard and felt rather than saw&mdash;were standing about the
+battered-in door, and there was the sound of water hurrying past the
+door-way. The Rhine was rushing down the street.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We must go to the other door&mdash;the west door,&#8221; said some one among the
+people; and as the group moved I moved too, beginning to wish myself
+well out of it.</p>
+
+<p>We reached the west door; it led into a small lane or <i>gasse</i>, regarding
+the geography of which I was quite at sea, for I had only been in it
+once before. I stepped from the street into the lane, which was in the
+very blackness of darkness, and seemed to be filled with wind and a
+hurricane which one could almost distinguish and grasp.</p>
+
+<p>The roar of the wind and the surging of water were all around, and were
+deafening. I followed, as I thought, some voices which I heard, but
+scarcely knew where I was going, as the wind seemed to be blowing all
+ways at once, and there came to me an echo here and an echo there,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>misleading rather than guiding. In a few moments I felt my foot upon
+wood, and there was a loud creaking and rattling, as of chains, a
+groaning, splitting, and great uproar going on, as well as a motion as
+if I were on board a ship.</p>
+
+<p>After making a few steps I paused. It was utterly impossible that I
+could have got upon a boat&mdash;wildly impossible. I stood still, then went
+on a few steps. Still the same extraordinary sounds&mdash;still such a
+creaking and groaning&mdash;still the rush, rush, and swish, swish of water;
+but not a human voice any more, not a light to be seen, not a sign!</p>
+
+<p>With my hat long since stripped from my head and launched into darkness
+and space, my hair lashed about me in all directions, my petticoats
+twisted round me like ropes, I was utterly and completely bewildered by
+the thunder and roar of all around. I no longer knew which way I had
+come nor where to turn. I could not imagine where I was, and my only
+chance seemed to be to hold fast and firm to the railing against which
+the wind had unceremoniously banged me.</p>
+
+<p>The creaking grew louder&mdash;grew into a crash; there was a splitting of
+wood, a snapping of chains, a kind of whirl, and then I felt the wind
+blow upon me, first upon this side, then from that, and became conscious
+that the structure upon which I stood was moving&mdash;floating smoothly and
+rapidly upon water. In an instant (when it was too late) it all flashed
+upon my mind. I had wandered upon the Schiffbrucke, or bridge of boats
+which crossed the Rhine from the foot of the market-place, and this same
+bridge had been broken by the strength of the water and wind, and upon a
+portion of it I was now floating down the river.</p>
+
+<p>With my usual wisdom, and &#8220;the shrewd application of a wide experience
+so peculiar to yourself,&#8221; as some one has since insulted me by saying, I
+instantly gave myself up as lost. The bridge would run into some other
+bridge, or dash into a steamer, or do something horrible, and I should
+be killed, and none would know of my fate; or it would all break into
+little pieces, and I should have to cling to one of them, and should
+inevitably be drowned.</p>
+
+<p>In any case, my destruction was only a matter of time. How I loved my
+life then! How sweet, and warm, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>full, and fresh it seemed! How cold
+the river, and how undesirable a speedy release from the pomps and
+vanities of this wicked world!</p>
+
+<p>The wind was still howling horribly&mdash;chanting my funeral dirge. Like
+grim death, I held on to my railing, and longed, with a desperate
+longing, for one glimpse of light.</p>
+
+<p>I had believed myself alone upon my impromptu raft&mdash;or rather, it had
+not occurred to me that there might be another than myself upon it; but
+at this instant, in a momentary lull of the wind, almost by my side I
+heard a sound that I knew well, and had cause to remember&mdash;the tune of
+the wild march from &#8220;Lenore,&#8221; set to the same words, sung by the same
+voice as of yore.</p>
+
+<p>My heart stood still for a moment, then leaped on again. Then a faint,
+sickly kind of dread overcame me. I thought I was going out of my
+mind&mdash;was wandering in some delusion, which took the form of the dearest
+voice, and sounded with its sound in my ears.</p>
+
+<p>But no. The melody did not cease. As the beating of my heart settled
+somewhat down, I still heard it&mdash;not loud, but distinct. Then the tune
+ceased. The voice&mdash;ah! there was no mistaking that, and I trembled with
+the joy that thrilled me as I heard it&mdash;conned over the words as if
+struck with their weird appropriateness to the scene, which was
+certainly marked:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">&#8220;Und das Gesindel, husch, husch, husch<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Kam hinten nachgeprasselt&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Wie Wirbelwind am Haselbusch<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Durch d&uuml;rre Blatter rasselt.&#8221;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>And <i>wirbelwind</i>&mdash;the whirlwind&mdash;played a wild accompaniment to the
+words.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed to me that a long time passed, during which I could not speak,
+but could only stand with my hands clasped over my heart, trying to
+steady its tumultuous beating. I had not been wrong, thank the good God
+above! I had not been wrong when my heart sung for joy at being once
+more in this land. He was here&mdash;he was living&mdash;he was safe!</p>
+
+<p>Here were all my worst fears soothed&mdash;my intensest longings answered
+without my having spoken. It was now first that I really knew how much I
+loved him&mdash;so much that I felt almost afraid of the strength of the
+passion. I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>knew not till now how it had grown&mdash;how fast and
+all-denominating it had become.</p>
+
+<p>A sob broke from my lips, and his voice was silenced.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr Courvoisier!&#8221; I stammered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who spoke?&#8221; he asked in a clear voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is you!&#8221; I murmured.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May!&#8221; he uttered, and paused abruptly.</p>
+
+<p>A hand touched mine&mdash;warm, firm, strong&mdash;his very hand. In its lightest
+touch there seemed safety, shelter, comfort.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, how glad I am! how glad I am!&#8221; I sobbed.</p>
+
+<p>He murmured &#8220;Sonderbar!&#8221; as if arguing with himself, and I held his hand
+fast.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Don&#8217;t leave me! Stay here!&#8221; I implored.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I suppose there is not much choice about that for either of us,&#8221; said
+he, and he laughed.</p>
+
+<p>I did not remember to wonder how he came there; I only knew that he was
+there. That tempest, which will not soon be forgotten in Elberthal,
+subsided almost as rapidly as it had arisen. The winds lulled as if a
+wizard had bidden them be still. The gale hurried on to devastate fresh
+fields and pastures new. There was a sudden reaction of stillness, and I
+began to see in the darkness the outlines of a figure beside me. I
+looked up. There was no longer that hideous, driving black mist, like
+chaos embodied, between me and heaven. The sky, though dark, was clear;
+some stars were gleaming coldly down upon the havoc which had taken
+place since they last viewed the scene.</p>
+
+<p>Seeing the heavens so calm and serene, a sudden feeling of shyness and
+terror overtook me. I tried to withdraw my hand from that of my
+companion, and to remove myself a little from him. He held my hand fast.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are exhausted with standing?&#8221; said he. &#8220;Sit down upon this ledge.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you will too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, of course. I think our voyage will be a long one, and&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Speak German,&#8221; said I. &#8220;Let me hear you speaking it again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And I have no mind to stand all the time,&#8221; he concluded in his own
+tongue.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is there no one else here but ourselves?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No one.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p><p>I had seated myself and he placed himself beside me. I was in no
+laughing mood or I might have found something ludicrous in our
+situation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wonder where we are now,&#8221; I half whispered, as the bridge was still
+hurried ceaselessly down the dark and rushing river. I dared not allude
+to anything else. I felt my heart was too full&mdash;I felt too, too utterly
+uncertain of him. There was sadness in his voice. I, who knew its every
+cadence, could hear that.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think we are about passing Kaiserswerth,&#8221; said he. &#8220;I wonder where we
+shall land at last.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think we shall go very far?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps we may. It is on record that the Elberthal boat bridge&mdash;part of
+it, I mean&mdash;once turned up at Rotterdam. It may happen again, <i>warum
+nicht</i>?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How long does that take?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Twelve or fourteen hours, I dare say.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I was silent.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am sorry for you,&#8221; he said in the gentlest of voices, as he happed my
+shawl more closely around me. &#8220;And you are cold too&mdash;shivering. My coat
+must do duty again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, no!&#8221; cried I. &#8220;Keep it! I won&#8217;t have it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes you will, because you can&#8217;t help it if I make you,&#8221; he answered as
+he wrapped it round me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, please take part of it. At least wrap half of it round you,&#8221; I
+implored, &#8220;or I shall be miserable.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pray don&#8217;t. No, keep it! It is not like charity&mdash;it has not room for
+many sins at once.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you mean you or me?&#8221; I could not help asking.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are we not all sinners?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I knew it would be futile to resist, but I was not happy in the new
+arrangement, and I touched his coat-sleeve timidly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have quite a thin coat,&#8221; I remonstrated, &#8220;and I have a winter
+dress, a thick jacket, and a shawl.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And my coat, <i>und doch bist du</i>&mdash;oh, pardon! and you are shivering in
+spite of it,&#8221; said he, conclusively.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is an awful storm, is it not?&#8221; I suggested next.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Was an awful storm, <i>nicht wahr</i>? Yes. And how very strange that you
+and I, of all people, should have met here, of all places. How did you
+get here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I had been to church.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So! I had not.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;How did you come here?&#8221; I ventured to ask.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes&mdash;you may well ask; but first&mdash;you have been in England, have you
+not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, and am going back again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;I came here yesterday from Berlin. When the war was over&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, you were in the war?&#8221; I gasped.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Nat&uuml;rlich, mein Fr&auml;ulein.</i> Where else should I have been?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you fought?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Also <i>nat&uuml;rlich</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where did you fight? At Sedan?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At Sedan&mdash;yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, my God!&#8221; I whispered to myself. &#8220;And were you wounded?&#8221; I added
+aloud.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A mere trifle. Friedhelm and I had luck to march side by side. I
+learned to know in spirit and in letter the meaning of <i>Ich hatt</i>&#8217; <i>einen
+guten Cameraden</i>.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You were wounded!&#8221; I repeated, unheeding all that discursiveness.
+&#8220;Where? How? Were you in the hospital?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Oh, it is nothing. Since then I have been learning my true place
+in the world, for you see, unluckily, I was not killed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thank God! Thank God! How I have wondered! How I have thought&mdash;well,
+how did you come here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I coveted a place in one of those graves, and couldn&#8217;t have it,&#8221; he
+said, bitterly. &#8220;It was a little thing to be denied, but fallen men must
+do without much. I saw boys falling around me, whose mothers and sisters
+are mourning for them yet.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, don&#8217;t.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well&mdash;Friedel and I are working in Berlin. We shall not stay there
+long; we are wanderers now! There is no room for us. I have a short
+holiday, and I came to spend it at Elberthal. This evening I set out,
+intending to hear the opera&mdash;&#8216;Der Fliegende Holl&auml;nder&#8217;&mdash;very
+appropriate, wasn&#8217;t it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But the storm burst over the theater just as the performance was about
+to begin, and removed part of the roof, upon which one of the company
+came before the curtain and dismissed us with his blessing and the
+announcement <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>that no play would be played to-night. Thus I was deprived
+of the ungodly pleasure of watching my old companions wrestle with
+Wagner&#8217;s stormy music while I looked on like a gentleman.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But when you came out of the theater?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When I came out of the theater the storm was so magnificent, and was
+telling me so much that I resolved to come down to its center-point and
+see Vater Rhein in one of his grandest furies. I strayed upon the bridge
+of boats; forgot where I was, listened only to the storm: ere I knew
+what was happening I was adrift and the tempest howling round me&mdash;and
+you, fresh from your devotions to lull it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Are you going to stay long in Elberthal?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It seems I may not. I am driven away by storms and tempests.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And me with you,&#8221; thought I. &#8220;Perhaps there is some meaning in this.
+Perhaps fate means us to breast other storms together. If so, I am
+ready&mdash;anything&mdash;so it be with you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There&#8217;s the moon,&#8221; said he; &#8220;how brilliant, is she not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I looked up into the sky wherein she had indeed appeared &#8220;like a dying
+lady, lean and pale,&#8221; shining cold and drear, but very clearly upon the
+swollen waters, showing us dim outlines of half-submerged trees,
+cottages and hedges&mdash;showing us that we were in midstream, and that
+other pieces of wreck were floating down the river with us, hurrying
+rapidly with the current&mdash;showing me, too, in a ghostly whiteness, the
+face of my companion turned toward me, and his elbow rested on his knee
+and his chin in his hand, and his loose dark hair was blown back from
+his broad forehead, his strange, deep eyes were resting upon my face,
+calmly, openly.</p>
+
+<p>Under that gaze my heart fell. In former days there had been in his face
+something not unakin to this stormy free night; but now it was
+changed&mdash;how changed!</p>
+
+<p>A year had wrought a terrible alteration. I knew not his past; but I did
+know that he had long been struggling, and a dread fear seized me that
+the struggle was growing too hard for him&mdash;his spirit was breaking. It
+was not only that the shadows were broader, deeper, more permanently
+sealed&mdash;there was a down look&mdash;a hardness and bitterness which inspired
+me both with pity and fear.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Your fate is a perverse one,&#8221; he remarked, as I did not speak.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So! Why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It throws you so provokingly into society which must be so unpleasant
+to you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Whose society?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mine, naturally.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are much mistaken,&#8221; said I, composedly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is kind of you to say so. For your sake, I wish it had been any one
+but myself who had been thus thrown together with you. I promise you
+faithfully that as soon as ever we can land I will only wait to see you
+safely into a train and then I will leave you and&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was suddenly silenced. I had composed my face to an expression of
+indifference as stony as I knew how to assume, and with my hands folded
+in my lap, had steeled myself to look into his face and listen to him.</p>
+
+<p>I could find nothing but a kind of careless mockery in his face&mdash;a hard
+half smile upon his lips as he went on saying the hard things which cut
+home and left me quivering, and which he yet uttered as if they had been
+the most harmless pleasantries or the merest whipped-cream compliments.</p>
+
+<p>It was at this moment that the wind, rising again in a brief spasm, blew
+a tress of my loosened hair across his face. How it changed! flushed
+crimson. His lips parted&mdash;a strange, sudden light came into his eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I beg your pardon!&#8221; said I, hastily, started from my assumed composure,
+as I raised my hand to push my hair back. But he had gathered the tress
+together&mdash;his hand lingered for one moment&mdash;a scarcely perceptible
+moment&mdash;upon it, then he laid it gently down upon my shoulder.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then I will leave you,&#8221; he went on, resuming the old manner, but with
+evident effort, &#8220;and not interfere with you any more.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>What was I to think? What to believe? I thought to myself that had he
+been my lover and I had intercepted such a glance of his to another
+woman my peace of mind had been gone for evermore. But, on the other
+hand, every cool word he said gave the lie to his looks&mdash;or did his
+looks give the lie to his words? Oh, that I could solve the problem once
+for all, and have done with it forever!</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;And you, Miss Wedderburn&mdash;have you deserted Germany?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have been obliged to live in England, if that is what you mean&mdash;I am
+living in Germany at present.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And art&mdash;<i>die Kunst</i>&mdash;that is cruel!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are amusing yourself at my expense, as you have always delighted in
+doing,&#8221; said I, sharply, cut to the quick.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Aber, Fr&auml;ulein May!</i> What do you mean?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;From the very first,&#8221; I repeated, the pain I felt giving a keenness to
+my reproaches. &#8220;Did you not deceive me and draw me out for your
+amusement that day we met at K&ouml;ln? You found out then, I suppose, what a
+stupid, silly creature I was, and you have repeated the process now and
+then, since&mdash;much to your own edification and that of Herr Helfen, I do
+not doubt. Whether it was just, or honorable, or kind, is a secondary
+consideration. Stupid people are only invented for the amusement of
+those who are not stupid.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How dare you, how dare you talk in that manner?&#8221; said he, emphatically,
+laying his hand upon my shoulder, and somehow compelling my gaze to meet
+his. &#8220;But I know why&mdash;I read the answer in those eyes which dare
+everything, and yet&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not quite everything,&#8221; thought I, uncomfortably, as the said eyes sunk
+beneath his look.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fr&auml;ulein May, will you have the patience to listen while I tell you a
+little story?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes!&#8221; I responded, readily, as I hailed the prospect of learning
+something more about him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is now nearly five years since I first came to Elberthal. I had
+never been in the town before. I came with my boy&mdash;may God bless him and
+keep him!&mdash;who was then two years old, and whose mother was dead&mdash;for my
+wife died early.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A pause, during which I did not speak. It was something so wonderful to
+me that he should speak to me of his wife.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She was young&mdash;and very beautiful,&#8221; said he. &#8220;You will forgive my
+introducing the subject?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, Herr Courvoisier!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And I had wronged her. I came to Friedhelm Helfen, or rather was sent
+to him, and, as it happened, found such a friend as is not granted to
+one man in a thousand. When <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>I came here, I was smarting under various
+griefs; about the worst was that I had recklessly destroyed my own
+prospects. I had a good career&mdash;a fair future open to me. I had cut
+short that career, annihilated that future, or any future worth speaking
+of, by&mdash;well, something had happened which divided me utterly and
+uncompromisingly and forever from the friends, and the sphere, and the
+respect and affection of those who had been parents and brother and
+sister to me. Then I knew that their good opinion, their love, was my
+law and my highest desire. And it was not their fault&mdash;it was mine&mdash;my
+very own.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The more I look back upon it all, the more I see that I have myself to
+thank for it. But that reflection, as you may suppose, does not add to
+the delights of a man&#8217;s position when he is humbled to the dust as I was
+then. Biting the dust&mdash;you have that phrase in English. Well, I have
+been biting the dust&mdash;yes, eating it, living upon it, and deservedly so,
+for five years; but nothing ever can, nothing ever will, make it taste
+anything but dry, bitter, nauseating to the last degree.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Go on!&#8221; said I, breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How kind you are to listen to the dull tale! Well, I had my boy
+Sigmund, and there were times when the mere fact that he was mine made
+me forget everything else, and thank my fate for the simple fact that I
+lived and was his father. His father&mdash;he was a part of myself, he could
+divine my every thought. But at other times, generally indeed, I was
+sick of life&mdash;that life. Don&#8217;t suppose that I am one of those high-flown
+idiots who would make it out that no life is worth living: I knew and
+felt to my soul that the life from which I had locked myself out and
+then dropped the key as it were here in midstream, was a glorious life,
+worth living ten times over.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There was the sting of it. For three years I lived thus, and learned a
+great deal, learned what men in that position are&mdash;learned to respect,
+admire, and love some of them&mdash;learned to understand that man&mdash;<i>der
+Mensch</i>&mdash;is the same, and equally to be honored everywhere. I also tried
+to grow accustomed to the thought, which grew every day more certain to
+me, that I must live on so for the future&mdash;to plan my life, and shape
+out a certain kind of repentance for sins past. I decided that the only
+form my atonement could take was that of self-effacement&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;That is why you never would take the lead in anything.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Exactly. I am naturally fond of leading. I love beyond everything to
+lead those who I know like me, and like following me. When I was
+<i>haupt</i>&mdash;I mean, I knew that all that by-gone mischief had arisen from
+doing what I liked, so I dropped doing what I liked, and began to do
+what I disliked. By the time I had begun to get a little into training
+three years had passed&mdash;these things are not accomplished in a day, and
+the effects of twenty-seven years of selfishness are not killed soon. I
+was killing them, and becoming a machine in the process.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;One year the Lower Rhenish Musikfest was to be held at K&ouml;ln. Long
+before it came off the Cologne Orchestra had sent to us for contingents,
+and we had begun to attend some of the proben regularly once or twice a
+week.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;One day Friedhelm and I had been at a probe. The &#8216;Tower of Babel&#8217; and
+the &#8216;Lenore&#8217; Symphony were among the things we had practiced. Both of
+them, the &#8216;Lenore&#8217; particularly, had got into my head. I broke lose for
+one day from routine, from drudgery and harness. It was a mistake.
+Friedhelm went off, shrugging his dear old shoulders, and I at last
+turned up, mooning at the K&ouml;lner Bahnof. Well&mdash;you know the rest. Nay,
+do not turn so angrily away. Try to forgive a fallen man one little
+indiscretion. When I saw you I can not tell what feeling stole warm and
+invigorating into my heart; it was something quite new&mdash;something I had
+never felt before: it was so sweet that I could not part with it.
+Fr&auml;ulein May, I have lived that afternoon over again many and many a
+time. Have you ever given a thought to it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I have,&#8221; said I, dryly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My conduct after that rose half from pride&mdash;wounded pride, I mean, for
+when you cut me, it did cut me&mdash;I own it. Partly it arose from a
+worthier feeling&mdash;the feeling that I could not see very much of you or
+learn to know you at all well without falling very deeply in love with
+you. You hide your face&mdash;you are angry at that&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Stop. Did you never throughout all this give a thought to the
+possibility that I might fall in love with you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I did not look at him, but he said, after a pause:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I had the feeling that if I tried I could win your love. I never was
+such a presumptuous fool as to suppose that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>you would love me
+unasked&mdash;or even with much asking on my part&mdash;<i>bewahre!</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I was silent, still concealing my face. He went on:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Besides, I knew that you were an English lady. I asked myself what was
+the right thing to do, and I decided that though you would consider me
+an ill-mannered, churlish clown, I would refuse those gracious, charming
+advances which you in your charity made. Our paths in life were destined
+to be utterly apart and divided, and what could it matter to you&mdash;the
+behavior of an insignificant fiddler? You would forget him just when he
+deserved to be forgotten, that is&mdash;instantly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Time went on. You lived near us. Changes took place. Those who had a
+right to arbitrate for me, since I had by my own deed deprived myself of
+that right, wrote and demanded my son. I had shown myself incapable of
+managing my own affairs&mdash;was it likely that I could arrange his? And
+then he was better away from such a black sheep. It is true. The black
+sheep gave up the white lambling into the care of a legitimate shepherd,
+who carried it off to a correct and appropriate fold. Then life was
+empty indeed, for, strange though it may seem, even black sheep have
+feelings&mdash;ridiculously out of place they are too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, don&#8217;t speak so harshly!&#8221; said I, tremulously, laying my hand for an
+instant upon his.</p>
+
+<p>His face was turned toward me; his mien was severe, but serene; he spoke
+as of some far-past, distant dream.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then it was in looking round my darkened horizon for Sigmund, I found
+that it was not empty. You rose trembling upon it like a star of light,
+and how beautiful a star! But there! do not turn away. I will not shock
+you by expatiating upon it. Enough that I found what I had more than
+once suspected&mdash;that I loved you. Once or twice I nearly made a fool of
+myself; that Carnival Monday&mdash;do you remember? Luckily Friedel and Karl
+came in, but in my saner moments I worshiped you as a noble, distant
+good&mdash;part of the beautiful life which I had gambled with&mdash;and lost. Be
+easy! I never for one instant aspired to you&mdash;never thought of
+possessing you: I was not quite mad. I am only telling you this to
+explain, and&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And you renounced me?&#8221; said I in a low voice.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I renounced you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span></p><p>I removed my hand from my eyes, and looked at him. His eyes, dry and
+calm, rested upon my face. His countenance was pale; his mouth set with
+a grave, steady sweetness.</p>
+
+<p>Light rushed in upon my mind in a radiant flood&mdash;light and knowledge. I
+knew what was right; an unerring finger pointed it to me. I looked deep,
+deep into his sad eyes, read his innermost soul, and found it pure.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They say you have committed a crime,&#8221; said I.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And I have not denied, can not deny it,&#8221; he answered, as if waiting for
+something further.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You need not,&#8221; said I. &#8220;It is all one to me. I want to hear no more
+about that. I want to know if your heart is mine.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The wind wuthered wearily; the water rushed. Strange, inarticulate
+sounds of the night came fitfully across ear and sense, as he answered
+me:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yours and my honor&#8217;s. What then?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This,&#8221; I answered, stooping, sweeping the loose hair from that broad,
+sad forehead, and pressing my lips upon it. &#8220;This: accept the gift or
+reject it. As your heart is mine, so mine is yours&mdash;for ever and ever.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A momentary silence as I raised myself, trembling, and stood aside; and
+the water rushed, and the storm-birds on untiring wing beat the sky and
+croaked of the gale.</p>
+
+<p>Then he drew me to him, folded me to his breast without speaking, and
+gave me a long, tender, yearning kiss, with unspeakable love, little
+passion in it, fit seal of a love that was deeper and sadder than it was
+triumphant.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Let me have a few moments of this,&#8221; said he, &#8220;just a few moments, May.
+Let me believe that I may hold you to your noble, pitying words. Then I
+shall be my own master again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Ignoring this hint, I laid my hands upon his arm, and eying him
+steadily, went on:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But understand, the man I love must not be my servant. If you want to
+keep me you must be the master; I brook no feeble curb; no weak hand can
+hold me. You must rule, or I shall rebel; you must show the way, for I
+don&#8217;t know it. I don&#8217;t know whether you understand what you have
+undertaken.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My dear, you are excited. Your generosity carries <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>you away, and your
+divine, womanly pity and kindness. You speak without thinking. You will
+repent to-morrow.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is not kind nor worthy of you,&#8221; said I. &#8220;I have thought about it
+for sixteen months, and the end of my thought has always been the same:
+I love Eugen Courvoisier, and if he had loved me I should have been a
+happy woman, and if&mdash;though I thought it too good to be true, you
+know&mdash;if he ever should tell me so, nothing in this world shall make me
+spoil our two lives by cowardice; I will hold to him against the whole
+world.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is impossible, May,&#8221; he said, quietly, after a pause. &#8220;I wish you
+had never seen me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It is only impossible if you make it so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My sin found me out even here, in this quiet place, where I knew no
+one. It will find me out again. You&mdash;if ever you were married to
+me&mdash;would be pointed out as the wife of a man who had disgraced his
+honor in the blackest, foulest way. I must and will live it out alone.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You shall not live it out alone,&#8221; I said.</p>
+
+<p>The idea that I could not stand by him&mdash;the fact that he was not
+prosperous, not stainless before the world&mdash;that mine would be no
+ordinary flourishing, meaningless marriage, in which &#8220;for better, for
+worse&#8221; signifies nothing but better, no worse&mdash;all this poured strength
+on strength into my heart, and seemed to warm it and do it good.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I will tell you your duty,&#8221; said he. &#8220;Your duty is to go home and
+forget me. In due time some one else will find the loveliest and dearest
+being in the world&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eugen! Eugen!&#8221; I cried, stabbed to the quick. &#8220;How can you? You can not
+love me, or you could not coldly turn me over to some other man, some
+abstraction&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps if he were not an abstraction I might not be able to do it,&#8221; he
+said, suddenly clasping me to him with a jealous movement. &#8220;No; I am
+sure I should not be able to do it. Nevertheless, while he yet is an
+abstraction, and because of that, I say, leave me!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eugen, I do not love lightly!&#8221; I began, with forced calm. &#8220;I do not
+love twice. My love for you is not a mere fancy&mdash;I fought against it
+with all my strength; it mastered me in spite of myself&mdash;now I can not
+tear it away. If you send me away it will be barbarous; away to be
+alone, to England again, when I love you with my <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>whole soul. No one but
+a man&mdash;no one but you could have said such a thing. If you do,&#8221; I added,
+terror at the prospect overcoming me, &#8220;if you do I shall die&mdash;I shall
+die.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I could command myself no longer, but sobbed aloud.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will have to answer for it,&#8221; I repeated; &#8220;but you will not send me
+away.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What, in Heaven&#8217;s name, makes you love me so?&#8221; he asked, as if lost in
+wonder.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know. I can not imagine,&#8221; said I, with happy politeness. &#8220;It is
+no fault of mine.&#8221; I took his hand in mine. &#8220;Eugen, look at me.&#8221; His
+eyes met mine. They brightened as he looked at me. &#8220;That crime of which
+you were accused&mdash;you did not do it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Silence!</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Look at me and say that you did,&#8221; I continued.</p>
+
+<p>Silence still.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Friedhelm Helfen always said you had not done it. He was more loyal
+than I,&#8221; said I, contritely; &#8220;but,&#8221; I added, jealously, &#8220;he did not love
+you better than I, for I loved you all the same even though I almost
+believed you had done it. Well, that is an easy secret to keep, because
+it is to your credit.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is just what makes it hard. If it were true, one would be anxious
+rather than not to conceal it; but as it is not true, don&#8217;t you see?
+Whenever you see me suspected, it will be the impulse of your loyal,
+impetuous heart to silence the offender, and tell him he lies.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>In my haste I had not seen this aspect of the question. It was quite a
+new idea to me. Yes, I began to see in truer proportions the kind of
+suffering he had suffered, the kind of trials he had gone through, and
+my breath failed at the idea. When they pointed at him I must not say,
+&#8220;It is a lie; he is as honest as you.&#8221; It was a solemn prospect. It
+overpowered me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You quail before that?&#8221; said he, gently, after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; I realize it. I do not quail before it,&#8221; said I, firmly. &#8220;But,&#8221; I
+added, looking at him with a new element in my glance&mdash;that of awe&mdash;&#8220;do
+you mean that for five years you have effaced yourself thus, knowing all
+the while that you were not guilty?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;It was a matter of the clearest duty&mdash;and honor,&#8221; he replied, flushing
+and looking somewhat embarrassed.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Of duty!&#8221; I cried, strangely moved. &#8220;If you did not do it, who did? Why
+are you silent?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Our eyes met. I shall never forget that glance. It had the concentrated
+patience, love, and pride, and loyalty, of all the years of suffering
+past and&mdash;to come.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May, that is the test for you! That is what I shrink from exposing you
+to, what I know it is wrong to expose you to. I can not tell you. No one
+knows but I, and I shall never tell any one, not even you, if you become
+my other self and soul and thought. Now you know all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He was silent.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So that is the truth?&#8221; said I. &#8220;Thank you for telling it to me. I
+always thought you were a hero; now I am sure of it. Oh, Eugen! how I do
+love you for this! And you need not be afraid. I have been learning to
+keep secrets lately. I shall help, not hinder you. Eugen, we will live
+it down together.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>At last we understood each other. At last our hands clasped and our lips
+met upon the perfect union of feeling and purpose for all our future
+lives. All was clear between us, bright, calm; and I, at least, was
+supremely happy. How little my past looked now; how petty and
+insignificant all my former hopes and fears!</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>Dawn was breaking over the river. Wild and storm-beaten was the scene on
+which we looked. A huge waste of swollen waters around us, devastated
+villages, great piles of wreck on all sides; a watery sun casting pallid
+beams upon the swollen river. We were sailing Hollandward upon a
+fragment of the bridge, and in the distance were the spires and towers
+of a town gleaming in the sickly sun-rays. I stood up and gazed toward
+that town, and he stood by my side, his arm round my waist. My chief
+wish was that our sail could go on forever.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you know what is ringing in my ears and will not leave my mind?&#8221; I
+asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed, no! You are a riddle and a mystery to me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I hummed the splendid air from the Choral Symphony, the <i>motif</i> of the
+music to the choruses to &#8220;Joy&#8221; which follow.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah!&#8221; said he, taking up its deep, solemn gladness, &#8220;you are right,
+May&mdash;quite right. There is a joy, if it be &#8216;beyond the starry belt.&#8217;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;I wonder what that town is?&#8221; I said, after a pause.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am not sure, but I fancy it is Emmerich. I am sure I hope so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Whatever the town, we were floating straight toward it. I suddenly
+thought of my dream long ago, and told it to him, adding:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I think this must have been the floating wreck to which you and I
+seemed clinging; though I thought that all of the dream that was going
+to be fulfilled had already come to pass on that Carnival Monday
+afternoon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The boat had got into one of the twisting currents, and was being
+propelled directly toward the town.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen looked at me and laughed. I asked why.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What for a lark! as they say in your country.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are quite mistaken. I never heard such an expression. But what is
+such a lark?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We have no hats; we want something to eat; we must have tickets to get
+back to Elberthal, and I have just two thalers in my pocket&mdash;oh! and a
+two-pfennige piece. I left my little all behind me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Hurrah! At last you will be compelled to take back that three thalers
+ten.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>We both laughed at this <i>jeu d</i>&#8217;<i>esprit</i> as if it had been something
+exquisitely witty; and I forgot my disheveled condition in watching the
+sun rise over the broad river, in feeling our noiseless progression over
+it, and, above all, in the divine sense of oneness and harmony with him
+at my side&mdash;a feeling which I can hardly describe, utterly without the
+passionate fitfulness of the orthodox lover&#8217;s rapture, but as if for a
+long time I had been waiting for some quality to make me complete, and
+had quietly waked to find it there, and the world understandable&mdash;life&#8217;s
+riddle read.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen&#8217;s caresses were few, his words of endearment quiet; but I knew
+what they stood for; a love rooted in feelings deeper than those of
+sense, holier than mere earthly love&mdash;feelings which had taken root in
+adversity, had grown in darkness and &#8220;made a sunshine in a shady
+place&#8221;&mdash;feelings which in him had their full and noble growth and beauty
+of development, but which it seems to be the aim of the fashionable
+education of this period as much as possible to do away with&mdash;the
+feeling of chivalry, delicacy, reticence, manliness, modesty.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span></p><p>As we drew nearer the town, he said to me:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In a few hours we shall have to part, May, for a time. While we are
+here alone, and you are uninfluenced, let me ask you something. This
+love of yours for me&mdash;what will it carry you through?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Anything, now that I am sure of yours for me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In short, you are firmly decided to be my wife some time?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When you tell me you are ready for me,&#8221; said I, putting my hand in his.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And if I find it best to leave my Fatherland, and begin life quite
+anew?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thy God is my God, and thy people are my people, Eugen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;One other thing. How do you know that you can marry? Your friends&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am twenty years old. In a year I can do as I like,&#8221; said I,
+composedly. &#8220;Surely we can stand firm and faithful for a year?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He smiled, and it was a new smile&mdash;sweet, hopeful, if not merry.</p>
+
+<p>With this silent expression of determination and trust we settled the
+matter.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+<p>&#8220;What&#8217;s failure or success to me?<br />
+I have subdued my life to the one purpose.&#8221;<br /></p></div>
+
+<p>Eugen sent a telegram from Emmerich to Frau Mittendorf to reassure her
+as to my safety. At four in the afternoon we left that town, refreshed
+and rehatted, to reach Elberthal at six.</p>
+
+<p>I told Eugen that we were going away the next day to stay a short time
+at a place called Lahnburg.</p>
+
+<p>He started and looked at me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Lahnburg!&mdash;I&mdash;when you are there&mdash;<i>nein, das ist</i>&mdash;You are going to
+Lahnburg?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Why not?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You will know why I ask if you go to Schloss Rothenfels.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I say no more, dear May. I will leave you to form your own conclusions.
+I have seen that this fair head <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>could think wisely and well under
+trying circumstances enough. I am rather glad that you are going to
+Lahnburg.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The question is&mdash;will you still be at Elberthal when I return?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can not say. We had better exchange addresses. I am at Frau Schmidt&#8217;s
+again&mdash;my old quarters. I do not know when or how we shall meet again. I
+must see Friedhelm, and you&mdash;when you tell your friends, you will
+probably be separated at once and completely from me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, a year is not much out of our lives. How old are you, Eugen?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Thirty-two. And you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Twenty and two months; then you are twelve years older than I. You were
+a school-boy when I was born. What were you like?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A regular little brute, I should suppose, as they all are.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When we are married,&#8221; said I, &#8220;perhaps I may go on with my singing, and
+earn some more money by it. My voice will be worth something to me
+then.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I thought you had given up art.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps I shall see Adelaide,&#8221; I added; &#8220;or, rather, I will see her.&#8221; I
+looked at him rather inquiringly. To my relief he said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you not seen her since her marriage?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; have you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She was my angel nurse when I was lying in hospital at &mdash;&mdash;. Did you
+not know that she has the Iron Cross? And no one ever won it more
+nobly.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Adelaide&mdash;your nurse&mdash;the Iron Cross?&#8221; I ejaculated. &#8220;Then you have
+seen her?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Seen her shadow to bless it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you know where she is now?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;With her husband at &mdash;&mdash;. She told me that you were in England, and she
+gave me this.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He handed me a yellow, much-worn folded paper, which, on opening, I
+discovered to be my own letter to Adelaide, written during the war, and
+which had received so curt an answer.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I begged very hard for it,&#8221; said he, &#8220;and only got it with difficulty,
+but I represented that she might get more of them, whereas I&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p><p>He stopped, for two reasons. I was weeping as I returned it to him, and
+the train rolled into the Elberthal station.</p>
+
+<p>On my way to Dr. Mittendorf&#8217;s, I made up my mind what to do. I should
+not speak to Stella, nor to any one else of what had happened, but I
+should write very soon to my parents and tell them the truth. I hoped
+they would not refuse their consent, but I feared they would. I should
+certainly not attempt to disobey them while their authority legally
+bound me, but as soon as I was my own mistress, I should act upon my own
+judgment. I felt no fear of anything; the one fear of my life&mdash;the loss
+of Eugen&mdash;had been removed, and all others dwindled to nothing. My
+happiness, I am and was well aware, was quite set upon things below; if
+I lost Eugen I lost everything, for I, like him, and like all those who
+have been and are dearest to both of us, was a Child of the World.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox6 bbox"><p>&#8220;Oftmals hab&#8217; ich geirrt, und habe mich wiedergefunden,<br />
+Aber gl&uuml;cklicher nie.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>It was beginning to be dusk when we alighted the next day at Lahnburg, a
+small way-side station, where the doctor&#8217;s brand-new carriage met us,
+and after we had been bidden welcome, whirled us off to the doctor&#8217;s
+brand-new schloss, full of brand-new furniture. I skip it all, the
+renewed greetings, the hospitality, the noise. They were very kind. It
+was all right to me, and I enjoyed it immensely. I was in a state of
+mind in which I verily believe I should have enjoyed eating a plate of
+porridge for supper, or a dish of sauerkraut for dinner.</p>
+
+<p>The subject for complacency and contemplation in Frau Mittendorf&#8217;s life
+was her intimacy with the von Rothenfels family, whose great, dark old
+schloss, or rather, a portion of it, looking grimly over its woods, she
+pointed out to me from the windows of her salon. I looked somewhat
+curiously at it, chiefly because Eugen had mentioned it, and also
+because it was such a stern, imposing old pile. It was built of red
+stone, and stood upon red-stone foundations. Red were the rocks of this
+country, and hence its name, &#8220;Rothen-fels,&#8221; the red rocks. Woods, also
+dark, but now ablaze with the last fiery autumn tints, billowed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span>beneath
+it; on the other side, said Frau Mittendorf, was a great plateau covered
+with large trees, intersected by long, straight avenues. She would take
+us to look at it; the Gr&auml;fin von Rothenfels was a great friend of hers.</p>
+
+<p>She was entertaining us with stories to prove the great regard and
+respect of the countess for her (Frau Mittendorf) on the morning after
+our arrival, while I was longing to go out and stroll along some of
+those pleasant breezy upland roads, or explore the sleepy, quaint old
+town below.</p>
+
+<p>Upon her narrative came an interruption. A servant threw open the door
+very wide, announcing the Gr&auml;fin von Rothenfels. Frau Mittendorf rose in
+a tremulous hurry and flutter to greet her noble guest, and then
+introduced us to her.</p>
+
+<p>A tall, melancholy, meager-looking woman,&mdash;far past youth&mdash;on the very
+confines of middle age, with iron-gray hair banded across a stern,
+much-lined brow. Colorless features of a strong, large, not unhandsome
+type from which all liveliness and vivacity had long since fled. A stern
+mouth&mdash;steady, lusterless, severe eyes, a dignity&mdash;yes, even a majesty
+of mien which she did not attempt to soften into graciousness; black,
+trailing draperies; a haughty pride of movement.</p>
+
+<p>Such was the first impression made upon me by Hildegarde, Countess of
+Rothenfels&mdash;a forbidding, if grand figure&mdash;aristocrat in every line;
+utterly alien and apart, I thought, from me and every feeling of mine.</p>
+
+<p>But on looking again the human element was found in the deeply planted
+sadness which no reserve pride could conceal. Sad the eyes, sad the
+mouth; she was all sad together&mdash;and not without reason, as I afterward
+learned.</p>
+
+<p>She was a rigid Roman Catholic, and at sixteen had been married for <i>les
+convenances</i> to her cousin, Count Bruno von Rothenfels, a man a good
+deal older than herself, though not preposterously so, and whose ample
+possessions and old name gave social position of the highest kind. But
+he was a Protestant by education, a thinker by nature, a rationalist by
+conviction.</p>
+
+<p>That was one bitter grief. Another was her childlessness. She had been
+married twenty-four years; no child had sprung from the union. This was
+a continual grief which imbittered her whole existence.</p>
+
+<p>Since then I have seen a portrait of her at twenty&mdash;a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>splendid
+brunette, with high spirit and resolute will and noble beauty in every
+line. Ah, me! What wretches we become! Sadness and bitterness, proud
+aloofness and a yearning wistfulness were subtly mingled in the demeanor
+of Gr&auml;fin von Rothenfels.</p>
+
+<p>She bowed to us, as Frau Mittendorf introduced us. She did not bestow a
+second glance upon Stella; but bent a long look, a second, a third
+scrutinizing gaze upon me. I&mdash;I am not ashamed to own it&mdash;quivered
+somewhat under her searching glance. She impressed and fascinated me.</p>
+
+<p>She seated herself, and slightly apologizing to us for intruding
+domestic affairs, began to speak with Frau Mittendorf of some case of
+village distress in which they were both interested. Then she turned
+again to us, speaking in excellent English, and asked us whether we were
+staying there, after which she invited us to dine at her house the
+following day with Frau Mittendorf. After the invitation had been
+accepted with sufficient reverence by that lady, the countess rose as if
+to go, and turning again to me with still that pensive, half-wistful,
+half-mistrustful gaze, she said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have my carriage here. Would you like to come with me to see our
+woods and house? They are sometimes interesting to strangers.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, very much!&#8221; I said, eagerly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then come,&#8221; said she. &#8220;I will see that you are escorted back when you
+are tired. It is arranged that you remain until you feel <i>gen&eacute;, nicht
+wahr?</i>&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, thank you!&#8221; said I, again, hastening to make myself ready, and
+parenthetically hoping, as I ran upstairs, that Frau Mittendorf&#8217;s eyes
+might not start quite out of her head with pride at the honor conferred
+upon her house and visitors.</p>
+
+<p>Very soon I was seated beside the Gr&auml;fin in the dark-green clarence,
+with the grand coachman and the lady&#8217;s own j&auml;ger beside him, and we were
+driving along a white road with a wild kind of country spreading
+round&mdash;moorland stretches, and rich deep woods. Up and down, for the way
+was uneven, till we entered a kind of park, and to the right, high
+above, I saw the great red pile with its little pointed towers crowned
+with things like extinguishers ending in a lightning-rod, and which
+seemed to spring from all parts of the heavy mass of the main building.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p><p>That, then, was Schloss Rothenfels. It looked the very image of an
+aristocratic, ancient feste burg, grim and grand; it brooded over us
+like a frown, and dominated the landscape for miles around. I was deeply
+impressed; such a place had always been like a dream to me.</p>
+
+<p>There was something so imposingly conservative about it; it looked as if
+it had weathered so many storms; defying such paltry forces as wind and
+weather, and would through so many more, quite untouched by the roar of
+life and progress outside&mdash;a fit and firm keeping-place for old shields,
+for weapons honorably hacked and dinted, for tattered loyal flags&mdash;for
+art treasures and for proud beauties.</p>
+
+<p>As we gained the height, I perceived the huge scale on which the schloss
+was constructed. It was a little town in itself. I saw, too, that
+plateau on the other side, of which I had heard; later I explored it. It
+was a natural plain&mdash;a kind of table-land, and was laid out in what have
+always, since I was a child, impressed me more than any other kind of
+surroundings to a house&mdash;mile-long avenues of great trees, stretching
+perfectly straight, like lines of marching troops in every direction.</p>
+
+<p>Long, melancholy alleys and avenues, with huge, moss-grown stone figures
+and groups guarding the terraces or keeping fantastic watch over the
+stone tanks, on whose surfaces floated the lazy water-lilies. Great
+moss-grown gods and goddesses, and strange hybrid beasts, and fauns and
+satyrs, and all so silent and forlorn, with the lush grass and heavy
+fern growing rank and thick under the stately trees. To right they
+stretched and to left; and straightaway westward was one long, wide,
+vast, deserted avenue, at the end of which was an opening, and in the
+opening a huge stone myth or figure of a runner, who in the act of
+racing receives an arrow in his heart, and, with arms madly tossed in
+the air, staggers.</p>
+
+<p>Behind this terrible figure the sun used to set, flaming, or mild, or
+sullen, and the vast arms of it were outlined against the gorgeous sky,
+or in the half-dark it glimmered like a ghost and seemed to move. It had
+been there so long that none could remember the legend of it. It was a
+grim shape.</p>
+
+<p>Scattered here and there were quaint wildernesses and
+pleasaunces&mdash;clipped yews and oddly trained shrubs and flowers trying to
+make a diversion, but ever dominated by <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span>the huge woods, the straight
+avenues, the mathematical melancholy on an immense scale.</p>
+
+<p>The Frau Gr&auml;fin glanced at me once or twice as my head turned this way
+and that, and my eyes could not take in the strange scene quickly
+enough; but she said nothing, nor did her severe face relax into any
+smile.</p>
+
+<p>We stopped under a huge <i>porte-coch&egrave;re</i> in which more servants were
+standing about.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come with me,&#8221; said the lady to me. &#8220;First I will take you to my rooms,
+and then when you have rested a little you can do what you like.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Pleased at the prospect, I followed her; through a hall which without
+any joking was baronial; through a corridor into a room, through which
+she passed, observing to me:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This is the rittersaal, one of the oldest rooms in the house.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The rittersaal&mdash;a real, hereditary Hall of Knights where a sangerkrieg
+might have taken place&mdash;where Tannhauser and the others might have
+contended before Elizabeth. A polished parquet&mdash;a huge hearth on which
+burned a large bright wood fire, whose flames sparkled upon suits of
+mail in dozens&mdash;crossed swords and lances, over which hung tattered
+banners and bannerets. Shields and lances, portraits with each a pair of
+spurs beneath it&mdash;the men were all knights, of that line! dark and grave
+chiefly were these lords of the line of Sturm. In the center of the hall
+a great trophy of arms and armor, all of which had been used, and used
+to purpose; the only drapery, the banners over these lances and
+portraits. The room delighted me while it made me feel small&mdash;very
+small. The countess turned at a door at the other end and looked back
+upon me where I stood gasping in the door-way by which we had entered.
+She was one of the house; this had nothing overpowering for her, if it
+did give some of the pride to her mien.</p>
+
+<p>I hurried after her, apologizing for my tardiness; she waved the words
+back, and led me to a smaller room, which appeared to be her private
+sitting-room. Here she asked me to lay aside my things, adding that she
+hoped I should spend the day at the schloss.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you find it not too intolerably stupid,&#8221; she added. &#8220;It is a dull
+place.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span></p><p>I said that it seemed to me like something out of a fairy tale, and that
+I longed to see more of it if I might.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Assuredly you shall. There may be some few things which you may like to
+see. I forget that every one is not like myself&mdash;tired. Are you
+musical?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very!&#8221; said I, emphatically.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then you will be interested in the music-rooms here. How old are you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I told her. She bowed gravely. &#8220;You are young, and, I suppose, happy?&#8221;
+she remarked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, I am&mdash;very happy&mdash;perfectly,&#8221; said I, smiling, because I could not
+help it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;When I saw you I was so struck with that look,&#8221; said she. &#8220;I thought I
+had never seen any one look so radiantly, transcendently happy. I so
+seldom see it&mdash;and never feel it, and I wished to see more of you. I am
+very glad you are so happy&mdash;very glad. Now I will not keep you talking
+to me. I will send for Herr Nahrath, who shall be your guide.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She rang the bell. I was silent, although I longed to say that I could
+talk to her for a day without thinking of weariness, which indeed was
+true. She impressed and fascinated me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Send Herr Nahrath here,&#8221; she said, and presently there came into the
+room a young man in the garb of what is called in Germany a
+Kandidat&mdash;that is to say an embryo pastor, or parish priest. He bowed
+very deeply to the countess and did not speak or advance much beyond the
+door.</p>
+
+<p>Having introduced us, she desired him to act as cicerone to me until I
+was tired. He bowed, and I did not dispute the mandate, although I would
+rather have remained with her, and got to know something of the nature
+that lay behind those gray passionless features, than turn to the
+society of that smug-looking young gentleman who waited so respectfully,
+like a machine whose mainspring was awe.</p>
+
+<p>I accompanied him, nevertheless, and he showed me part of the schloss,
+and endeavored in the intervals of his tolerably arduous task of
+cicerone to make himself agreeable to me. It was a wonderful place
+indeed&mdash;this schloss. The deeper we penetrated into it, the more
+absorbed and interested did I become. Such piled-up, profusely scattered
+treasures of art it had never before fallen to my lot to behold. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>The
+abundance was prodigal; the judgment, cultivation, high perception of
+truth, rarity and beauty, seemed almost faultless. Gems of
+pictures&mdash;treasures of sculpture, bronze, china, carvings, glass, coins,
+curiosities which it would have taken a life-time properly to learn.
+Here I saw for the first time a private library on a large scale,
+collected by generation after generation of highly cultured men and
+women&mdash;a perfect thing of its kind, and one which impressed me mightily;
+but it was not there that I was destined to find the treasure which lay
+hidden for me in this enchanted palace. We strayed over an acre or so of
+passage and corridor till he paused before an arched door across which
+was hung a curtain, and over which was inscribed <i>Musik-kammern</i> (the
+music-rooms).</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If you wish to see the music, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>, I must leave you in the
+hands of Herr Brunken, who will tolerate no cicerone but himself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I wish to see it certainly,&#8221; said I, on fire with curiosity.</p>
+
+<p>He knocked and was bidden <i>herein!</i> but not going in, told some one
+inside that he recommended to his charge a young lady staying with the
+countess, and who was desirous of seeing the collection.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Pray, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>, come in!&#8221; said a voice. Herr Nahrath left me,
+and I, lifting the curtain and pushing open the half-closed door, found
+myself in an octagonal room, confronted by the quaintest figure I had
+ever seen. An old man whose long gray hair, long white beard, and long
+black robe made him look like a wizard or astrologer of some medi&aelig;val
+romance, was smiling at me and bidding me welcome to his domain. He was
+the librarian and general custodian of the musical treasures of Schloss
+Rothenfels, and his name was Brunken. He loved his place and his
+treasures with a jealous love, and would talk of favorite instruments as
+if they had been dear children, and of great composers as if they were
+gods.</p>
+
+<p>All around the room were large shelves filled with music&mdash;and over each
+division stood a name&mdash;such mighty names as Scarlatti, Bach, Handel,
+Beethoven, Schumann, Mozart, Haydn&mdash;all the giants, and apparently all
+the pygmies too, were there. It was a complete library of music, and
+though I have seen many since, I have never beheld any which in the
+least approached this in richness or completeness. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span>Rare old manuscript
+scores; priceless editions of half-forgotten music; the literature of
+the productions of half-forgotten composers; Eastern music, Western
+music, and music of all ages; it was an idealized collection&mdash;a
+musician&#8217;s paradise, only less so than that to which he now led me, from
+amid the piled-up scores and the gleaming busts of those mighty men, who
+here at least were honored with never-failing reverence.</p>
+
+<p>He took me into a second room, or rather hall, of great size, height,
+and dimensions, a museum of musical instruments. It would take far too
+long to do it justice in description; indeed, on that first brief
+investigation I could only form a dim general idea of the richness of
+its treasures. What histories&mdash;what centuries of story were there piled
+up! Musical instruments of every imaginable form and shape, and in every
+stage of development. Odd-looking pre-historic bone embryo instruments
+from different parts of France. Strange old things from Nineveh, and
+India, and Peru, instruments from tombs and pyramids, and ancient ruined
+temples in tropic groves&mdash;things whose very nature and handling is a
+mystery and a dispute&mdash;tuned to strange scales which produce strange
+melodies, and carry us back into other worlds. On them, perhaps, has the
+swarthy Ninevan, or slight Hindoo, or some</p>
+
+<p class="center">&#8220;Dusky youth with painted plumage gay&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>performed as he apostrophized his mistress&#8217;s eyebrow. On that
+queer-looking thing which may be a fiddle or not&mdash;which may have had a
+bow or not&mdash;a slightly clad slave made music while his master the rayah
+played chess with his favorite wife. They are all dead and gone now, and
+their jewels are worn by others, and the memory of them has vanished
+from off the earth; and these, their musical instruments, repose in a
+quiet corner amid the rough hills and oak woods and under the cloudy
+skies of the land of music&mdash;Deutschland.</p>
+
+<p>Down through the changing scale, through the whole range of cymbal and
+spinet, &#8220;flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of
+music,&#8221; stand literally before me, and a strange revelation it is. Is it
+the same faculty which produces that grand piano of Bechstein&#8217;s, and
+that clarion organ of Silbermann&#8217;s, and that African drum dressed out
+with skulls, that war-trumpet hung with tiger&#8217;s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span>teeth? After this
+nothing is wonderful! Strange, unearthly looking Chinese frames of
+sonorous stones or modulated bells; huge drums, painted and carved, and
+set up on stands six feet from the ground; quaint instruments from the
+palaces of Aztec Incas, down to pianos by Broadwood, Collard &amp; Collard,
+and Bechstein.</p>
+
+<p>There were trophies of Streichinstrumente and Blaseinstrumente. I was
+allowed to gaze upon two real Stradivarius fiddles. I might see the
+development by evolution, and the survival of the fittest in violin,
+&#8217;cello, contrabass, alto, beside countless others whose very names have
+perished with the time that produced them, and the fingers which played
+them&mdash;ingenious guesses, clever misses&mdash;the tragedy of harmony as well
+as its &#8220;Io P&aelig;an!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There were wind instruments, quaint old double flutes from Italy; pipes,
+single, double, treble, from ages much further back; harps&mdash;Assyrian,
+Greek, and Roman; instruments of percussion, guitars, and zithers in
+every form and kind; a dulcimer&mdash;I took it up and thought of Coleridge&#8217;s
+&#8220;damsel with a dulcimer;&#8221; and a grand organ, as well as many incipient
+organs, and the quaint little things of that nature from China, Japan,
+and Siam.</p>
+
+<p>I stood and gazed in wonder and amazement.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Surely the present Graf has not collected all these instruments!&#8221; said
+I.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, no, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>; they have been accumulating for centuries.
+They tell strange tales of what the Sturms will do for music.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With which he proceeded to tell me certain narratives of certain
+instruments in the collection, in which he evidently firmly believed,
+including one relating to a quaint old violin for which he said a
+certain Graf von Rothenfels called &#8220;Max der Tolle,&#8221; or the Mad Count
+Max, had sold his soul.</p>
+
+<p>As he finished this last he was called away, and excusing himself, left
+me. I was alone in this voiceless temple of so many wonderful sounds. I
+looked round, and a feeling of awe and weirdness crept over me. My eyes
+would not leave that shabby old fiddle, concerning whose demoniac origin
+I had just heard such a cheerful little anecdote. Every one of those
+countless instruments was capable of harmony and discord&mdash;had some time
+been used; pressed, touched, scraped, beaten or blown into by hands or
+mouths <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span>long since crumbled to dust. What tales had been told! what
+songs sung, and in what languages; what laughs laughed, tears shed, vows
+spoken, kisses exchanged, over some of those silent pieces of wood,
+brass, ivory, and catgut! The feelings of all the histories that
+surrounded me had something eerie in it.</p>
+
+<p>I stayed until I began to feel nervous, and was thinking of going away
+when sounds from a third room drew my attention. Some one in there began
+to play the violin, and to play it with no ordinary delicacy of
+manipulation. There was something exquisitely finished, refined, and
+delicate about the performance; it lacked the bold splendor and
+originality of Eugen&#8217;s playing, but it was so lovely as to bring tears
+to my eyes, and, moreover, the air was my favorite &#8220;Traumerei.&#8221;
+Something in those sounds, too, was familiar to me. With a sudden
+beating of the heart, a sudden eagerness, I stepped hastily forward,
+pushed back the dividing curtain, and entered the room whence proceeded
+those sounds.</p>
+
+<p>In the middle of the room, which was bare and empty, but which had large
+windows looking across the melancholy plateau, and to the terrible
+figure of the runner at the end of the avenue&mdash;stood a boy&mdash;a child with
+a violin. He was dressed richly, in velvet and silk; he was grown&mdash;the
+slender delicacy of his form was set off by the fine clothing that rich
+men&#8217;s children wear; his beautiful waving black hair was somewhat more
+closely cut, but the melancholy yet richly colored young face that
+turned toward me&mdash;the deep and yearning eyes, the large, solemn gaze,
+the premature gravity, were all his&mdash;it was Sigmund, Courvoisier&#8217;s boy.</p>
+
+<p>For a moment we both stood motionless&mdash;hardly breathing; then he flung
+his violin down, sprung forward with a low sound of intense joy,
+exclaiming:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Das Fr&auml;ulein</i>, <i>das Fr&auml;ulein</i>, from home!&#8221; and stood before me
+trembling from head to foot.</p>
+
+<p>I snatched the child to my heart (he looked so much older and sadder),
+and covered him with kisses.</p>
+
+<p>He submitted&mdash;nay, more, he put his arms about my neck and laid his face
+upon my shoulder, and presently, as if he had choked down some silent
+emotion, looked up at me with large, imploring, sad eyes, and asked:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you seen my father?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Sigmund, I saw him the day before yesterday.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You saw him&mdash;you spoke to him, perhaps?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. I spoke long with him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What did he look like?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;As he always does&mdash;brave, and true, and noble.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Nicht wahr?</i>&#8221; said the boy, with flashing eyes. &#8220;I know how he looks,
+just. I am waiting till I am grown up, that I may go to him again.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you like me, Sigmund?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; very much.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you think you could love me? Would you trust me to love those you
+love?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you mean him?&#8221; he asked point-blank, and looked at me somewhat
+startled.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;don&#8217;t&mdash;know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I mean, to take care of him, and try to make him happy till you come to
+him again, and then we will all be together.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked doubtful still.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What I mean, Sigmund, is that your father and I are going to be
+married; but we shall never be quite happy until you are with us.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He stood still, taking it in, and I waited in much anxiety. I was
+certain that if I had time and opportunity I could win him; but I feared
+the result of this sudden announcement and separation. He might only see
+that his father&mdash;his supreme idol&mdash;could turn for comfort to another,
+while he would not know how I loved him and longed to make his grave
+young life happy for him. I put my arm round his shoulder, and kneeling
+down beside him, said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must say you are glad, Sigmund, or you will make me very unhappy. I
+want you to love me as well as him. Look at me and tell me you will
+trust me till we are all together, for I am sure we shall be together
+some day.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He still hesitated some little time, but at last said, with the
+sedateness peculiar to him, as of one who overcame a struggle and made a
+sacrifice:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If he has decided it so it must be right, you know; but&mdash;but&mdash;you won&#8217;t
+let him forget me, will you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The child&#8217;s nature overcame that which had been, as it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span>were, supplanted
+and grafted upon it. The lip quivered, the dark eyes filled with tears.
+Poor little lonely child! desolate and sad in the midst of all the
+grandeur! My heart yearned to him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Forget you, Sigmund? Your father never forgets, he can not!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wish I was grown up,&#8221; was all he said.</p>
+
+<p>Then it occurred to me to wonder how he got there, and in what relation
+he stood to these people.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you live here, Sigmund?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What relation are you to the Herr Graf?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Graf von Rothenfels is my uncle.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And are they kind to you?&#8221; I asked, in a hasty whisper, for his intense
+gravity and sadness oppressed me. I trembled to think of having to tell
+his father in what state I had found him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes!&#8221; said he. &#8220;Yes, very.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you do all day?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I learn lessons from Herr Nahrath, and I ride with Uncle Bruno,
+and&mdash;and&mdash;oh! I do whatever I like. Uncle Bruno says that some time I
+shall go to Bonn, or Heidelberg, or Jena, or England, whichever I like.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;And have you no friends?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I like being with Brunken the best. He talks to me about my father
+sometimes. He knew him when he was only as old as I am.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did he? Oh, I did not know that.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But they won&#8217;t tell me why my father never comes here, and why they
+never speak of him,&#8221; he added, wearily, looking with melancholy eyes
+across the lines of wood, through the wide window.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Be sure it is for nothing wrong. He does nothing wrong. He does nothing
+but what is good and right,&#8221; said I.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, of course! But I can&#8217;t tell the reason. I think and think about
+it.&#8221; He put his hand wearily to his head. &#8220;They never speak of him. Once
+I said something about him. It was at a great dinner they had. Aunt
+Hildegarde turned quite pale, and Uncle Bruno called me to him and
+said&mdash;no one heard it but me, you know&mdash;&#8216;Never let me hear that name
+again!&#8217; and his eyes looked so fierce. I&#8217;m tired of this place,&#8221; he
+added, mournfully.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>&#8220;I want to be at Elberthal again&mdash;at the Wehrhahn, with my father and
+Friedhelm and Karl Linders. I think of them every hour. I liked Karl and
+Friedhelm, and Gretchen, and Frau Schmidt.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They do not live there now, dear, Friedhelm and your father,&#8221; said I,
+gently.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not? Then where are they?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not know,&#8221; I was forced to say. &#8220;They were fighting in the war. I
+think they live at Berlin now, but I am not at all sure.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>This uncertainty seemed to cause him much distress, and he would have
+added more, but our conversation was brought to an end by the entrance
+of Brunken, who looked rather surprised to see us in such close and
+earnest consultation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you show me the way back to the countess&#8217;s room?&#8221; said I to
+Sigmund.</p>
+
+<p>He put his hand in mine, and led me through many of those interminable
+halls and passages until we came to the rittersaal again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sigmund,&#8221; said I, &#8220;are you not proud to belong to these?&#8221; and I pointed
+to the dim portraits hanging around.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said he, doubtfully. &#8220;Uncle Bruno is always telling me that I
+must do nothing to disgrace their name, because I shall one day rule
+their lands; but,&#8221; he added, with more animation, &#8220;do you not see all
+these likenesses? These are all counts of Rothenfels, who have been
+heads of the family. You see the last one is here&mdash;Graf Bruno&mdash;my uncle.
+But in another room there are a great many more portraits, ladies and
+children and young men, and a man is painting a likeness of me, which is
+going to be hung up there; but my father is not there. What does it
+mean?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I was silent. I knew his portrait must have been removed because he was
+considered to be living in dishonor&mdash;a stain to the house, who was
+perhaps the most chivalrous of the whole race; but this I could not tell
+Sigmund. It was beginning already, the trial, the &#8220;test&#8221; of which he had
+spoken to me, and it was harder in reality than in anticipation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to be stuck up there where he has no place,&#8221; Sigmund went
+on, sullenly. &#8220;And I should like to cut the hateful picture to pieces
+when it comes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p><p>With this he ushered me into Gr&auml;fin Hildegarde&#8217;s boudoir again. She was
+still there, and a tall, stately, stern-looking man of some fifty years
+was with her.</p>
+
+<p>His appearance gave me a strange shock. He was Eugen, older and without
+any of his artist brightness; Eugen&#8217;s grace turned into pride and stony
+hauteur. He looked as if he could be savage upon occasion; a nature born
+to power and nurtured in it. Ruggedly upright, but narrow. I learned him
+by heart afterward, and found that every act of his was the direct,
+unsoftened outcome of his nature.</p>
+
+<p>This was Graf Bruno; this was the proud, intensely feeling man who had
+never forgiven the stain which he supposed his brother had brought upon
+their house; this was he who had proposed such hard, bald, pitiless
+terms concerning the parting of father and son&mdash;who forbade the child to
+speak of the loved one.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ha!&#8221; said he, &#8220;you have found Sigmund, <i>mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>? Where did you
+meet, then?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>His keen eyes swept me from head to foot. In that, at least, Eugen
+resembled him; my lover&#8217;s glance was as hawk-like as this, and as
+impenetrable.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In the music-room,&#8221; said Sigmund; and the uncle&#8217;s glance left me and
+fell upon the boy.</p>
+
+<p>I soon read that story. The child was at once the light of his eyes and
+the bitterness of his life. As for Countess Hildegarde, she gazed at her
+nephew with all a mother&#8217;s soul in her pathetic eyes, and was silent.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come here,&#8221; said the Graf, seating himself and drawing the boy to him.
+&#8220;What hast thou been doing?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was no fear in the child&#8217;s demeanor&mdash;he was too thoroughly a child
+of their own race to know fear&mdash;but there was no love, no lighting up of
+the features, no glad meeting of the eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was with Nahrath till Aunt Hildegarde sent for him, and then I went
+to practice.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Practice what? Thy riding or fencing?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; my violin.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Bah! What an extraordinary thing it is that this lad has no taste for
+anything but fiddling,&#8221; observed the uncle, half aside.</p>
+
+<p>Gr&auml;fin Hildegarde looked sharply and apprehensively up.</p>
+
+<p>Sigmund shrunk a little away from his uncle, not timidly, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>but with some
+distaste. Words were upon his lips; his eyes flashed, his lips parted;
+then he checked himself, and was silent.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Nun denn!</i>&#8221; said the count. &#8220;What hast thou? Out with it!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nothing that it would please you to hear, uncle; therefore I will not
+say it,&#8221; was the composed retort.</p>
+
+<p>The grim-looking man laughed a grim little laugh, as if satisfied with
+the audacity of the boy, and his grizzled mustache swept the soft cheek.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I ride no further this morning; but this afternoon I shall go to
+Mulhausen. Wilt thou come with me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, uncle.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Neither willing nor unwilling was the tone, and the answer appeared to
+dissatisfy the other, who said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;Yes, uncle&#8217;&mdash;what does that mean? Dost thou not wish to go?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, yes! I would as soon go as stay at home.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But the distance, Bruno,&#8221; here interposed the countess, in a low tone.
+&#8220;I am sure it is too far. He is not too strong.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Distance? Pooh! Hildegarde, I wonder at you; considering what stock you
+come of, you should be superior to such nonsense! Wert thou thinking of
+the distance, Sigmund?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Distance&mdash;no,&#8221; said he, indifferently.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Come with me,&#8221; said the elder. &#8220;I want to show thee something.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>They went out of the room together. Yes, it was self-evident; the man
+idolized the child. Strange mixture of sternness and softness! The
+supposed sin of the father was never to be pardoned; but natural
+affection was to have its way, and be lavished upon the son; and the son
+could not return it, because the influence of the banished scapegrace
+was too strong&mdash;he had won it all for himself, as scapegraces have the
+habit of doing.</p>
+
+<p>Again I was left alone with the countess, sitting upright over her
+embroidery. A dull life this great lady led. She cared nothing for the
+world&#8217;s gayeties, and she had neither chick nor child to be ambitious
+for. Her husband was polite enough to her; but she knew perfectly well,
+and accepted it as a matter of course, that the death of her who had
+lived with him and been his companion for twenty-five <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span>years would have
+weighed less by half with him than any catastrophe to that mournful,
+unenthusiastic child, who had not been two years under their roof, and
+who displayed no delight in the wealth of love lavished upon him.</p>
+
+<p>She knew that she also adored the child, but that his affection was hard
+to get. She dared not show her love openly, or in the presence of her
+husband, who seemed to look upon the boy as his exclusive property, and
+was as jealous as a tiger of the few faint testimonies of affection
+manifested by his darling. A dull journey to Berlin once a year, an
+occasional visitor, the society of her director and that of her
+husband&mdash;who showed how much at home with her he felt by going to sleep
+whenever he was more than a quarter of an hour in her presence&mdash;a little
+interest of a lofty, distant kind in her townspeople of the poorer sort,
+an occasional call upon or from some distant neighbor of a rank
+approaching her own; for the rest, embroidery in the newest patterns and
+most elegant style, some few books, chiefly religious and polemical
+works&mdash;and what can be drearier than Roman Catholic polemics, unless,
+indeed, Protestant ones eclipse them?&mdash;a large house, vast estates,
+servants who never raised their voices beyond a certain tone; the envy
+of all the middle-class women, the fear and reverential courtesies of
+the poorer ones&mdash;a cheerful existence, and one which accounted for some
+of the wrinkles which so plentifully decked her brow.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is our nephew,&#8221; said she; &#8220;my husband&#8217;s heir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have often seen him before,&#8221; said I; &#8220;but I should have thought that
+his father would be your husband&#8217;s next heir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Never shall I forget the look she darted upon me&mdash;the awful glance which
+swept over me scathingly, ere she said, in icy tones:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What do you mean? Have you seen&mdash;or do you know&mdash;Graf Eugen?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>There was a pause, as if the name had not passed her lips for so long
+that now she had difficulty in uttering it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I knew him as Eugen Courvoisier,&#8221; said I; but the other name was a
+revelation to me, and told me that he was also &#8220;to the manner born.&#8221; &#8220;I
+saw him two days ago, and I conversed with him,&#8221; I added.</p>
+
+<p>She was silent for a moment, and surveyed me with a haggard look. I met
+her glance fully, openly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Do you wish to know anything about him?&#8221; I asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Certainly not,&#8221; said she, striving to speak frigidly; but there was a
+piteous tremble in her low tones. &#8220;The man has dis&mdash;What am I saying? It
+is sufficient to say that he is not on terms with his family.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So he told me,&#8221; said I, struggling on my own part to keep back the
+burning words within me.</p>
+
+<p>The countess looked at me&mdash;looked again. I saw now that this was one of
+the great sorrows of her sorrowful life. She felt that to be consistent
+she ought to wave aside the subject with calm contempt; but it made her
+heart bleed. I pitied her; I felt an odd kind of affection for her
+already. The promise I had given to Eugen lay hard and heavy upon me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What did he tell you?&#8221; she asked, at last; and I paused ere I answered,
+trying to think what I could make of this opportunity. &#8220;Do you know the
+facts of the case?&#8221; she added.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No; he said he would write.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Would write!&#8221; she echoed, suspending her work, and fixing me with her
+eyes. &#8220;Would write&mdash;to whom?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;To me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You correspond with him?&#8221; There was a tremulous eagerness in her
+manner.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have never corresponded with him yet,&#8221; said I, &#8220;but I have known him
+long, and loved him almost from the first. The other day I
+promised&mdash;to&mdash;marry him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You?&#8221; said she; &#8220;you are going to marry Eugen! Are you&#8221;&mdash;her eyes
+said&mdash;&#8220;are you good enough for him?&#8221; but she came to an abrupt
+conclusion. &#8220;Tell me,&#8221; said she; &#8220;where did you meet him, and how?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I told her in what capacity I had become acquainted with him, and she
+listened breathlessly. Every moment I felt the prohibition to speak
+heavier, for I saw that the Countess von Rothenfels would have been only
+too delighted to hail any idea, any suggestion, which should allow her
+to indulge the love that, though so strong, she rigidly repressed. I
+dare say I told my story in a halting kind of way; it was difficult for
+me on the spur of the moment to know clearly what to say and what to
+leave unsaid. As I told the countess about Eugen&#8217;s and my voyage down
+the river, a sort of smile tried to struggle out upon her lips; it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span>was
+evidently as good as a romance to her. I finished, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That is the truth, <i>gn&auml;dige Frau</i>. All I fear is that I am not good
+enough for him&mdash;shall not satisfy him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My child,&#8221; said she, and paused. &#8220;My dear child,&#8221; she took both my
+hands, and her lips quivered, &#8220;you do not know how I feel for you. I can
+feel for you because I fear that with you it will be as it was with me.
+Do you know any of the circumstances under which Eugen von Rothenfels
+left his friends?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do not know them circumstantially. I know he was accused of
+something, and&mdash;and&mdash;did not&mdash;I mean&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Could not deny it,&#8221; she said. &#8220;I dare not take the responsibility of
+leaving you in ignorance. I must tell you all, and may Our Lady give me
+eloquence!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I should like to hear the story, madame, but I do not think any
+eloquence will change my mind.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He always had a manner calculated to deceive and charm,&#8221; said she;
+&#8220;always. Well, my husband is his half-brother. I was their cousin. They
+are the sons of different mothers, and my husband is many years older
+than Eugen&mdash;eighteen years older. He, my husband, was thirty years old
+when he succeeded to the name and estates of his father&mdash;Eugen, you see,
+was just twelve years old, a school-boy. We were just married. It is a
+very long time ago&mdash;<i>ach ja!</i> a very long time ago! We played the part
+of parents to that boy. We were childless, and as time went on, we
+lavished upon him all the love which we should have bestowed upon our
+own children had we been happy enough to have any. I do not think any
+one was ever better loved than he. It so happened that his own
+inheritance was not a large one; that made no difference. My husband,
+with my fullest consent and approbation, had every intention of
+providing for him: we had enough and to spare: money and land and house
+room for half a dozen families, and our two selves alone to enjoy it
+all. He always seemed fond of us. I suppose it was his facile manner,
+which could take the appearance of an interest and affection which he
+did not feel&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, Frau Gr&auml;fin! no, indeed!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Wait till you have heard all, my poor child. Everyone loved him. How
+proud I was of him. Sometimes I think it is a chastisement, but had you
+been in my place <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span>you would have been proud too; so gallant, so
+handsome, such grace, and such a charm. He was the joy of my life,&#8221; she
+said in a passionate under-tone. &#8220;He went by the name of a worthy
+descendant of all essential things: honor and loyalty and bravery, and
+so on. They used to call him <i>Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter</i>, after the
+old song. He was wild and impatient of control, but who is not? I hate
+your young men whose veins run milk, not blood. He was one of a fiery
+passionate line. At the universities he was extravagant; we heard all
+sorts of follies.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Did you ever hear of anything base&mdash;anything underhand or
+dishonorable?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Never&mdash;oh, never. High play. He was very intimate with a set of young
+Englishmen, and the play was dreadful, it is true; he betted too. That
+is a curse. Play and horses, and general recklessness and extravagance,
+but no wine and no women. I never heard that he had the least affinity
+for either of these dissipations. There were debts&mdash;I suppose all young
+men in his position make debts,&#8221; said the countess, placidly. &#8220;My
+husband made debts at college, and I am sure my brothers did. Then he
+left college and lived at home awhile, and that was the happiest time of
+my life. But it is over.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then he entered the army&mdash;of course. His family interest procured him
+promotion. He was captain in a fine Uhlan regiment. He was with his
+regiment at Berlin and Munich, and &mdash;&mdash;. And always we heard the same
+tales&mdash;play, and wild, fast living. Music always had a hold upon him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In the midst of his extravagance he was sometimes so simple. I remember
+we were dreadfully frightened at a rumor that he had got entangled with
+Fr&auml;ulein &mdash;&mdash;, a singer of great beauty at the Hofoper at &mdash;&mdash;. I got my
+husband to let me write about it. I soon had an answer from Eugen. How
+he laughed at me! He had paid a lot of debts for the girl, which had
+been pressing heavily upon her since her career began; now he said he
+trusted she would get along swimmingly; he was going to her benefit that
+night.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But when he was at &mdash;&mdash;, and when he was about six-and-twenty, he
+really did get engaged to be married. He wrote and told us about it.
+That was the first bitter blow: she was an Italian girl of respectable
+but by no means noble <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span>family&mdash;he was always a dreadful radical in such
+matters. She was a governess in the house of one of his friends in &mdash;&mdash;.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We did everything we could think of to divert him from it. It was
+useless. He married her, but he did not become less extravagant. She did
+not help him to become steady, I must say. She liked gayety and
+admiration, and he liked her to be worshiped. He indulged her
+frightfully. He played&mdash;he would play so dreadfully.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We had his wife over to see us, and he came with her. We were agreeably
+surprised. She quite won our hearts. She was very beautiful and very
+charming&mdash;had rather a pretty voice, though nothing much. We forgave all
+his misconduct, and my husband talked to him and implored him to amend.
+He said he would. Mere promises! It was so easy to him to make promises.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That poor young wife! Instead of pitying him for having made a
+<i>m&eacute;salliance</i>, we know now that it was she who was to be pitied for
+having fallen into the hands of such a black-hearted, false man.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The lady paused. The recital evidently cost her some pain and some
+emotion. She went on:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She was expecting her confinement. They returned to &mdash;&mdash;, where we also
+had a house, and we went with them. Vittoria shortly afterward gave
+birth to a son. That was in our house. My husband would have it so. That
+son was to reconcile all and make everything straight. At that time
+Eugen must have been in some anxiety: he had been betting heavily on the
+English Derby. We did not know that, nor why he had gone to England. At
+last it came out that he was simply ruined. My husband was dreadfully
+cut up. I was very unhappy&mdash;so unhappy that I was ill and confined to my
+room.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My husband left town for a few days to come over to Rothenfels on
+business. Eugen was scarcely ever in the house. I thought it was our
+reproachful faces that he did not wish to see. Then my husband came
+back. He was more cheerful. He had been thinking things over, he said.
+He kissed me, and told me to cheer up: he had a plan for Eugen, which,
+he believed, would set all right again.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In that very moment some one had asked to see him. It was a clerk from
+the bank with a check which they had cashed the day before. Had my
+husband signed it? I saw <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span>him look at it for a moment. Then he sent the
+man away, saying that he was then busy and would communicate with him.
+Then he showed me the check. It was payable to the bearer, and across
+the back was written &#8216;Vittoria von Rothenfels.&#8217;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must bear in mind that Eugen was living in his own house, in
+another quarter of the town. My husband sent the check to him, with a
+brief inquiry as to whether he knew anything about it. Then he went out:
+he had an appointment, and when he returned he found a letter from
+Eugen. It was not long: it was burned into my heart, and I have never
+forgotten a syllable of it. It was:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;&#8216;I return the check. I am guilty. I relieve you of all further
+responsibility about me. It is evident that I am not fit for my
+position. I leave this place forever, taking the boy with me.
+Vittoria does not seem to care about having him. Will you look
+after her? Do not let her starve in punishment for my sin. For
+me&mdash;I leave you forever.</p>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 19em;">&#8216;<span class="smcap">Eugen</span>.&#8217;</span></p></div>
+
+<p>&#8220;That was the letter. <i>Ei! mein Gott!</i> Oh, it is hideous, child, to find
+that those in whom you believed so intensely are bad&mdash;rotten to the
+core. I had loved Eugen, he had made a sunshine in my not very cheerful
+life. His coming was a joy to me, his going away a sorrow. It made
+everything so much blacker when the truth came out. Of course the matter
+was hushed up.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My husband took immediate steps about it. Soon afterward we came here;
+Vittoria with us. Poor girl! Poor girl! She did nothing but weep and
+wring her hands, moan and lament and wonder why she had ever been born,
+and at last she died of decline&mdash;that is to say, they called it decline,
+but it was really a broken heart. That is the story&mdash;a black chronicle,
+is it not? You know about Sigmund&#8217;s coming here. My husband remembered
+that he was heir to our name, and we were in a measure responsible for
+him. Eugen had taken the name of a distant family connection on his
+mother&#8217;s side&mdash;she had French blood in her veins&mdash;Courvoisier. Now you
+know all, my child&mdash;he is not good. Do not trust him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I was silent. My heart burned; my tongue longed to utter ardent words,
+but I remembered his sad smile as he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span>said, &#8220;You shrink from that,&#8221; and
+I braced myself to silence. The thing seemed to me altogether so
+pitiable&mdash;and yet&mdash;and yet, I had sworn. But how had he lived out these
+five terrible years?</p>
+
+<p>By and by the luncheon bell rang. We all met once more. I felt every
+hour more like one in a dream or in some impossible old romance. That
+piece of outward death-like reserve, the countess, with the fire within
+which she was forever spending her energy in attempts to quench; that
+conglomeration of ice, pride, roughness and chivalry, the Herr Graf
+himself; the thin, wooden-looking priest, the director of the Gr&auml;fin;
+that lovely picture of grace and bloom, with the dash of melancholy,
+Sigmund; certainly it was the strangest company in which I had ever been
+present. The countess sent me home in the afternoon, reminding me that I
+was engaged to dine there with the others to-morrow. I managed to get a
+word aside with Sigmund&mdash;to kiss him and tell him I should come to see
+him again. Then I left them; interested, inthralled, fascinated with
+them and their life, and&mdash;more in love with Eugen than ever.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2>
+
+<h3>&#8220;WHERE IS MY FATHER?&#8221;</h3>
+
+<p>We had been bidden to dine at the schloss&mdash;Frau Mittendorf, Stella, and
+I. In due time the doctor&#8217;s new carriage was called out, and seated in
+it we were driven to the great castle. With a renewed joy and awe I
+looked at it by twilight, with the dusk of sunset veiling its woods and
+turning the whole mass to the color of a deep earth-stain. Eugen&#8217;s home:
+there he had been born; as the child of such a race and in its
+traditions he had been nurtured by that sad lady whom we were going to
+see. I at least knew that he had acted, and was now acting, up to the
+very standard of his high calling. The place has lost much of its
+awfulness for me; it had become even friendly and lovely.</p>
+
+<p>The dinner was necessarily a solemn one. I was looking out for Sigmund,
+who, however, did not put in an appearance.</p>
+
+<p>After dinner, when we were all assembled in a vast salon which the
+numberless wax-lights did but partially and in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span>the center illuminate, I
+determined to make an effort at release from this seclusion, and asked
+the countess (who had motioned me to a seat beside her) where Sigmund
+was.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He seemed a little languid and not inclined to come down-stairs,&#8221; said
+she. &#8220;I expect he is in the music-room&mdash;he generally finds his way
+there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I wish you would allow me to go and see him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Certainly, my child,&#8221; said she, ringing; and presently a servant guided
+me to the door of the music-rooms, and in answer to my knock I was
+bidden <i>herein!</i></p>
+
+<p>I entered. The room was in shadow; but a deep glowing fire burned in a
+great cavernous, stone fire-place, and shone upon huge brass andirons on
+either side of the hearth. In an easy-chair sat Brunken, the old
+librarian, and his white hair and beard were also warmed into rosiness
+by the fire-glow. At his feet lay Sigmund, who had apparently been
+listening to some story of his old friend. His hands were clasped about
+the old man&#8217;s knee, his face upturned, his hair pushed back.</p>
+
+<p>Both turned as I came in, and Sigmund sprung up, but ere he had advanced
+two paces, paused and stood still, as if overcome with languor or
+weariness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sigmund, I have come to see you,&#8221; said I, coming to the fire and
+greeting the old man, who welcomed me hospitably.</p>
+
+<p>I took Sigmund&#8217;s hand; it was hot and dry. I kissed him; lips and cheeks
+were burning and glowing crimson. I swept the hair from his brow, that
+too was burning, and his temples throbbed. His eyes met mine with a
+strange, misty look. Saying nothing, I seated myself in a low chair near
+the fire, and drew him to me. He nestled up to me, and I felt that if
+Eugen could see us he would be almost satisfied. Sigmund did not say
+anything. He merely settled his head upon my breast, gave a deep sigh as
+if of relief, and closing his eyes, said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now, Brunken, go on!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;As I was saying, <i>mein Liebling</i>, I hope to prove all former theorists
+and writers upon the subject to have been wrong&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He&#8217;s talking about a Magrepha,&#8221; said Sigmund, still not opening his
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A Magrepha&mdash;what may that be?&#8221; I inquired.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. Some people say it was a real full-blown organ,&#8221; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span>explained
+Sigmund, in a thick, hesitating voice, &#8220;and some say it was nothing
+better than a bag-pipe&mdash;oh, dear! how my head does ache&mdash;and there are
+people who say it was a kettle-drum&mdash;nothing more nor less; and Brunken
+is going to show that not one of them knew anything about it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I hope so, at least,&#8221; said Brunken, with a modest placidity.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, indeed!&#8221; said I, glancing a little timidly into the far recesses of
+the deep, ghostly room, where the fire-light kept catching the sheen of
+metal, the yellow whiteness of ivory keys or pipes, or the polished case
+of some stringed instrument.</p>
+
+<p>Strange, grotesque shapes loomed out in the uncertain, flickering light;
+but was it not a strange and haunted chamber? Ever it seemed to me as if
+breaths of air blew through it, which came from all imaginable kinds of
+graves, and were the breaths of those departed ones who had handled the
+strange collection, and who wished to finger, or blow into, or beat the
+dumb, unvibrating things once more.</p>
+
+<p>Did I say unvibrating? I was wrong then. The strings sometimes quivered
+to sounds that set them trembling; something like a whispered tone I
+have heard from the deep, upturned throats of great brazen
+trumpets&mdash;something like a distant moan floating around the gilded
+organ-pipes. In after-days, when Friedhelm Helfen knew this room, he
+made a wonderful fantasia about it, in which all the dumb instruments
+woke up, or tried to wake up to life again, for the whole place
+impressed him, he told me, as nothing that he had ever known before.</p>
+
+<p>Brunken went on in a droning tone, giving theories of his own as to the
+nature of the Magrepha, and I, with my arms around Sigmund, half
+listened to the sleepy monotone of the good old visionary. But what
+spoke to me with a more potent voice was the soughing and wuthering of
+the sorrowful wind without, which verily moaned around the old walls,
+and sought out the old corners, and wailed, and plained, and sobbed in a
+way that was enough to break one&#8217;s heart.</p>
+
+<p>By degrees a silence settled upon us. Brunken, having satisfactorily
+annihilated his enemies, ceased to speak; the fire burned lower;
+Sigmund&#8217;s eyes were closed; his cheeks were not less flushed than
+before, nor his brow less hot, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span>and a frown contracted it. I know not
+how long a time had passed, but I had no wish to rise.</p>
+
+<p>The door was opened, and some one came into the room. I looked up. It
+was the Gr&auml;fin. Brunken rose and stood to one side, bowing.</p>
+
+<p>I could not get up, but some movement of mine, perhaps, disturbed the
+heavy and feverish slumber of the child. He started wide awake, with a
+look of wild terror, and gazed down into the darkness, crying out:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Mein Vater</i>, where art thou?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A strange, startled, frightened look crossed the face of the countess
+when she heard the words. She did not speak, and I said some soothing
+words to Sigmund.</p>
+
+<p>But there could be no doubt that he was very ill. It was quite unlike
+his usual silent courage and reticence to wring his small hands and with
+ever-increasing terror turn a deaf ear to my soothings, sobbing out in
+tones of pain and insistence:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Father! father! where art thou? I want thee!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then he began to cry pitifully, and the only word that was heard was
+&#8220;Father!&#8221; It was like some recurrent wail in a piece of music, which
+warns one all through of a coming tragedy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, dear! What is to be done? Sigmund! <i>Was ist denn mit dir, mein
+Engel?</i>&#8221; said the poor countess, greatly distressed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is ill,&#8221; said I. &#8220;I think he has taken an illness. Does thy head
+ache, Sigmund?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes,&#8221; said he, &#8220;it does. Where is my own father? My head never ached
+when I was with my father.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Mein Gott! mein Gott!</i>&#8221; said the countess in a low tone. &#8220;I thought he
+had forgotten his father.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Forgotten!&#8221; echoed I. &#8220;Frau Gr&auml;fin, he is one of yourselves. You do not
+seem to forget.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Herrgott!</i>&#8221; she exclaimed, wringing her hands. &#8220;What can be the matter
+with him? What must I say to Bruno? Sigmund darling, what hast thou
+then! What ails thee?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I want my father!&#8221; he repeated. Nor would he utter any other word. The
+one idea, long dormant, had now taken full possession of him; in fever,
+half delirious, out of the fullness of his heart his mouth spake.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Sigmund, <i>Liebchen</i>,&#8221; said the countess, &#8220;control thyself. Thy uncle
+must not hear thee say that word.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want my uncle. I want my father!&#8221; said Sigmund, looking
+restlessly round. &#8220;Oh, where is he? I have not seen him&mdash;it is so long,
+and I want him. I love him; I do love my father, and I want him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>It was pitiful, pathetic, somewhat tragic too. The poor countess had not
+the faintest idea what to do with the boy, whose illness frightened her.
+I suggested that he should be put to bed and the doctor sent for, as he
+had probably taken some complaint which would declare itself in a few
+days, and might be merely some childish disorder.</p>
+
+<p>The countess seized my suggestion eagerly. Sigmund was taken away. I saw
+him no more that night. Presently we left the schloss and drove home.</p>
+
+<p>I found a letter waiting for me from Eugen. He was still at Elberthal,
+and appeared to have been reproaching himself for having accepted my
+&#8220;sacrifice,&#8221; as he called it. He spoke of Sigmund. There was more, too,
+in the letter, which made me both glad and sad. I felt life spreading
+before me, endowed with a gravity, a largeness of aim, and a dignity of
+purpose such as I had never dreamed of before.</p>
+
+<p>It seemed that for me, too, there was work to do. I also had a love for
+whose sake to endure. This made me feel grave. Eugen&#8217;s low spirits, and
+the increased bitterness with which he spoke of things, made me sad; but
+something else made me glad. Throughout his whole letter there breathed
+a passion, a warmth&mdash;restrained, but glowing through its bond of
+reticent words&mdash;an eagerness which he told me that at last</p>
+
+<p class="center">&#8220;As I loved, loved am I.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Even after that sail down the river I had felt a half mistrust, now all
+doubts were removed. He loved me. He had learned it in all its truth and
+breadth since we last parted. He talked of renunciation, but it was with
+an anguish so keen as to make me wince for him who felt it. If he tried
+to renounce me now, it would not be the cold laying aside of a thing for
+which he did not care, it would be the wrenching himself away from his
+heart&#8217;s desire. I triumphed in the knowledge, and this was what made me
+glad.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p><p>Almost before we had finished breakfast in the morning, there came a
+thundering of wheels up to the door, and a shriek of excitement from
+Frau Mittendorf, who, <i>morgenhaube</i> on her head, a shapeless old
+morning-gown clinging hideously about her ample figure, rushed to the
+window, looked out, and announced the carriage of the Frau Gr&auml;fin.
+&#8220;<i>Aber!</i> What can she want at this early hour?&#8221; she speculated, coming
+into the room again and staring at us both with wide open eyes round
+with agitation and importance. &#8220;But I dare say she wishes to consult me
+upon some matter. I wish I were dressed more becomingly. I have
+heard&mdash;that is, I know, for I am so intimate with her&mdash;that she never
+wears <i>n&eacute;glig&eacute;</i>. I wonder if I should have time to&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She stopped to hold out her hand for the note which a servant was
+bringing in; but her face fell when the missive was presented to me.</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;<span class="smcap">Liebe Mai</span>&#8221;&mdash;it began&mdash;&#8220;Will you come and help me in my trouble?
+Sigmund is very ill. Sometimes he is delirious. He calls for you
+often. It breaks my heart to find that after all not a word is
+uttered of us, but only of Eugen (burn this when you have read it),
+of you, and of &#8216;Karl,&#8217; and &#8216;Friedhelm,&#8217; and one or two other names
+which I do not know. I fear this petition will sound troublesome to
+you, who were certainly not made for trouble, but you are kind. I
+saw it in your face. I grieve too much. Truly the flesh is
+fearfully weak. I would live as if earth had no joys for me&mdash;as
+indeed it has none&mdash;and yet that does not prevent my suffering. May
+God help me! Trusting to you, Your,</p></div>
+
+<p><span style="margin-left: 19em;">&#8220;<span class="smcap">Hildegarde v. Rothenfels</span>.&#8221;</span></p>
+
+<p>I lost no time in complying with this summons. In a few moments I was in
+the carriage; ere long I was at the schloss, was met by Countess
+Hildegarde, looking like a ghost that had been keeping a strict Lent,
+and was at last by Sigmund&#8217;s bedside.</p>
+
+<p>He was tossing feverishly from side to side, murmuring and muttering.
+But when he saw me he was still, a sweet, frank smile flitted over his
+face&mdash;a smile wonderfully like that which his father had lately bent
+upon me. He gave a little laugh, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Fr&auml;ulein May! <i>Willkommen!</i> Have you brought <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span>my father? And I should
+like to see Friedhelm, too. You and <i>der Vater</i> and Friedel used to sit
+near together at the concert, don&#8217;t you remember? I went once, and you
+sung. That tall black man beat time, and my father never stopped looking
+at you and listening&mdash;Friedel too. I will ask them if they remember.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He laughed again at the reminiscence, and took my hand, and asked me if
+I remembered, so that it was with difficulty that I steadied my voice
+and kept my eyes from running over as I answered him. Gr&auml;fin Hildegarde
+behind wrung her hands and turned to the window. He did not advance any
+reminiscence of what had happened since he came to the schloss.</p>
+
+<p>There was no doubt that our Sigmund was very ill. A visitation of
+scarlet fever, of the worst kind, was raging in Lahnburg and in the
+hamlet of Rothenfels, which lay about the gates of the schloss.</p>
+
+<p>Sigmund, some ten days before, had ridden with his uncle, and waited on
+his pony for some time outside a row of cottages, while the count
+visited one of his old servants, a man who had become an octogenarian in
+the service of his family, and upon whom Graf Bruno periodically shed
+the light of his countenance.</p>
+
+<p>It was scarcely to be doubted that the boy had taken the infection then
+and there, and the doctor did not conceal that he had the complaint in
+its worst form, and that his recovery admitted of the gravest doubts.</p>
+
+<p>A short time convinced me that I must not again leave the child till the
+illness was decided in one way or another. He was mine now, and I felt
+myself in the place of Eugen, as I stood beside his bed and told him the
+hard truth&mdash;that his father was not here, nor Friedhelm, nor Karl, for
+whom he also asked, but only I.</p>
+
+<p>The day passed on. A certain conviction was growing every hour stronger
+with me. An incident at last decided it. I had scarcely left Sigmund&#8217;s
+side for eight or nine hours, but I had seen nothing of the count, nor
+heard his voice, nor had any mention been made of him, and remembering
+how he adored the boy, I was surprised.</p>
+
+<p>At last Gr&auml;fin Hildegarde, after a brief absence, came into the room,
+and with a white face and parted lips, said to me in a half-whisper.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;<i>Liebe</i> Miss Wedderburn, will you do something for me? Will you speak
+to my husband?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;To your husband!&#8221; I ejaculated.</p>
+
+<p>She bowed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He longs to see Sigmund, but dare not come. For me, I have hardly dared
+to go near him since the little one began to be ill. He believes that
+Sigmund will die, and that he will be his murderer, having taken him out
+that day. I have often spoken to him about making <i>der Arme</i> ride too
+far, and now the sight of me reminds him of it; he can not endure to
+look at me. Heaven help me! Why was I ever born?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She turned away without tears&mdash;tears were not in her line&mdash;and I went,
+much against my will, to find the Graf.</p>
+
+<p>He was in his study. Was that the same man, I wondered, whom I had seen
+the very day before, so strong, and full of pride and life? He raised a
+haggard, white, and ghastly face to me, which had aged and fallen in
+unspeakably. He made an effort, and rose with politeness as I came in.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Mein Fr&auml;ulein</i>, you are loading us with obligations. It is quite
+unheard of.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But no thanks were implied in the tone&mdash;only bitterness. He was angry
+that I should be in the place he dared not come to.</p>
+
+<p>If I had not been raised by one supreme fear above all smaller ones, I
+should have been afraid of this haggard, eager-looking old man&mdash;for he
+did look very old in his anguish. I could see the rage of jealousy with
+which he regarded me, and I am not naturally fond of encountering an old
+wolf who has starved.</p>
+
+<p>But I used my utmost effort to prevail upon him to visit his nephew, and
+at last succeeded. I piloted him to Sigmund&#8217;s room; led him to the boy&#8217;s
+bedside. The sick child&#8217;s eyes were closed, but he presently opened
+them. The uncle was stooping over him, his rugged face all working with
+emotion, and his voice broken as he murmured:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;<i>Ach, mein Liebling!</i> art thou then so ill?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With a kind of shuddering cry, the boy pushed him away with both hands,
+crying:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Go away! I want my father&mdash;my father, my father, I say! Where is he?
+Why do you not fetch him? You are a bad man, and you hate him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span></p><p>Then I was frightened. The count recoiled; his face turned deathly
+white&mdash;livid; his fist clinched. He glared down upon the now
+unrecognizing young face and stuttered forth something, paused, then
+said in a low, distinct voice, which shook me from head to foot:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So! Better he should die. The brood is worthy the nest it sprung from.
+Where is our blood, that he whines after that hound&mdash;that hound?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With which, and with a fell look around, he departed, leaving Sigmund
+oblivious of all that had passed, utterly indifferent and unconscious,
+and me shivering with fear at the outburst I had seen.</p>
+
+<p>But it seemed to me that my charge was worse. I left him for a few
+moments, and seeking out the countess, spoke my mind.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Frau Gr&auml;fin, Eugen must be sent for. I fear that Sigmund is going to
+die, and I dare not let him die without sending for his father.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I dare not!&#8221; said the countess.</p>
+
+<p>She had met her husband, and was flung, unnerved, upon a couch, her hand
+over her heart.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I dare, and I must do it!&#8221; said I, secretly wondering at myself. &#8220;I
+shall telegraph for him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If my husband knew!&#8221; she breathed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I can not help it,&#8221; said I. &#8220;Is the poor child to die among people who
+profess to love him, with the one wish ungratified which he has been
+repeating ever since he began to be ill? I do not understand such love;
+I call it horrible inhumanity.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;For Eugen to enter this house again!&#8221; she said in a whisper.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I would to God that there were any other head as noble under its roof!&#8221;
+was my magniloquent and thoroughly earnest inspiration. &#8220;Well, <i>gn&auml;dige
+Frau</i>, will you arrange this matter, or shall I?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I dare not,&#8221; she moaned, half distracted; &#8220;I dare not&mdash;but I will do
+nothing to prevent you. Use the whole household; they are at your
+command.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I lost not an instant in writing out a telegram and dispatching it by a
+man on horseback to Lahnburg. I summoned Eugen briefly:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Sigmund is ill. I am here. Come to us.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I saw the man depart, and then I went and told the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span>countess what I had
+done. She turned, if possible, a shade paler, then said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am not responsible for it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Then I left the poor pale lady to still her beating heart and kill her
+deadly apprehensions in the embroidery of the lily of the field and the
+modest violet.</p>
+
+<p>No change in the child&#8217;s condition. A lethargy had fallen upon him. That
+awful stupor, with the dark, flushed cheek and heavy breath, was to me
+more ominous than the restlessness of fever.</p>
+
+<p>I sat down and calculated. My telegram might be in Eugen&#8217;s hand in the
+course of an hour.</p>
+
+<p>When could he be here? Was it possible that he might arrive this night?
+I obtained the German equivalent for Bradshaw, and studied it till I
+thought I had made out that, supposing Eugen to receive the telegram in
+the shortest possible time, he might be here by half past eleven that
+night. It was now five in the afternoon. Six hours and a half&mdash;and at
+the end of that time his non-arrival might tell me he could not be here
+before the morrow.</p>
+
+<p>I sat still, and now that the deed was done, gave myself up, with my
+usual enlightenment and discretion, to fears and apprehensions. The
+terrible look and tone of Graf von Rothenfels returned to my mind in
+full force. Clearly it was just the most dangerous thing in the world
+for Eugen to do&mdash;to put in an appearance at the present time. But
+another glance at Sigmund somewhat reassured me. In wondering whether
+girl had ever before been placed in such a bizarre situation as mine,
+darkness overtook me.</p>
+
+<p>Sigmund moved restlessly and moaned, stretching out little hot hands,
+and saying &#8220;Father!&#8221; I caught those hands to my lips, and knew that I
+had done right.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL.</h2>
+
+<h3>VINDICATED.</h3>
+
+<p>It was a wild night. Driving clouds kept hiding and revealing the
+stormy-looking moon. I was out-of-doors. I could not remain in the
+house; it had felt too small for me, but now nature felt too large. I
+dimly saw the huge pile of the schloss defined against the gray light;
+sometimes when the moon unveiled herself it started out clear, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span>and
+black, and grim. I saw a light in a corner window&mdash;that was Sigmund&#8217;s
+room; and another in a room below&mdash;that was the Graf&#8217;s study, and there
+the terrible man sat. I heard the wind moan among the trees, heard the
+great dogs baying from the kennels; from an open window came rich, low,
+mellow sounds. Old Brunken was in the music-room, playing to himself
+upon the violoncello. That was a movement from the &#8220;Grand Septuor&#8221;&mdash;the
+second movement, which is, if one may use such an expression, painfully
+beautiful. I bethought myself of the woods which lay hidden from me, the
+vast avenues, the lonely tanks, the grotesques statues, and that
+terrible figure with its arms cast upward, at the end of the long walk,
+and I shivered faintly.</p>
+
+<p>I was some short distance down the principal avenue, and dared not go
+any further. A sudden dread of the loneliness and the night-voices came
+upon me; my heart beating thickly, I turned to go back to the house. I
+would try to comfort poor Countess Hildegarde in her watching and her
+fears.</p>
+
+<p>But there is a step near me. Some one comes up the avenue, with foot
+that knows its windings, its turns and twists, its ups and downs.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eugen!&#8221; I said, tremulously.</p>
+
+<p>A sudden pause&mdash;a stop; then he said with a kind of laugh:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Witchcraft&mdash;Zauberei!&#8221; and was going on.</p>
+
+<p>But now I knew his whereabouts, and coming up to him, touched his arm.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;This, however, is reality!&#8221; he exclaimed, infolding me and kissing me
+as he hurried on. &#8220;May, how is he?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Just the same,&#8221; said I, clinging to him. &#8220;Oh, thank Heaven that you are
+come!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I drove to the gates, and sent the fellow away. But what art thou doing
+alone at the Ghost&#8217;s Corner on a stormy night?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>We were still walking fast toward the schloss. My heart was beating
+fast, half with fear of what was impending, half with intensity of joy
+at hearing his voice again, and knowing what that last letter had told
+me.</p>
+
+<p>As we emerged upon the great terrace before the house Eugen made one
+(the only one) momentary pause, pressed my arm, and bit his lips. I knew
+the meaning of it all. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span>Then we passed quickly on. We met no one in the
+great stone hall&mdash;no one on the stairway or along the passages&mdash;straight
+he held his way, and I with him.</p>
+
+<p>We entered the room. Eugen&#8217;s eyes leaped swiftly to his child&#8217;s face. I
+saw him pass his hand over his mouth. I withdrew my hand from his arm
+and stood aside, feeling a tremulous thankfulness that he was here, and
+that that restless plaining would at last be hushed in satisfaction.</p>
+
+<p>A delusion! The face over which my lover bent did not brighten; nor the
+eyes recognize him. The child did not know the father for whom he had
+yearned out his little heart&mdash;he did not hear the half-frantic words
+spoken by that father as he flung himself upon him, kissing him,
+beseeching him, conjuring him with every foolish word of fondness that
+he could think of, to speak, answer, look up once again.</p>
+
+<p>Then fear, terror overcame the man&mdash;for the first time I saw him look
+pale with apprehension.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not this cup&mdash;not this!&#8221; muttered he. <i>&#8220;Gott im Himmel!</i> anything short
+of this&mdash;I will give him up&mdash;leave him&mdash;anything&mdash;only let him live!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He had flung himself, unnerved, trembling, upon a chair by the
+bedside&mdash;his face buried in his hands. I saw the sweat stand upon his
+brow&mdash;I could do nothing to help&mdash;nothing but wish despairingly that
+some blessed miracle would reverse the condition of the child and
+me&mdash;lay me low in death upon that bed&mdash;place him safe and sound in his
+father&#8217;s arms.</p>
+
+<p>Is it not hard, you father of many children, to lose one of them? Do you
+not grudge Death his prize? But this man had but the one; the love
+between them was such a love as one meets perhaps once in a life-time.
+The child&#8217;s life had been a mourning to him, the father&#8217;s a burden, ever
+since they had parted.</p>
+
+<p>I felt it strange that I should be trying to comfort him, and yet it was
+so; it was his brow that leaned on my shoulder; it was he who was faint
+with anguish, so that he could scarce see or speak&mdash;his hand that was
+cold and nerveless. It was I who said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do not despair, I hope still.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If he is dying,&#8221; said Eugen, &#8220;he shall die in my arms.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With which, as if the idea were a dreary kind of comfort, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span>he started
+up, folded Sigmund in a shawl, and lifted him out of bed, infolding him
+in his arms, and pillowing his head upon his breast.</p>
+
+<p>It was a terrible moment, yet, as I clung to his arm, and with him
+looked into our darling&#8217;s face, I felt that von Francius&#8217; words, spoken
+long ago to my sister, contained a deep truth. This joy, so like a
+sorrow&mdash;would I have parted with it? A thousand times, no!</p>
+
+<p>Whether the motion and movement roused him, or whether that were the
+crisis of some change, I knew not. Sigmund&#8217;s eyes opened. He bent them
+upon the face above him, and after a pause of reflection, said, in a
+voice whose utter satisfaction passed anything I had ever heard: &#8220;My own
+father!&#8221; released a pair of little wasted arms from his covering, and
+clasped them round Eugen&#8217;s neck, putting his face close to his, and
+kissing him as if no number of kisses could ever satisfy him.</p>
+
+<p>Upon this scene, as Eugen stood in the middle of the room, his head bent
+down, a smile upon his face which no ultimate griefs could for the
+moment quench, there entered the countess.</p>
+
+<p>Her greeting after six years of absence, separation, belief in his
+dishonesty, was a strange one. She came quickly forward, laid her hand
+on his arm, and said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eugen, it is dreadfully infectious! Don&#8217;t kiss the child in that way,
+or you will take the fever and be laid up too.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>He looked up, and at his look a shock passed across her face; with
+pallid cheeks and parted lips she gazed at him speechless.</p>
+
+<p>His mind, too, seemed to bridge the gulf&mdash;it was in a strange tone that
+he answered:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, Hildegarde! What does it matter what becomes of me? Leave me this!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, not that, Eugen,&#8221; said I, going up to him, and I suppose something
+in my eyes moved him, for he gave the child into my arms in silence.</p>
+
+<p>The countess had stood looking at him. She strove for silence; sought
+tremulously after coldness, but in vain.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eugen&mdash;&#8221; She came nearer, and looked more closely at him. &#8220;<i>Herrgott!</i>
+how you are altered! What a meeting! I&mdash;can it be six years ago&mdash;and
+now&mdash;oh!&#8221; Her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span>voice broke into a very wail. &#8220;We loved you&mdash;why did you
+deceive us?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>My heart stood still. Would he stand this test? It was the hardest he
+had had. Gr&auml;fin Hildegarde had been&mdash;was dear to him. That he was dear
+to her, intensely dear, that love for him was intwined about her very
+heart-strings, stood confessed now. &#8220;Why did you deceive us?&#8221; It sounded
+more like, &#8220;Tell us we may trust you; make us happy again!&#8221; One word
+from him, and the poor sad lady would have banished from her heart the
+long-staying, unwelcome guest&mdash;belief in his falseness, and closed it
+away from her forever.</p>
+
+<p>He was spared the dreadful necessity of answering her. A timid summons
+from her maid at the door told her the count wanted to speak to her, and
+she left us quickly.</p>
+
+<hr class="medium" />
+
+<p>Sigmund did not die; he recovered, and lives now. But with that I am not
+at present concerned.</p>
+
+<p>It was the afternoon following that never-to-be-forgotten night. I had
+left Eugen watching beside Sigmund, who was sleeping, his hand jealously
+holding two of his father&#8217;s fingers.</p>
+
+<p>I intended to call at Frau Mittendorf&#8217;s door to say that I could not yet
+return there, and when I came back, said Eugen, he would have something
+to tell me; he was going to speak with his brother&mdash;to tell him that we
+should be married, &#8220;and to speak about Sigmund,&#8221; he added, decisively.
+&#8220;I will not risk such a thing as this again. If you had not been here he
+might have died without my knowing it. I feel myself absolved from all
+obligation to let him remain. My child&#8217;s happiness shall not be further
+sacrificed.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>With this understanding I left him. I went toward the countess&#8217;s room,
+to speak to her, and tell her of Sigmund before I went out. I heard
+voices ere I entered the room, and when I entered it I stood still, and
+a sickly apprehension clutched my very heart. There stood my evil
+genius&mdash;the <i>b&ouml;ser Geist</i> of my lover&#8217;s fate&mdash;Anna Sartorius. And the
+count and countess were present, apparently waiting for her to begin to
+speak.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are here,&#8221; said the Gr&auml;fin to me. &#8220;I was just about to send for
+you. This lady says she knows you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She does,&#8221; said I, hesitatingly.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span></p><p>Anna looked at me. There was gravity in her face, and the usual cynical
+smile in her eyes.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are surprised to see me,&#8221; said she. &#8220;You will be still more
+surprised to hear that I have journeyed all the way from Elberthal to
+Lahnburg on your account, and for your benefit.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I did not believe her, and composing myself as well as I could, sat
+down. After all, what could she do to harm me? She could not rob me of
+Eugen&#8217;s heart, and she had already done her worst against him and his
+fair name.</p>
+
+<p>Anna had a strong will, she exerted it. Graf Bruno was looking in some
+surprise at the unexpected guest; the countess sat rigidly upright, with
+a puzzled look, as if at the sight of Anna she recalled some far-past
+scene. Anna compelled their attention; she turned to me, saying:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Please remain here, Miss Wedderburn. What I have to say concerns you as
+much as any one here. You wonder who I am, and what business I have to
+intrude myself upon you,&#8221; she added to the others.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I confess&mdash;&#8221; began the countess, and Anna went on:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You, <i>gn&auml;dige Frau</i>, have spoken to me before, and I to you. I see you
+remember, or feel you ought to remember me. I will recall the occasion
+of our meeting to your mind. You once called at my father&#8217;s house&mdash;he
+was a music teacher&mdash;to ask about lessons for some friend or prot&eacute;g&eacute;e of
+yours. My father was engaged at the moment, and I invited you into my
+sitting-room and endeavored to begin a conversation with you. You were
+very distant and very proud, scarcely deigning to answer me. When my
+father came into the room, I left it. But I could not help laughing at
+your treatment of me. You little knew from your shut-up, <i>cossue</i>
+existence among the lofty ones of the earth, what influence even such
+insignificant persons as I might have upon your lot. At the time I was
+the intimate friend of, and in close correspondence with, a person who
+afterward became one of your family. Her name was Vittoria Leopardi, and
+she married your brother-in-law, Graf Eugen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The plain-spoken, plain-looking woman had her way. She had the same
+power as that which shone in the &#8220;glittering eye&#8221; of the Ancient
+Mariner. Whether we liked or not we gave her our attention. All were
+listening now, and we listened to the end.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Vittoria Leopardi was the Italian governess at General von &mdash;&mdash;&#8217;s. At
+one time she had several music lessons from my father. That was how I
+became acquainted with her. She was very beautiful&mdash;almost as beautiful
+as you, Miss Wedderburn, and I, dull and plain myself, have a keen
+appreciation of beauty and of the gentleness which does not always
+accompany it. When I first knew her she was lonely and strange, and I
+tried to befriend her. I soon began to learn what a singular mixture of
+sordid worldliness and vacant weak-mindedness dwelt behind her fair
+face. She wrote to me often, for she was one of the persons who must
+have some one to whom to relate their &#8216;triumphs&#8217; and conquests, and I
+suppose I was the only person she could get to listen to her.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At that time&mdash;the time you called at our house, <i>gn&auml;dige Frau</i>&mdash;her
+epistles were decidedly tedious. What sense she had&mdash;there was never too
+much of it&mdash;was completely eclipsed. At last came the announcement that
+her noble and gallant Uhlan had proposed, and been accepted&mdash;naturally.
+She told me what he was, and his possessions and prospects; his chief
+merit in her eyes appeared to be that he would let her do anything she
+liked, and release her from the drudgery of teaching, for which she
+never had the least affinity. She hated children. She never on any
+occasion hinted that she loved him very much.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In due time the marriage, as you all know, came off. She almost dropped
+me then, but never completely so; I suppose she had that instinct which
+stupid people often have as to the sort of people who may be of use to
+them some time. I received no invitations to her house. She used
+awkwardly to apologize for the negligence sometimes, and say she was so
+busy, and it would be no compliment to me to ask me to meet all those
+stupid people of whom the house was always full.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That did not trouble me much, though I loved her none the better for
+it. She had become more a study to me now than anything I really cared
+for. Occasionally I used to go and see her, in the morning, before she
+had left her room; and once, and once only, I met her husband in the
+corridor. He was hastening away to his duty, and scarcely saw me as he
+hurried past. Of course I knew him by sight as well as possible. Who did
+not? Occasionally she came to me to recount her triumphs and make <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span>me
+jealous. She did not wish to reign supreme in her husband&#8217;s heart; she
+wished idle men to pay her compliments. Everybody in &mdash;&mdash; knew of the
+extravagance of that household, and the reckless, neck-or-nothing habits
+of its master. People were indignant with him that he did not reform. I
+say it would have been easier for him to find his way alone up the
+Matterhorn in the dark than to reform&mdash;after his marriage.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;There had been hope for him before&mdash;there was none afterward. A pretty
+inducement to reform, she offered him! I knew that woman through and
+through, and I tell you that there never lived a more selfish, feeble,
+vain, and miserable thing. All was self&mdash;self&mdash;self. When she was mated
+to a man who never did think of self&mdash;whose one joy was to be giving,
+whose generosity was no less a by-word than his recklessness, who was
+delighted if she expressed a wish, and would move heaven and earth to
+gratify it; the more eagerly the more unreasonable it was&mdash;<i>mes amis</i>, I
+think it is easy to guess the end&mdash;the end was ruin. I watched it coming
+on, and I thought of you, Frau Gr&auml;fin. Vittoria was expecting her
+confinement in the course of a few months. I never heard her express a
+hope as to the coming child, never a word of joy, never a thought as to
+the wider cares which a short time would bring to her. She did say
+often, with a sigh, that women with young children were so tied; they
+could not do this, and they could not do that. She was in great
+excitement when she was invited to come here; in great triumph when she
+returned.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eugen, she said, was a fool not to conciliate his brother and that
+doting old saint (her words, <i>gn&auml;dige Frau</i>, not mine) more than he did.
+It was evident that they would do anything for him if he only flattered
+them, but he was so insanely downright&mdash;she called it stupid, she said.
+The idea of missing such advantages when a few words of common
+politeness would have secured them. I may add that what she called
+&#8216;common politeness&#8217; was just the same thing that I called smooth
+hypocrisy.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very shortly after this her child was born. I did not see her then. Her
+husband lost all his money on a race, and came to smash, as you English
+say. She wrote to me. She was in absolute need of money, she said; Eugen
+had not been able to give her any. He had said they must retrench.
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span>Retrench! was that what she married him for! There was a set of
+turquoises that she must have, or another woman would get them, and then
+she would die. And her milliner, a most unreasonable woman, had sent
+word that she must be paid.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;So she was grumbling in a letter which I received one afternoon, and
+the next I was frightfully startled to see herself. She came in and said
+smilingly that she was going to ask a favor of me. Would I take her cab
+on to the bank and get a check cashed for her? She did not want to go
+there herself. And then she explained how her brother-in-law had given
+her a check for a thousand thalers&mdash;was it not kind of him? It really
+did not enter my head at the moment to think there was anything wrong
+about the check. She had indorsed it, and I took it, received the money
+for it, and brought it to her. She trembled so as she took it, and was
+so remarkably quiet about it, that it suddenly flashed upon my mind that
+there must be something not as it ought to be about it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I asked her a question or two, and she said, deliberately contradicting
+herself, that the Herr Graf had not given it to her, but to her husband,
+and then she went away, and I was sure I should hear more about it. I
+did. She wrote to me in the course of a few days, saying she wished she
+were dead, since Eugen, by his wickedness, had destroyed every chance of
+happiness; she might as well be a widow. She sent me a package of
+letters&mdash;my letters&mdash;and asked me to keep them, together with some other
+things, an old desk among the rest. She had no means of destroying them
+all, and she did not choose to carry them to Rothenfels, whither she was
+going to be buried alive with those awful people.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I accepted the charge. For five&mdash;no, six years, the desk, the papers,
+everything lay with some other possessions of mine which I could not
+carry about with me on the wandering life I led after my father&#8217;s
+death&mdash;stored in an old trunk in the lumber-room of a cousin&#8217;s house. I
+visited that house last week.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Certain circumstances which have occurred of late years induced me to
+look over those papers. I burned the old bundle of letters from myself
+to her, and then I looked through the desk. In a pigeon-hole I found
+these.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She handed some pieces of paper to Graf Bruno, who <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span>looked at them. I,
+too, have seen them since. They bore the imitations of different
+signatures; her husband&#8217;s, Graf Bruno&#8217;s, that of Anna Sartorius, and
+others which I did not know.</p>
+
+<p>The same conviction as that which had struck Anna flashed into the eyes
+of Graf von Rothenfels.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I found those,&#8221; repeated Anna, &#8220;and I knew in a second who was the
+culprit. He, your brother, is no criminal. She forged the signature of
+the Herr Graf&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Who forged the signature of the Herr Graf?&#8221; asked a voice which caused
+me to start up, which brought all our eyes from Anna&#8217;s face, upon which
+they had been fastened, and showed us Eugen standing in the door-way,
+with compressed lips and eyes that looked from one to the other of us
+anxiously.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Your wife,&#8221; said Anna, calmly. And before any one could speak she went
+on: &#8220;I have helped to circulate the lie about you, Herr Graf&#8221;&mdash;she spoke
+to Eugen&mdash;&#8220;for I disliked you; I disliked your family, and I disliked,
+or rather wished to punish, Miss Wedderburn for her behavior to me. But
+I firmly believed the story I circulated. The moment I knew the truth I
+determined to set you right. Perhaps I was pleased to be able to
+circumvent your plans. I considered that if I told the truth to
+Friedhelm Helfen he would be as silent as yourself, because you chose to
+be silent. The same with May Wedderburn, therefore I decided to come to
+head-quarters at once. It is useless for you to try to appear guilty any
+longer,&#8221; she added, mockingly. &#8220;You can tell them all the rest, and I
+will wish you good-afternoon.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She was gone. From that day to this I have never seen her nor heard of
+her again. Probably with her power over us her interest in us ceased.</p>
+
+<p>Meanwhile I had released myself from the spell which held me, and gone
+to the countess. Something very like fear held me from approaching
+Eugen.</p>
+
+<p>Count Bruno had gone to his brother, and touched his shoulder. Eugen
+looked up. Their eyes met. It just flashed into my mind that after six
+years of separation the first words were&mdash;must be&mdash;words of
+reconciliation, of forgiveness asked on the one side, eagerly extended
+on the other.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;Eugen!&#8221; in a trembling voice, and then, with a positive sob, &#8220;canst
+thou forgive?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;My brother&mdash;I have not resented. I could not. Honor in thee, as honor
+in me&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But that thou wert doubted, hated, mistak&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>But another had asserted herself. The countess had come to herself
+again, and going up to him, looked him full in the face and kissed him.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now I can die happy! What folly, Eugen! and folly like none but thine.
+I might have known&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>A faint smile crossed his lips. For all the triumphant vindication, he
+looked very pallid.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I have often wondered, Hildegarde, how so proud a woman as you could so
+soon accept the worthlessness of a pupil on whom she had spent such
+pains as you upon me. I learned my best notions of honor and chivalry
+from you. You might have credited me rather with trying to carry the
+lesson out than with plucking it away and casting it from me at the
+first opportunity.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have much to forgive,&#8221; said she.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Eugen, you came to see me on business,&#8221; said his brother.</p>
+
+<p>Eugen turned to me. I turned hot and then cold. This was a terrible
+ordeal indeed. He seemed metamorphosed into an exceedingly grand
+personage as he came to me, took my hand, and said, very proudly and
+very gravely:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The first part of my business related to Sigmund. It will not need to
+be discussed now. The rest was to tell you that this young lady&mdash;in
+spite of having heard all that could be said against me&mdash;was still not
+afraid to assert her intention to honor me by becoming my wife and
+sharing my fate. Now that she has learned the truth&mdash;May, do you still
+care for me enough to marry me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;If so,&#8221; interrupted his brother before I could speak, &#8220;let me add my
+petition and that of my wife&mdash;do you allow me, Hildegarde?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed, yes, yes!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That she will honor us and make us happy by entering our family, which
+can only gain by the acquisition of such beauty and excellence.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The idea of being entreated by Graf Bruno to marry his brother almost
+overpowered me. I looked at Eugen and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span>stammered out something
+inaudible, confused, too, by the look he gave me.</p>
+
+<p>He was changed; he was more formidable now than before, and he led me
+silently up to his brother without a word, upon which Count Bruno
+crowned my confusion by uttering some more very Grandisonian words and
+gravely saluting my cheek. That was certainly a terrible moment, but
+from that day to this I have loved better and better my haughty
+brother-in-law.</p>
+
+<p>Half in consideration for me, I believe, the countess began:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;But I want to know, Eugen, about this. I don&#8217;t quite understand yet how
+you managed to shift the blame upon yourself.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Perhaps he does not want to tell,&#8221; said I, hastily.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes; since the truth is known, I may tell the rest,&#8221; said he. &#8220;It was a
+very simple matter. After all was lost, my only ray of comfort was that
+I could pay my debts by selling everything, and throwing up my
+commission. But when I thought of my wife I felt a devil. I suppose that
+is the feeling which the devils do experience in place of love&mdash;at least
+Heine says so:</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i10">&#8220;&#8216;Die Teufel nennen es H&ouml;llenqual,<br /></span>
+<span class="i10">Die Menschen nennen es Liebe.&#8217;<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p>&#8220;I kept it from her as long as I could. It was a week after Sigmund was
+born that at last one day I had to tell her. I actually looked to her
+for advice, help. It was tolerably presumptuous in me, I must say, after
+what I had brought her to. She brought me to reason. May Heaven preserve
+men from needing such lessons! She reproached me&mdash;ay, she did reproach
+me. I thank my good genius, or whatever it is that looks after us, that
+I could set my teeth and not answer her a syllable.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;The minx!&#8221; said the countess aside to me. &#8220;I would have shaken her!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;What was she to do without a groschen?&#8217; she concluded, and I could
+only say that I had had thoughts of dropping my military career and
+taking to music in good earnest. I had never been able to neglect it,
+even in any worst time, for it was a passion with me. She said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;&#8216;A composer&mdash;a beggar!&#8217; That was hard.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I asked her, &#8216;Will you not help me?&#8217;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;&#8216;Never, to degrade yourself in that manner,&#8217; she assured me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Considering that I had deserved my punishment, I left her. I sat up all
+night, I remember, thinking over what I had brought her to, and
+wondering what I could do for her. I wondered if you, Bruno, would help
+her and let me go away and work out my punishment, for, believe me, I
+never thought of shirking it. I had been most effectually brought to
+reason, and your example, and yours, Hildegarde, had taught me a
+different kind of moral fiber to that.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I brought your note about the check to Vittoria, and asked her if she
+knew anything about it. She looked at me, and in that instant I knew the
+truth. She did not once attempt to deny it. I do not know what, in my
+horrible despair and shame, I may have said or done.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I was brought to my senses by seeing her cowering before me, with her
+hands before her face, and begging me not to kill her. I felt what a
+brute I must have been, but that kind of brutality has been knocked out
+of me long ago. I raised her, and asked her to forgive me, and bade her
+keep silence and see no one, and I would see that she did not suffer for
+it.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Everything seemed to stand clearly before me. If I had kept straight,
+the poor ignorant thing would never have been tempted to such a thing. I
+settled my whole course in half an hour, and have never departed from it
+since.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I wrote that letter to you, and went and read it to my wife. I told her
+that I could never forgive myself for having caused her such
+unhappiness, and that I was going to release her from me. I only dropped
+a vague hint about the boy at first; I was stooping over his crib to say
+good-bye to him. She said, &#8216;What am I to do with him?&#8217; I caught at the
+idea, and she easily let me take him. I asked Hugo von Meilingen to
+settle affairs for me, and left that night. Thanks to you, Bruno, the
+story never got abroad. The rest you know.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;What did you tell Hugo von Meilingen?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Only that I had made a mess of everything and broken my wife&#8217;s heart,
+which he did not seem to believe. He was stanch. He settled up
+everything. Some day I will thank him for it. For two years I traveled
+about a good deal. Sigmund has been more a citizen of the world than he
+knows. I had so much facility of execution&mdash;&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span></p><p>&#8220;So much genius, you mean,&#8221; I interposed.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;That I never had any difficulty in getting an engagement. I saw a
+wonderful amount of life of a certain kind, and learned most thoroughly
+to despise my own past, and to entertain a thorough contempt for those
+who are still leading such lives. I have learned German history in my
+banishment. I have lived with our trues heroes&mdash;the lower
+middle-classes.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well, well! You were always a radical, Eugen,&#8221; said the count,
+indulgently.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;At last, at K&ouml;ln I obtained the situation of first violinist in the
+Elberthal Kapelle, and I went over there one wet October afternoon and
+saw the director, von Francius. He was busy, and referred me to the man
+who was next below me, Friedhelm Helfen.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Eugen paused, and choked down some little emotion ere he added:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You must know him. I trust to have his friendship till death separates
+us. He is a nobleman of nature&#8217;s most careful making&mdash;a knight <i>sans
+peur et sans reproche</i>. When Sigmund came here it was he who saved me
+from doing something desperate or driveling&mdash;there is not much of a step
+between the two. Fr&auml;ulein Sartorius, who seems to have a peculiar
+disposition, took it into her head to confront me with a charge of my
+guilt at a public place. Friedhelm never wavered, despite my shame and
+my inability to deny the charge.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, dear, how beautiful!&#8221; said the countess, in tears.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We must have him over here and see a great deal of him.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;We must certainly know him, and that soon,&#8221; said Count Bruno.</p>
+
+<p>At this juncture I, from mingled motives, stole from the room, and found
+my way to Sigmund&#8217;s bedside, where also joy awaited me. The stupor and
+the restlessness had alike vanished; he was in a deep sleep. I knelt
+down by the bedside and remained there long.</p>
+
+<p>Nothing, then, was to be as I had planned it. There would be no poverty,
+no shame to contend against&mdash;no struggle to make, except the struggle up
+to the standard&mdash;so fearfully severe and unapproachable, set up by my
+own husband. Set up and acted upon by him. How could I ever attain it or
+anything near it? Should I not be constantly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span>shocking him by coarse,
+gross notions as to the needlessness of this or that fine point of
+conduct? by my ill-defined ideas as to a code of honor&mdash;my slovenly ways
+of looking at questions?</p>
+
+<p>It was such a fearful height, this to which he had carried his notions
+and behavior in the matter of chivalry and loyalty. How was I ever to
+help him to carry it out, and moreover, to bring up this child before
+me, and perhaps children of my own in the same rules?</p>
+
+<p>It was no doubt a much more brilliant destiny which actually awaited me
+than any which I had anticipated&mdash;the wife of a nobleman, with the
+traditions of a long line of noblemen and noblewomen to support, and a
+husband with the most impossible ideas upon the subject.</p>
+
+<p>I felt afraid. I thought of that poor, vain, selfish first wife, and I
+wondered if ever the time might come when I might fall in his eyes as
+she had fallen, for scrupulous though he was to cast no reproach upon
+her, I felt keenly that he despised her, that had she lived, after that
+dreadful discovery he would never have loved her again. It was awful to
+think of. True, I should never commit forgery; but I might, without
+knowing it, fail in some other way, and then&mdash;woe to me!</p>
+
+<p>Thus dismally cogitating I was roused by a touch on my shoulder and a
+kiss on the top of my head. Eugen was leaning over me, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You have been saying your prayers so long that I was sure you must be
+asking too much.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I confided some of my doubts and fears to him, for with his actual
+presence that dreadful height of morality seemed to dwindle down. He was
+human too&mdash;quick, impulsive, a very mortal. And he said:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I would ask thee one thing, May. Thou dost not seem to see what makes
+all the difference. I loved Vittoria: I longed to make some sacrifice
+for her, would she but have let me. But she could not; poor girl! She
+did not love me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Well! <i>Mein Engel</i>&mdash;you do,&#8221; said he, laughing.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, I see!&#8221; said I, feeling myself blushing violently. Yes, it was
+true. Our union should be different from that former one. After all it
+was pleasant to find that the high tragedy which we had so wisely
+planned for ourselves had made a <i>faux pas</i> and come ignominiously to
+ground.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI"></a>CHAPTER XLI.</h2>
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;">&#8220;And surely, when all this is past<br /></span>
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They shall not want their rest at last.&#8221;</span></p></div>
+
+<p>On the 23d of December&mdash;I will not say how few or how many years after
+those doings and that violent agitation which my friend Gr&auml;fin May has
+striven to make coherent in the last chapter&mdash;I, with my great-coat on
+my arm, stood waiting for the train which was to bear me ten miles away
+from the sleepy old musical ducal Hauptstadt, in which I am Herzoglicher
+Kapellmeister, to Rothenfels, where I was bidden to spend Christmas. I
+had not long to wait. Having ascertained that my bag was safe, in which
+reposed divers humble proofs of my affection for the friends of the
+past, I looked leisurely out as the train came in for a second-class
+carriage, and very soon found what I wanted. I shook hands with an
+acquaintance, and leaned out of the window, talking to him till the
+train started. Then for the first time I began to look at my
+fellow-traveler; a lady, and most distinctly not one of my own
+countrywomen, who, whatever else they may excel in, emphatically do not
+know how to clothe themselves for traveling. Her veil was down, but her
+face was turned toward me, and I thought I knew something of the grand
+sweep of the splendid shoulders and majestic bearing of the stately
+form. She soon raised her veil, and looking at me, said, with a grave
+bow:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Herr Helfen, how do you do?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah, pardon me, <i>gn&auml;dige Frau</i>; for the moment I did not recognize you.
+I hope you are well.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Quite well, thank you,&#8221; said she, with grave courtesy; but I saw that
+her beautiful face was thin and worn, her pallor greater than ever.</p>
+
+<p>She had never been a person much given to mirthfulness; but now she
+looked as if all smiles had passed forever from her lips&mdash;a certain
+secret sat upon them, and closed them in an outline, sweet, but utterly
+impenetrable.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You are going to Rothenfels, I presume?&#8221; she said.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes. And you also?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I also&mdash;somewhat against my will; but I did not want to hurt my
+sister&#8217;s feelings. It is the first time I have left home since my
+husband&#8217;s death.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span></p><p>I bowed. Her face did not alter. Calm, sad, and staid&mdash;whatever storms
+had once shaken that proud heart, they were lulled forever now.</p>
+
+<p>Two years ago Adelaide von Francius had buried keen grief and sharp
+anguish, together with vivid hope or great joy, with her noble husband,
+whom we had mourned bitterly then, whom we yet mourn in our hearts, and
+whom we shall continue to mourn as long as we live.</p>
+
+<p>May&#8217;s passionate conviction that he and she should meet again had been
+fulfilled. They had met, and each had found the other unchanged; and
+Adelaide had begun to yield to the conviction that her sister&#8217;s love was
+love, pure and simple, and not pity. Since his death she had continued
+to live in the town in which their married life had been passed&mdash;a life
+which for her was just beginning to be happy&mdash;that is to say, she was
+just learning to allow herself to be happy, in the firm assurance of his
+unalterable love and devotion, when the summons came; a sharp attack, a
+short illness, all over&mdash;eyes closed, lips, too&mdash;silent before her for
+evermore.</p>
+
+<p>It has often been my fate to hear criticisms both on von Francius and
+his wife, and upon their conduct. This I know, that she never forgave
+herself the step she had taken in her despair. Her pride never recovered
+from the burden laid upon it&mdash;that she had taken the initiative, had
+followed the man who had said farewell to her. Bad her lot was to be,
+sad, and joyless, whether in its gilded cage, or linked with the man
+whom she loved, but to be with whom she had had to pay so terrible a
+price. I have never heard her complain of life and the world; yet she
+can find neither very sweet, for she is an extremely proud woman, who
+has made two terrible failures in her affairs.</p>
+
+<p>Von Francius, before he died, had made a mark not to be erased in the
+hearts of his musical compatriots. Had he lived&mdash;but that is vain!
+Still, one feels&mdash;one can now but feel&mdash;that, as his widow said to me,
+with matter-of-fact composure:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He was much more hardly to be spared than such a person as I, Herr
+Helfen. If I might have died and left him to enrich and gladden the
+world, I should have felt that I had not made such a mess of everything
+after all.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Yet she never referred to him as &#8220;my poor husband,&#8221; or by any of those
+softening terms by which some people <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span>approach the name of a dead dear
+one; all the same we knew quite well that with him life had died for
+her.</p>
+
+<p>Since his death, she and I had been in frequent communication; she was
+editing a new edition of his works, for which, after his death, there
+had been an instant call. It had lately been completed; and the music of
+our former friend shall, if I mistake not, become, in the best and
+highest sense of the word, popular music&mdash;the people&#8217;s music. I had been
+her eager and, she was pleased to say, able assistant in the work.</p>
+
+<p>We journeyed on together through the winter country, and I glanced at
+her now and then&mdash;at the still, pale face which rose above her
+English-fashioned sealskin, and wondered how it was that some faces,
+though never so young and beautiful, have written upon them in
+unmistakable characters, &#8220;The End,&#8221; as one saw upon her face. Still, we
+talked about all kinds of matters&mdash;musical, private, and public. I asked
+if she went out at all.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Only to concerts with the von &mdash;&mdash;s, who have been friends of mine ever
+since I went to &mdash;&mdash;,&#8221; she replied; and then the train rolled into the
+station of Lahnburg.</p>
+
+<p>There was a group of faces I knew waiting to meet us.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Ah! there is my sister Stella,&#8221; said Adelaide, in a low voice. &#8220;How she
+is altered! And that is May&#8217;s husband, I suppose. I remember his face
+now that I see it.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>We had been caught sight of. Four people came crowding round us.
+Eugen&mdash;my eyes fell upon him first&mdash;we grasped hands silently. His wife,
+looking lovelier than ever in her winter furs and feathers. A tall boy
+in a sealskin cap&mdash;my Sigmund&mdash;who had been hanging on his father&#8217;s arm,
+and whose eyes welcomed me more volubly than his tongue, which was never
+given to excessive wagging.</p>
+
+<p>May and Frau von Francius went home in a carriage which Sigmund, under
+the direction of an awful-looking Kutscher, drove.</p>
+
+<p>Stella, Eugen, and I walked to Rothenfels, and they quarreled, as they
+always did, while I listened and gave an encouraging word to each in
+turn. Stella Wedderburn was very beautiful; and after spending Christmas
+at Rothenfels, she was going home to be married. Eugen, May, and Sigmund
+were going too, for the first time since May&#8217;s marriage.</p>
+
+<p>Graf Bruno that year had temporarily abdicated his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span>throne, and Eugen
+had been constituted host for the season. The guests were his and his
+wife&#8217;s; the arrangements were his, and the entertainment fell to his
+share.</p>
+
+<p>Gr&auml;fin Hildegarde looked a little amazed at such of her guests, for
+instance, as Karl Linders. She had got over the first shock of seeing me
+a regular visitor in the house, and was pleased to draw me aside on this
+occasion, and inform me that really that young man, Herr Linders, was
+presentable&mdash;quite presentable&mdash;and never forgot himself; he had handed
+her into her carriage yesterday really quite creditably. No doubt it was
+long friendship with Eugen which had given him that extra polish.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Indeed, Frau Gr&auml;fin, he was always like that. It is natural.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;He is very presentable, really&mdash;very. But as a friend of Eugen&#8217;s,&#8221; and
+she smiled condescendingly upon me, &#8220;he would naturally be so.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>In truth, Karl was Karl. &#8220;Time had not thinned his flowing locks;&#8221; he
+was as handsome, as impulsive, and as true as ever; had added two babies
+to his responsibilities, who, with his beloved Frau Gemahlin, had
+likewise been bidden to this festivity, but had declined to quit the
+stove and private Christmas-tree of home life. He wore no more short
+jackets now; his sister Gretchen was engaged to a young doctor, and
+Karl&#8217;s head was growing higher&mdash;as it deserved&mdash;for it had no mean or
+shady deeds to bow it.</p>
+
+<p>The company then consisted <i>in toto</i> of Graf and Gr&auml;fin von Rothenfels,
+who, I must record it, both looked full ten years younger and better
+since their prodigal was returned to them, of Stella Wedderburn, Frau
+von Francius, Karl Linders, and Friedhelm Helfen. May, as I said, looked
+lovelier than ever. It was easy to see that she was the darling of the
+elder brother and his wife. She was a radiant, bright creature, yet her
+deepest affections were given to sad people&mdash;to her husband, to her
+sister Adelaide, to Countess Hildegarde.</p>
+
+<p>She and Eugen are well mated. It is true he is not a very cheerful
+man&mdash;his face is melancholy. In his eyes is a shadow which never wholly
+disappears&mdash;lines upon his broad and tranquil brow which are indelible.
+He has honor and titles, and a name clean and high before men, but it
+was not always so. That terrible bringing to reason&mdash;that six years&#8217;
+grinding lesson of suffering, self-suppression&mdash;ay,
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span>self-effacement&mdash;have left their marks, a &#8220;shadow plain to see,&#8221; and
+will never leave him. He is a different man from the outcast who stepped
+forth into the night with a weird upon him, nor ever looked back till it
+was dreed out in darkness to its utmost term.</p>
+
+<p>He has tasted of the sorrows&mdash;the self-brought sorrows which make merry
+men into sober ones, the sorrows which test a man and prove his
+character to be of gold or of dross, and therefore he is grave. Grave
+too is the son who is more worshiped by both him and his wife than any
+of their other children. Sigmund von Rothenfels is what outsiders call
+&#8220;a strange, incomprehensible child;&#8221; seldom smiles, and has no child
+friends. His friends are his father and &#8220;Mother May&#8221;&mdash;M&uuml;tterchen he
+calls her; and it is quaint sometimes to see how on an equality the
+three meet and associate. His notions of what is fit for a man to be and
+do he takes from his father; his ideal woman&mdash;I am sure he has
+one&mdash;would, I believe, turn out to be a subtle and impossible compound
+of May and his aunt Hildegarde.</p>
+
+<p>We sometimes speculate as to what he will turn out. Perhaps the musical
+genius which his father will not bring before the world in himself may
+one day astonish that world in Sigmund. It is certain that his very life
+seems bound up in the art, and in that house and that circle it must be
+a very Caliban, or something yet lower, which could resist the
+influence.</p>
+
+<p>One day May, Eugen, Karl, and I, repaired to the music-room and played
+together the Fourth Symphonie and some of Schumann&#8217;s &#8220;Kinderscenen,&#8221; but
+May began to cry before it was over, and the rest of us had thoughts
+that did lie too deep for tears&mdash;thoughts of that far-back afternoon of
+Carnival Monday, and how we &#8220;made a sunshine in a shady place&#8221;&mdash;of all
+that came before&mdash;and after.</p>
+
+<p>Between me and Eugen there has never come a cloud, nor the faintest
+shadow of one. Built upon days passed together in storm and sunshine,
+weal and woe, good report and evil report, our union stands upon a firm
+foundation of that nether rock of friendship, perfect trust, perfect
+faith, love stronger than death, which makes a peace in our hearts, a
+mighty influence in our lives which very truly &#8220;passeth understanding.&#8221;</p>
+
+<h3>THE END.</h3>
+
+<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg A-3]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE CRIMINAL WITNESS.</h2>
+
+<p>In the spring of &#8217;48, I was called to Jackson to attend court, having
+been engaged to defend a young man who had been accused of robbing the
+mail. I had a long conference with my client, and he acknowledged to me
+that on the night when the mail was robbed he had been with a party of
+dissipated companions over to Topham, and that on returning, they met
+the mail-carrier on horseback coming from Jackson. Some of his
+companions were very drunk, and they proposed to stop the carrier and
+overhaul his bag. The roads were very muddy at the time, and the coach
+could not run. My client assured me that he not only had no hand in
+robbing the mail, but that he tried to dissuade his companions from
+doing so. But they would not listen to him. One of them slipped up
+behind the carrier, and knocked him from his horse. Then they bound and
+blindfolded him, and having tied him to a tree, they took his mail-bag,
+and made off into a neighboring field, where they overhauled it, finding
+some five hundred dollars in money in the various letters. He went with
+them, but in no way did he have any hand in the crime. Those who did do
+it had fled, and, as the carrier had recognized him as in the party, he
+had been arrested.</p>
+
+<p>The mail-bag had been found, as well as the letters. Those letters from
+which money had been taken, were kept, by order of the officers, and
+duplicates sent to the various persons, to whom they were directed,
+announcing the particulars. These letters had been given me for
+examination, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg A-4]</a></span>and I had then returned them to the prosecuting attorney.</p>
+
+<p>I got through with my private preliminaries about noon, and as the case
+would not come up before the next day, I went into the court in the
+afternoon, to see what was going on. The first case which came up was
+one of theft, and the prisoner was a young girl, not more than seventeen
+years of age, named Elizabeth Madworth. She was very pretty, and bore
+that mild, innocent look, which we seldom find in a culprit.</p>
+
+<p>The complaint against her set forth that she had stolen one hundred
+dollars from a Mrs. Naseby; and as the case went on, I found that this
+Mrs. Naseby was her mistress, she (Mrs. N.) being a wealthy widow,
+living in the town. The poor girl declared her innocence in the wildest
+terms, and called on God to witness that she would rather die than
+steal. But circumstances were hard against her. A hundred dollars, in
+bank notes had been stolen from her mistress&#8217;s room, and she was the
+only one who had access there.</p>
+
+<p>At this juncture, while the mistress was upon the witness stand, a young
+man came and caught me by the arm.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;They tell me you are a good lawyer?&#8221; he whispered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I am a lawyer,&#8221; I answered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then&mdash;oh!&mdash;save her! You can certainly do it, for she is innocent.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Has she no counsel?&#8221; I asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;None that&#8217;s good for anything&mdash;nobody that&#8217;ll do anything for her. Oh,
+save her, and I&#8217;ll pay you all I&#8217;ve got. I can&#8217;t pay you much, but I can
+raise something.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I reflected for a moment. I cast my eyes toward the prisoner, and she
+was at that moment looking at me. She caught my eye, and the volume of
+humble, prayerful entreaty I read in those large, tearful orbs, resolved
+me in a moment. I arose and went to the girl, and asked <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg A-5]</a></span>her if she
+wished me to defend her. She said yes. Then I informed the court that I
+was ready to enter into the case, and I was admitted at once.</p>
+
+<p>I asked for a moment&#8217;s cessation, that I might speak with my client. I
+went and sat down by her side, and asked her to state candidly the whole
+case. She told me she had lived with Mrs. Naseby nearly two years, and
+that during all that time she had never had any trouble before. About
+two weeks ago, she said, her mistress lost a hundred dollars.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;She missed it from her drawer,&#8221; the girl told me, &#8220;and she asked me
+about it, but I knew nothing of it. The next thing I knew, Nancy Luther
+told Mrs. Naseby that she saw me take the money from her drawer&mdash;that
+she watched me through the keyhole. Then they went to my trunk, and they
+found twenty-five dollars of the missing money there. But, oh, sir, I
+never took it&mdash;and somebody else put that money there!&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I then asked her if she suspected any one.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know,&#8221; she said, &#8220;who could have done it but Nancy. She has
+never liked me, because she thought I was treated better than she was.
+She is the cook, and I was the chamber-maid.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She pointed Nancy Luther out to me. She was a stout, bold-faced girl,
+somewhere about five-and-twenty years old, with a low forehead, small
+gray eyes, a pug nose and thick lips.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Oh, sir, can you help me?&#8221; my client asked, in a fearful whisper.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Nancy Luther, did you say that girl&#8217;s name was?&#8221; I asked, for a new
+light had broken in upon me.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Is there any other girl of that name about here?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then rest easy. I&#8217;ll try hard to save you.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg A-6]</a></span></p><p>I left the courtroom, and went to the prosecuting attorney and asked him
+for the letters I had handed him&mdash;the ones that had been stolen from the
+mail-bag. He gave them to me, and, having selected one, I returned the
+rest, and told him I would see that he had the one I kept before night.
+I then returned to the courtroom, and the case went on.</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Naseby resumed her testimony. She said she entrusted her room to
+the prisoner&#8217;s care, and that no one else had access there save herself.
+Then she described about missing the money, and closed by telling how
+she found twenty-five dollars of it in the prisoner&#8217;s trunk. She could
+swear it was the identical money she had lost, it being in two tens and
+one five-dollar bill.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Mrs. Naseby,&#8221; said I, &#8220;when you first missed your money, had you any
+reason to believe that the prisoner had it?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, sir,&#8221; she answered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Had you ever before detected her in any dishonesty?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Should you have thought of searching her trunk, had not Nancy Luther
+advised you and informed you?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>Mrs. Naseby then left the stand, and Nancy Luther took her place. She
+came up with a bold look, and upon me she cast a defiant glance, as much
+as to say &#8220;Trap me, if you can.&#8221; She gave her evidence as follows:</p>
+
+<p>She said that on the night when the money was stolen she saw the
+prisoner going upstairs, and from the sly manner in which she went up,
+she suspected all was not right. So she followed her up. &#8220;Elizabeth went
+into Mrs. Naseby&#8217;s room, and shut the door after her. I stooped down and
+looked through the keyhole, and saw her at the mistress&#8217;s drawer. I saw
+her take out the money and put it in her pocket. Then she stooped down
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg A-7]</a></span>and picked up the lamp, and as I saw that she was coming out, I hurried
+away.&#8221; Then she went on and told how she had informed her mistress of
+this, and how she proposed to search the girl&#8217;s trunk.</p>
+
+<p>I called Mrs. Naseby back to the stand.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You say that no one save yourself and the prisoner had access to your
+room,&#8221; I said. &#8220;Now, could Nancy Luther have entered that room, if she
+wished?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Certainly, sir. I meant no one else had any right there.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I saw that Mrs. N., though naturally a hard woman, was somewhat moved by
+poor Elizabeth&#8217;s misery.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Could your cook have known, by any means in your knowledge, where your
+money was?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir; for she has often come up to my room when I was there, and I
+have given her money with which to buy provisions of marketmen who
+happened along with their wagons.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;One more question: Have you known of the prisoner&#8217;s having used any
+money since this was stolen?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>I now called Nancy Luther back, and she began to tremble a little,
+though her look was as bold and defiant.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Miss Luther,&#8221; I said, &#8220;why did you not inform your mistress at once of
+what you had seen without waiting for her to ask you about the lost
+money?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Because I could not make up my mind at once to expose the poor young
+girl,&#8221; she answered, promptly.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You say you looked through the keyhole and saw her take the money?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Where did she place the lamp, while she did so?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;On the bureau.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In your testimony, you said she stooped down when she picked it up.
+What did you mean by that?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg A-8]</a></span></p><p>The girl hesitated, and finally said she didn&#8217;t mean anything, only that
+she picked up the lamp.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Very well,&#8221; said I. &#8220;How long have you been with Mrs. Naseby?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Not quite a year, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How much does she pay you a week?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;A dollar and three-quarters.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Have you taken up any of your pay since you have been there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How much?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t know, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Why don&#8217;t you know?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;How should I? I&#8217;ve taken it at different times, just as I wanted it,
+and have kept no account.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now, if you had had any wish to harm the prisoner, couldn&#8217;t you have
+raised twenty-five dollars to put in her trunk?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, sir,&#8221; she replied, with virtuous indignation.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then you have not laid up any money since you have been there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, sir&mdash;only what Mrs. Naseby may owe me.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Then you didn&#8217;t have twenty-five dollars when you came there?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;No, sir; and what&#8217;s more, the money found in the girl&#8217;s trunk was the
+very money that Mrs. Naseby lost. You might have known that, if you&#8217;d
+only remember what you hear.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Will you tell me if you belong to this State?&#8221; I asked next.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I do, sir.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;In what town?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She hesitated, and for an instant the bold look forsook her. But she
+finally answered:</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I belong in Somers, Montgomery County.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg A-9]</a></span></p><p>I next turned to Mrs. Naseby.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Do you ever take a receipt from your girls when you pay them?&#8221; I asked.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Always,&#8221; she answered.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Can you send and get one of them for me?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>She said she would willingly go, if the court said so. The court did say
+so, and she went. Her dwelling was not far off, and she soon returned,
+and handed me four receipts, which I took and examined. They were all
+signed in a strange, straggling hand, by the witness.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now, Nancy Luther,&#8221; said I, turning to the witness, &#8220;please tell the
+court, and the jury, and tell me, too, where you got the seventy-five
+dollars you sent in a letter to your sister in Somers?&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The witness started as though a volcano had burst at her feet. She
+turned pale as death, and every limb shook violently. I waited until the
+people could have an opportunity to see her emotion, and then I repeated
+the question.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;never&mdash;sent&mdash;any,&#8221; she fairly gasped.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;You did!&#8221; I thundered, for I was excited now.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;I&mdash;I&mdash;didn&#8217;t,&#8221; she faintly uttered, grasping the rail by her side for
+support.</p>
+
+<p>&#8220;May it please your honor, and gentlemen of the jury,&#8221; I said, as soon
+as I had looked the witness out of countenance, &#8220;I came here to defend a
+youth who had been arrested for helping to rob the mail, and in the
+course of my preliminary examinations, I had access to the letters which
+had been torn open and rifled of money. When I entered upon this case,
+and I heard the name of this witness pronounced, I went out and got the
+letter which I now hold, for I remembered to have seen one bearing the
+signature of Nancy Luther. This letter was taken from the mail-bag, and
+it contained seventy-five dollars, and by looking at the post-mark, you
+will observe that it was mailed on the very <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg A-10]</a></span>next day after the hundred
+dollars were taken from Mrs. Naseby&#8217;s drawer. I will read it to you, if
+you please.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The court nodded assent, and I read the following, which was without
+date, save that made by the post-master upon the outside. I give it here
+verbatim:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>&#8220;<span class="smcap">Sister Dorcas</span>: I cend yu heer sevente fiv dolers, which i want yu
+to kepe for me till i cum hum. I can&#8217;t kepe it heer coz ime afrade
+it will git stole. don&#8217;t speke wun word tu a livin sole bout this
+coz I don&#8217;t want nobodi tu kno i hav got enny mony. yu wont now wil
+yu. i am first rate heer, only that gude fur nuthin snipe of liz
+madwurth is heer yit&mdash;but i hop tu git red ov her now. yu no i rote
+yu bout her. give my luv to awl inquiren friends. this is from your
+sister til deth. <span class="smcap">Nancy Luther</span>.&#8221;</p></div>
+
+<p>&#8220;Now, your honor,&#8221; I said, as I handed him the letter, and also the
+receipts, &#8220;you will see that the letter is directed to &#8216;Dorcas Luther,
+Somers, Montgomery County.&#8217; And you will also observe that one hand
+wrote that letter and signed those receipts. The jury will also observe.
+And now I will only add: It is plain to see how the hundred dollars were
+disposed of. Seventy-five were put into that letter and sent off for
+safe-keeping, while the remaining twenty-five were placed in the
+prisoner&#8217;s trunk for the purpose of covering the real criminal.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The case was given to the jury immediately following their examination
+of the letter. Without leaving their seats, they returned a verdict
+of&mdash;&#8220;Not Guilty.&#8221;</p>
+
+<p>The youth, who had first asked me to defend the prisoner, caught me by
+the hand, but he could not speak plainly. He simply looked at me through
+his tears for a moment, and then rushed to the fair prisoner. He seemed
+to forget where he was, for he flung his arms about her, and as she laid
+her head upon his bosom, she wept aloud.</p>
+
+<p>I will not attempt to describe the scene that followed; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg A-11]</a></span>but if Nancy
+Luther had not been immediately arrested for theft, she would have been
+obliged to seek the protection of the officers, or the excited people
+would surely have maimed her, if they had done no more. On the next
+morning, I received a note, very handsomely written, in which I was told
+that &#8220;the within&#8221; was but a slight token of the gratitude due me for my
+effort in behalf of a poor, defenseless, but much loved, maiden. It was
+signed &#8220;Several Citizens,&#8221; and contained one hundred dollars. Shortly
+afterward, the youth came to pay me all the money he could raise. I
+simply showed him the note I had received, and asked him if he would
+keep his hard earnings for his wife, when he got one. He owned that he
+intended to make Lizzie Madworth his wife very soon.</p>
+
+<p>I will only add that on the following day I succeeded in clearing my
+next client from conviction of robbing the mail; and I will not deny
+that I made a considerable handle of the fortunate discovery of the
+letter which had saved an innocent girl, on the day before, in my appeal
+to the jury; and if I made them feel that the finger of Omnipotence was
+in the work, I did it because I sincerely believe my client was innocent
+of all crime; and I am sure they thought so too.</p>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Footnotes:</span></h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> <i>Caput</i>&mdash;a German slang expression with the general
+significance of the English &#8220;gone to smash,&#8221; but also a hundred other
+and wider meanings, impossible to render in brief.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> The original is by Charles Herman, of Brussels.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> <i>Helfen</i>&mdash;to help.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_D_4" id="Footnote_D_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_D_4"><span class="label">[D]</span></a> The German custom on an engagement taking place is to
+announce it with the above words, signifying &#8220;M. and N. announce
+(recommend) themselves as betrothed.&#8221; This appears in the newspaper&mdash;as
+a marriage with us.</p></div>
+
+<hr class="large" />
+
+<h3><span class="smcap">Transcriber's Notes:</span></h3>
+
+<p>1. Minor changes have been made to correct obvious typesetters&#8217; errors; otherwise,
+every effort has been made to remain true to the author&#8217;s words and intent.</p>
+
+<p>2. The original book did not have a Table of Contents; one has been added for the reader&#8217;s
+convenience.</p>
+
+<p>3. German readers may find it unusual that German nouns have not been capitalized; the book did
+not follow the German convention, and the transcriber has not changed that in this e-text.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The First Violin, by Jessie Fothergill
+
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The First Violin, by Jessie Fothergill
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The First Violin
+       A Novel
+
+Author: Jessie Fothergill
+
+Release Date: June 25, 2009 [EBook #29219]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIRST VIOLIN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Alicia Williams, D. Alexander and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ THE FIRST VIOLIN
+
+ _A NOVEL._
+
+ BY JESSIE FOTHERGILL,
+
+ _Author of "A March in the Ranks," Etc._
+
+     *       *       *       *       *
+
+ NEW YORK
+ THE FEDERAL BOOK COMPANY
+ PUBLISHERS
+
+
+
+
+THE FIRST VIOLIN.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+MISS HALLAM.
+
+
+"Wonderful weather for April!" Yes, it certainty was wonderful. I fully
+agreed with the sentiment expressed at different periods of the day by
+different members of my family; but I did not follow their example and
+seek enjoyment out-of-doors--pleasure in that balmy spring air.
+Trouble--the first trouble of my life--had laid her hand heavily upon
+me. The world felt disjointed and all upside-down; I very helpless and
+lonely in it. I had two sisters, I had a father and a mother; but none
+the less was I unable to share my grief with any one of them; nay, it
+had been an absolute relief to me when first one and then another of
+them had left the house, on business or pleasure intent, and I, after
+watching my father go down the garden-walk, and seeing the gate close
+after him, knew that, save for Jane, our domestic, who was caroling
+lustily to herself in the kitchen regions, I was alone in the house.
+
+I was in the drawing-room. Once secure of solitude, I put down the
+sewing with which I had been pretending to employ myself, and went to
+the window--a pleasant, sunny bay. In that window stood a small
+work-table, with a flower-pot upon it containing a lilac primula. I
+remember it distinctly to this day, and I am likely to carry the
+recollection with me so long as I live. I leaned my elbows upon this
+table, and gazed across the fields, green with spring grass, tenderly
+lighted by an April sun, to where the river--the Skern--shone with a
+pleasant, homely, silvery glitter, twining through the smiling meadows
+till he bent round the solemn overhanging cliff crowned with mournful
+firs, which went by the name of the Rifted or Riven Scaur.
+
+In some such delightful mead might the white-armed Nausicaa have
+tossed her cowslip balls among the other maids; perhaps by some such
+river might Persephone have paused to gather the daffodil--"the fateful
+flower beside the rill." Light clouds flitted across the sky, a waft of
+wind danced in at the open window, ruffling my hair mockingly, and
+bearing with it the deep sound of a church clock striking four.
+
+As if the striking of the hour had been a signal for the breaking of a
+spell, the silence that had prevailed came to an end. Wheels came
+rolling along the road up to the door, which, however, was at the other
+side of the house. "A visitor for my father, no doubt," I thought
+indifferently; "and he has gone out to read the funeral service for a
+dead parishioner. How strange! I wonder how clergymen and doctors can
+ever get accustomed to the grim contrasts amid which they live!"
+
+I suffered my thoughts to wander off in some such track as this, but
+they were all through dominated by a heavy sense of oppression--the
+threatening hand of a calamity which I feared was about to overtake me,
+and I had again forgotten the outside world.
+
+The door was opened. Jane held it open and said nothing (a trifling
+habit of hers, which used to cause me much annoyance), and a tall woman
+walked slowly into the room. I rose and looked earnestly at her,
+surprised and somewhat nervous when I saw who she was--Miss Hallam, of
+Hallam Grange, our near neighbor, but a great stranger to us,
+nevertheless, so far, that is, as personal intercourse went.
+
+"Your servant told me that every one was out except Miss May," she
+remarked, in a harsh, decided voice, as she looked not so much at me as
+toward me, and I perceived that there was something strange about her
+eyes.
+
+"Yes; I am sorry," I began, doubtfully.
+
+She had sallow, strongly marked, but proud and aristocratic features,
+and a manner with more than a tinge of imperiousness. Her face, her
+figure, her voice were familiar, yet strange to me--familiar because I
+had heard of her, and been in the habit of occasionally seeing her from
+my very earliest childhood; strange, because she was reserved and not
+given to seeing her neighbors' houses for purposes either of gossip or
+hospitality. I was aware that about once in two years she made a call at
+our house, the vicarage, whether as a mark of politeness to us, or to
+show that, though she never entered a church, she still chose to lend
+her countenance and approval to the Establishment, or whether merely out
+of old use and habit, I knew not. I only knew that she came, and that
+until now it had never fallen to my lot to be present upon any of those
+momentous occasions.
+
+Feeling it a little hard that my coveted solitude should thus be
+interrupted, and not quite knowing what to say to her, I sat down and
+there was a moment's pause.
+
+"Is your mother well?" she inquired.
+
+"Yes, thank you, very well. She has gone with my sister to Darton."
+
+"Your father?"
+
+"He is well too, thank you. He has a funeral this afternoon."
+
+"I think you have two sisters, have you not?"
+
+"Yes; Adelaide and Stella."
+
+"And which are you?"
+
+"May; I am the second one."
+
+All her questions were put in an almost severe tone, and not as if she
+took very much interest in me or mine. I felt my timidity increase, and
+yet--I liked her. Yes, I felt most distinctly that I liked her.
+
+"May," she remarked, meditatively; "May Wedderburn. Are you aware that
+you have a very pretty north-country sounding name?"
+
+"I have not thought about it."
+
+"How old are you?"
+
+"I am a little over seventeen."
+
+"Ah! And what do you do all day?"
+
+"Oh!" I began, doubtfully, "not much, I am afraid, that is useful or
+valuable."
+
+"You are young enough yet. Don't begin to do things with a purpose for
+some time to come. Be happy while you can."
+
+"I am not at all happy," I replied, not thinking of what I was saying,
+and then feeling that I could have bitten my tongue out with vexation.
+What could it possibly matter to Miss Hallam whether I were happy or
+not? She was asking me all these questions to pass the time, and in
+order to talk about something while she sat in our house.
+
+"What makes you unhappy? Are your sisters disagreeable?"
+
+"Oh, no!"
+
+"Are your parents unkind?"
+
+"Unkind!" I echoed, thinking what a very extraordinary woman she was and
+wondering what kind of experience hers could have been in the past.
+
+"Then I can not imagine what cause for unhappiness you can have," she
+said, composedly.
+
+I made no answer. I repented me of having uttered the words, and Miss
+Hallam went on:
+
+"I should advise you to forget that there is such a thing as
+unhappiness. You will soon succeed."
+
+"Yes--I will try," said I, in a low voice, as the cause of my
+unhappiness rose up, gaunt, grim and forbidding, with thin lips curved
+in a mocking smile, and glittering, snake-like eyes fixed upon my face.
+I shivered faintly; and she, though looking quickly at me, seemed to
+think she had said enough about my unhappiness. Her next question
+surprised me much.
+
+"Are you fair in complexion?" she inquired.
+
+"Yes," said I. "I am very fair--fairer than either of my sisters. But
+are you near-sighted?"
+
+"Near sight_less_," she replied, with a bitter little laugh. "Cataract.
+I have so many joys in my life that Providence has thought fit to temper
+the sunshine of my lot. I am to content myself with the store of
+pleasant remembrances with which my mind is crowded, when I can see
+nothing outside. A delightful arrangement. It is what pious people call
+a 'cross,' or a 'visitation,' or something of that kind. I am not pious,
+and I call it the destruction of what little happiness I had."
+
+"Oh, I am very, very sorry for you," I answered, feeling what I spoke,
+for it had always been my idea of misery to be blind--shut away from the
+sunlight upon the fields, from the hue of the river, from all that "lust
+of the eye" which meets us on every side.
+
+"But are you quite alone?" I continued. "Have you no one to--"
+
+I stopped; I was about to add, "to be kind to you--to take care of you?"
+but I suddenly remembered that it would not do for me to ask such
+questions.
+
+"No, I live quite alone," said she, abruptly. "Did you think of offering
+to relieve my solitude?"
+
+I felt myself burning with a hot blush all over my face as I stammered
+out:
+
+"I am sure I never thought of anything so impertinent, but--but--if
+there was anything I could do--read or--"
+
+I stopped again. Never very confident in myself, I felt a miserable
+sense that I might have been going too far. I wished most ardently that
+my mother or Adelaide had been there to take the weight of such a
+conversation from my shoulders. What was my surprise to hear Miss Hallam
+say, in a tone quite smooth, polished, and polite:
+
+"Come and drink tea with me to-morrow afternoon--afternoon tea I mean.
+You can go away again as soon as you like. Will you?"
+
+"Oh, thank you. Yes, I will."
+
+"Very well. I shall expect you between four and five. Good-afternoon."
+
+"Let me come with you to your carriage," said I, hastily. "Jane--our
+servant is so clumsy."
+
+I preceded her with care, saw her seated in her carriage and driven
+toward the Grange, which was but a few hundred yards from our own gates,
+and then I returned to the house. And as I went in again, my
+companion-shadow glided once more to my side with soft, insinuating,
+irresistible importunity, and I knew that it would be my faithful
+attendant for--who could say how long?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+"Traversons gravement cette mechante mascarade qu'on appelle le monde"
+
+
+The houses in Skernford--the houses of "the gentry," that is to say--lay
+almost all on one side an old-fashioned, sleepy-looking "green" toward
+which their entrances lay; but their real front, their pleasantest
+aspect, was on their other side, facing the river which ran below, and
+down to which their gardens sloped in terraces. Our house, the vicarage,
+lay nearest the church; Miss Hallam's house, the Grange, furthest from
+the church. Between these, larger and more imposing, in grounds beside
+which ours seemed to dwindle down to a few flower-beds, lay Deeplish
+Hall, whose owner, Sir Peter Le Marchant, had lately come to live there,
+at least for a time.
+
+It was many years since Sir Peter Le Marchant, whose image at this time
+was fated to enter so largely and so much against my will into all my
+calculations, had lived at or even visited his estate at Skernford. He
+was a man of immense property, and report said that Deeplish Hall, which
+we innocent villagers looked upon as such an imposing mansion, was but
+one and not the grandest of his several country houses. All that I knew
+of his history--or rather, all that I had heard of it, whether truly or
+not, I was in no position to say--was but a vague and misty account; yet
+that little had given me a dislike to him before I ever met him.
+
+Miss Hallam, our neighbor, who lived in such solitude and retirement,
+was credited with having a history--if report had only been able to fix
+upon what it was. She was popularly supposed to be of a grim and
+decidedly eccentric disposition. Eccentric she was, as I afterward
+found--as I thought when I first saw her. She seldom appeared either in
+church or upon any other public occasion, and was said to be the deadly
+enemy of Sir Peter Le Marchant and all pertaining to him. There was some
+old, far-back romance connected with it--a romance which I did not
+understand, for up to now I had never known either her or Sir Peter
+sufficiently to take any interest in the story, but the report ran that
+in days gone by--how far gone by, too, they must have been!--Miss
+Hallam, a young and handsome heiress, loved very devotedly her one
+sister, and that sister--so much was known as a fact--had become Lady Le
+Marchant: was not her monument in the church between the Deeplish Hall
+and the Hallam Grange pews? Was not the tale of her virtues and her
+years--seven-and-twenty only did she count of the latter--there
+recorded? That Barbara Hallam had been married to Sir Peter was matter
+of history: what was not matter of history, but of tradition which was
+believed in quite as firmly, was that the baronet had ill-treated his
+wife--in what way was not distinctly specified, but I have since learned
+that it was true; she was a gentle creature, and he made her life
+miserable unto her. She was idolized by her elder sister, who, burning
+with indignation at the treatment to which her darling had been
+subjected, had become, even in disposition, an altered woman. From a
+cheerful, open-hearted, generous, somewhat brusque young person, she had
+grown into a prematurely old, soured, revengeful woman. It was to her
+that the weak and injured sister had fled; it was in her arms that she
+had died. Since her sister's death, Miss Hallam had withdrawn entirely
+from society, cherishing a perpetual grudge against Sir Peter Le
+Marchant. Whether she had relations or none, friends or acquaintance
+outside the small village in which she lived, none knew. If so, they
+limited their intercourse with her to correspondence, for no visitor
+ever penetrated to her damp old Grange, nor had she ever been known to
+leave it with the purpose of making any journey abroad. If perfect
+silence and perfect retirement could hush the tongues of tradition and
+report, then Miss Hallam's story should have been forgotten. But it was
+not forgotten. Such things never do become forgotten.
+
+It was only since Sir Peter had appeared suddenly some six weeks ago at
+Deeplish Hall, that these dry bones of tradition had for me quickened
+into something like life, and had acquired a kind of interest for me.
+
+Our father, as vicar of the parish, had naturally called upon Sir Peter,
+and as naturally invited him to his house. His visits had begun by his
+coming to lunch one day, and we had speculated about him a little in
+advance, half jestingly, raking up old stories, and attributing to him
+various evil qualities of a hard and loveless old age. But after he had
+gone, the verdict of Stella and myself was, "Much worse than we
+expected." He was different from what we had expected. Perhaps that
+annoyed us. Instead of being able to laugh at him, we found something
+oppressive, chilling, to me frightful, in the cold, sneering smile which
+seemed perpetually hovering about his thin lips--in the fixed, snaky
+glitter of his still, intent gray eyes. His face was pale, his manners
+were polished, but to meet his eye was a thing I hated, and the touch of
+his hand made me shudder. While speaking in the politest possible
+manner, he had eyed over Adelaide and me in a manner which I do not
+think either of us had ever experienced before. I hated him from the
+moment in which I saw him looking at me with expression of approval. To
+be approved by Sir Peter Le Marchant, could fate devise anything more
+horrible? Yes, I knew now that it could; one might have to submit to the
+approval, to live in the approval. I had expressed my opinion on the
+subject with freedom to Adelaide, who to my surprise had not agreed
+with me, and had told me coldly that I had no business to speak
+disrespectfully of my father's visitors. I was silenced, but unhappy.
+From the first moment of seeing Sir Peter, I had felt an uncomfortable,
+uneasy feeling, which, had I been sentimental, I might have called a
+presentiment, but I was not sentimental. I was a healthy young girl of
+seventeen, believing in true love, and goodness, and gentleness very
+earnestly; "fancy free," having read few novels, and heard no gossip--a
+very baby in many respects. Our home might be a quiet one, a poor one, a
+dull one--our circle of acquaintance small, our distractions of the most
+limited description imaginable, but at least we knew no evil, and--I
+speak for Stella and myself--thought none. Our father and mother were
+persons with nothing whatever remarkable about them. Both had been
+handsome. My mother was pretty, my father good-looking yet. I loved them
+both dearly. It had never entered my head to do otherwise than love
+them, but the love which made the star and the poetry of my quiet and
+unromantic life was that I bore to Adelaide, my eldest sister. I
+believed in her devotedly, and accepted her judgment, given in her own
+peculiar proud, decided way, upon every topic on which she chose to
+express it. She was one-and-twenty, and I used to think I could lay down
+my life for her.
+
+It was consequently a shock to me to hear her speak in praise--yes, in
+praise of Sir Peter Le Marchant. My first impulse was to distrust my own
+judgment, but no; I could not long do so. He was repulsive; he was
+stealthy, hard, cruel, in appearance. I could not account for Adelaide's
+perversity in liking him, and passed puzzled days and racked my brain in
+conjecture as to why when Sir Peter came Adelaide should be always at
+home, always neat and fresh--not like me. Why was Adelaide, who found it
+too much trouble to join Stella and me in our homely concerts, always
+ready to indulge Sir Peter's taste for music, to entertain him with
+conversation?--and she _could_ talk. She was unlike me in that respect.
+I never had a brilliant gift of conversation. She was witty about the
+things she did know, and never committed the fatal mistake of pretending
+to be up in the things she did not know. These gifts of mind, these
+social powers, were always ready for the edification of Sir Peter. By
+degrees the truth forced itself upon me. Some one said--I overheard
+it--that "that handsome Miss Wedderburn was undoubtedly setting her cap
+at Sir Peter Le Marchant." Never shall I forget the fury which at first
+possessed me, the conviction which gradually stole over me that it was
+true. My sister Adelaide, beautiful, proud, clever--and, I had always
+thought, good,--had distinctly in view the purpose of becoming Lady Le
+Marchant. I shed countless tears over the miserable discovery, and dared
+not speak to her of it. But that was not the worst. My horizon darkened.
+One horrible day I discovered that it was I, and not Adelaide, who had
+attracted Sir Peter's attentions. It was not a scene, not a set
+declaration. It was a word in that smooth voice, a glance from that
+hated and chilling eye, which suddenly aroused me to the truth.
+
+Shuddering, dismayed, I locked the matter up within my own breast, and
+wished with a longing that sometimes made me quite wretched that I could
+quit Skernford, my home, my life, which had lost zest for me, and was
+become a burden to me. The knowledge that Sir Peter admired me
+absolutely degraded me in my own eyes. I felt as if I could not hold up
+my head. I had spoken to no one of what had passed within me, and I
+trusted it had not been noticed; but all my joy was gone. It was as if I
+stood helpless while a noisome reptile coiled its folds around me.
+
+To-day, after Miss Hallam's departure, I dropped into my now chronic
+state of listlessness and sadness. They all came back; my father from
+the church; my mother and Adelaide from Darton, whither they had been on
+a shopping expedition; Stella from a stroll by the river. We had tea,
+and they dispersed quite cheerfully to their various occupations. I,
+seeing the gloaming gently and dim falling over the earth, walked out of
+the house into the garden, and took my way toward the river. I passed an
+arbor in which Stella and I had loved to sit and watch the stream, and
+talk and read Miss Austen's novels. Stella was there now, with a
+well-thumbed copy of "Pride and Prejudice" in her hand.
+
+"Come and sit down, May," she apostrophized me. "Do listen to this about
+Bingley and Wickham."
+
+"No, thank you," said I, abstractedly, and feeling that Stella was not
+the person to whom I could confide my woe. Indeed, on scanning mentally
+the list of my acquaintance, I found that there was not one in whom I
+could confide. It gave me a strange sense of loneliness and aloofness,
+and hardened me more than the reading of a hundred satires on the
+meannesses of society.
+
+I went along the terrace by the river-side, and looked up to the
+left--traces of Sir Peter again. There was the terrace of Deeplish Hall,
+which stood on a height just above a bend in the river. It was a fine
+old place. The sheen of the glass houses caught the rays of the sun and
+glanced in them. It looked rich, old, and peaceful. I had been many a
+time through its gardens, and thought them beautiful, and wished they
+belonged to me. Now I felt that they lay in a manner at my feet, and my
+strongest feeling respecting them was an earnest wish that I might never
+see them again.
+
+Thus agreeably meditating, I insensibly left our own garden and wandered
+on in the now quickly falling twilight into a narrow path leading across
+a sort of No-Man's-Land into the demesne of Sir Peter Le Marchant. In my
+trouble I scarcely remarked where I was going, and with my eyes cast
+upon the ground was wishing that I could feel again as I once had felt,
+when
+
+     "I nothing had, and yet enough;"
+
+and was sadly wondering what I could do to escape from the net in which
+I felt myself caught, when a shadow darkened the twilight in which I
+stood, and looking up I saw Sir Peter, and heard these words:
+
+"Good-evening, Miss Wedderburn. Are you enjoying a little stroll?"
+
+By, as it seemed to me, some strange miracle all my inward fears and
+tremblings vanished. I did not feel afraid of Sir Peter in the least. I
+felt that here was a crisis. This meeting would show me whether my fears
+had been groundless, and my own vanity and self-consciousness of
+unparalleled proportions, or whether I had judged truly, and had good
+reason for my qualms and anticipations.
+
+It came. The alarm had not been a false one. Sir Peter, after conversing
+with me for a short time, did, in clear and unmistakable terms, inform
+me that he loved me, and asked me to marry him.
+
+"I thank you," said I, mastering my impulse to cover my face with my
+hands, and run shuddering away from him. "I thank you for the honor you
+offer me, and beg to decline it."
+
+He looked surprised, and still continued to urge me in a manner which
+roused a deep inner feeling of indignation within me, for it seemed to
+say that he understood me to be overwhelmed with the honor he proposed
+to confer upon me, and humored my timidity about accepting it. There was
+no doubt in his manner; not the shadow of a suspicion that I could be in
+earnest. There was something that turned my heart cold within me--a
+cool, sneering tone, which not all his professions of affection could
+disguise. Since that time I have heard Sir Peter explicitly state his
+conception of the sphere of woman in the world; it was not an exalted
+one. He could not even now quite conceal that while he told me he wished
+to make me his wife and the partner of his heart and possessions, yet he
+knew that such professions were but words--that he did not sue for my
+love (poor Sir Peter! I doubt if ever in his long life he was blessed
+with even a momentary glimpse of the divine countenance of pure Love),
+but offered to buy my youth, and such poor beauty as I might have, with
+his money and his other worldly advantages.
+
+Sir Peter was a blank, utter skeptic with regard to the worth of woman.
+He did not believe in their virtue nor their self-respect; he believed
+them to be clever actresses, and, taken all in all, the best kind of
+amusement to be had for money. The kind of opinion was then new to me;
+the effect of it upon my mind such as might be expected. I was
+seventeen, and an ardent believer in all things pure and of good report.
+
+Nevertheless, I remained composed, sedate, even courteous to the
+last--till I had fairly made Sir Peter understand that no earthly power
+should induce me to marry him; till I had let him see that I fully
+comprehended the advantages of the position he offered me, and declined
+them.
+
+"Miss Wedderburn," said he, at last--and his voice was as unruffled as
+my own; had it been more angry I should have feared it less--"do you
+fear opposition? I do not think your parents would refuse their consent
+to our union."
+
+I closed my eyes for a moment, and a hand seemed to tighten about my
+heart. Then I said:
+
+"I speak without reference to my parents. In such a matter I judge for
+myself."
+
+"Always the same answer?"
+
+"Always the same, Sir Peter."
+
+"It would be most ungentlemanly to press the subject any further." His
+eyes were fixed upon me with the same cold, snake-like smile. "I will
+not be guilty of such a solecism. Your family affections, my dear young
+lady, are strong, I should suppose. Which--whom do you love best?"
+
+Surprised at the blunt straightforwardness of the question, as coming
+from him, I replied thoughtlessly, "Oh, my sister Adelaide."
+
+"Indeed! I should imagine she was in every way worthy the esteem of so
+disinterested a person as yourself. A different disposition,
+though--quite. Will you allow me to touch your hand before I retire?"
+
+Trembling with uneasy forebodings roused by his continual sneering
+smile, and the peculiar evil light in his eyes, I yet went through with
+my duty to the end. He took the hand I extended, and raised it to his
+lips with a low bow.
+
+"Good-evening, Miss Wedderburn."
+
+Faintly returning his valediction, I saw him go away, and then in a
+dream, a maze, a bewilderment, I too turned slowly away and walked to
+the house again. I felt, I knew I had behaved well and discreetly, but I
+had no confidence whatever that the matter was at an end.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+"Lucifer, Star of the Morning! How art thou fallen!"
+
+
+I found myself, without having met any one of my family, in my own room,
+in the semi-darkness, seated on a chair by my bedside, unnerved, faint,
+miserable with a misery such as I had never felt before. The window was
+open, and there came up a faint scent of sweetbrier and wall-flowers in
+soft, balmy gusts, driven into the room by the April night wind. There
+rose a moon and flooded the earth with radiance. Then came a sound of
+footsteps; the door of the next room, that belonging to Adelaide, was
+opened. I heard her come in, strike a match, and light her candle; the
+click of the catch as the blind rolled down. There was a door between
+her room and mine, and presently she passed it, and bearing a candle in
+her hand, stood in my presence. My sister was very beautiful, very
+proud. She was cleverer, stronger, more decided than I, or rather, while
+she had those qualities very strongly developed, I was almost without
+them. She always held her head up, and had one of those majestic figures
+which require no back-boards to teach them uprightness, no master of
+deportment to instill grace into their movements. Her toilet and mine
+were not, as may be supposed, of very rich materials or varied
+character; but while my things always looked as bad of their kind as
+they could--fitted badly, sat badly, were creased and crumpled--hers
+always had a look of freshness; she wore the merest old black merino as
+if it were velvet, and a muslin frill like a point-lace collar. There
+are such people in the world. I have always admired them, envied them,
+wondered at them from afar; it has never been my fate in the smallest
+degree to approach or emulate them.
+
+Her pale face, with its perfect outlines, was just illumined by the
+candle she held, and the light also caught the crown of massive plaits
+which she wore around her head. She set the candle down. I sat still and
+looked at her.
+
+"You are there, May," she remarked.
+
+"Yes," was my subdued response.
+
+"Where have you been all evening?"
+
+"It does not matter to any one."
+
+"Indeed it does. You were talking to Sir Peter Le Marchant. I saw you
+meet him from my bedroom window."
+
+"Did you?"
+
+"Did he propose to you?" she inquired, with a composure which seemed to
+me frightful. "Worldly," I thought, was a weak word to apply to her, and
+I was suffering acutely.
+
+"He did."
+
+"Well, I suppose it would be a little difficult to accept him."
+
+"I did not accept him."
+
+"What?" she inquired, as if she had not quite caught what I said.
+
+"I refused him," said I, slightly raising my voice.
+
+"What are you telling me?"
+
+"The truth."
+
+"Sir Peter has fif--"
+
+"Don't mention Sir Peter to me again," said I, nervously, and feeling as
+if my heart would break. I had never quarreled with Adelaide before. No
+reconciliation afterward could ever make up for the anguish which I was
+going through now.
+
+"Just listen to me," she said, bending over me, her lips drawn together.
+"I ought to have spoken to you before. I don't know whether you have
+ever given any thought to our position and circumstances. If not, it
+would be as well that you should do so now. Papa is fifty-five years
+old, and has three hundred a year. In the course of time he will die,
+and as his life is not insured, and he has regularly spent every penny
+of his income--naturally it would have been strange if he hadn't--what
+is to become of us when he is dead?"
+
+"We can work."
+
+"Work!" said she, with inexpressible scorn. "Work! Pray what can we do
+in the way of work? What kind of education have we had? The village
+school-mistress could make us look very small in the matter of geography
+and history. We have not been trained to work, and, let me tell you,
+May, unskilled labor does not pay in these days."
+
+"I am sure you can do anything, Adelaide, and I will teach singing. I
+can sing."
+
+"Pooh! Do you suppose that because you can take C in alt. you are
+competent to teach singing? You don't know how to sing yourself yet.
+Your face is your fortune. So is mine my fortune. So is Stella's her
+fortune. You have enjoyed yourself all your life; you have had seventeen
+years of play and amusement, and now you behave like a baby. You refuse
+to endure a little discomfort, as the price of placing yourself and your
+family forever out of the reach of trouble and trial. Why, if you were
+Sir Peter's wife, you could do what you liked with him. I don't say
+anything about myself; but oh! May, I am ashamed of you, I am ashamed of
+you! I thought you had more in you. Is it possible that you are nothing
+but a romp--nothing but a vulgar tomboy? Good Heaven! If the chance had
+been mine!"
+
+"What would you have done?" I whispered, subdued for the moment, but
+obstinate in my heart as ever.
+
+"I am nobody now; no one knows me. But if I had had the chance that you
+have had to-night, in another year I would have been known and envied by
+half the women in England. Bah! Circumstances are too disgusting, too
+unkind!"
+
+"Oh! Adelaide, nothing could have made up for being tied to that man,"
+said I, in a small voice; "and I am not ambitious."
+
+"Ambitious! You are selfish--downright, grossly, inordinately selfish.
+Do you suppose no one else ever had to do what they did not like? Why
+did you not stop to think instead of rushing away from the thing like
+some unreasoning animal?"
+
+"Adelaide! Sir Peter! To marry him?" I implored in tears. "How could I?
+I should die of shame at the very thought. Who could help seeing that I
+had sold myself to him?"
+
+"And who would think any the worse of you? And what if they did? With
+fifteen thousand a year you may defy public opinion."
+
+"Oh, don't! don't!" I cried, covering my face with my hands. "Adelaide,
+you will break my heart!"
+
+Burying my face in the bed-quilt, I sobbed irrepressibly. Adelaide's
+apparent unconsciousness of, or callousness to, the stabs she was giving
+me, and the anguish they caused me, almost distracted me.
+
+She loosed my arm, remarking, with bitter vexation:
+
+"I feel as if I could shake you!"
+
+She left the room. I was left to my meditations. My head--my heart
+too--ached distractingly; my arm was sore where Adelaide had grasped it;
+I felt as if she had taken my mind by the shoulders and shaken it
+roughly. I fastened both doors of my room, resolving that neither she
+nor any one else should penetrate to my presence again that night.
+
+What was I to do? Where to turn? I began now to realize that the _Res
+dom_, which had always seemed to me so abundant for all occasions, were
+really _Res Angusta_, and that circumstances might occur in which they
+would be miserably inadequate.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+"Zu Rathe gehen, und vom Rath zur That."
+               _Briefe_ BEETHOVEN'S.
+
+
+There was surely not much in Miss Hallam to encourage confidences; yet
+within half an hour of the time of entering her house I had told her all
+that oppressed my heart, and had gained a feeling of greater security
+than I had yet felt. I was sure that she would befriend me. True, she
+did not say so. When I told her about Sir Peter Le Marchant's proposal
+to me, about Adelaide's behavior; when, in halting and stammering tones,
+and interrupted by tears, I confessed that I had not spoken to my father
+or mother upon the subject, and that I was not quite sure of their
+approval of what I had done, she even laughed a little, but not in what
+could be called an amused manner. When I had finished my tale, she said:
+
+"If I understand you, the case stands thus: You have refused Sir Peter
+Le Marchant, but you do not feel at all sure that he will not propose to
+you again. Is it not so?"
+
+"Yes," I admitted.
+
+"And you dread and shrink from the idea of a repetition of this
+business?"
+
+"I feel as if it would kill me."
+
+"It would not kill you. People are not so easily killed as all that; but
+it is highly unfit that you should be subjected to a recurrence of it. I
+will think about it. Will you have the goodness to read me a page of
+this book?"
+
+Much surprised at this very abrupt change of the subject, but not daring
+to make any observation upon it, I took the book--the current number of
+a magazine--and read a page to her.
+
+"That will do," said she. "Now, will you read this letter, also aloud?"
+
+She put a letter into my hand, and I read:
+
+     "DEAR MADAME,--In answer to your letter of last week, I write to
+     say that I could find the rooms you require, and that by me you
+     will have many good agreements which would make your stay in
+     Germany pleasanter. My house is a large one in the Alleestrasse.
+     Dr. Mittendorf, the oculist, lives not far from here, and the
+     Staedtische Augenklinik--that is, the eye hospital--is quite near.
+     The rooms you would have are upstairs--suite of salon and two
+     bedrooms, with room for your maid in another part of the house. I
+     have other boarders here at the time, but you would do as you
+     pleased about mixing with them.
+
+                    "With all highest esteem,
+                         "Your devoted,
+                              "'CLARA STEINMANN.'"
+
+"You don't understand it all, I suppose?" said she, when I had finished.
+
+"No."
+
+"That lady writes from Elberthal. You have heard of Elberthal on the
+Rhine, I presume?"
+
+"Oh, yes! A large town. There used to be a fine picture-gallery there;
+but in the war between the--"
+
+"There, thank you! I studied Guy's geography myself in my youth. I see
+you know the place I mean. There is an eye hospital there, and a
+celebrated oculist--Mittendorf. I am going there. I don't suppose it
+will be of the least use; but I am going. Drowning men catch at straws.
+Well, what else can you do? You don't read badly."
+
+"I can sing--not very well, but I can sing."
+
+"You can sing," said she, reflectively. "Just go to the piano and let me
+hear a specimen. I was once a judge in these matters."
+
+I opened the piano and sung, as well as I could, an English version of
+"Die Lotus-blume."
+
+My performance was greeted with silence, which Miss Hallam at length
+broke, remarking:
+
+"I suppose you have not had much training?"
+
+"Scarcely any."
+
+"Humph! Well, it is to be had, even if not in Skernford. Would you like
+some lessons?"
+
+"I should like a good many things that I am not likely ever to have."
+
+"At Elberthal there are all kinds of advantages with regard to those
+things--music and singing, and so on. Will you come there with me as my
+companion?"
+
+I heard, but did not fairly understand. My head was in a whirl. Go to
+Germany with Miss Hallam; leave Skernford, Sir Peter, all that had grown
+so weary to me; see new places, live with new people; learn something!
+No, I did not grasp it in the least. I made no reply, but sat
+breathlessly staring.
+
+"But I shall expect you to make yourself useful to me in many ways,"
+proceeded Miss Hallam.
+
+At this touch of reality I began to waken up again.
+
+"Oh, Miss Hallam, is it really true? Do you think they will let me go?"
+
+"You haven't answered me yet."
+
+"About being useful? I would do anything you like--anything in the
+world."
+
+"Do not suppose your life will be all roses, or you will be woefully
+disappointed. I do not go out at all; my health is bad--so is my temper
+very often. I am what people who never had any trouble are fond of
+calling peculiar. Still, if you are in earnest, and not merely
+sentimentalizing, you will take your courage in your hands and come with
+me."
+
+"Miss Hallam," said I, with tragic earnestness, as I took her hand, "I
+will come. I see you half mistrust me; but if I had to go to Siberia to
+get out of Sir Peter's way, I would go gladly and stay there. I hope I
+shall not be very clumsy. They say at home that I am, very, but I will
+do my best."
+
+"They call you clumsy at home, do they?"
+
+"Yes. My sisters are so much cleverer than I, and can do everything so
+much better than I can. I am rather stupid, I know."
+
+"Very well, if you like to call yourself so, do. It is decided that you
+come with me. I will see your father about it to-morrow. I always get my
+own way when I wish it. I leave in about a week."
+
+I sat with clasped hands, my heart so full that I could not speak.
+Sadness and gladness struggled hard within me. The idea of getting away
+from Skernford was almost too delightful; the remembrance of Adelaide
+made my heart ache.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+ "Ade nun ihr Berge, ihr vaeterlich Haus!
+ Es treibt in die Ferne mich maechtig hinaus."
+                VOLKSLIED.
+
+
+Consent was given. Sir Peter was not mentioned to me by my parents, or
+by Adelaide. The days of that week flew rapidly by.
+
+I was almost afraid to mention my prospects to Adelaide. I feared she
+would resent my good fortune in going abroad, and that her anger at
+having spoiled those other prospects would remain unabated. Moreover, a
+deeper feeling separated me from her now--the knowledge that there lay a
+great gulf of feeling, sentiment, opinion between us, which nothing
+could bridge over or do away with. Outwardly we might be amiable and
+friendly to each other, but confidence, union, was fled over. Once again
+in the future, I was destined, when our respective principles had been
+tried to the utmost, to have her confidence--to see her heart of hearts;
+but for the present we were effectually divided. I had mortally offended
+her, and it was not a case in which I could with decency even humble
+myself to her. Once, however, she mentioned the future.
+
+When the day of our departure had been fixed, and was only two days
+distant; when I was breathless with hurried repairing of old clothes,
+and the equally hurried laying in of a small stock of new ones; while I
+was contemplating with awe the prospect of a first journey to London, to
+Ostend, to Brussels, she said to me, as I sat feverishly hemming a
+frill:
+
+"So you are going to Germany?"
+
+"Yes, Adelaide."
+
+"What are you going to do there?"
+
+"My duty, I hope."
+
+"Charity, my dear, and duty too, begins at home. I should say you were
+going away leaving your duty undone."
+
+I was silent, and she went on:
+
+"I suppose you wish to go abroad, May?"
+
+"You know I have always wished to go."
+
+"So do I."
+
+"I wish you were going too," said I, timidly.
+
+"Thank you. My views upon the subject are quite different. When I go
+abroad I shall go in a different capacity to that you are going to
+assume. I will let you know all about it in due time."
+
+"Very well," said I, almost inaudibly, having a vague idea as to what
+she meant, but determined not to speak about it.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The following day the curtain rose upon the first act of the play--call
+it drama, comedy, tragedy, what you will--which was to be played in my
+absence. I had been up the village to the post-office, and was
+returning, when I saw advancing toward me two figures which I had cause
+to remember--my sister's queenly height, her white hat over her eyes,
+and her sunshade in her hand, and beside her the pale face, with its
+ragged eyebrows and hateful sneer, of Sir Peter Le Marchant.
+
+Adelaide, not at all embarrassed by his company, was smiling slightly,
+and her eyes with drooped lids glanced downward toward the baronet. I
+shrunk into a cottage to avoid them as they came past, and waited.
+Adelaide was saying:
+
+"Proud--yes, I am proud, I suppose. Too proud, at least, to--"
+
+There! Out of hearing. They had passed. I hurried out of the cottage,
+and home.
+
+The next day I met Miss Hallam and her maid (we three traveled alone)
+at the station, and soon we were whirling smoothly along our southward
+way--to York first, then to London, and so out into the world, thought
+I.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+"Ein Held aus der Fremde, gar kuehn."
+
+
+We had left Brussels and Belgium behind, had departed from the regions
+of _Chemins de fer_, and entered those of _Eisenbahnen_. We were at
+Cologne, where we had to change and wait half an hour before we could go
+on to Elberthal. We sat in the wartesaal, and I had committed to my
+charge two bundles, with strict injunctions not to lose them.
+
+Then the doors were opened, and the people made a mad rush to a train
+standing somewhere in the dim distance. Merrick, Miss Hallam's maid, had
+to give her whole attention to her mistress. I followed close in their
+wake, until, as we had almost come to the train, I cast my eyes downward
+and perceived that there was missing from my arm a gray shawl of Miss
+Hallam's, which had been committed to my charge, and upon which she set
+a fidgety kind of value, as being particularly warm or particularly
+soft.
+
+Dismayed, I neither hesitated nor thought, but turned, fought my way
+through the throng of people to the waiting-room again, hunted every
+corner, but in vain, for the shawl. Either it was completely lost, or
+Merrick had, without my observing it, taken it under her own protection.
+It was not in the waiting-room. Giving up the search I hurried to the
+door: it was fast. No one more, it would seem, was to be let out that
+way; I must go round, through the passages into the open hall of the
+station, and so on to the platform again. More easily said than done.
+Always, from my earliest youth up, I have had a peculiar fancy for
+losing myself. On this eventful day I lost myself. I ran through the
+passages, came into the great open place surrounded on every side by
+doors leading to the platforms, offices, or booking offices. Glancing
+hastily round, I selected the door which appeared to my imperfectly
+developed "locality" to promise egress upon the platform, pushed it
+open, and going along a covered passage, and through another door, found
+myself, after the loss of a good five minutes, in a lofty deserted wing
+of the station, gazing wildly at an empty platform, and feverishly
+scanning all the long row of doors to my right, in a mad effort to guess
+which would take me from this delightful _terra incognito_ back to my
+friends.
+
+_Gepaeck-Expedition_, I read, and thought it did not sound promising.
+Telegraphs bureau. Impossible! _Ausgang._ There was the magic word, and
+I, not knowing it, stared at it and was none the wiser for its friendly
+sign. I heard a hollow whistle in the distance. No doubt it was the
+Elberthal train going away, and my heart sunk deep, deep within my
+breast. I knew no German word. All I could say was "Elberthal;" and my
+nearest approach to "first-class" was to point to the carriage doors and
+say "Ein," which might or might not be understood--probably not, when
+the universal stupidity of the German railway official is taken into
+consideration, together with his chronic state of gratuitous suspicion
+that a bad motive lurks under every question which is put to him. I
+heard a subdued bustle coming from the right hand in the distance, and I
+ran hastily to the other end of the great empty place, seeing, as I
+thought, an opening. Vain delusion! Deceptive dream of the fancy! There
+was a glass window through which I looked and saw a street thronged with
+passengers and vehicles. I hurried back again to find my way to the
+entrance of the station and there try another door, when I heard a bell
+ring violently--a loud groaning and shrieking, and then the sound, as it
+were, of a train departing. A porter--at least a person in uniform,
+appeared in a door-way. How I rushed up to him! How I seized his arm,
+and dropping my rugs gesticulated excitedly and panted forth the word
+"Elberthal!"
+
+"Elberthal?" said he in a guttural bass; "_Wollt ihr nach Elberthal,
+fraeuleinchen!_"
+
+There was an impudent twinkle in his eye, as it were impertinence trying
+to get the better of beer, and I reiterated "Elberthal," growing very
+red, and cursing all foreign speeches by my gods--a process often
+employed, I believe, by cleverer persons than I, with reference to
+things they do not understand.
+
+"_Schon fort, Fraeulein_," he continued, with a grin.
+
+"But where--what--Elberthal!"
+
+He was about to make some further reply, when, turning, he seemed to see
+some one, and assumed a more respectful demeanor. I too turned, and saw
+at some little distance from us a gentleman sauntering along, who,
+though coming toward us, did not seem to observe us. Would he understand
+me if I spoke to him? Desperate as I was, I felt some timidity about
+trying it. Never had I felt so miserable, so helpless, so utterly
+ashamed as I did then. My lips trembled as the new-comer drew nearer,
+and the porter, taking the opportunity of quitting a scene which began
+to bore him, slipped away. I was left alone on the platform, nervously
+snatching short glances at the person slowly, very slowly approaching
+me. He did not look up as if he beheld me or in any way remarked my
+presence. His eyes were bent toward the ground: his fingers drummed a
+tune upon his chest. As he approached, I heard that he was humming
+something. I even heard the air; it has been impressed upon my memory
+firmly enough since, though I did not know it then--the air of the
+march from Raff's Fifth Symphonie, the "Lenore." I heard the tune softly
+hummed in a mellow voice, as with face burning and glowing, I placed
+myself before him. Then he looked suddenly up as if startled, fixed upon
+me a pair of eyes which gave me a kind of shock; so keen, so commanding
+were they, with a kind of tameless freedom in their glance such as I had
+never seen before.
+
+Arrested (no doubt by my wild and excited appearance), he stood still
+and looked at me, and as he looked a slight smile began to dawn upon his
+lips. Not an Englishman. I should have known him for an outlander
+anywhere. I remarked no details of his appearance; only that he was tall
+and had, as it seemed to me, a commanding bearing. I stood hesitating
+and blushing. (To this very day the blood comes to my face as I think of
+my agony of blushes in that immemorial moment.) I saw a handsome--a very
+handsome face, quite different from any I had ever seen before: the
+startling eyes before spoken of, and which surveyed me with a look so
+keen, so cool, and so bright, which seemed to penetrate through and
+through me; while a slight smile curled the light mustache upward--a
+general aspect which gave me the impression that he was not only a
+personage, but a very great personage--with a flavor of something else
+permeating it all which puzzled me and made me feel embarrassed as to
+how to address him. While I stood inanely trying to gather my senses
+together, he took off the little cloth cap he wore, and bowing, asked:
+
+"_Mein Fraeulein_, in what can I assist you?"
+
+His English was excellent--his bow like nothing I had seen before.
+Convinced that I had met a genuine, thorough fine gentleman (in which I
+was right for once in my life), I began:
+
+"I have lost my way," and my voice trembled in spite of all my efforts
+to steady it. "In a crowd I lost my friends, and--I was going to
+Elberthal, and I turned the wrong way--and--"
+
+"Have come to destruction, _nicht wahr_?" He looked at his watch, raised
+his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. "The Elberthal train is already
+away."
+
+"Gone!" I dropped my rugs and began a tremulous search for my
+pocket-handkerchief. "What shall I do?"
+
+"There is another--let me see--in one hour--two--_will 'mal nachsehen._
+Will you come with me, Fraeulein, and we will see about the trains."
+
+"If you would show me the platform," said I. "Perhaps some of them may
+still be there. Oh, what will they think of me?"
+
+"We must go to the wartesaal," said he. "Then you can look out and see
+if you see any of them."
+
+I had no choice but to comply.
+
+My benefactor picked up my two bundles, and, in spite of my
+expostulations, carried them with him. He took me through the door
+inscribed _Ausgang_, and the whole thing seemed so extremely simple now,
+that my astonishment as to how I could have lost myself increased every
+minute. He went before me to the waiting-room, put my bundles upon one
+of the sofas, and we went to the door. The platform was almost as empty
+as the one we had left.
+
+I looked round, and though it was only what I had expected, yet my face
+fell when I saw how utterly and entirely my party had disappeared.
+
+"You see them not?" he inquired.
+
+"No--they are gone," said I, turning away from the window and choking
+down a sob, not very effectually. Turning my damp and sorrowful eyes to
+my companion, I found that he was still smiling to himself as if quietly
+amused at the whole adventure.
+
+"I will go and see at what time the trains go to Elberthal. Suppose you
+sit down--yes?"
+
+Passively obeying, I sat down and turned my situation over in my mind,
+in which kind of agreeable mental legerdemain I was still occupied when
+he returned.
+
+"It is now half past three, and there is a train to Elberthal at seven."
+
+"Seven!"
+
+"Seven: a very pleasant time to travel, _nicht wahr_? Then it is still
+quite light."
+
+"So long! Three hours and a half," I murmured, dejectedly, and bit my
+lips and hung my head. Then I said, "I am sure I am much obliged to you.
+If I might ask you a favor?"
+
+"_Bitte, mein Fraeulein!_"
+
+"If you could show me exactly where the train starts from, and--could I
+get a ticket now, do you think?"
+
+"I'm afraid not, so long before," he answered, twisting his mustache, as
+I could not help seeing, to hide a smile.
+
+"Then," said I, with stoic calmness, "I shall never get to
+Elberthal--never, for I don't know a word of German, not one," I sat
+more firmly down upon the sofa, and tried to contemplate the future with
+fortitude.
+
+"I can tell you what to say," said he, removing with great deliberation
+the bundles which divided us, and sitting down beside me. He leaned his
+chin upon his hand and looked at me, ever, as it seemed to me, with
+amusement tempered with kindness, and I felt like a very little girl
+indeed.
+
+"You are exceedingly good," I replied, "but it would be of no use. I am
+so frightened of those men in blue coats and big mustaches. I should not
+be able to say a word to any of them."
+
+"German is sometimes not unlike English."
+
+"It is like nothing to me, except a great mystery."
+
+"_Billet_, is 'ticket,'" said he persuasively.
+
+"Oh, is it?" said I, with a gleam of hope. "Perhaps I could remember
+that. _Billet_," I repeated reflectively.
+
+"Bil_let_," he amended; "not _Bil_lit."
+
+"Bill-yet--Bill-_yet_," I repeated.
+
+"And 'to Elberthal' may be said in one word, 'Elberthal.' '_Ein
+Billet--Elberthal--erster Classe._'"
+
+"_Ein Bill-yet_," I repeated, automatically, for my thoughts were
+dwelling more upon the charming quandary in which I found myself than
+upon his half-good-natured half-mocking instructions: "_Ein Bill-yet,
+firste--erste_--it is of no use. I can't say it. But"--here a brilliant
+idea struck me--"if you could write it out for me on a paper, and then I
+could give it to the man: he would surely know what it meant."
+
+"A very interesting idea, but a _viva voce_ interview is so much
+better."
+
+"I wonder how long it takes to walk to Elberthal!" I suggested darkly.
+
+"Oh, a mere trifle of a walk. You might do it in four or five hours, I
+dare say."
+
+I bit my lips, trying not to cry.
+
+"Perhaps we might make some other arrangement," he remarked. "I am going
+to Elberthal too."
+
+"You! Thank Heaven!" was my first remark. Then as a doubt came over me:
+"Then why--why--"
+
+Here I stuck fast, unable to ask why he had said so many tormenting
+things to me, pretended to teach me German phrases, and so on. The words
+would not come out. Meanwhile he, without apparently feeling it
+necessary to explain himself upon these points, went on:
+
+"Yes. I have been at a probe" (not having the faintest idea as to what a
+probe might be, and not liking to ask, I held my peace and bowed
+assentingly). He went on, "And I was delayed a little. I had intended to
+go by the train you have lost, so if you are not afraid to trust
+yourself to my care we can travel together."
+
+"You--you are very kind."
+
+"Then you are not afraid?"
+
+"I--oh, no! I should like it very much. I mean I am sure it would be
+very nice."
+
+Feeling that my social powers were as yet in a very undeveloped
+condition, I subsided into silence, as he went on:
+
+"I hope your friends will not be very uneasy?"
+
+"Oh, dear no!" I assured him, with a pious conviction that I was
+speaking the truth.
+
+"We shall arrive at Elberthal about half past eight."
+
+I scarcely heard. I had plunged my hand into my pocket, and found--a
+hideous conviction crossed my mind--I had no money! I had until this
+moment totally forgotten having given my purse to Merrick to keep; and
+she, as pioneer of the party, naturally had all our tickets under her
+charge. My heart almost stopped beating. It was unheard of, horrible,
+this possibility of falling into the power of a total, utter stranger--a
+foreigner--a--Heaven only knew what! Engrossed with this painful and
+distressing problem, I sat silent, and with eyes gloomily cast down.
+
+"One thing is certain," he remarked. "We do not want to spend three
+hours and a half in the station. I want some dinner. A four hours' probe
+is apt to make one a little hungry. Come, we will go and have something
+to eat."
+
+The idea had evidently come to him as a species of inspiration, and he
+openly rejoiced in it.
+
+"I am not hungry," said I; but I was, very. I knew it now that the idea
+"dinner" had made itself conspicuous in my consciousness.
+
+"Perhaps you think not; but you are, all the same," he said. "Come with
+me, Fraeulein. You have put yourself into my hands; you must do what I
+tell you."
+
+I followed him mechanically out of the station and down the street, and
+I tried to realize that instead of being with Miss Hallam and Merrick,
+my natural and respectable protectors, safely and conventionally
+plodding the slow way in the slow continental train to the slow
+continental town, I was parading about the streets of Koeln with a man of
+whose very existence I had half an hour ago been ignorant; I was
+dependent, too, upon him, and him alone, for my safe arrival at
+Elberthal. And I followed him unquestioningly, now and then telling
+myself, by way of feeble consolation, that he was a gentleman--he
+certainly was a gentleman--and wishing now and then, or trying to wish,
+with my usual proper feeling, that it had been some nice old lady with
+whom I had fallen in: it would have made the whole adventure blameless,
+and, comparatively speaking, agreeable.
+
+We went along a street and came to a hotel, a large building, into which
+my conductor walked, spoke to a waiter, and we were shown into the
+restaurant, full of round tables, and containing some half dozen parties
+of people. I followed with stony resignation. It was the severest trial
+of all, this coming to a hotel alone with a gentleman in broad daylight.
+I caught sight of a reflection in a mirror of a tall, pale girl, with
+heavy, tumbled auburn hair, a brown hat which suited her, and a severely
+simple traveling-dress. I did not realize until I had gone past that it
+was my own reflection which I had seen.
+
+"Suppose we sit here," said he, going to a table in a comparatively
+secluded window recess, partially overhung with curtains.
+
+"How very kind and considerate of him!" thought I.
+
+"Would you rather have wine or coffee, Fraeulein?"
+
+Pulled up from the impulse to satisfy my really keen hunger by the
+recollection of my "lack of gold," I answered hastily.
+
+"Nothing, thank you--really nothing."
+
+"_O doch!_ You must have something," said he, smiling. "I will order
+something. Don't trouble about it."
+
+"Don't order anything for me," said I, my cheeks burning. "I shall not
+eat anything."
+
+"If you do not eat, you will be ill. Remember, we do not get to
+Elberthal before eight," said he. "Is it perhaps disagreeable to you to
+eat in the saal? If you like we can have a private room."
+
+"It is not that at all," I replied; and seeing that he looked surprised,
+I blurted out the truth. "I have no money. I gave my purse to Miss
+Hallam's maid to keep and she has taken it with her."
+
+With a laugh, in which, infectious though it was, I was too wretched to
+join:
+
+"Is that all? Kellner!" cried he.
+
+An obsequious waiter came up, smiled sweetly and meaningly at us,
+received some orders from my companion, and disappeared.
+
+He seated himself beside me at the little round table.
+
+"He will bring something at once," said he, smiling.
+
+I sat still. I was not happy, and yet I could not feel all the
+unhappiness which I considered appropriate to the circumstances.
+
+My companion took up a "Koelnische Zeitung," and glanced over the
+advertisements, while I looked a little stealthily at him, and for the
+first time took in more exactly what he was like, and grew more puzzled
+with him each moment. As he leaned upon the table, one slight, long,
+brown hand propping his head, and half lost in the thick, fine brown
+hair which waved in large, ample waves over his head, there was an
+indescribable grace, ease, and negligent beauty in the attitude. Move as
+he would, let him assume any possible or impossible attitude, there was
+still in the same grace, half careless, yet very dignified in the
+position he took.
+
+All his lines were lines of beauty, but beauty which had power and much
+masculine strength; nowhere did it degenerate into flaccidity, nowhere
+lose strength in grace. His hair was long, and I wondered at it. My
+small experience in our delightful home and village circle had not
+acquainted me with that flowing style; the young men of my acquaintance
+cropped their hair close to the scalp, and called it the modern style of
+hair-dressing. It had always looked to me more like hair-undressing.
+This hair fell in a heavy wave over his forehead, and he had the habit,
+common to people whose hair does so, of lifting his head suddenly and
+shaking back the offending lock. His forehead was broad, open,
+pleasant, yet grave. Eyes, as I had seen, very dark, and with lashes and
+brows which enhanced the contrast to a complexion at once fair and pale.
+A light mustache, curving almost straight across the face, gave a
+smiling expression to lips which were otherwise grave, calm, almost sad.
+In fact, looking nearer, I thought he did look sad; and though when he
+looked at me his eyes were so piercing, yet in repose they had a certain
+distant, abstracted expression not far removed from absolute
+mournfulness. Broad-shouldered, long-armed, with a physique in every
+respect splendid, he was yet very distinctly removed from the mere
+handsome animal which I believe enjoys a distinguished popularity in the
+latter-day romance.
+
+Now, as his eyes were cast upon the paper, I perceived lines upon his
+forehead, signs about the mouth and eyes telling of a firm, not to say
+imperious, disposition; a certain curve of the lips, and of the full,
+yet delicate nostril, told of pride both strong and high. He was older
+than I had thought, his face sparer; there were certain hollows in the
+cheeks, two lines between the eyebrows, a sharpness, or rather somewhat
+worn appearance of the features, which told of a mental life, keen and
+consuming. Altogether, an older, more intellectual, more imposing face
+than I had at first thought; less that of a young and handsome man, more
+that of a thinker and student. Lastly, a cool ease, deliberation, and
+leisureliness about all he said and did, hinted at his being a person in
+authority, accustomed to give orders and see them obeyed without
+question. I decided that he was, in our graceful home phrase, "master in
+his own house."
+
+His clothing was unremarkable--gray summer clothes, such as any
+gentleman or any shop-keeper might wear; only in scanning him no thought
+of shop-keeper came into my mind. His cap lay upon the table beside us,
+one of the little gray Studentenmutzen with which Elberthal soon made me
+familiar, but which struck me then as odd and outlandish. I grew every
+moment more interested in my scrutiny of this, to me, fascinating and
+remarkable face, and had forgotten to try to look as if I were not
+looking, when he looked up suddenly, without warning, with those bright,
+formidable eyes, which had already made me feel somewhat shy as I caught
+them fixed upon me.
+
+"_Nun_, have you decided?" he asked, with a humorous look in his eyes,
+which he was too polite to allow to develop itself into a smile.
+
+"I--oh, I beg your pardon!"
+
+"You do not want to," he answered, in imperfect idiom. "But have you
+decided?"
+
+"Decided what?"
+
+"Whether I am to be trusted?"
+
+"I have not been thinking about that," I said, uncomfortably, when to my
+relief the appearance of the waiter with preparations for a meal saved
+me further reply.
+
+"What shall we call this meal?" he asked, as the waiter disappeared to
+bring the repast to the table. "It is too late for the _Mittagessen_,
+and too early for the _Abendbrod_. Can you suggest a name?"
+
+"At home it would be just the time for afternoon tea."
+
+"Ah, yes! Your English afternoon tea is very--" He stopped suddenly.
+
+"Have you been in England?"
+
+"This is just the time at which we drink our afternoon coffee in
+Germany," said he, looking at me with his impenetrably bright eyes, just
+as if he had never heard me. "When the ladies all meet together to talk
+scan--_O, behuete!_ What am I saying?--to consult seriously upon
+important topics, you know. There are some low-minded persons who call
+the whole ceremony a Klatsch--Kaffeeklatsch. I am sure you and I shall
+talk seriously upon important subjects, so suppose we call this our
+Kaffeeklatsch, although we have no coffee to it."
+
+"Oh, yes, if you like."
+
+He put a piece of cutlet upon my plate, and poured yellow wine into my
+glass. Endeavoring to conduct myself with the dignity of a grown-up
+person and to show that I did know something, I inquired if the wine
+were hock.
+
+He smiled. "It is not Hochheimer--not Rheinwein at all--he--no, it, you
+say--it is Moselle wine--'Doctor.'"
+
+"Doctor?"
+
+"Doctorberger; I do not know why so called. And a very good fellow
+too--so say all his friends, of whom I am a warm one. Try him."
+
+I complied with the admonition, and was able to say that I liked
+Doctorberger. We ate and drank in silence for some little time, and I
+found that I was very hungry. I also found that I could not conjure up
+any real feeling of discomfort or uneasiness, and that the prospective
+scolding from Miss Hallam had no terrors in it for me. Never had I felt
+so serene in mind, never more at ease in every way, than now. I felt
+that this was wrong--bohemian, irregular, and not respectable, and tried
+to get up a little unhappiness about something. The only thing that I
+could think of was:
+
+"I am afraid I am taking up your time. Perhaps you had some business
+which you were going to when you met me."
+
+"My business, when I met you, was to catch the train to Elberthal, which
+was already gone, as you know. I shall not be able to fulfill my
+engagements for to-night, so it really does not matter. I am enjoying
+myself very much."
+
+"I am very glad I did meet you," said I, growing more reassured as I
+found that my companion, though exceedingly polite and attentive to me,
+did not ask a question as to my business, my traveling companions, my
+intended stay or object in Elberthal--that he behaved as a perfect
+gentleman--one who is a gentleman throughout, in thought as well as in
+deed. He did not even ask me how it was that my friends had not waited a
+little for me, though he must have wondered why two people left a young
+girl, moneyless and ignorant, to find her way after them as well as she
+could. He took me as he found me, and treated me as if I had been the
+most distinguished and important of persons. But at my last remark he
+said, with the same odd smile which took me by surprise every time I saw
+it:
+
+"The pleasure is certainly not all on your side, _mein Fraeulein_. I
+suppose from that you have decided that I am to be trusted?"
+
+I stammered out something to the effect that "I should be very
+ungrateful were I not satisfied with--with such a--" I stopped, looking
+at him in some confusion. I saw a sudden look flash into his eyes and
+over his face. It was gone again in a moment--so fleeting that I had
+scarce time to mark it, but it opened up a crowd of strange new
+impressions to me, and while I could no more have said what it was like
+the moment it was gone, yet it left two desires almost equally strong in
+me--I wished in one and the same moment that I had for my own peace of
+mind never seen him--and that I might never lose sight of him again: to
+fly from that look, to remain and encounter it. The tell-tale mirror in
+the corner caught my eye. At home they used sometimes to call me, partly
+in mockery, partly in earnest, "Bonny May." The sobriquet had hitherto
+been a mere shadow, a meaningless thing, to me. I liked to hear it, but
+had never paused to consider whether it were appropriate or not. In my
+brief intercourse with my venerable suitor, Sir Peter, I had come a
+little nearer to being actively aware that I was good-looking, only to
+anathematize the fact. Now, catching sight of my reflection in the
+mirror, I wondered eagerly whether I really were fair, and wished I had
+some higher authority to think so than the casual jokes of my sisters.
+It did not add to my presence of mind to find that my involuntary glance
+to the mirror had been intercepted--perhaps even my motive guessed
+at--he appeared to have a frightfully keen instinct.
+
+"Have you seen the Dom?" was all he said; but it seemed somehow to give
+a point to what had passed.
+
+"The Dom--what is the Dom?"
+
+"The _Koelner Dom_; the cathedral."
+
+"Oh, no! Oh, should we have time to see it?" I exclaimed. "How I should
+like it!"
+
+"Certainly. It is close at hand. Suppose we go now."
+
+Gladly I rose, as he did. One of my most ardent desires was about to be
+fulfilled--not so properly and correctly as might have been desired,
+but--yes, certainly more pleasantly than under the escort of Miss
+Hallam, grumbling at every groschen she had to unearth in payment.
+
+Before we could leave our seclusion there came up to us a young man who
+had looked at us through the door and paused. I had seen him; had seen
+how he said something to a companion, and how the companion shook his
+head dissentingly. The first speaker came up to us, eyed me with a look
+of curiosity, and turning to my protector with a benevolent smile, said:
+
+"Eugen Courvoisier! _Also hatte ich doch Recht!_"
+
+I caught the name. The rest was of course lost upon me. Eugen
+Courvoisier? I liked it, as I liked him, and in my young enthusiasm
+decided that it was a very good name. The new-comer, who seemed as if
+much pleased with some discovery, and entertained at the same time,
+addressed some questions to Courvoisier, who answered him tranquilly
+but in a tone of voice which was very freezing; and then the other, with
+a few words and an unbelieving kind of laugh, said something about a
+_schoene Geschichte_, and, with another look at me, went out of the
+coffee-room again.
+
+We went out of the hotel, up the street to the cathedral. It was the
+first cathedral I had ever been in. The shock and the wonder of its
+grandeur took my breath away. When I had found courage to look round,
+and up at those awful vaults the roofs, I could not help crying a
+little. The vastness, coolness, stillness, and splendor crushed me--the
+great solemn rays of sunlight coming in slanting glory through the
+windows--the huge height--the impression it gave of greatness, and of a
+religious devotion to which we shall never again attain; of pure, noble
+hearts, and patient, skillful hands, toiling, but in a spirit that made
+the toil a holy prayer--carrying out the builder's thought--great
+thought greatly executed--all was too much for me, the more so in that
+while I felt it all I could not analyze it. It was a dim, indefinite
+wonder. I tried stealthily and in shame to conceal my tears, looking
+surreptitiously at him in fear lest he should be laughing at me again.
+But he was not. He held his cap in his hand--was looking with those
+strange, brilliant eyes fixedly toward the high altar, and there was
+some expression upon his face which I could not analyze--not the
+expression of a person for whom such a scene has grown or can grow
+common by custom--not the expression of a sight-seer who feels that he
+must admire; not my own first astonishment. At least he felt it--the
+whole grand scene, and I instinctively and instantly felt more at home
+with him than I had done before.
+
+"Oh!" said I, at last, "if one could stay here forever, what would one
+grow to?"
+
+He smiled a little.
+
+"You find it beautiful?"
+
+"It is the first I have seen. It is much more than beautiful."
+
+"The first you have seen? Ah, well, I might have guessed that."
+
+"Why? Do I look so countrified?" I inquired, with real interest, as I
+let him lead me to a little side bench, and place himself beside me. I
+asked in all good faith. About him there seemed such a cosmopolitan
+ease, that I felt sure he could tell me correctly how I struck other
+people--if he would.
+
+"Countrified--what is that?"
+
+"Oh, we say it when people are like me--have never seen anything but
+their own little village, and never had any adventures, and--"
+
+"Get lost at railway stations, _und so weiter_. I don't know enough of
+the meaning of 'countrified' to be able to say if you are so, but it is
+easy to see that you--have not had much contention with the powers that
+be."
+
+"Oh, I shall not be stupid long," said I, comfortably. "I am not going
+back home again."
+
+"So!" He did not ask more, but I saw that he listened, and proceeded
+communicatively:
+
+"Never. I have--not quarreled with them exactly, but had a disagreement,
+because--because--"
+
+"Because?"
+
+"They wanted me to--I mean, an old gentleman--no, I mean--"
+
+"An old gentleman wanted you to marry him, and you would not," said he,
+with an odd twinkle in his eyes.
+
+"Why, how can you know?"
+
+"I think, because you told me. But I will forget it if you wish."
+
+"Oh, no! It is quite true. Perhaps I ought to have married him."
+
+"Ought!" He looked startled.
+
+"Yes. Adelaide--my eldest sister--said so. But it was no use. I was very
+unhappy, and Miss Hallam, who is Sir Peter's deadly enemy--he is the old
+gentleman, you know--was very kind to me. She invited me to come with
+her to Germany, and promised to let me have singing lessons."
+
+"Singing lessons?"
+
+I nodded. "Yes; and then when I know a good deal more about singing, I
+shall go back again and give lessons. I shall support myself, and then
+no one will have the right to want to make me marry Sir Peter."
+
+"_Du lieber Himmel!_" he ejaculated, half to himself. "Are you very
+musical, then?"
+
+"I can sing," said I. "Only I want some more training."
+
+"And you will go back all alone and try to give lessons?"
+
+"I shall not only try, I shall do it," I corrected him.
+
+"And do you like the prospect?"
+
+"If I can get enough money to live upon, I shall like it very much. It
+will be better than living at home and being bothered."
+
+"I will tell you what you should do before you begin your career," said
+he, looking at me with an expression half wondering, half pitying.
+
+"What? If you could tell me anything."
+
+"Preserve your voice, by all means, and get as much instruction as you
+can; but change all that waving hair, and make it into unobjectionable
+smooth bands of no particular color. Get a mask to wear over your face,
+which is too expressive; do something to your eyes to alter their--"
+
+The expression then visible in the said eyes seemed to strike him, for
+he suddenly stopped, and with a slight laugh, said:
+
+"_Ach, was rede ich fuer dummes Zeug!_ Excuse me, _mein Fraeulein_."
+
+"But," I interrupted, earnestly, "what do you mean? Do you think my
+appearance will be a disadvantage to me?"
+
+Scarcely had I said the words than I knew how intensely stupid they
+were, how very much they must appear as if I were openly and impudently
+fishing for compliments. How grateful I felt when he answered, with a
+grave directness, which had nothing but the highest compliment in
+it--that of crediting me with right motives:
+
+"_Mein Fraeulein_, how can I tell? It is only that I knew some one,
+rather older than you, and very beautiful, who had such a pursuit. Her
+name was Corona Heidelberger, and her story was a sad one."
+
+"Tell it me," I besought.
+
+"Well, no, I think not. But--sometimes I have a little gift of
+foresight, and that tells me that you will not become what you at
+present think. You will be much happier and more fortunate."
+
+"I wonder if it would be nice to be a great operatic singer," I
+speculated.
+
+"_O, behuete!_ don't think of it!" he exclaimed, starting up and moving
+restlessly. "You do not know--you an opera singer--"
+
+He was interrupted. There suddenly filled the air a sound of deep,
+heavenly melody, which swept solemnly adown the aisles, and filled with
+its melodious thunder every corner of the great building. I listened
+with my face upraised, my lips parted. It was the organ, and presently,
+after a wonderful melody, which set my heart beating--a melody full of
+the most witchingly sweet high notes, and a breadth and grandeur of low
+ones such as only two composers have ever attained to, a voice--a single
+woman's voice--was upraised. She was invisible, and she sung till the
+very sunshine seemed turned to melody, and all the world was music--the
+greatest, most glorious of earthly things.
+
+     "Blute nur, liebes Herz!
+     Ach, ein Kind das du erzogen,
+     Das an deiner Brust gesogen,
+     Drohet den Pfleger zu ermorden
+     Denn es ist zur Schlange worden."
+
+"What is it?" I asked below my breath, as it ceased.
+
+He had shaded his face with his hand, but turned to me as I spoke, a
+certain half-suppressed enthusiasm in his eyes.
+
+"Be thankful for your first introduction to German music," said he, "and
+that it was grand old Johann Sebastian Bach whom you heard. That is one
+of the soprano solos in the _Passions-musik_--that is music."
+
+There was more music. A tenor voice was singing a recitative now, and
+that exquisite accompaniment, with a sort of joyful solemnity, still
+continued. Every now and then, shrill, high, and clear, penetrated a
+chorus of boys' voices. I, outer barbarian that I was, barely knew the
+name of Bach and his "Matthaus Passion," so in the pauses my companion
+told me by snatches what it was about. There was not much of it. After a
+few solos and recitatives, they tried one or two of the choruses. I sat
+in silence, feeling a new world breaking in glory around me, till that
+tremendous chorus came; the organ notes swelled out, the tenor voice
+sung "Whom will ye that I give unto you?" and the answer came, crashing
+down in one tremendous clap, "Barrabam!" And such music was in the
+world, had been sung for years, and I had not heard it. Verily, there
+may be revelations and things new under the sun every day.
+
+I had forgotten everything outside the cathedral--every person but the
+one at my side. It was he who roused first, looking at his watch and
+exclaiming.
+
+"_Herrgott!_ We must go to the station, Fraeulein, if we wish to catch
+the train."
+
+And yet I did not think he seemed very eager to catch it, as we went
+through the busy streets in the warmth of the evening, for it was hot,
+as it sometimes is in pleasant April, before the withering east winds of
+the "merry month" have come to devastate the land and sweep sickly
+people off the face of the earth. We went slowly through the moving
+crowds to the station, into the wartesaal, where he left me while he
+went to take my ticket. I sat in the same corner of the same sofa as
+before, and to this day I could enumerate every object in that
+wartesaal.
+
+It was after seven o'clock. The outside sky was still bright, but it was
+dusk in the waiting-room and under the shadow of the station. When
+"Eugen Courvoisier" came in again, I did not see his features so
+distinctly as lately in the cathedral. Again he sat down beside me,
+silently this time. I glanced at his face, and a strange, sharp, pungent
+thrill shot through me. The companion of a few hours--was he only that?
+
+"Are you very tired?" he asked, gently, after a long pause. "I think the
+train will not be very long now."
+
+Even as he spoke, clang, clang, went the bell, and for the second time
+that day I went toward the train for Elberthal. This time no wrong
+turning, no mistake. Courvoisier put me into an empty compartment, and
+followed me, said something to a guard who went past, of which I could
+only distinguish the word _allein_; but as no one disturbed our privacy,
+I concluded that German railway guards, like English ones, are mortal.
+
+After debating within myself for some time, I screwed up my courage and
+began:
+
+"Mr. Courvoisier--your name is Courvoisier, is it not?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Will you please tell me how much money you have spent for me to-day?"
+
+"How much money?" he asked, looking at me with a provoking smile.
+
+The train was rumbling slowly along, the night darkening down. We sat by
+an open window, and I looked through it at the gray, Dutch-like
+landscape, the falling dusk, the poplars that seemed sedately marching
+along with us.
+
+"Why do you want to know how much?" he demanded.
+
+"Because I shall want to pay you, of course, when I get my purse," said
+I. "And if you will kindly tell me your address, too--but how much money
+did you spend?"
+
+He looked at me, seemed about to laugh off the question, and then said:
+
+"I believe it was about three thalers ten groschen, but I am not at all
+sure. I can not tell till I do my accounts."
+
+"Oh, dear!" said I.
+
+"Suppose I let you know how much it was," he went on, with a gravity
+which forced conviction upon me.
+
+"Perhaps that would be the best," I agreed. "But I hope you will make
+out your accounts soon."
+
+"Oh, very soon. And where shall I send my bill to?"
+
+Feeling as if there were something not quite as it should be in the
+whole proceeding, I looked very earnestly at him, but could find nothing
+but the most perfect gravity in his expression. I repeated my address
+and name slowly and distinctly, as befitted so business-like a
+transaction, and he wrote them down in a little book.
+
+"And you will not forget," said I, "to give me your address when you let
+me know what I owe you."
+
+"Certainly--when I let you know what you owe me," he replied, putting
+the little book into his pocket again.
+
+"I wonder if any one will come to meet me," I speculated, my mind more
+at ease in consequence of the business-like demeanor of my companion.
+
+"Possibly," said he, with an ambiguous half smile, which I did not
+understand.
+
+"Miss Hallam--the lady I came with--is almost blind. Her maid had to
+look after her, and I suppose that is why they did not wait for me,"
+said I.
+
+"It must have been a very strong reason, at any rate," he said, gravely.
+
+Now the train rolled into the Elberthal station. There were lights,
+movement, a storm of people all gabbling away in a foreign tongue. I
+looked out. No face of any one I knew. Courvoisier sprung down and
+helped me out.
+
+"Now I will put you into a drosky," said he, leading the way to where
+they stood outside the station.
+
+"Alleestrasse, thirty-nine," he said to the man.
+
+"Stop one moment," cried I, leaning eagerly out. At that moment a tall,
+dark girl passed us, going slowly toward the gates. She almost paused as
+she saw us. She was looking at my companion; I did not see her face, and
+was only conscious of her as coming between me and him, and so annoying
+me.
+
+"Please let me thank you," I continued. "You have been so kind, so very
+kind--"
+
+"_O, bitte sehr!_ It was so kind in you to get lost exactly when and
+where you did," said he, smiling. "_Adieu, mein Fraeulein_," he added,
+making a sign to the coachman, who drove off.
+
+I saw him no more. "Eugen Courvoisier"--I kept repeating the name to
+myself, as if I were in the very least danger of forgetting it--"Eugen
+Courvoisier." Now that I had parted from him I was quite clear as to my
+own feelings. I would have given all I was worth--not much, truly--to
+see him for one moment again.
+
+Along a lighted street with houses on one side, a gleaming shine of
+water on the other, and trees on both, down a cross-way, then into
+another street, very wide, and gayly lighted, in the midst of which was
+an avenue.
+
+We stopped with a rattle before a house door, and I read, by the light
+of the lamp that hung over it, "39."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+ANNA SARTORIUS.
+
+
+I was expected. That was very evident. An excited-looking
+_Dienstmaedchen_ opened the door, and on seeing me, greeted me as if I
+had been an old friend. I was presently rescued by Merrick, also looking
+agitated.
+
+"Ho, Miss Wedderburn, at last you are here! How Miss Hallam has
+worried, to be sure."
+
+"I could not help it, I'm very sorry," said I, following her
+upstairs--up a great many flights of stairs, as it seemed to me, till
+she ushered me into a sitting-room where I found Miss Hallam.
+
+"Thank Heaven, child! you are here at last. I was beginning to think
+that if you did not come by this train, I must send some one to Koeln to
+look after you."
+
+"By this train!" I repeated, blankly. "Miss Hallam--what--do you mean?
+There has been no other train."
+
+"Two; there was one at four and one at six. I can not tell you how
+uneasy I have been at your non-appearance."
+
+"Then--then--" I stammered, growing hot all over. "Oh, how horrible!"
+
+"What is horrible?" she demanded. "And you must be starving. Merrick, go
+and see about something to eat for Miss Wedderburn. Now," she added, as
+her maid left the room, "tell me what you have been doing."
+
+I told her everything, concealing nothing.
+
+"Most annoying!" she remarked. "A gentleman, you say. My dear child, no
+gentleman would have done anything of the kind. I am very sorry for it
+all."
+
+"Miss Hallam," I implored, almost in tears, "please do not tell any one
+what has happened to me. I will never be such a fool again. I know
+now--and you may trust me. But do not let any one know how--stupid I
+have been. I told you I was stupid--I told you several times. I am sure
+you must remember."
+
+"Oh, yes, I remember. We will say no more about it."
+
+"And the gray shawl," said I.
+
+"Merrick had it."
+
+I lifted my hands and shrugged my shoulders. "Just my luck," I murmured,
+resignedly, as Merrick came in with a tray.
+
+Miss Hallam, I noticed, continued to regard me now and then as I ate
+with but small appetite. I was too excited by what had passed, and by
+what I had just heard, to be hungry. I thought it kind, merciful, humane
+in her to promise to keep my secret and not expose my ignorance and
+stupidity to strangers.
+
+"It is evident," she remarked, "that you must at once begin to learn
+German, and then if you do get lost at a railway station again, you will
+be able to ask your way."
+
+Merrick shook her head with an inexpressibly bitter smile.
+
+"I'd defy any one to learn this 'ere language, ma'am. They call an
+accident a _Unglueck_; if any one could tell me what that means, I'd
+thank them, that's all."
+
+"Don't express your opinions, Merrick, unless you wish to seem
+deficient in understanding; but go and see that Miss Wedderburn has
+everything she wants--or rather everything that can be got--in her room.
+She is tired, and shall go to bed."
+
+I was only too glad to comply with this mandate, but it was long ere I
+slept. I kept hearing the organ in the cathedral, and that voice of the
+invisible singer--seeing the face beside me, and hearing the words,
+"Then you have decided that I am to be trusted?"
+
+"And he was deceiving me all the time!" I thought, mournfully.
+
+I breakfasted by myself the following morning, in a room called the
+speisesaal. I found I was late. When I came into the room, about nine
+o'clock, there was no one but myself to be seen. There was a long table
+with a white cloth upon it, and rows of the thickest cups and saucers it
+had ever been my fate to see, with distinct evidences that the chief
+part of the company had already breakfasted. Baskets full of _Broedchen_
+and pots of butter, a long India-rubber pipe coming from the gas to
+light a theemaschine--lots of cane-bottomed chairs, an open piano, two
+cages with canaries in them; the kettle gently simmering above the
+gas-flame; for the rest, silence and solitude.
+
+I sat down, having found a clean cup and plate, and glanced timidly at
+the theemaschine, not daring to cope with its mysteries, until my doubts
+were relieved by the entrance of a young person with a trim little
+figure, a coquettishly cut and elaborately braided apron, and a white
+frilled morgenhaube upon her hair, surmounting her round,
+heavenward-aspiring visage.
+
+"_Guten morgen, Fraeulein_," she said, as she marched up to the darkly
+mysterious theemaschine and began deftly to prepare coffee for me, and
+to push the Broedchen toward me. She began to talk to me in broken
+English, which was very pretty, and while I ate and drank, she
+industriously scraped little white roots at the same table. She told me
+she was Clara, the niece of Frau Steinmann, and that she was very glad
+to see me, but was very sorry I had had so long to wait in Koeln
+yesterday. She liked my dress, and was it _echt Englisch_--also, how
+much did it cost?
+
+She was a cheery little person, and I liked her. She seemed to like me
+too, and repeatedly said she was glad I had come. She liked dancing she
+said. Did I? And she had lately danced at a ball with some one who
+danced so well--_aber_, quite indescribably well. His name was Karl
+Linders, and he was, _ach!_ really a remarkable person. A bright blush,
+and a little sigh accompanied the remark. Our eyes met, and from that
+moment Clara and I were very good friends.
+
+I went upstairs again, and found that Miss Hallam proposed, during the
+forenoon, to go and find the Eye Hospital, where she was to see the
+oculist, and arrange for him to visit her, and shortly after eleven we
+set out.
+
+The street that I had so dimly seen the night before, showed itself by
+daylight to be a fair, broad way. Down the middle, after the pleasant
+fashion of continental towns, was a broad walk, planted with two double
+rows of lindens, and on either side this lindenallee was the carriage
+road, private houses, shops, exhibitions, boarding-houses. In the
+middle, exactly opposite our dwelling, was the New Theater, just drawing
+to the close of its first season. I looked at it without thinking much
+about it. I had never been in a theater in my life, and the name was but
+a name to me.
+
+Turning off from the pretty allee, and from the green Hofgarten which
+bounded it at one end, we entered a narrow, ill-paved street, the aspect
+of whose gutters and inhabitants alike excited my liveliest disgust. In
+this street was the Eye Hospital, as was presently testified to us by a
+board bearing the inscription, "Staedtische Augenklinik."
+
+We were taken to a dimly lighted room in which many people were waiting,
+some with bandages over their eyes, others with all kinds of
+extraordinary spectacles on, which made them look like phantoms out of a
+bad dream--nearly all more or less blind, and the effect was
+surprisingly depressing.
+
+Presently Miss Hallam and Merrick were admitted to an inner room, and I
+was left to await their return. My eye strayed over the different faces,
+and I felt a sensation of relief when I saw some one come in without
+either bandage or spectacles. The new-comer was a young man of middle
+height, and of proportions slight without being thin. There was nothing
+the matter with his eyes, unless perhaps a slight short-sightedness; he
+had, I thought, one of the gentlest, most attractive faces I had ever
+seen; boyishly open and innocent at the first glance; at the second,
+indued with a certain reticent calm and intellectual radiance which took
+away from the first youthfulness of his appearance. Soft, yet luminous
+brown eyes, loose brown hair hanging round his face, a certain manner
+which for me at least had a charm, were the characteristics of this
+young man. He carried a violin-case, removed his hat as he came in, and
+being seen by one of the young men who sat at desks, took names down,
+and attended to people in general, was called by him:
+
+"Herr Helfen--Herr Friedhelm Helfen!"
+
+"_Ja--hier!_" he answered, going up to the desk, upon which there ensued
+a lively conversation, though carried on in a low tone, after which the
+young man at the desk presented a white card to "Herr Friedhelm Helfen,"
+and the latter, with a pleasant "Adieu," went out of the room again.
+
+Miss Hallam and Merrick presently returned from the consulting-room, and
+we went out of the dark room into the street, which was filled with
+spring sunshine and warmth; a contrast something like that between Miss
+Hallam's life and my own, I have thought since. Far before us, hurrying
+on, I saw the young man with the violin-case; he turned off by the
+theater, and went in at a side door.
+
+An hour's wandering in the Hofgarten--my first view of the Rhine--a
+dull, flat stream it looked, too. I have seen it since then in mightier
+flow. Then we came home, and it was decided that we should dine together
+with the rest of the company at one o'clock.
+
+A bell rang at a few minutes past one. We went down-stairs, into the
+room in which I had already breakfasted, which, in general, was known as
+the saal. As I entered with Miss Hallam I was conscious that a knot of
+lads or young men stood aside to let us pass, and then giggled and
+scuffled behind the door before following us into the saal.
+
+Two or three ladies were already seated, and an exceedingly stout lady
+ladled out soup at a side table, while Clara and a servant-woman carried
+the plates round to the different places. The stout lady turned as she
+saw us, and greeted us. She was Frau Steinmann, our hostess. She waited
+until the youths before spoken of had come in, and with a great deal of
+noise had seated themselves, when she began, aided by the soup-ladle,
+to introduce us all to each other.
+
+We, it seemed, were to have the honor and privilege of being the only
+English ladies of the company. We were introduced to one or two others,
+and I was assigned a place by a lady introduced as Fraeulein Anna
+Sartorius, a brunette, rather stout, with large dark eyes which looked
+at me in a way I did not like, a head of curly black hair cropped short,
+an odd, brusque manner, and a something peculiar, or, as she said,
+_selten_ in her dress. This young lady sustained the introduction with
+self-possession and calm. It was otherwise with the young gentlemen, who
+appeared decidedly mixed. There were some half dozen of them in all--a
+couple of English, the rest German, Dutch, and Swedish. I had never been
+in company with so many nationalities before, and was impressed with my
+situation--needlessly so.
+
+All these young gentlemen made bows which were, in their respective
+ways, triumphs of awkwardness, with the exception of one of our
+compatriots, who appeared to believe that himself and his manners were
+formed to charm and subdue the opposite sex. We then sat down, and
+Fraeulein Sartorius immediately opened a conversation with me.
+
+"_Sprechen Sie Deutsch, Fraeulein?_" was her first venture, and having
+received my admission that I did not speak a word of it, she continued,
+in good English:
+
+"Now I can talk to you without offending you. It is so dreadful when
+English people who don't know German persist in thinking that they do.
+There was an English-woman here who always said _wer_ when she meant
+where, and _wo_ when she meant who. She said the sounds confused her."
+
+The boys giggled at this, but the joke was lost upon me.
+
+"What is your name?" she continued; "I didn't catch what Frau Steinmann
+said."
+
+"May Wedderburn," I replied, angry with myself for blushing so
+excessively as I saw that all the boys held their spoons suspended,
+listening for my answer.
+
+"May--_das heisst Mai_," said she, turning to the assembled youths, who
+testified that they were aware of it, and the Dutch boy, Brinks,
+inquired, gutturally:
+
+"You haf one zong in your language what calls itself, 'Not always Mai,'
+haf you not?"
+
+"Yes," said I, and all the boys began to giggle as if something clever
+had been said. Taken all in all, what tortures have I not suffered from
+those dreadful boys. Shy when they ought to have been bold, and bold
+where a modest retiringness would better have become them. Giggling
+inanely at everything and nothing. Noisy and vociferous among themselves
+or with inferiors; shy, awkward and blushing with ladies or in refined
+society--distressing my feeble efforts to talk to them by their silly
+explosions of laughter when one of them was addressed. They formed the
+bane of my life for some time.
+
+"Will you let me paint you?" said Fraeulein Sartorius, whose big eyes had
+been surveying me in a manner that made me nervous.
+
+"Paint me?"
+
+"Your likeness, I mean. You are very pretty, and we never see that color
+of hair here."
+
+"Are you a painter?"
+
+"No, I'm only a _Studentin_ yet; but I paint from models. Well, will you
+sit to me?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. If I have time, perhaps."
+
+"What will you do to make you not have time?"
+
+I did not feel disposed to gratify her curiosity, and said I did not
+know yet what I should do.
+
+For a short time she asked no more questions, then
+
+"Do you like town or country best?"
+
+"I don't know. I have never lived in a town."
+
+"Do you like amusements--concerts, and theater, and opera?"
+
+"I don't know," I was reluctantly obliged to confess, for I saw that the
+assembled youths, though not looking at me openly, and apparently
+entirely engrossed with their dinners, were listening attentively to
+what passed.
+
+"You don't know," repeated Fraeulein Sartorius, quickly seeing through my
+thin assumption of indifference, and proceeding to draw me out as much
+as possible. I wished Adelaide had been there to beat her from the
+field. She would have done it better than I could.
+
+"No; because I have never been to any."
+
+"Haven't you? How odd! How very odd! Isn't it strange?" she added,
+appealing to the boys. "Fraeulein has never been to a theater or a
+concert."
+
+I disdained to remark that my words were being perverted, but the game
+instinct rose in me. Raising my voice a little, I remarked:
+
+"It is evident that I have not enjoyed your advantages, but I trust that
+the gentlemen" (with a bow to the listening boys) "will make allowances
+for the difference between us."
+
+The young gentlemen burst into a chorus of delighted giggles, and Anna,
+shooting a rapid glance at me, made a slight grimace, but looked not at
+all displeased. I was, though, mightily; but, elate with victory, I
+turned to my compatriot at the other end of the table, and asked him at
+what time of the year Elberthal was pleasantest.
+
+"Oh," said he, "it's always pleasant to me, but that's owing to myself.
+I make it so."
+
+Just then, several of the other lads rose, pushing their chairs back
+with a great clatter, bowing to the assembled company, and saying
+"Gesegnete Mahlzeit!" as they went out.
+
+"Why are they going, and what do they say?" I inquired of Miss
+Sartorius, who replied, quite amiably:
+
+"They are students at the Realschule. They have to be there at two
+o'clock, and they say, 'Blessed be the meal-time,' as they go out."
+
+"Do they? How nice!" I could not help saying.
+
+"Would you like to go for a walk this afternoon?" said she.
+
+"Oh, very much!" I had exclaimed, before I remembered that I did not
+like her, and did not intend to like her. "If Miss Hallam can spare me,"
+I added.
+
+"Oh, I think she will. I shall be ready at half past two; then we shall
+return for coffee at four. I will knock at your door at the time."
+
+On consulting Miss Hallam after dinner, I found she was quite willing
+for me to go out with Anna, and at the time appointed we set out.
+
+Anna took me a tour round the town, showed me the lions, and gave me
+topographical details. She showed me the big, plain barrack, and the
+desert waste of the Exerzierplatz spreading before it. She did her best
+to entertain me, and I, with a childish prejudice against her abrupt
+manner, and the free, somewhat challenging look of her black eyes, was
+reserved, unresponsive, stupid. I took a prejudice against her--I own
+it--and for that and other sins committed against a woman who would have
+been my friend if I would have let her, I say humbly, _Mea culpa!_
+
+"It seems a dull kind of a place," said I.
+
+"It need not be. You have advantages here which you can't get
+everywhere. I have been here several years, and as I have no other home
+I rather think I shall live here."
+
+"Oh, indeed."
+
+"You have a home, I suppose?"
+
+"Of course."
+
+"Brothers and sisters?"
+
+"Two sisters," I replied, mightily ruffled by what I chose to consider
+her curiosity and impertinence; though, when I looked at her, I saw what
+I could not but confess to be a real, and not unkind, interest in her
+plain face and big eyes.
+
+"Ah! I have no brothers and sisters. I have only a little house in the
+country, and as I have always lived in a town, I don't care for the
+country. It is so lonely. The people are so stupid too--not always
+though. You were offended with me at dinner, _nicht wahr_?"
+
+"Oh, dear, no!" said I, very awkwardly and very untruly. The truth was,
+I did not like her, and was too young, too ignorant and _gauche_ to try
+to smooth over my dislike. I did not know the pain I was giving, and if
+I had, should perhaps not have behaved differently.
+
+"_Doch!_" she said, smiling. "But I did not know what a child you were,
+or I should have let you alone."
+
+More offended than ever, I maintained silence. If I were certainly
+touchy and ill to please, Fraeulein Sartorius, it must be owned, did not
+know how to apologize gracefully. I have since, with wider knowledge of
+her country and its men and women, got to see that what made her so
+inharmonious was, that she had a woman's form and a man's disposition
+and love of freedom. As her countrywomen taken in the gross are the most
+utterly "in bonds" of any women in Europe, this spoiled her life in a
+manner which can not be understood here, where women in comparison are
+free as air, and gave no little of the brusqueness and roughness to her
+manner. In an enlightened English home she would have been an
+admirable, firm, clever woman; here she was that most dreadful of all
+abnormal growths--a woman with a will of her own.
+
+"What do they do here?" I inquired, indifferently.
+
+"Oh, many things. Though it is not a large town there is a School of
+Art, which brings many painters here. There are a hundred and
+fifty--besides students."
+
+"And you are a student?"
+
+"Yes. One must have something to do--some _carriere_--though my
+countrywomen say not. I shall go away for a few months soon, but I am
+waiting for the last great concert. It will be the 'Paradise Lost' of
+Rubinstein."
+
+"Ah, yes!" said I, politely, but without interest. I had never heard of
+Rubinstein and the "Verlorenes Paradies." Before the furor of 1876, how
+many scores of provincial English had?
+
+"There is very much music here," she continued. "Are you fond of it?"
+
+"Ye-es. I can't play much, but I can sing. I have come here partly to
+take singing lessons."
+
+"So!"
+
+"Who is the best teacher?" was my next ingenuous question.
+
+She laughed.
+
+"That depends upon what you want to learn. There are so many: violin,
+_Clavier_, that is piano, flute, 'cello, everything."
+
+"Oh!" I replied, and asked no more questions about music; but inquired
+if it were pleasant at Frau Steinmann's.
+
+She shrugged her shoulders.
+
+"Is it pleasant anywhere? I don't find many places pleasant, because I
+can not be a humbug, so others do not like me. But I believe some people
+like Elberthal very well. There is the theater--that makes another
+element. And there are the soldiers and _Kaufleute_--merchants, I mean,
+so you see there is variety, though it is a small place."
+
+"Ah, yes!" said I, looking about me as we passed down a very busy
+street, and I glanced to right and left with the image of Eugen
+Courvoisier ever distinctly if unconfessedly present to my mental view.
+Did he live at Elberthal? and if so, did he belong to any of those
+various callings? What was he? An artist who painted pictures for his
+bread? I thought that very probable. There was something free and
+artist-like in his manner, in his loose waving hair and in his keen
+susceptibility to beauty. I thought of his emotion at hearing that
+glorious Bach music. Or was he a musician--what Anna Sartorius called
+_ein Musiker_? But no. My ideas of musicians were somewhat hazy, not to
+say utterly chaotic; they embraced only two classes: those who performed
+or gave lessons, and those who composed. I had never formed to myself
+the faintest idea of a composer, and my experience of teachers and
+performers was limited to one specimen--Mr. Smythe, of Darton, whose
+method and performances would, as I have since learned, have made the
+hair of a musician stand horrent on end. No--I did not think he was a
+musician. An actor? Perish the thought, was my inevitable mental answer.
+How should I be able to make any better one? A soldier, then? At that
+moment we met a mounted captain of Uhlans, harness clanking,
+accouterments rattling. He was apparently an acquaintance of my
+companion, for he saluted with a grave politeness which sat well upon
+him. Decidedly Eugen Courvoisier had the air of a soldier. That
+accounted for all. No doubt he was a soldier. In my ignorance of the
+strictness of German military regulations as regards the wearing of
+uniform, I overlooked the fact that he had been in civilian's dress, and
+remained delighted with my new idea; Captain Courvoisier. "What is the
+German for captain?" I inquired, abruptly.
+
+"_Hauptmann._"
+
+"Thank you." Hauptmann Eugen Courvoisier--a noble and a gallant title,
+and one which became him. "How much is a thaler?" was my next question.
+
+"It is as much as three shillings in your money."
+
+"Oh, thank you," said I, and did a little sum in my own mind. At that
+rate then, I owed Herr Courvoisier the sum of ten shillings. How glad I
+was to find it came within my means.
+
+As I took off my things, I wondered when Herr Courvoisier would "make
+out his accounts." I trusted soon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+"Probe zum verlorenen Paradiese."
+
+
+Miss Hallam fulfilled her promise with regard to my singing lessons. She
+had a conversation with Fraeulein Sartorius, to whom, unpopular as she
+was, I noticed people constantly and almost instinctively went when in
+need of precise information or a slight dose of common sense and
+clear-headedness.
+
+Miss Hallam inquired who was the best master.
+
+"For singing, the Herr Direktor," replied Anna, very promptly. "And then
+he directs the best of the musical vereins--the clubs--societies,
+whatever you name them. At least he might try Miss Wedderburn's voice."
+
+"Who is he?"
+
+"The head of anything belonging to music in the town--koeniglicher
+musik-direktor. He conducts all the great concerts, and though he does
+not sing himself, yet he is one of the best teachers in the province.
+Lots of people come and stay here on purpose to learn from him."
+
+"And what are these vereins?"
+
+"Every season there are six great concerts given, and a seventh for the
+benefit of the direktor. The orchestra and chorus together are called a
+verein--musik-verein. The chorus is chiefly composed of ladies and
+gentlemen--amateurs, you know--_Dilettanten_. The Herr Direktor is very
+particular about voices. You pay so much for admission, and receive a
+card for the season. Then you have all the good teaching--the _Proben_."
+
+"What is a _Probe_?" I demanded, hastily, remembering that Courvoisier
+had used the word.
+
+"What you call a rehearsal."
+
+Ah! then he was musical. At last I had found it out. Perhaps he was one
+of the amateurs who sung at these concerts, and if so, I might see him
+again, and if so--But Anna went on:
+
+"It is a very good thing for any one, particularly with such a teacher
+as von Francius."
+
+"You must join," said Miss Hallam to me.
+
+"There is a probe to-night to Rubinstein's 'Paradise Lost,'" said Anna.
+"I shall go, not to sing, but to listen. I can take Miss Wedderburn, if
+you like, and introduce her to Herr von Francius, whom I know."
+
+"Very nice! very much obliged to you. Certainly," said Miss Hallam.
+
+The probe was fixed for seven, and shortly after that time we set off
+for the Tonhalle, or concert-hall, in which it was held.
+
+"We shall be much too early," said she. "But the people are shamefully
+late. Most of them only come to _klatsch_, and flirt, or try to flirt,
+with the Herr Direktor."
+
+This threw upon my mind a new light as to the Herr Direktor, and I
+walked by her side much impressed. She told me that if I accepted I
+might even sing in the concert itself, as there had only been four
+proben so far, and there were still several before the haupt-probe.
+
+"What is the haupt-probe?" I inquired.
+
+"General rehearsal--when Herr von Francius is most unmerciful to his
+stupid pupils. I always attend that. I like to hear him make sport of
+them, and then the instrumentalists laugh at them. Von Francius never
+flatters."
+
+Inspired with nightmare-like ideas as to this terrible haupt-probe, I
+found myself, with Anna, turning into a low-fronted building inscribed
+"Staedtische Tonhalle," the concert-hall of the good town of Elberthal.
+
+"This way," said she. "It is in the rittersaal. We don't go to the large
+saal till the haupt-probe."
+
+I followed her into a long, rather shabby-looking room, at one end of
+which was a low orchestra, about which were dotted the desks of the
+absent instrumentalists, and some stiff-looking Celli and Contrabassi
+kept watch from a wall. On the orchestra was already assembled a goodly
+number of young men and women, all in lively conversation, loud
+laughter, and apparently high good-humor with themselves and everything
+in the world.
+
+A young man with a fuzz of hair standing off about a sad and
+depressed-looking countenance was stealing "in and out and round about,"
+and distributing sheets of score to the company. In the conductor's
+place was a tall man in gray clothes, who leaned negligently against the
+rail, and held a conversation with a pretty young lady who seemed much
+pleased with his attention. It did not strike me at first that this was
+the terrible direktor of whom I had been hearing. He was young, had a
+slender, graceful figure, and an exceedingly handsome, though (I
+thought at first) an unpleasing face. There was something in his
+attitude and manner which at first I did not quite like. Anna walked up
+the room, and pausing before the estrade, said:
+
+"Herr Direktor!"
+
+He turned: his eyes fell upon her face, and left it instantly to look at
+mine. Gathering himself together into a more ceremonious attitude, he
+descended from his estrade, and stood beside us, a little to one side,
+looking at us with a leisurely calmness which made me feel, I knew not
+why, uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Anna took up her parable.
+
+"May I introduce the young lady? Miss Wedderburn, Herr Musik-Direktor
+von Francius. Miss Wedderburn wishes to join the verein, if you think
+her voice will pass. Perhaps you will allow her to sing to-night?"
+
+"Certainly, _mein Fraeulein_," said he to me, not to Anna. He had a long,
+rather Jewish-looking face, black hair, eyes, and mustache. The features
+were thin, fine, and pointed. The thing which most struck me then, at
+any rate, was a certain expression which, conquering all others,
+dominated them--at once a hardness and a hardihood which impressed me
+disagreeably then, though I afterward learned, in knowing the man, to
+know much more truly the real meaning of that unflinching gaze and iron
+look.
+
+"Your voice is what, _mein Fraeulein_?" he asked.
+
+"Soprano."
+
+"Sopran? We will see. The soprani sit over there, if you will have the
+goodness."
+
+He pointed to the left of the orchestra, and called out to the
+melancholy-looking young man, "Herr Schonfeld, a chair for the young
+lady!"
+
+Herr von Francius then ascended the orchestra himself, went to the
+piano, and, after a few directions, gave us the signal to begin. Till
+that day--I confess it with shame--I had never heard of the "Verlorenes
+Paradies." It came upon me like a revelation. I sung my best,
+substituting _do_, _re_, _mi_, etc., for the German words. Once or
+twice, as Herr von Francius's forefinger beat time, I thought I saw his
+head turn a little in our direction, but I scarcely heeded it. When the
+first chorus was over, he turned to me:
+
+"You have not sung in a chorus before?"
+
+"No."
+
+"So! I should like to hear you sing something _sola_." He pushed toward
+me a pile of music, and while the others stood looking on and whispering
+among themselves, he went on, "Those are all sopran songs. Select one,
+if you please, and try it."
+
+Not at all aware that the incident was considered unprecedented, and was
+creating a sensation, I turned over the music, seeking something I knew,
+but could find nothing. All in German, and all strange. Suddenly I came
+upon one entitled "Blute nur, liebes Herz," the sopran solo which I had
+heard as I sat with Courvoisier in the cathedral. It seemed almost like
+an old friend. I opened it, and found it had also English words. That
+decided me.
+
+"I will try this," said I, showing it to him.
+
+He smiled. "_'S ist gut!_" Then he read the title off the song aloud,
+and there was a general titter, as if some very great joke were in
+agitation, and were much appreciated. Indeed I found that in general
+the jokes of the Herr Direktor, when he condescended to make any, were
+very keenly relished by at least the lady part of his pupils.
+
+Not understanding the reason of the titter I took the music in my hand,
+and waiting for a moment until he gave me the signal, sung it after the
+best wise I could--not very brilliantly, I dare say, but with at least
+all my heart poured into it. I had one requisite at least of an artist
+nature--I could abstract myself upon occasion completely from my
+surroundings. I did so now. It was too beautiful, too grand. I
+remembered that afternoon at Koeln--the golden sunshine streaming through
+the painted windows, the flood of melody poured forth by the invisible
+singer; above all, I remembered who had been by my side, and I felt as
+if again beside him--again influenced by the unusual beauty of his face
+and mien, and by his clear, strange, commanding eyes. It all came back
+to me--the strangest, happiest day of my life. I sung as I had never
+sung before--as I had not known I could sing.
+
+When I stopped, the tittering had ceased; silence saluted me. The young
+ladies were all looking at me; some of them had put on their
+eye-glasses; others stared at me as if I were some strange animal from a
+menagerie. The young gentlemen were whispering among themselves and
+taking sidelong glances at me. I scarcely heeded anything of it. I fixed
+my eyes upon the judge who had been listening to my performance--upon
+von Francius. He was pulling his mustache and at first made no remark.
+
+"You have sung that song before, _gnaediges Fraeulein_?"
+
+"No. I have heard it once. I have not seen the music before."
+
+"So!" He bowed slightly, and turning once more to the others, said:
+
+"We will begin the next chorus. 'Chorus of the Damned,' Now, _meine
+Herrschaften_, I would wish to impress upon you one thing, if I can,
+that is--Silence, _meine Herren_!" he called sharply toward the tenors,
+who were giggling inanely among themselves. "A chorus of damned souls,"
+he proceeded, composedly, "would not sing in the same unruffled manner
+as a young lady who warbles, 'Spring is come--tra, la, la! Spring is
+come--lira, lira!' in her mamma's drawing-room. Try to imagine yourself
+struggling in the tortures of hell"--(a delighted giggle and a sort of
+"Oh, you dear, wicked man!" expression on the part of the young ladies;
+a nudging of each other on that of the young gentlemen), "and sing as if
+you were damned."
+
+Scarcely any one seemed to take the matter the least earnestly. The
+young ladies continued to giggle, and the young gentlemen to nudge each
+other. Little enough of expression, if plenty of noise, was there in
+that magnificent and truly difficult passage, the changing choruses of
+the condemned and the blessed ones--with its crowning "WEH!" thundering
+down from highest soprano to deepest bass.
+
+"Lots of noise, and no meaning," observed the conductor, leaning himself
+against the rail of the estrade, face to his audience, folding his arms
+and surveying them all one after the other with cold self-possession. It
+struck me that he despised them while he condescended to instruct them.
+The power of the man struck me again. I began to like him better. At
+least I venerated his thorough understanding of what was to me a
+splendid mystery. No softening appeared in the master's eyes in answer
+to the rows of pretty appealing faces turned to him; no smile upon his
+contemptuous lips responded to the eyes--black, brown, gray, blue,
+yellow--all turned with such affecting devotion to his own. Composing
+himself to an insouciant attitude, he began in a cool, indifferent
+voice, which had, however, certain caustic tones in it which stung me
+at least to the quick:
+
+"I never heard anything worse, even from you. My honored Fraeulein, my
+_gnaedigen Herren_, just try once to imagine what you are singing about!
+It is not an exercise--it is not a love song, either of which you would
+no doubt perform excellently. Conceive what is happening! Put yourself
+back into those mythical times. Believe, for this evening, in the story
+of the forfeited Paradise. There is strife between the Blessed and the
+Damned; the obedient and the disobedient. There are thick clouds in the
+heavens--smoke, fire, and sulphur--a clashing of swords in the serried
+ranks of the angels: can not you see Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, leading
+the heavenly host? Can not some of you sympathize a little with Satan
+and his struggle?"
+
+Looking at him, I thought they must indeed be an unimaginative set! In
+that dark face before them was Mephistopheles at least--_der Geist der
+stets verneint_--if nothing more violent. His cool, scornful features
+were lighted up with some of the excitement which he could not drill
+into the assemblage before him. Had he been gifted with the requisite
+organ he would have acted and sung the chief character in "Faust" _con
+amore_.
+
+"_Ach, um Gotteswillen!_" he went on, shrugging his shoulders, "try to
+forget what you are! Try to forget that none of you ever had a wicked
+thought or an unholy aspiration--"
+
+("Don't they see how he is laughing at them?" I wondered.)
+
+"You, Chorus of the Condemned, try to conjure up every wicked thought
+you can, and let it come out in your voices--you who sing the strains of
+the blessed ones, think of what blessedness is. Surely each of you has
+his own idea! Some of you may agree with Lenore:
+
+     "'Bei ihm, bei ihm ist Seligkeit,
+     Und ohne Wilhelm Holle!'
+
+"If so, think of him; think of her--only sing it, whatever it is.
+Remember the strongest of feelings:
+
+     "'Die Engel nennen es Himmelsfreude
+     Die Teufel nennen es Hoellenqual,
+     Die Menschen nennen es--LIEBE!'
+
+"And sing it!"
+
+He had not become loud or excited in voice or gesticulation, but his
+words, flung at them like so many scornful little bullets, the
+indifferent resignation of his attitude, had their effect upon the crew
+of giggling, simpering girls and awkward, self-conscious young men. Some
+idea seemed vouchsafed to them that perhaps their performance had not
+been quite all that it might have been; they began in a little more
+earnest, and the chorus went better.
+
+For my own part, I was deeply moved. A vague excitement, a wild, and not
+altogether a holy one, had stolen over me. I understood now how the man
+might have influence. I bent to the power of his will, which reached me
+where I stood in the background, from his dark eyes, which turned for a
+moment to me now and then. It was that will of his which put me as it
+were suddenly into the spirit of the music, and revealed me depths in my
+own heart at which I had never even guessed. Excited, with cheeks
+burning and my heart hot within me, I followed his words and his
+gestures, and grew so impatient of the dull stupidity of the others that
+tears came to my eyes. How could that young woman, in the midst of a
+sublime chorus, deliberately pause, arrange the knot of her neck-tie,
+and then, after a smile and a side glance at the conductor, go on again
+with a more self-satisfied simper than ever upon her lips? What might
+not the thing be with a whole chorus of sympathetic singers? The very
+dullness which in face prevailed revealed to me great regions of
+possible splendor, almost too vast to think of.
+
+At last it was over. I turned to the direktor, who was still near the
+piano, and asked timidly:
+
+"Do you think I may join? Will my voice do?"
+
+An odd expression crossed his face; he answered, dryly:
+
+"You may join the verein, _mein Fraeulein_--yes. Please come this way
+with me. Pardon, Fraeulein Stockhausen--another time. I am sorry to say I
+have business at present."
+
+A black look from a pretty brunette, who had advanced with an engaging
+smile and an open score to ask him some question, greeted this very
+composed rebuff of her advance. The black look was directed at
+me--guiltless.
+
+Without taking any notice of the other, he led Anna and me to a small
+inner room, where there was a desk and writing materials.
+
+"Your name, if you will be good enough?"
+
+"Wedderburn."
+
+"Your _Vorname_, though--your first name."
+
+"My Christian name--oh, May."
+
+"M--a--_na_! Perhaps you will be so good as to write it yourself, and
+the street and number of the house in which you live."
+
+I complied.
+
+"Have you been here long?"
+
+"Not quite a week."
+
+"Do you intend to make any stay?"
+
+"Some months, probably."
+
+"Humph! If you wish to make any progress in music, you must stay much
+longer."
+
+"It--I--it depends upon other people how long I remain."
+
+He smiled slightly, and his smile was not unpleasant; it lighted up the
+darkness of his face in an agreeable manner.
+
+"So I should suppose. I will call upon you to-morrow at four in the
+afternoon. I should like to have a little conversation with you about
+your voice. Adieu, _meine Damen_."
+
+With a slight bow which sufficiently dismissed us, he turned to the desk
+again, and we went away.
+
+Our homeward walk was a somewhat silent one. Anna certainly asked me
+suddenly where I had learned to sing.
+
+"I have not learned properly. I can't help singing."
+
+"I did not know you had a voice like that," said she again.
+
+"Like what?"
+
+"Herr von Francius will tell you all about it to-morrow," said she,
+abruptly.
+
+"What a strange man Herr von Francius is!" said I. "Is he clever?"
+
+"Oh, very clever."
+
+"At first I did not like him. Now I think I do, though."
+
+She made no answer for a few minutes; then said:
+
+"He is an excellent teacher."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+HERR VON FRANCIUS.
+
+
+When Miss Hallam heard from Anna Sartorius that my singing had evidently
+struck Herr von Francius, and of his intended visit, she looked
+pleased--so pleased that I was surprised.
+
+He came the following afternoon, at the time he had specified. Now, in
+the broad daylight, and apart from his official, professional manner, I
+found the Herr Direktor still different from the man of last night, and
+yet the same. He looked even younger now than on the estrade last night,
+and quiet though his demeanor was, attuned to a gentlemanly calm and
+evenness, there was still the one thing, the cool, hard glance left, to
+unite him with the dark, somewhat sinister-looking personage who had
+cast his eyes round our circle last night, and told us to sing as if we
+were damned.
+
+"Miss Hallam, this is Herr von Francius," said I. "He speaks English," I
+added.
+
+Von Francius glanced from her to me with a somewhat inquiring
+expression.
+
+Miss Hallam received him graciously, and they talked about all sorts of
+trifles, while I sat by in seemly silence, till at last Miss Hallam
+said:
+
+"Can you give me any opinion upon Miss Wedderburn's voice?"
+
+"Scarcely, until I have given it another trial. She seems to have had no
+training."
+
+"No, that is true," she said, and proceeded to inform him casually that
+she wished me to have every advantage I could get from my stay in
+Elberthal, and must put the matter into his hands. Von Francius looked
+pleased.
+
+For my part, I was deeply moved. Miss Hallam's generosity to one so
+stupid and ignorant touched me nearly.
+
+Von Francius, pausing a short time, at last said:
+
+"I must try her voice again, as I remarked. Last night I was struck with
+her sense of the dramatic point of what we were singing--a quality which
+I do not too often find in my pupils. I think, _mein Fraeulein_, that
+with care and study you might take a place on the stage."
+
+"The stage!" I repeated, startled, and thinking of Courvoisier's words.
+
+But von Francius had been reckoning without his host. When Miss Hallam
+spoke of "putting the matter into his hands," she understood the words
+in her own sense.
+
+"The stage!" said she, with a slight shiver. "That is quite out of the
+question. Miss Wedderburn is a young lady--not an actress."
+
+"So! Then it is impossible to be both in your country?" said he, with
+polite sarcasm. "I spoke as simple _Kuenstler_--artist--I was not
+thinking of anything else. I do not think the _gnaediges Fraeulein_ will
+ever make a good singer of mere songs. She requires emotion to bring out
+her best powers--a little passion--a little scope for acting and abandon
+before she can attain the full extent of her talent."
+
+He spoke in the most perfectly matter-of-fact way, and I trembled. I
+feared lest this display of what Miss Hallam would consider little short
+of indecent laxity and Bohemianism, would shock her so much that I
+should lose everything by it. It was not so, however.
+
+"Passion--abandon! I think you can not understand what you are talking
+about!" said she. "My dear sir, you must understand that those kind of
+things may be all very well for one set of people, but not for that
+class to which Miss Wedderburn belongs. Her father is a clergyman"--von
+Fraucius bowed, as if he did not quite see what that had to do with
+it--"in short, that idea is impossible. I tell you plainly. She may
+learn as much as she likes, but she will never be allowed to go upon the
+stage."
+
+"Then she may teach?" said he, inquiringly.
+
+"Certainly. I believe that is what she wishes to do, in case--if
+necessary."
+
+"She may teach, but she may not act," said he, reflectively. "So be it,
+then! Only," he added as if making a last effort, "I would just mention
+that, apart from artistic considerations, while a lady may wear herself
+out as a poorly paid teacher, a _prima donna_--"
+
+Miss Hallam smiled with calm disdain.
+
+"It is not of the least use to speak of such a thing. You and I look at
+the matter from quite different points of view, and to argue about it
+would only be to waste time."
+
+Von Francius, with a sarcastic, ambiguous smile, turned to me:
+
+"And you, _mein Fraeulein_?"
+
+"I--no. I agree with Miss Hallam," I murmured, not really having found
+myself able to think about it at all, but conscious that opposition was
+useless. And, besides, I did shrink away from the ideas conjured up by
+that word, the "stage."
+
+"So!" said he, with a little bow and a half smile. "Also, I must try to
+make the round man fit into the square hole. The first thing will be
+another trial of your voice; then I must see how many lessons a week you
+will require, and must give you instructions about practicing. You must
+understand that it is not pleasure or child's play which you are
+undertaking. It is a work in order to accomplish which you must strain
+every nerve, and give up everything which in any way interferes with
+it."
+
+"I don't know whether I shall have time for it," I murmured, looking
+doubtfully toward Miss Hallam.
+
+"Yes, May; you will have time for it," was all she said.
+
+"Is there a piano in the house?" said von Francius. "But, yes,
+certainly. Fraeulein Sartorius has one; she will lend it to us for half
+an hour. If you were at liberty, _mein Fraeulein_, just now--"
+
+"Certainly," said I, following him, as he told Miss Hallam that he would
+see her again.
+
+As he knocked at the door of Anna's sitting-room she came out, dressed
+for walking.
+
+"_Ach, Fraeulein!_ will you allow us the use of your piano for a few
+minutes?"
+
+"_Bitte!_" said she, motioning us into the room. "I am sorry I have an
+engagement, and must leave you."
+
+"Do not let us keep you on any account," said he, with touching
+politeness; and she went out.
+
+"_Desto besser!_" he observed, shrugging his shoulders.
+
+He pulled off his gloves with rather an impatient gesture, seated
+himself at the piano, and struck some chords, in an annoyed manner.
+
+"Who is that old lady?" he inquired, looking up at me. "Any relation of
+yours?"
+
+"No--oh, no! I am her companion."
+
+"So! And you mean to let her prevent you from following the career you
+have a talent for?"
+
+"If I do not do as she wishes, I shall have no chance of following any
+career at all," said I. "And, besides, how does any one know that I have
+a talent--for--for--what you say?"
+
+"I know it; that is why I said it. I wish I could persuade that old lady
+to my way of thinking!" he added. "I wish you were out of her hands and
+in mine. _Na!_ we shall see!"
+
+It was not a very long "trial" that he gave me; we soon rose from the
+piano.
+
+"To-morrow at eleven I come to give you a lesson," said he. "I am going
+to talk to Miss Hallam now. You please not come. I wish to see her
+alone; and I can manage her better by myself, _nicht wahr_!"
+
+"Thank you," said I in a subdued tone.
+
+"You must have a piano, too," he added; "and we must have the room to
+ourselves. I allow no third person to be present in my private lessons,
+but go on the principle of Paul Heyse's hero, Edwin, either in open
+lecture, or _unter vier Augen_."
+
+With that he held the door open for me, and as I turned into my room,
+shook hands with me in a friendly manner, bidding me expect him on the
+morrow.
+
+Certainly, I decided, Herr von Francius was quite unlike any one I had
+ever seen before; and how awfully cool he was and self-possessed. I
+liked him well, though.
+
+The next morning Herr von Francius gave me my first lesson, and after
+that I had one from him nearly every day. As teacher and as acquaintance
+he was, as it were, two different men. As teacher he was strict, severe,
+gave much blame and little praise; but when he did once praise me, I
+remember, I carried the remembrance of it with me for days as a ray of
+sunshine. He seemed never surprised to find how much work had been
+prepared for him, although he would express displeasure sometimes at its
+quality. He was a teacher whom it was impossible not to respect, whom
+one obeyed by instinct. As man, as acquaintance, I knew little of him,
+though I heard much--idle tales, which it would be as idle to repeat.
+They chiefly related to his domineering disposition and determination to
+go his own way and disregard that of others. In this fashion my life
+became busy enough.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+"LOHENGRIN."
+
+
+As time went on, the image of Eugen Courvoisier, my unspoken of,
+unguessed at, friend, did not fade from my memory. It grew stronger. I
+thought of him every day--never went out without a distinct hope that I
+might see him; never came in without vivid disappointment that I had not
+seen him. I carried three thalers ten groschen so arranged in my purse
+that I could lay my hand upon them at a moment's notice, for as the days
+went on it appeared that Herr Courvoisier had not made up his accounts,
+or if he had, had not chosen to claim that part of them owed by me.
+
+I did not see him. I began dismally to think that after all the whole
+thing was at an end. He did not live at Elberthal--he had certainly
+never told me that he did, I reminded myself. He had gone about his
+business and interests--had forgotten the waif he had helped one spring
+afternoon, and I should never see him again. My heart fell and sunk with
+a reasonless, aimless pang. What did it, could it, ought it to matter to
+me whether I ever saw him again or not? Nothing, certainly, and yet I
+troubled myself about it a great deal. I made little dramas in my mind
+of how he and I were to meet, and how I would exert my will and make him
+to take the money. Whenever I saw an unusually large or handsome house,
+I instantly fell to wondering if it were his, and sometimes made
+inquiries as to the owner of any particularly eligible residence. I
+heard of Brauns, Muellers, Piepers, Schmidts, and the like, as owners of
+the same--never the name Courvoisier. He had disappeared--I feared
+forever.
+
+Coming in weary one day from the town, where I had been striving to make
+myself understood in shops, I was met by Anna Sartorius on the stairs.
+She had not yet ceased to be civil to me--civil, that is, in her
+way--and my unreasoning aversion to her was as great as ever.
+
+"This is the last opera of the season," said she, displaying a pink
+ticket. "I am glad you will get to see one, as the theater closes after
+to-night."
+
+"But I am not going."
+
+"Yes, you are. Miss Hallam has a ticket for you. I am going to chaperon
+you."
+
+"I must go and see about that," said I, hastily rushing upstairs.
+
+The news, incredible though it seemed, was quite true. The ticket lay
+there. I picked it up and gazed at it fondly. Stadttheater zu Elberthal.
+Parquet, No. 16. As I had never been in a theater in my life, this
+conveyed no distinct idea to my mind, but it was quite enough for me
+that I was going. The rest of the party, I found, were to consist of
+Vincent, the Englishman, Anna Sartorius, and the Dutch boy, Brinks.
+
+It was Friday evening, and the opera was "Lohengrin." I knew nothing,
+then, about different operatic styles, and my ideas of operatic music
+were based upon duets upon selected airs from "La Traviata," "La
+Somnambula," and "Lucia." I thought the story of "Lohengrin," as related
+by Vincent, interesting. I was not in the least aware that my first
+opera was to be a different one from that of most English girls. Since,
+I have wondered sometimes what would be the result upon the musical
+taste of a person who was put through a course of Wagnerian opera first,
+and then turned over to the Italian school--leaving Mozart, Beethoven,
+Gluck, to take care of themselves, as they may very well do--thus
+exactly reversing the usual (English) process.
+
+Anna was very quiet that evening. Afterward I knew that she must have
+been observing me. We were in the first row of the parquet, with the
+orchestra alone between us and the stage. I was fully occupied in
+looking about me--now at the curtain hiding the great mystery, now
+behind and above me at the boxes, in a youthful state of ever-increasing
+hope and expectation.
+
+"We are very early," said Vincent, who was next to me, "very early, and
+very near," he added, but he did not seem much distressed at either
+circumstance.
+
+Then the gas was suddenly turned up quite high. The bustle increased
+cheerfully. The old, young, and middle-aged ladies who filled the
+_Logen_ in the _Erster Rang_--hardened theater-goers, who came as
+regularly every night in the week during the eight months of the season
+as they ate their breakfasts and went to their beds, were gossiping with
+the utmost violence, exchanging nods and odd little old-fashioned bows
+with other ladies in all parts of the house, leaning over to look
+whether the parquet was well filled, and remarking that there were
+more people in the _Balcon_ than usual. The musicians were dropping
+into the orchestra. I was startled to see a fair face I knew--that
+pleasant-looking young violinist with the brown eyes, whose name I had
+heard called out at the eye hospital. They all seemed very fond of him,
+particularly a man who struggled about with a violoncello, and who
+seemed to have a series of jokes to relate to Herr Helfen, exploding
+with laughter, and every now and then shaking the loose thick hair from
+his handsome, genial face. Helfen listened to him with a half smile,
+screwing up his violin and giving him a quiet look now and then. The
+inspiring noise of tuning up had begun, and I was on the very tiptoe of
+expectation.
+
+As I turned once more and looked round, Vincent said, laughing, "Miss
+Wedderburn, your hat has hit me three times in the face." It was, by the
+by, the brown hat which had graced my head that day at Koeln.
+
+"Oh, has it? I beg your pardon!" said I, laughing too, as I brought my
+eyes again to bear on the stage. "The seats are too near toge--"
+
+Further words were upon my lips, but they were never uttered. In roving
+across the orchestra to the foot-lights my eyes were arrested. In the
+well of the orchestra immediately before my eyes was one empty chair,
+that by right belonging to the leader of the first violins. Friedhelm
+Helfen sat in the one next below it. All the rest of the musicians were
+assembled. The conductor was in his place, and looked a little
+impatiently toward that empty chair. Through a door to the left of the
+orchestra there came a man, carrying a violin, and made his way, with
+a nod here, a half smile there, a tap on the shoulder in another
+direction. Arrived at the empty chair, he laid his hand upon Helfen's
+shoulder, and bending over him, spoke to him as he seated himself. He
+kept his hand on that shoulder, as if he liked it to be there. Helfen's
+eyes said as plainly as possibly that he liked it. Fast friends, on the
+face of it, were these two men. In this moment, though I sat still,
+motionless, and quiet, I certainly realized as nearly as possible that
+impossible sensation, the turning upside down of the world. I did not
+breathe. I waited, spell-bound, in the vague idea that my eyes might
+open and I find that I had been dreaming. After an earnest speech to
+Helfen the new-comer raised his head. As he shouldered his violin his
+eyes traveled carelessly along the first row of the parquet--our row. I
+did not awake; things did not melt away in a mist before my eyes. He
+was Eugen Courvoisier, and he looked braver, handsomer, gallanter, and
+more apart from the crowd of men now, in this moment, than even my
+sentimental dreams had pictured him. I felt it all: I also know now
+that it was partly the very strength of the feeling that I had--the very
+intensity of the admiration which took from me the reflection and reason
+for the moment. I felt as if every one must see how I felt. I remembered
+that no one knew what had happened; I dreaded lest they should. I did
+the most cowardly and treacherous thing that circumstances permitted to
+me--displayed to what an extent my power of folly and stupidity could
+carry me. I saw these strange bright eyes, whose power I felt, coming
+toward me. In one second they would be upon me. I felt myself white with
+anxiety. His eyes were coming--coming--slowly, surely. They had fallen
+upon Vincent, and he nodded to him. They fell upon me. It was for the
+tenth of a second only. I saw a look of recognition flash into his
+eyes--upon his face. I saw that he was going to bow to me. With (as it
+seemed to me) all the blood in my veins rushing to my face, my head
+swimming, my heart beating, I dropped my eyes to the play-bill upon my
+lap, and stared at the crabbed German characters--the names of the
+players, the characters they took. "Elsa--Lohengrin." I read them again
+and again, while my ears were singing, my heart beating so, and I
+thought every one in the theater knew and was looking at me.
+
+"Mind you listen to the overture, Miss Wedderburn," said Vincent,
+hastily, in my ear, as the first liquid, yearning, long-drawn notes
+sounded from the violins.
+
+"Yes," said I, raising my face at last, looking or rather feeling a
+look compelled from me, to the place where he sat. This time our eyes
+met fully. I do not know what I felt when I saw him look at me as
+unrecognizingly as if I had been a wooden doll in a shop window. Was he
+looking past me? No. His eyes met mine direct--glance for glance; not a
+sign, not a quiver of the mouth, not a waver of the eyelids. I heard no
+more of the overture. When he was playing, and so occupied with his
+music, I surveyed him surreptitiously; when he was not playing, I kept
+my eyes fixed firmly upon my play-bill. I did not know whether to be
+most distressed at my own disloyalty to a kind friend, or most appalled
+to find that the man with whom I had spent a whole afternoon in the firm
+conviction that he was outwardly, as well as inwardly, my equal and a
+gentleman--(how the tears, half of shame, half of joy, rise to my eyes
+now as I think of my poor, pedantic little scruples then!) the man of
+whom I had assuredly thought and dreamed many and many a time and oft
+was--a professional musician, a man in a band, a German band, playing in
+the public orchestra of a provincial town. Well! well!
+
+In our village at home, where the population consisted of clergymen's
+widows, daughters of deceased naval officers, and old women in general,
+and those old women ladies of the genteelest description--the Army and
+the Church (for which I had been brought up to have the deepest
+veneration and esteem, as the two head powers in our land--for we did
+not take Manchester, Birmingham, and Liverpool into account at
+Skernford)--the Army and the Church, I say, look down a little upon
+Medicine and the Law, as being perhaps more necessary, but less select
+factors in that great sum--the Nation, Medicine and the Law looked down
+very decidedly upon commercial wealth, and Commerce in her turn turned
+up her nose at retail establishments, while one and all--Church and
+Army, Law and Medicine, Commerce in the gross and Commerce in the
+little--united in pointing the finger at artists, musicians, literati,
+_et id omne genus_, considering them, with some few well-known and
+orthodox exceptions, as bohemians, and calling them "persons." They were
+a class with whom we had and could have nothing in common; so utterly
+outside our life that we scarcely ever gave a thought to their
+existence. We read of pictures, and wished to see them; heard of musical
+wonders, and desired to hear them--as pictures, as compositions. I do
+not think it ever entered our heads to remember that a man with a quick
+life throbbing in his veins, with feelings, hopes, and fears and
+thoughts, painted the picture, and that in seeing it we also saw
+him--that a consciousness, if possible, yet more keen and vivid produced
+the combinations of sound which brought tears to our eyes when we heard
+"the band"--beautiful abstraction--play them! Certainly we never
+considered the performers as anything more than people who could
+play--one who blew his breath into a brass tube; another into a wooden
+pipe; one who scraped a small fiddle with fine strings, another who
+scraped a big one with coarse strings.
+
+I was seventeen, and not having an original mind, had up to now judged
+things from earlier teachings and impressions. I do not ask to be
+excused. I only say that I was ignorant as ever even a girl of seventeen
+was. I did not know the amount of art and culture which lay among those
+rather shabby-looking members of the Elberthal _staedtische Kapelle_--did
+not know that that little cherubic-faced man, who drew his bow
+so lovingly across his violin, had played under Mendelssohn's
+conductorship, and could tell tales about how the master had drilled his
+band, and what he had said about the first performance of the
+"Lobgesang." The young man to whom I had seen Courvoisier speaking
+was--I learned it later--a performer to ravish the senses, a conductor
+in the true sense--not a mere man who waves the stick up and down, but
+one who can put some of the meaning of the music into his gestures and
+dominate his players. I did not know that the musicians before me were
+nearly all true artists, and some of them undoubted gentlemen to boot,
+even if their income averaged something under that of a skilled
+Lancashire operative. But even if I had known it as well as possible,
+and had been aware that there could be nothing derogatory in my knowing
+or being known by one of them, I could not have been more wretched than
+I was in having been, as it were, false to a friend. The dreadful thing
+was, or ought to be--I could not quite decide which--that such a person
+should have been my friend.
+
+"How he must despise me!" I thought, my cheeks burning, my eyes fastened
+upon the play-bill. "I owe him ten shillings. If he likes he can
+point me out to them all and say, 'That is an English girl--lady I
+can not call her. I found her quite alone and lost at Koeln, and I did
+all I could to help her. I saved her a great deal of anxiety and
+inconvenience. She was not above accepting my assistance; she confided
+her story very freely to me; she is nothing very particular--has nothing
+to boast of--no money, no knowledge, nothing superior; in fact, she is
+simple and ignorant to quite a surprising extent; but she has just cut
+me dead. What do you think of her?'"
+
+Until the curtain went up, I sat in torture. When the play began,
+however, even my discomfort vanished in my wonder at the spectacle. It
+was the first I had seen. Try to picture it, oh, worn-out and _blase_
+frequenter of play and opera! Try to realize the feelings of an
+impressionable young person of seventeen when "Lohengrin" was revealed
+to her for the first time--Lohengrin, the mystic knight, with the
+glamour of eld upon him--Lohengrin, sailing in blue and silver like a
+dream, in his swan-drawn boat, stepping majestic forth, and speaking in
+a voice of purest melody, as he thanks the bird and dismisses it:
+
+     "Dahin, woher mich trug dein Kahn
+     Kehr wieder mir zu unserm Glueck!
+     Drum sei getreu dein Dienst gethan,
+     Leb wohl, leb wohl, mein lieber Schwan."
+
+Elsa, with the wonder, the gratitude, the love, and alas! the weakness
+in her eyes! The astonished Brabantine men and women. They could not
+have been more astonished than I was. It was all perfectly real to me.
+What did I know about the stage? To me, yonder figure in blue mantle and
+glittering armor was Lohengrin, the son of Percivale, not Herr Siegel,
+the first tenor of the company, who acted stiffly, and did not know what
+to do with his legs. The lady in black velvet and spangles, who
+gesticulated in a corner, was an "Edelfrau" to me, as the programme
+called her, not the chorus leader, with two front teeth missing, an
+inartistically made-up countenance, and large feet. I sat through the
+first act with my eyes riveted upon the stage. What a thrill shot
+through me as the tenor embraced the soprano, and warbled melodiously,
+"_Elsa, ich liebe Dich!_" My mouth and eyes were wide open, I have no
+doubt, till at last the curtain fell. With a long sigh I slowly brought
+my eyes down and "Lohengrin" vanished like a dream. There was Eugen
+Courvoisier standing up--he had resumed the old attitude--was twirling
+his mustache and surveying the company. Some of the other performers
+were leaving the orchestra by two little doors. If only he would go too!
+As I nervously contemplated a graceful indifferent remark to Herr
+Brinks, who sat next to me, I saw Courvoisier step forward. Was he,
+could he be going to speak to me? I should have deserved it, I knew, but
+I felt as if I should die under the ordeal. I sat preternaturally still,
+and watched, as if mesmerized, the approach of the musician. He spoke
+again to the young man whom I had seen before, and they both laughed.
+Perhaps he had confided the whole story to him, and was telling him to
+observe what he was going to do. Then Herr Courvoisier tapped the young
+man on the shoulder and laughed again, and then he came on. He was not
+looking at me; he came up to the boarding, leaned his elbow upon it, and
+said to Eustace Vincent:
+
+"Good-evening: _wie geht's Ihnen?_"
+
+Vincent held out his hand. "Very well, thanks. And you? I haven't seen
+you lately."
+
+"Then you haven't been at the theater lately," he laughed. He never
+testified to me by word or look that he had ever seen me before. At last
+I got to understand as his eyes repeatedly fell upon me without the
+slightest sign of recognition, that he did not intend to claim my
+acquaintance. I do not know whether I was most wretched or most relieved
+at the discovery. It spared me a great deal of embarrassment; it filled
+me, too, with inward shame beyond all description. And then, too, I
+was dismayed to find how totally I had mistaken the position of the
+musician. Vincent was talking eagerly to him. They had moved a little
+nearer the other end of the orchestra. The young man, Helfen, had come
+up, others had joined them. I, meanwhile, sat still--heard every tone of
+his voice, and took in every gesture of his head or his hand, and I felt
+as I trust never to feel again--and yet I lived in some such feeling as
+that for what at least seemed to me a long time. What was the feeling
+that clutched me--held me fast--seemed to burn me? And what was that I
+heard? Vincent speaking:
+
+"Last Thursday week, Courvoisier--why didn't you come? We were waiting
+for you?"
+
+"I missed the train."
+
+Until now he had been speaking German, but he said this distinctly in
+English and I heard every word.
+
+"Missed the train?" cried Vincent in his cracked voice.
+
+"Nonsense, man! Helfen, here, and Alekotte were in time and they had
+been at the probe as much as you."
+
+"I was detained in Koeln and couldn't get back till evening," said he.
+"Come along, Friedel; there's the call-bell."
+
+I raised my eyes--met his. I do not know what expression was in mine.
+His never wavered, though he looked at me long and steadily--no glance
+of recognition--no sign still. I would have risked the astonishment of
+every one of them now, for a sign that he remembered me. None was given.
+
+"Lohengrin" had no more attraction for me. I felt in pain that was
+almost physical, and weak with excitement as at last the curtain fell
+and we left our places.
+
+"You were very quiet," said Vincent, as we walked home. "Did you not
+enjoy it?"
+
+"Very much, thank you. It was very beautiful," said I, faintly.
+
+"So Herr Courvoisier was not at the _soiree_," said the loud, rough
+voice of Anna Sartorius.
+
+"No," was all Vincent said.
+
+"Did you have anything new? Was Herr von Francius there too?"
+
+"Yes; he was there too."
+
+I pondered. Brinks whistled loudly the air of Elsa's "Brautzug," as we
+paced across the Lindenallee. We had not many paces to go. The lamps
+were lighted, the people were thronging thick as in the daytime. The air
+was full of laughter, talk, whistling and humming of the airs from the
+opera. My ear strained eagerly through the confusion. I could have
+caught the faintest sound of Courvoisier's voice had it been there,
+but it was not. And we came home; Vincent opened the door with his
+latch-key, said, "It has not been very brilliant, has it? That tenor is
+a stick," and we all went to our different rooms. It was in such wise
+that I met Eugen Courvoisier for the second time.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+"Will you sing?"
+
+
+The theater season closed with that evening on which "Lohengrin" was
+performed. I ran no risk of meeting Courvoisier face to face again in
+that alarming, sudden manner. But the subject had assumed diseased
+proportions in my mind. I found myself confronted with him yet, and week
+after week. My business in Elberthal was music--to learn as much music
+and hear as much music as I could: wherever there was music there was
+also Eugen Courvoisier--naturally. There was only one _staedtische
+Kapelle_ in Elberthal. Once a week at least--each Saturday--I saw him,
+and he saw me at the unfailing instrumental concert to which every one
+in the house went, and to absent myself from which would instantly set
+every one wondering what could be my motive for it. My usual companions
+were Clara Steinmann, Vincent, the Englishman, and often Frau Steinmann
+herself. Anna Sartorius and some other girl students of art usually
+brought sketch-books, and were far too much occupied in making studies
+or caricatures of the audience to pay much attention to the music. The
+audience were, however, hardened; they were used to it. Anna and her
+friends were not alone in the practice. There were a dozen or more
+artists or _soi-disant_ artists busily engaged with their sketch-books.
+The concert-room offered a rich field to them. One could at least be
+sure of one thing--that they were not taking off the persons at whom
+they looked most intently. There must be quite a gallery hidden away in
+some old sketch-books--of portraits or wicked caricatures of the
+audience that frequented the concerts of the Instrumental Musik Verein.
+I wonder where they all are? Who has them? What has become of the
+light-hearted sketchers? I often recall those homely Saturday evening
+concerts; the long, shabby saal with its faded out-of-date decorations;
+its rows of small tables with the well-known groups around them; the
+mixed and motley audience. How easy, after a little while, to pick out
+the English, by their look of complacent pleasure at the delightful ease
+and unceremoniousness of the whole affair; their gladness at finding a
+public entertainment where one's clothes were not obliged to be selected
+with a view to outshining those of every one else in the room; the
+students shrouded in a mystery, secret and impenetrable, of tobacco
+smoke. The spruce-looking school-boys from the Gymnasium and Realschule,
+the old captains and generals, the Fraeulein their daughters, the
+_gnaedigen Frauen_ their wives; dressed in the disastrous plaids, checks,
+and stripes, which somehow none but German women ever got hold of.
+Shades of Le Follet! What costumes there were on young and old for an
+observing eye! What bonnets, what boots, what stupendously daring
+accumulation of colors and styles and periods of dress crammed and piled
+on the person of one substantial Frau Generalin, or Doctorin or
+Professorin! The low orchestra--the tall, slight, yet commanding figure
+of von Francius on the estrade; his dark face with its indescribable
+mixture of pride, impenetrability and insouciance; the musicians behind
+him--every face of them well known to the audience as those of the
+audience to them: it was not a mere "concert," which in England is
+another word for so much expense and so much vanity--it was a gathering
+of friends. We knew the music in which the Kapelle was most at home; we
+knew their strong points and their weak ones; the passage in the
+Pastoral Symphony where the second violins were a little weak; that
+overture where the blaseninstrumente came out so well--the symphonies
+one heard--the divine wealth of undying art and beauty! Those days are
+past: despite what I suffered in them they had their joys for me. Yes; I
+suffered at those concerts. I must ever see the one face which for me
+blotted out all others in the room, and endure the silent contempt which
+I believed I saw upon it. Probably it was my own feeling of inward
+self-contempt which made me believe I saw that expression there. His
+face had for me a miserable, basilisk-like attraction. When I was there
+he was there, I must look at him and endure the silent, smiling disdain
+which I at least believed he bestowed upon me. How did he contrive to do
+it? How often our eyes met, and every time it happened he looked me full
+in the face, and never would give me the faintest gleam of recognition!
+It was as though I looked at two diamonds, which returned my stare
+unwinkingly and unseeingly. I managed to make myself thoroughly
+miserable--pale and thin with anxiety and self-reproach I let this man,
+and the speculation concerning him, take up my whole thoughts, and I
+kept silence, because I dreaded so intensely lest any question should
+bring out the truth. I smiled drearily when I thought that there
+certainly was no danger of any one but Miss Hallam ever knowing it, for
+the only person who could have betrayed me chose now, of deliberate
+purpose, to cut me as completely as I had once cut him.
+
+As if to show very decidedly that he did intend to cut me, I met him one
+day, not in the street, but in the house, on the stairs. He sprung up
+the steps, two at a time, came to a momentary pause on the landing, and
+looked at me. No look of surprise, none of recognition. He raised his
+hat; that was nothing; in ordinary politeness he would have done it had
+he never seen me in his life before. The same cold, bright, hard glance
+fell upon me, keen as an eagle's, and as devoid of every gentle
+influence as the same.
+
+I silently held out my hand.
+
+He looked at it for a moment, then with a grave coolness which chilled
+me to the soul, murmured something about "not having the honor," bowed
+slightly, and stepping forward, walked into Vincent's room.
+
+I was going to the room in which my piano stood, where I had my music
+lessons, for they had told me that Herr von Francius was waiting. I
+looked at him as I went into the room. How different he was from that
+other man; darker, more secret, more scornful-looking, with not less
+power, but so much less benevolence.
+
+I was _distrait_, and sung exceedingly ill. We had been going through
+the solo soprano parts of the "Paradise Lost." I believe I sung vilely
+that morning. I was not thinking of Eva's sin and the serpent, but of
+other things, which, despite the story related in the Book of Genesis,
+touched me more nearly. Several times already had he made me sing
+through Eva's stammering answer to her God's question:
+
+     "Ah, Lord!... The Serpent!
+     The beautiful, glittering Serpent,
+     With his beautiful, glittering words,
+     He, Lord, did lead astray
+     The weak Woman!"
+
+"Bah!" exclaimed von Francius, when I had sung it some three or four
+times, each time worse, each time more distractedly. He flung the music
+upon the floor, and his eyes flashed, startling me from my uneasy
+thoughts back to the present. He was looking at me with a dark cloud
+upon his face. I stared, stooped meekly, and picked up the music.
+
+"Fraeulein, what are you dreaming about?" he asked, impatiently. "You are
+not singing Eva's shame and dawning terror as she feels herself undone.
+You are singing--and badly, too--a mere sentimental song, such as any
+school-girl might stumble through. I am ashamed of you."
+
+"I--I," stammered I, crimsoning, and ashamed for myself too.
+
+"You were thinking of something else," he said, his brow clearing a
+little. "_Na!_ it comes so sometimes. Something has happened to distract
+your attention. The amiable Miss Hallam has been a little _more_ amiable
+than usual."
+
+"No."
+
+"Well, well. _'S ist mir egal._ But now, as you have wasted half an hour
+in vanity and vexation, will you be good enough to let your thoughts
+return here to me and to your duty? or else--I must go, and leave the
+lesson till you are in the right voice again."
+
+"I am all right--try me," said I, my pride rising in arms as I thought
+of Courvoisier's behavior a short time ago.
+
+"Very well. Now. You are Eva, please remember, the first woman, and you
+have gone wrong. Think of who is questioning you, and--"
+
+"Oh, yes, yes, I know. Please begin."
+
+He began the accompaniment, and I sung for the fifth time Eva's
+scattered notes of shame and excuse.
+
+"Brava!" said he, when I had finished, and I was the more startled as he
+had never before given me the faintest sign of approval, but had found
+such constant fault with me that I usually had a fit of weeping after my
+lesson; weeping with rage and disappointment at my own shortcomings.
+
+"At last you know what it means," said he. "I always told you your forte
+was dramatic singing."
+
+"Dramatic! But this is an oratorio."
+
+"It may be called an oratorio, but it is a drama all the same. What more
+dramatic, for instance, than what you have just sung, and all that goes
+before? Now suppose we go on. I will take Adam."
+
+Having given myself up to the music, I sung my best with earnestness.
+When we had finished von Francius closed the book, looked at me, and
+said:
+
+"Will you sing the 'Eva' music at the concert?"
+
+"I?"
+
+He bowed silently, and still kept his eyes fixed upon my face, as if to
+say, "Refuse if you dare."
+
+"I--I'm afraid I should make such a mess of it," I murmured at last.
+
+"Why any more than to-day?"
+
+"Oh! but all the people!" said I, expostulating; "it is so different."
+
+He gave a little laugh of some amusement.
+
+"How odd! and yet how like you!" said he. "Do you suppose that the
+people who will be at the concert will be half as much alive to your
+defects as I am? If you can sing before me, surely you can sing before
+so many rows of--"
+
+"Cabbages? I wish I could think they were."
+
+"Nonsense! What would be the use, where the pleasure, in singing to
+cabbages? I mean simply inhabitants of Elberthal. What can there be so
+formidable about them?"
+
+I murmured something.
+
+"Well, will you do it?"
+
+"I am sure I should break down," said I, trying to find some sign of
+relenting in his eyes. I discovered none. He was not waiting to hear
+whether I said "yes" or "no," he was waiting until I said "yes."
+
+"If you did," he replied, with a friendly smile, "I should never teach
+you another note."
+
+"Why not?"
+
+"Because you would be a coward, and not worth teaching."
+
+"But Miss Hallam?"
+
+"Leave her to me."
+
+I still hesitated.
+
+"It is the _premier pas qui coute_," said he, keeping a friendly but
+determined gaze upon my undecided face.
+
+"I want to accustom you to appearing in public," he added. "By degrees,
+you know. There is nothing unusual in Germany for one in your position
+to sing in such a concert."
+
+"I was not thinking of that; but that it is impossible that I can sing
+well enough--"
+
+"You sing well enough for my purpose. You will be amazed to find what an
+impetus to your studies, and what a filip to your industry will be given
+by once singing before a number of other people. And then, on the
+stage--"
+
+"But I am not going on the stage."
+
+"I think you are. At least, if you do otherwise you will do wrong. You
+have gifts which are in themselves a responsibility."
+
+"I--gifts--what gifts?" I asked, incredulously. "I am as stupid as a
+donkey. My sisters always said so, and sisters are sure to know; you may
+trust them for that."
+
+"Then you will take the soprano solos?"
+
+"Do you think I can?"
+
+"I don't think you can; I say you must. I will call upon Miss Hallam
+this afternoon. And the _gage_--fee--what you call it?--is fifty
+thalers."
+
+"What!" I cried, my whole attitude changing to one of greedy
+expectation. "Shall I be paid?"
+
+"Why, _natuerlich_," said he, turning over sheets of music, and averting
+his face to hide a smile.
+
+"Oh! then I will sing."
+
+"Good! Only please to remember that it is my concert, and I am
+responsible for the soloists; and pray think rather more about the
+beautiful glittering serpent than about the beautiful glittering
+thalers."
+
+"I can think about both," was my unholy, time-serving reply.
+
+Fifty thalers. Untold gold!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+"Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter."
+
+
+It was the evening of the haupt-probe, a fine moonlight night in the
+middle of May--a month since I had come to Elberthal, and it seemed so
+much, so very much more.
+
+To my astonishment--and far from agreeable astonishment--Anna Sartorius
+informed me of her intention to accompany me to the probe. I put
+objections in her way as well as I knew how, and said I did not think
+outsiders were admitted. She laughed, and said:
+
+"That is too funny, that you should instruct me in such things. Why, I
+have a ticket for all the proben, as any one can have who chooses to pay
+two thalers at the _sasse_. I have a mind to hear this. They say the
+orchestra are going to rebel against von Francius. And I am going to the
+concert to-morrow, too. One can not hear too much of such fine music;
+and when one's friend sings, too--"
+
+"What friend of yours is going to sing?" I inquired, coldly.
+
+"Why, you, you _allerliebster kleiner Engel_," said she, in a tone of
+familiarity, to which I strongly objected.
+
+I could say no more against her going, but certainly displayed no
+enthusiastic desire for her company.
+
+The probe, we found, was to be in the great saal; it was half lighted,
+and there were perhaps some fifty people, holders of probe-tickets,
+seated in the parquet.
+
+"You are going to sing well to-night," said von Francius, as he handed
+me up the steps--"for my sake and your own, _nicht wahr_?"
+
+"I will try," said, I, looking round the great orchestra, and seeing how
+full it was--so many fresh faces, both in chorus and orchestra.
+
+And as I looked, I saw Courvoisier come in by the little door at the top
+of the orchestra steps and descend to his place. His face was
+clouded--very clouded; I had never seen him look thus before. He had no
+smile for those who greeted him. As he took his place beside Helfen, and
+the latter asked him some question, he stared absently at him, then
+answered with a look of absence and weariness.
+
+"Herr Courvoisier," said von Francius--and I, being near, heard the
+whole dialogue--"you always allow yourself to be waited for."
+
+Courvoisier glanced up. I with a new, sudden interest, watched the
+behavior of the two men. In the face of von Francius I thought to
+discover dislike, contempt.
+
+"I beg your pardon; I was detained," answered Courvoisier, composedly.
+
+"It is unfortunate that you should be so often detained at the time when
+your work should be beginning."
+
+Unmoved and unchanging, Courvoisier heard and submitted to the words,
+and to the tone in which they were spoken--sarcastic, sneering, and
+unbelieving.
+
+"Now we will begin," pursued von Francius, with a disagreeable smile, as
+he rapped with his baton upon the rail. I looked at Courvoisier--looked
+at his friend, Friedhelm Helfen. The former was sitting as quietly as
+possible, rather pale, and with the same clouded look, but not deeper
+than before; the latter was flushed, and eyed von Francius with no
+friendly glance.
+
+There seemed a kind of slumbering storm in the air. There was none of
+the lively discussion usual at the proben. Courvoisier, first of the
+first violins, and from whom all the others seemed to take their tone,
+sat silent, grave and still. Von Francius, though quiet, was biting. I
+felt afraid of him. Something must have happened to put him into that
+evil mood.
+
+My part did not come until late in the second part of the oratorio. I
+had almost forgotten that I was to sing at all, and was watching von
+Francius and listening to his sharp speeches. I remembered what Anna
+Sartorius had said in describing this haupt-probe to me. It was all just
+as she had said. He was severe; his speeches roused the phlegmatic
+blood, set the professional instrumentalists laughing at their amateur
+co-operators, but provoked no reply or resentment. It was extraordinary,
+the effect of this man's will upon those he had to do with--upon women
+in particular.
+
+There was one haughty-looking blonde--a Swede--tall, majestic, with long
+yellow curls, and a face full of pride and high temper, who gave herself
+decided airs, and trusted to her beauty and insolence to carry off
+certain radical defects of harshness of voice and want of ear. I never
+forgot how she stared me down from head to foot on the occasion of my
+first appearance alone, as if to say, "What do you want here?"
+
+It was in vain that she looked haughty and handsome. Addressing her as
+Fraeulein Hulstrom, von Francius gave her a sharp lecture, and imitated
+the effect of her voice in a particularly soft passage with ludicrous
+accuracy. The rest of the chorus was tittering audibly, the musicians,
+with the exception of Courvoisier and his friend, nudging each other and
+smiling. She bridled haughtily, flashed a furious glance at her mentor,
+grew crimson, received a sarcastic smile which baffled her, and subsided
+again.
+
+So it was with them all. His blame was plentiful; his praise so rare as
+to be almost an unknown quantity. His chorus and orchestra were famed
+for the minute perfection and precision of their play and singing.
+Perhaps the performance lacked something else--passion, color. Von
+Francius, at that time at least, was no genius, though his talent, his
+power, and his method were undeniably great. He was, however, not
+popular--not the Harold, the "beloved leader" of his people.
+
+It was to-night that I was first shown how all was not smooth for him;
+that in this art union there were splits--"little rifts within the
+lute," which, should they extend, might literally in the end "make the
+music mute." I heard whispers around me. "Herr von Francius is
+angry."--"_Nicht wahr_?"--"Herr Courvoisier looks angry too."--"Yes, he
+does."--"There will be an open quarrel there soon."--"I think
+so."--"They are both clever; one should be less clever than the
+other."--"They are so opposed."--"Yes. They say Courvoisier has a party
+of his own, and that all the orchestra are on his side."--"So!" in
+accents of curiosity and astonishment--"_Ja wohl!_ And that if von
+Francius does not mind, he will see Herr Courvoisier in his place,"
+etc., etc., without end. All which excited me much, as the first glimpse
+into the affairs of those about whom we think much and know little (a
+form of life well known to women in general) always does interest us.
+
+These things made me forget to be nervous or anxious. I saw myself now
+as part of the whole, a unit in the sum of a life which interested me.
+Von Francius gave me a sign of approval when I had finished, but it was
+a mechanical one. He was thinking of other things.
+
+The probe was over. I walked slowly down the room looking for Anna
+Sartorius, more out of politeness than because I wished for her company.
+I was relieved to find that she had already gone, probably not finding
+all the entertainment she expected, and I was able, with a good
+conscience, to take my way home alone.
+
+My way home! not yet. I was to live through something before I could
+take my way home.
+
+I went out of the large saal through the long veranda into the street. A
+flood of moonlight silvered it. There was a laughing, chattering crowd
+about me--all the chorus; men and girls, going to their homes or their
+lodgings, in ones or twos, or in large cheerful groups. Almost opposite
+the Tonhalle was a tall house, one of a row, and of this house the
+lowest floor was used as a shop for antiquities, curiosities, and a
+thousand odds and ends useful or beautiful to artists, costumes, suits
+of armor, old china, anything and everything. The window was yet
+lighted. As I paused for a moment before taking my homeward way, I saw
+two men cross the moonlit street and go in at the open door of the shop.
+One was Courvoisier; in the other I thought to recognize Friedhelm
+Helfen, but was not quite sure about it. They did not go into the shop,
+as I saw by the bright large lamp that burned within, but along the
+passage and up the stairs. I followed them, resolutely beating down
+shyness, unwillingness, timidity. My reluctant steps took me to the
+window of the antiquity shop, and I stood looking in before I could make
+up my mind to enter. Bits of rococo ware stood in the window, majolica
+jugs, chased metal dishes and bowls, bits of Renaissance work, tapestry,
+carpet, a helm with the vizor up, gaping at me as if tired of being
+there. I slowly drew my purse from my pocket, put together three
+thalers and a ten groschen piece, and with lingering, unwilling steps,
+entered the shop. A pretty young woman in a quaint dress, which somehow
+harmonized with the place, came forward. She looked at me as if
+wondering what I could possibly want. My very agitation gave calmness to
+my voice as I inquired,
+
+"Does Herr Courvoisier, a musiker, live here?"
+
+"_Ja wohl!_" answered the young woman, with a look of still greater
+surprise. "On the third _etage_, straight upstairs. The name is on the
+door."
+
+I turned away, and went slowly up the steep wooden uncarpeted staircase.
+On the first landing a door opened at the sound of my footsteps, and a
+head was popped out--a rough, fuzzy head, with a pale, eager-looking
+face under the bush of hair.
+
+"Ugh!" said the owner of this amiable visage, and shut the door with a
+bang. I looked at the plate upon it; it bore the legend, "Hermann
+Duntze, Maler." To the second _etage_. Another door--another plate:
+"Bernhardt Knoop, Maler." The house seemed to be a resort of artists.
+There was a lamp burning on each landing; and now, at last, with breath
+and heart alike failing, I ascended the last flight of stairs, and found
+myself upon the highest _etage_ before another door, on which was
+roughly painted up, "Eugen Courvoisier." I looked at it with my heart
+beating suffocatingly. Some one had scribbled in red chalk beneath the
+Christian name, "Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter." Had it been done in jest
+or earnest? I wondered, and then knocked. Such a knock!
+
+"_Herein!_"
+
+I opened the door, and stepped into a large, long, low room. On the
+table, in the center, burned a lamp, and sitting there, with the light
+falling upon his earnest young face, was Helfen, the violinist, and near
+to him sat Courvoisier, with a child upon his knee, a little lad with
+immense dark eyes, tumbled black hair, and flushed, just awakened face.
+He was clad in his night-dress and a little red dressing-gown, and
+looked like a spot of almost feverish, quite tropic brightness in
+contrast with the grave, pale face which bent over him. Courvoisier held
+the two delicate little hands in one of his own, and was looking down
+with love unutterable upon the beautiful, dazzling child-face. Despite
+the different complexion and a different style of feature too, there
+was so great a likeness in the two faces, particularly in the broad,
+noble brow, as to leave no doubt of the relationship. My musician and
+the boy were father and son.
+
+Courvoisier looked up as I came in. For one half moment there leaped
+into his eyes a look of surprise and of something more. If it had lasted
+a second longer I could have sworn it was welcome--then it was gone. He
+rose, turned the child over to Helfen, saying, "One moment, Friedel,"
+then turned to me as to some stranger who had come on an errand as yet
+unknown to him, and did not speak. The little one, from Helfen's knee,
+stared at me with large, solemn eyes, and Helfen himself looked scarcely
+less impressed.
+
+I have no doubt I looked frightened--I felt so--frightened out of my
+senses. I came tremulously forward, and offering my pieces of silver,
+said, in the smallest voice which I had ever used:
+
+"I have come to pay my debt. I did not know where you lived, or I should
+have done it long before."
+
+He made no motion to take the money, but said--I almost started, so
+altered was the voice from that of my frank companion at Koeln, to an icy
+coldness of ceremony:
+
+"_Mein Fraeulein_, I do not understand."
+
+"You--you--the things you paid for. Do you not remember me?"
+
+"Remember a lady who has intimated that she wishes me to forget her? No,
+I do not."
+
+What a horribly complicated revenge! thought I, as I said, ever lower
+and lower, more and more shamedfacedly, while the young violinist sat
+with the child on his knee, and his soft brown eyes staring at me in
+wonder:
+
+"I think you must remember. You helped me at Koeln, and you paid for my
+ticket to Elberthal, and for something that I had at the hotel. You told
+me that was what I owed you."
+
+I again tendered the money; again he made no effort to receive it, but
+said:
+
+"I am sorry that I do not understand to what you refer. I only know it
+is impossible that I could ever have told you you owed me three thalers,
+or three anything, or that there could, under any circumstances, be any
+question of money between you and me. Suppose we consider the topic at
+an end."
+
+Such a voice of ice, and such a manner, to chill the boldest heart, I
+had never yet encountered. The cool, unspeakable disdain cut me to the
+quick.
+
+"You have no right to refuse the money," said I, desperately. "You have
+no right to insult me by--by--" An appropriate peroration refused
+itself.
+
+Again the sweet, proud, courteous smile; not only courteous, but
+courtly; again the icy little bow of the head, which would have done
+credit to a prince in displeasure, and which yet had the deference due
+from a gentleman to a lady.
+
+"You will excuse the semblance of rudeness which may appear if I say
+that if you unfortunately are not of a very decided disposition, I am.
+It is impossible that I should ever have the slightest intercourse with
+a lady who has once unequivocally refused my acquaintance. The lady may
+honor me by changing her mind; I am sorry that I can not respond. I do
+not change my mind."
+
+"You must let us part on equal terms," I reiterated. "It is unjust--"
+
+"Yourself closed all possibility of the faintest attempt at further
+acquaintance, _mein Fraeulein_. The matter is at an end."
+
+"Herr Courvoisier, I--"
+
+"At an end," he repeated, calmly, gently, looking at me as he had often
+looked at me since the night of "Lohengrin," with a glance that baffled
+and chilled me.
+
+"I wish to apologize--"
+
+"For what?" he inquired, with the faintest possible look of indifferent
+surprise.
+
+"For my rudeness--my surprise--I--"
+
+"You refer to one evening at the opera. You exercised your privilege, as
+a lady, of closing an acquaintance which you did not wish to renew. I
+now exercise mine, as a gentleman, of saying that I choose to abide by
+that decision, now and always."
+
+I was surprised. Despite my own apologetic frame of mind, I was
+surprised at his hardness; at the narrowness and ungenerosity which
+could so determinedly shut the door in the face of an humble penitent
+like me. He must see how I had repented the stupid slip I had made;
+he must see how I desired to atone for it. It was not a slip of the
+kind one would name irreparable, and yet he behaved to me as if I
+had committed a crime; froze me with looks and words. Was he so
+self-conscious and so vain that he could not get over that small slight
+to his self-consequence, committed in haste and confusion by an ignorant
+girl? Even then, even in that moment I asked myself these questions, my
+astonishment being almost as great as my pain, for it was the very
+reverse, the very opposite of what I had pictured to myself. Once let me
+see him and speak to him, I had said to myself, and it would be all
+right; every lineament of his face, every tone of his voice, bespoke a
+frank, generous nature--one that could forgive. Alas! and alas! this was
+the truth!
+
+He had come to the door; he stood by it now, holding it open, looking at
+me so courteously, so deferentially, with a manner of one who had been a
+gentleman and lived with gentlemen all his life, but in a way which at
+the same time ordered me out as plainly as possible.
+
+I went to the door. I could no longer stand under that chilling glance,
+nor endure the cool, polished contempt of the manner. I behaved by no
+means heroically; neither flung my head back, nor muttered any defiance,
+nor in any way proved myself a person of spirit. All I could do was to
+look appealingly into his face; to search the bright, steady eyes,
+without finding in them any hint of softening or relenting.
+
+"Will you not take it, please?" I asked, in a quivering voice and with
+trembling lips.
+
+"Impossible, _mein Fraeulein_," with the same chilly little bow as
+before.
+
+Struggling to repress my tears, I said no more, but passed out, cut to
+the heart. The door was closed gently behind me. I felt as if it had
+closed upon a bright belief of my youth. I leaned for a moment against
+the passage wall and pressed my hand against my eyes. From within came
+the sound of a child's voice, "_Mein vater_," and the soft, deep murmur
+of Eugen's answer; then I went down-stairs and into the open street.
+
+That hated, hateful three thalers ten groschen were still clasped in my
+hand. What was I to do with it? Throw it into the Rhine, and wash it
+away forever? Give it to some one in need? Fling it into the gutter?
+Send it him by post? I dismissed that idea for what it was worth. No; I
+would obey his prohibition. I would keep it--those very coins, and when
+I felt inclined to be proud and conceited about anything on my own
+account, or disposed to put down superhuman charms to the account of
+others, I would go and look at them, and they would preach me eloquent
+sermons.
+
+As I went into the house, up the stairs to my room, the front door
+opened again and Anna Sartorius overtook me.
+
+"I thought you had left the probe?" said I, staring at her.
+
+"So I had, _Herzchen_," said she, with her usual ambiguous, mocking
+laugh; "but I was not compelled to come home, like a good little girl,
+the moment I came out of the Tonhalle. I have been visiting a friend.
+But where have you been, for the probe must have been over for some
+time? We heard the people go past; indeed, some of them were staying in
+the house where I was. Did you take a walk in the moonlight?"
+
+"Good-night," said I, too weary and too indifferent even to answer her.
+
+"It must have been a tiring walk; you seem weary, quite _ermuedet_," said
+she, mockingly, and I made no answer.
+
+"A haupt-probe is a dismal thing after all," she called out to me from
+the top of the stairs.
+
+From my inmost heart I agreed with her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+KAFFEEKLATSCH.
+
+
+ "_Phillis._ I want none o' thy friendship!
+ _Lesbia._ Then take my enmity!"
+
+"When a number of ladies meet together to discuss matters of importance,
+we call it 'Kaffeeklatsch,'" Courvoisier had said to me on that
+never-forgotten afternoon of my adventure at Koeln.
+
+It was my first kaffeeklatsch which, in a measure, decided my destiny.
+Hitherto, that is, up to the end of June, I had not been at any
+entertainment of this kind. At last there came an invitation to Frau
+Steinmann and to Anna Sartorius, to assist at a "coffee" of unusual
+magnitude, and Frau Steinmann suggested that I should go with them and
+see what it was like. Nothing loath, I consented.
+
+"Bring some work," said Anna Sartorius to me, "or you will find it
+_langweilig_--slow, I mean."
+
+"Shall we not have some music?"
+
+"Music, yes, the sweetest of all--that of our own tongues. You shall
+hear every one's candid opinion of every one else--present company
+always excepted, and you will see what the state of Elberthal society
+really is--present company still excepted. By a very strange chance the
+ladies who meet at a klatsch are always good, pious, virtuous, and,
+above all, charitable. It is wonderful how well we manage to keep the
+black sheep out, and have nothing but lambs immaculate."
+
+"Oh, don't!"
+
+"Oh, bah! I know the Elberthal _Klatscherei_. It has picked me to pieces
+many a time. After you have partaken to-day of its coffee and its cakes,
+it will pick you to pieces."
+
+"But," said I, arranging the ruffles of my very best frock, which I had
+been told it was _de rigueur_ to wear, "I thought women never gossiped
+so much among men."
+
+Fraeulein Sartorius laughed loud and long.
+
+"The men! _Du meine Guete!_ Men at a kaffeeklatsch! Show me the one that
+a man dare even look into, and I'll crown you--and him too--with laurel,
+and bay, and the wild parsley. A man at a kaffee--_mag Gott es
+bewahren!_"
+
+"Oh!" said I, half disappointed, and with a very poor, mean sense of
+dissatisfaction at having put on my pretty new dress for the first time
+only for the edification of a number of virulent gossips.
+
+"Men!" she reiterated with a harsh laugh as we walked toward the
+Goldsternstrasse, our destination. "Men--no. We despise their company,
+you see. We only talk about them directly or indirectly from the moment
+of meeting to that of parting."
+
+"I'm sorry there are no gentlemen," said I, and I was. I felt I looked
+well.
+
+Arrived at the scene of the kaffee, we were conducted to a bedroom where
+we laid aside our hats and mantles. I was standing before the glass,
+drawing a comb through my upturned hair, and contemplating with
+irrepressible satisfaction the delicate lavender hue of my dress, when I
+suddenly saw reflected behind me the dark, harshly cut face of Anna
+Sartorius. She started slightly; then said, with a laugh which had in it
+something a little forced:
+
+"We are a contrast, aren't we? Beauty and the Beast, one might almost
+say. _Na! 's schad't nix._"
+
+I turned away in a little offended pride. Her familiarity annoyed me.
+What if she were a thousand times cleverer, wittier, better read than I?
+I did not like her. A shade crossed her face.
+
+"Is it that you are thoroughly unamiable?" said she, in a voice which
+had reproach in it, "or are all English girls so touchy that they
+receive a compliment upon their good looks as if it were an offense?"
+
+"I wish you would not talk of my 'good looks' as if I were a dog or a
+horse!" said I, angrily. "I hate to be flattered. I am no beauty, and do
+not wish to be treated as if I were."
+
+"Do you always hate it?" said she from the window, whither she had
+turned. "_Ach!_ there goes Herr Courvoisier!"
+
+The name startled me like a sudden report. I made an eager step forward
+before I had time to recollect myself--then stopped.
+
+"He is not out of sight yet," said she, with a curious look, "if you
+wish to see him."
+
+I sat down and made no answer. What prompted her to talk in such a
+manner? Was it a mere coincidence?
+
+"He is a handsome fellow, _nicht wahr_?" she said, still watching me,
+while I thought Frau Steinmann never would manage to arrange her cap in
+the style that pleased her. "But a _Taugenichts_ all the same," pursued
+Anna as I did not speak. "Don't you think so?" she added.
+
+"A _Taugenichts_--I don't know what that is."
+
+"What you call a good-for-nothing."
+
+"Oh."
+
+"_Nicht wahr?_" she persisted.
+
+"I know nothing about it."
+
+"I do. I will tell you all about him some time."
+
+"I don't wish to know anything about him."
+
+"So!" said she, with a laugh.
+
+Without further word or look I followed Frau Steinmann down-stairs.
+
+The lady of the house was seated in the midst of a large concourse of
+old and young ladies, holding her own with a well-seasoned hardihood in
+the midst of the awful Babel of tongues. What a noise! It smote upon and
+stunned my confounded ear. Our hostess advanced and led me with a wave
+of the hand into the center of the room, when she introduced me to about
+a dozen ladies: and every one in the room stopped talking and working,
+and stared at me intently and unwinkingly until my name had been
+pronounced, after which some continued still to stare at me, and
+commenting openly upon it. Meanwhile I was conducted to a sofa at the
+end of the room, and requested in a set phrase, "_Bitte, Fraeulein,
+nehmen sie platz auf dem sofa_," with which long custom has since made
+me familiar, to take my seat upon it. I humbly tried to decline the
+honor, but Anna Sartorius, behind me, whispered:
+
+"Sit down directly, unless you want to be thought an utter barbarian.
+The place has been kept for you."
+
+Deeply impressed, and very uncomfortable, I sat down. First one and then
+another came and spoke and talked to me. Their questions and remarks
+were much in this style:
+
+"Do you like Elberthal? What is your Christian name? How old are you?
+Have you been or are you engaged to be married? They break off
+engagements in England for a mere trifle, don't they? _Schrecklich!_ Did
+you get your dress in Elberthal? What did it cost the _elle_? Young
+English ladies wear silk much more than young German ladies. You never
+go to the theater on Sunday in England--you are all _pietistisch_. How
+beautifully you speak our language! Really no foreign accent!" (This
+repeatedly and unblushingly, in spite of my most flagrant mistakes, and
+in the face of my most feeble, halting, and stammering efforts to make
+myself understood.) "Do you learn music? singing? From whom? Herr von
+Francius? _Ach, so!_" (Pause, while they all look impressively at me.
+The very name of von Francius calls up emotions of no common order.) "I
+believe I have seen you at the proben to the 'Paradise Lost.' Perhaps
+you are the lady who is to take the solos? Yes! _Du lieber Himmel!_ What
+do you think of Herr von Francius? Is he not nice?" (_Nett_, though,
+signifies something feminine and finikin.) "No? How odd! There is no
+accounting for the tastes of English women. Do you know many people in
+Elberthal? No? _Schade!_ No officers? not Hauptmann Sachse?" (with voice
+growing gradually shriller), "nor Lieutenant Pieper? Not know
+Lieutenant Pieper! _Um Gotteswillen!_ What do you mean? He is so
+handsome! such eyes! such a mustache! _Herrgott!_ And you do not know
+him? I will tell you something. When he went off to the autumn maneuvers
+at Frankfort (I have it on good authority), twenty young ladies went to
+see him off."
+
+"Disgusting!" I exclaimed, unable to control my feelings any longer. I
+saw Anna Sartorius malignantly smiling as she rocked herself in an
+American rocking-chair.
+
+"How! disgusting? You are joking. He had dozens of bouquets. All the
+girls are in love with him. They compelled the photographer to sell them
+his photograph, and they all believe he is in love with them. I believe
+Luise Breidenstein will die if he doesn't propose to her."
+
+"They ought to be ashamed of themselves."
+
+"But he is so handsome, so delightful. He dances divinely, and knows
+such good riddles, and acts--_ach, himmlisch!_"
+
+"But how absurd to make such a fuss of him!" I cried, hot and indignant.
+"The idea of going on so about a man!"
+
+A chorus, a shriek, a Babel of expostulations.
+
+"Listen, Thekla! Fraeulein Wedderburn does not know Lieutenant Pieper,
+and does not think it right to _schwaerm_ for him."
+
+"The darling! No one can help it who knows him!" said another.
+
+"Let her wait till she does know him," said Thekla, a sentimental young
+woman, pretty in a certain sentimental way, and graceful too--also
+sentimentally--with the sentiment that lingers about young ladies'
+albums with leaves of smooth, various-hued note-paper, and about the
+sonnets which nestle within the same. There was a sudden shriek:
+
+"There he goes! There is the Herr Lieutenant riding by. Just come here,
+_mein Fraeulein_! See him! Judge for yourself!"
+
+A strong hand dragged me, whether I would or not, to the window, and
+pointed out to me the Herr Lieutenant riding by. An adorable creature in
+a Hussar uniform; he had pink cheeks and a straight nose, and the
+loveliest little model of a mustache ever seen; tightly curling black
+hair, and the dearest little feet and hands imaginable.
+
+"Oh, the dear, handsome, delightful follow!" cried one enthusiastic
+young creature, who had scrambled upon a chair in the background and was
+gazing after him while another, behind me, murmured in tones of emotion:
+
+"Look how he salutes--divine, isn't it?"
+
+I turned away, smiling an irrepressible smile. My musician, with his
+ample traits and clear, bold eyes, would have looked a wild, rough,
+untamable creature by the side of that wax-doll beauty--that pretty
+little being who had just ridden by. I thought I saw them side by
+side--Herr Lieutenant Pieper and Eugen Courvoisier. The latter would
+have been as much more imposing than the former as an oak is more
+imposing than a spruce fir--as Gluck than Lortzing. And could these
+enthusiastic young ladies have viewed the two they would have been true
+to their lieutenant; so much was certain. They would have said that the
+other was a wild man, who did not cut his hair often enough, who had
+large hands, whose collar was perhaps chosen more with a view to ease
+and the free movement of the throat than to the smallest number of
+inches within which it was possible to confine that throat; who did not
+wear polished kid boots, and was not seen off from the station by twenty
+devoted admirers of the opposite sex, was not deluged with bouquets.
+With a feeling as of something singing at my heart I went back to my
+place, smiling still.
+
+"See! she is quite charmed with the Herr Lieutenant! Is he not
+delightful?"
+
+"Oh, very; so is a Dresden china shepherd, but if you let him fall he
+breaks."
+
+"_Wie komisch!_ how odd!" was the universal comment upon my
+eccentricity. The conversation had wandered off to other military stars,
+all of whom were _reizend_, _huebsch_, or _nett_. So it went on until I
+got heartily tired of it, and then the ladies discussed their female
+neighbors, but I leave that branch of the subject to the intelligent
+reader. It was the old tune with the old variations, which were rattled
+over in the accustomed manner. I listened, half curious, half appalled,
+and thought of various speeches made by Anna Sartorius. Whether she were
+amiable or not, she had certainly a keen insight into the hearts and
+motives of her fellow-creatures. Perhaps the gift had soured her.
+
+Anna and I walked home alone. Frau Steinmann was, with other elderly
+ladies of the company, to spend the evening there. As we walked down the
+Koenigsallee--how well to this day do I remember it! the chestnuts were
+beginning to fade, the road was dusty, the sun setting gloriously, the
+people thronging in crowds--she said suddenly, quietly, and in a tone of
+the utmost composure:
+
+"So you don't admire Lieutenant Pieper so much as Herr Courvoisier?"
+
+"What do you mean?" I cried, astonished, alarmed, and wondering what
+unlucky chance led her to talk to me of Eugen.
+
+"I mean what I say; and for my part I agree with you--partly.
+Courvoisier, bad though he may be, is a man; the other a mixture of doll
+and puppy."
+
+She spoke in a friendly tone; discursive, as if inviting confidence and
+comment on my part. I was not inclined to give either. I shrunk with
+morbid nervousness from owning to any knowledge of Eugen. My pride, nay,
+my very self-esteem, bled whenever I thought of him or heard him
+mentioned. Above all, I shrunk from the idea of discussing him, or
+anything pertaining to him, with Anna Sartorius.
+
+"It will be time for you to agree with me when I give you anything to
+agree about," said I, coldly. "I know nothing of either of the
+gentlemen, and wish to know nothing."
+
+There was a pause. Looking up, I found Anna's eyes fixed upon my face,
+amazed, reproachful. I felt myself blushing fierily. My tongue had led
+me astray; I had lied to her: I knew it.
+
+"Do not say you know nothing of either of the gentlemen. Herr
+Courvoisier was your first acquaintance in Elberthal."
+
+"What?" I cried, with a great leap of the heart, for I felt as if a veil
+had suddenly been rent away from before my eyes and I shown a precipice.
+
+"I saw you arrive with Herr Courvoisier," said Anna, calmly; "at least,
+I saw you come from the platform with him, and he put you into a drosky.
+And I saw you cut him at the opera; and I saw you go into his house
+after the general probe. Will you tell me again that you know nothing of
+him? I should have thought you too proud to tell lies."
+
+"I wish you would mind your own business," said I, heartily wishing that
+Anna Sartorius were at the antipodes.
+
+"Listen!" said she, very earnestly, and, I remember it now, though I did
+not heed it then, with wistful kindness. "I do not bear malice--you are
+so young and inexperienced. I wish you were more friendly, but I care
+for you too much to be rebuffed by a trifle. I will tell you about
+Courvoisier."
+
+"Thank you," said I, hastily, "I beg you will do no such thing."
+
+"I know his story. I can tell you the truth about him."
+
+"I decline to discuss the subject," said I, thinking of Eugen, and
+passionately refusing the idea of discussing him, gossiping about him,
+with any one.
+
+Anna looked surprised; then a look of anger crossed her face.
+
+"You can not be in earnest," said she.
+
+"I assure you I am. I wish you would leave me alone," I said,
+exasperated beyond endurance.
+
+"You don't wish to know what I can tell you about him?"
+
+"No, I don't. What is more, if you begin talking to me about him, I will
+put my fingers in my ears, and leave you."
+
+"Then you may learn it for yourself," said she, suddenly, in a voice
+little more than a whisper. "You shall rue your treatment of me. And
+when you know the lesson by heart, then you will be sorry."
+
+"You are officious and impertinent," said I, white with ire. "I don't
+wish for your society, and I will say good-evening to you."
+
+With that I turned down a side street leading into the Alleestrasse, and
+left her.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+   "So!
+ Another chapter read; with doubtful hand
+ I turn the page, with doubtful eye I scan
+ The heading of the next."
+
+
+From that evening Anna let me alone, as I thought, and I was glad of it,
+nor did I attempt any reconciliation, for the very good reason that I
+wished for none.
+
+Soon after our dispute I found upon my plate at breakfast, one morning,
+a letter directed in a bold though unformed hand, which I recognized as
+Stella's:
+
+     "DEAR MAY,--I dare say Adelaide will be writing to you, but I will
+     take time by the forelock, so to speak, and give you my views on
+     the subject first.
+
+     "There is news, strange to say that there is some news to tell you.
+     I shall give it without making any remarks. I shall not say whether
+     I think it good, bad, or indifferent. Adelaide is engaged to Sir
+     Peter Le Marchant. It was only made known two days ago. Adelaide
+     thinks he is in love with her. What a strange mistake for her to
+     make! She thinks she can do anything with him. Also a monstrous
+     misapprehension on her part. Seriously, May, I am rather
+     uncomfortable about it, or should be, if it were any one else but
+     Adelaide. But she knows so remarkably well what she is about, that
+     perhaps, after all, my fears are needless. And yet--but it is no
+     use speculating about it--I said I wouldn't.
+
+     "She is a queer girl. I don't know how she can marry Sir Peter, I
+     must say. I suppose he is awfully rich, and Adelaide has always
+     said that poverty was the most horrible thing in the world. I don't
+     know, I'm sure. I should be inclined to say that Sir Peter was the
+     most horrible thing in the world. Write soon, and tell me what you
+     think about it.
+
+                    "Thine, speculatively,
+                         "STELLA WEDDERBURN."
+
+I did not feel surprise at this letter. Foreboding, grief, shame, I did
+experience at finding that Adelaide was bent upon her own misery. But
+then, I reflected, she can not be very sensible to misery, or she would
+not be able to go through with such a purpose. I went upstairs to
+communicate this news to Miss Hallam. Soon the rapid movement of events
+in my own affairs completely drove thoughts of Adelaide for a time, at
+least, out of my mind.
+
+Miss Hallam received the information quietly and with a certain
+contemptuous indifference. I knew she did not like Adelaide, and I spoke
+of her as seldom as possible.
+
+I took up some work, glancing at the clock, for I expected von Francius
+soon to give me my lesson, and Miss Hallam sat still. I had offered to
+read to her, and she had declined. I glanced at her now and then. I had
+grown accustomed to that sarcastic, wrinkled, bitter face, and did not
+dislike it. Indeed, Miss Hallam had given me abundant proofs that,
+eccentric though she might be, pessimist in theory, merciless upon human
+nature, which she spoke of in a manner which sometimes absolutely
+appalled me, yet in fact, in deed, she was a warm-hearted, generous
+woman. She had dealt bountifully by me, and I knew she loved me, though
+she never said so.
+
+"May," she presently remarked, "yesterday, when you were out, I saw
+Doctor Mittendorf."
+
+"Did you, Miss Hallam?"
+
+"Yes. He says it is useless my remaining here any longer. I shall never
+see, and an operation might cost me my life!"
+
+Half-stunned, and not yet quite taking in the whole case, I held my work
+suspended, and looked at her. She went on:
+
+"I knew it would be so when I came. I don't intend to try any more
+experiments. I shall go home next week."
+
+Now I grasped the truth.
+
+"Go home, Miss Hallam!" I repeated, faintly.
+
+"Yes, of course. There is no reason why I should stay, is there?"
+
+"N--no, I suppose not," I admitted; and contrived to stammer out, "and I
+am very sorry that Doctor Mittendorf thinks you will not be better."
+
+Then I left the room quickly--I could not stay, I was overwhelmed. It
+was scarcely ten minutes since I had come upstairs to her. I could have
+thought it was a week.
+
+Outside the room, I stood on the landing with my hand pressed to my
+forehead, for I felt somewhat bewildered. Stella's letter was still in
+my hand. As I stood there Anna Sartorius came past.
+
+"_Guten Tag, Fraeulein_," said she, with a mocking kind of good-nature
+when she had observed me for a few minutes. "What is the matter? Are you
+ill? Have you had bad news?"
+
+"Good-morning, Fraeulein," I answered, quietly enough, dropping my hand
+from my brow.
+
+I went to my room. A maid was there, and the furniture might have stood
+as a type of chaos. I turned away, and went to the empty room, in which
+my piano stood, and where I had my music lessons. I sat down upon a
+stool in the middle of the room, folded my hands in my lap, and
+endeavored to realize what had happened--what was going to happen. There
+rang in my head nothing but the words, "I am going home next week."
+
+Home again! What a blank yawned before me at the idea! Leave
+Elberthal--leave this new life which had just begun to grow real to
+me! Leave it--go away; be whirled rapidly away back to Skernford--away
+from this vivid life, away from--Eugen. I drew a long breath, as the
+wretched, ignominious idea intruded itself, and I knew now what it was
+that gave terror to the prospect before me. My heart quailed and fainted
+at the bare idea of such a thing. Not even Hobson's choice was open to
+me. There was no alternative--I must go. I sat still, and felt myself
+growing gradually stiller and graver and colder as I looked mentally to
+every side of my horizon, and found it so bounded--myself shut in so
+fast.
+
+There was nothing for it but to return home, and spend the rest of my
+life at Skernford. I was in a mood in which I could smile. I smiled at
+the idea of myself growing older and older, and this six weeks that I
+had spent fading back and back into the distance, and the people into
+whose lives I had a cursory glance going on their way, and soon
+forgetting my existence. Truly, Anna! if you were anxious for me to be
+miserable, this moment, could you know it, should be sweet to you!
+
+My hands clasped themselves more closely upon my lap, and I sat staring
+at nothing, vaguely, until a shadow before me caused me to look up.
+Without knowing it, von Francius had come in, and was standing by,
+looking at me.
+
+"Good-morning!" said I, with a vast effort, partially collecting my
+scattered thoughts.
+
+"Are you ready for your lesson, _mein Fraeulein_?"
+
+"N--no. I think, Herr Direktor, I will not take any lesson to-day, if
+you will excuse it."
+
+"But why? Are you ill?"
+
+"No," said I. "At least--perhaps I want to accustom myself to do without
+music lessons."
+
+"So?"
+
+"Yes, and without many other pleasant things," said I, wryly and
+decidedly.
+
+"I do not understand," said he, putting his hat down, and leaning one
+elbow upon the piano, while his deep eyes fixed themselves upon my face,
+and, as usual, began to compel my secrets from me.
+
+"I am going home," said I.
+
+A quick look of feeling--whether astonishment, regret, or dismay, I
+should not like to have said--flashed across his face.
+
+"Have you had bad news?"
+
+"Yes, very. Miss Hallam returns to England next week."
+
+"But why do you go? Why not remain here?"
+
+"Gladly, if I had any money," I said, with a dry smile. "But I have
+none, and can not get any."
+
+"You will return to England now? Do you know what you are giving up?"
+
+"Obligation has no choice," said I, gracefully. "I would give anything
+if I could stay here, and not go home again." And with that I burst into
+tears. I covered my face with my hands, and all the pent-up grief and
+pain of the coming parting streamed from my eyes. I wept uncontrollably.
+
+He did not interrupt my tears for some time. When he did speak, it was
+in a very gentle voice.
+
+"Miss Wedderburn, will you try to compose yourself, and listen to
+something I have to say?"
+
+I looked up. I saw his eyes fixed seriously and kindly upon me with an
+expression quite apart from their usual indifferent coolness--with the
+look of one friend to another--with such a look as I had seen and have
+since seen exchanged between Courvoisier and his friend Helfen.
+
+"See," said he, "I take an interest in you, Fraeulein May. Why should I
+hesitate to say so? You are young--you do not know the extent of your
+own strength, or of your own weakness. I do. I will not flatter--it is
+not my way--as I think you know."
+
+I smiled. I remembered the plentiful blame and the scant praise which it
+had often fallen to my lot to receive from him.
+
+"I am a strict, sarcastic, disagreeable old pedagogue, as you and so
+many of my other fair pupils consider," he went on, and I looked up in
+amaze. I knew that so many of his "fair pupils" considered him exactly
+the reverse.
+
+"It is my business to know whether a voice is good for anything or not.
+Now yours, with training, will be good for a great deal. Have you the
+means, or the chance, or the possibility of getting that training in
+England?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I should like to help you, partly from the regard I have for you,
+partly for my own sake, because I think you would do me credit."
+
+He paused. I was looking at him with all my senses concentrated upon
+what he had said. He had been talking round the subject until he saw
+that he had fairly fixed my attention; then he said, sharply and
+rapidly:
+
+"Fraeulein, it lies with you to choose. Will you go home and stagnate
+there, or will you remain here, fight down your difficulties, and become
+a worthy artist?"
+
+"Can there be any question as to which I should like to do?" said I,
+distracted at the idea of having to give up the prospect he held out.
+"But it is impossible. Miss Hallam alone can decide."
+
+"But if Miss Hallam consented, you would remain?"
+
+"Oh! Herr von Francius! You should soon see whether I would remain!"
+
+"Also! Miss Hallam shall consent. Now to our singing!"
+
+I stood up. A singular apathy had come over me; I felt no longer my old
+self. I had a kind of confidence in von Francius, and yet--Despite my
+recent trouble, I felt now a lightness and freedom, and a perfect
+ability to cast aside all anxieties, and turn to the business of the
+moment--my singing. I had never sung better. Von Francius condescended
+to say that I had done well. Then he rose.
+
+"Now I am going to have a private interview with Miss Hallam," said he,
+smiling. "I am always having private interviews with her, _nicht wahr_?
+Nay, Fraeulein May, do not let your eyes fill with tears. Have confidence
+in yourself and your destiny, as I have."
+
+With that he was gone, leaving me to practice. How very kind von
+Francius was to me! I thought--not in the least the kind of man people
+called him. I had great confidence in him--in his will. I almost
+believed that he would know the right thing to say to Miss Hallam to get
+her to let me stay; but then, suppose she were willing, I had no
+possible means of support. Tired of conjecturing upon a subject upon
+which I was so utterly in the dark, I soon ceased that foolish pursuit.
+An hour had passed, when I heard von Francius' step, which I knew quite
+well, come down the stairs. My heart beat, but I could not move.
+
+Would he pass, or would he come and speak to me? He paused. His hand was
+on the lock. That was he standing before me, with a slight smile. He did
+not look like a man defeated--but then, could he look like a man
+defeated? My idea of him was that he held his own way calmly, and that
+circumstances respectfully bowed to him.
+
+"The day is gained," said he, and paused; but before I could speak he
+went on: "Go to Miss Hallam; be kind to her. It is hard for her to part
+from you, and she has behaved like a Spartan. I felt quite sorry to have
+to give her so much pain."
+
+Much wondering what could have passed between them, I left von Francius
+silently and sought Miss Hallam.
+
+"Are you there, May?" said she. "What have you been doing all the
+morning?"
+
+"Practicing--and having my lesson."
+
+"Practicing--and having your lesson--exactly what I have been doing.
+Practicing giving up my own wishes, and taking a lesson in the act of
+persuasion, by being myself persuaded. Your singing-master is a
+wonderful man. He has made me act against my principles."
+
+"Miss Hallam--"
+
+"You were in great trouble this morning when you heard you were to leave
+Elberthal. I knew it instantly. However, you shall not go unless you
+choose. You shall stay."
+
+Wondering, I held my tongue.
+
+"Herr von Francius has showed me my duty."
+
+"Miss Hallam," said I, suddenly, "I will do whatever you wish. After
+your kindness to me, you have the right to dispose of my doings. I shall
+be glad to do as you wish."
+
+"Well," said she, composedly, "I wish you to write a letter to your
+parents, which I will dictate; of course they must be consulted. Then,
+if they consent, I intend to provide you with the means of carrying on
+your studies in Elberthal under Herr von Francius."
+
+I almost gasped. Miss Hallam, who had been a by-word in Skernford, and
+in our own family, for eccentricity and stinginess, was indeed heaping
+coals of fire upon my head. I tried, weakly and ineffectually, to
+express my gratitude to her, and at last said:
+
+"You may trust me never to abuse your kindness, Miss Hallam."
+
+"I have trusted you ever since you refused Sir Peter Le Marchant, and
+were ready to leave your home to get rid of him," said she, with grim
+humor.
+
+She then told me that she had settled everything with von Francius, even
+that I was to remove to different lodgings, more suited for a solitary
+student than Frau Steinmann's busy house.
+
+"And," she added, "I shall ask Doctor Mittendorf to have an eye to you
+now and then, and to write to me of how you go on."
+
+I could not find many words in which to thank her. The feeling that I
+was not going, did not need to leave it all, filled my heart with a
+happiness as deep as it was unfounded and unreasonable.
+
+At my next lesson von Francius spoke to me of the future.
+
+"I want you to be a real student--no play one," said he, "or you will
+never succeed. And for that reason I told Miss Hallam that you had
+better leave this house. There are too many distractions. I am going to
+put you in a very different place."
+
+"Where? In which part of the town?"
+
+"Wehrhahn, 39, is the address," said he.
+
+I was not quite sure where that was, but did not ask further, for I was
+occupied in helping Miss Hallam, and wished to be with her as much as I
+could before she left.
+
+The day of parting came, as come it must. Miss Hallam was gone. I had
+cried, and she had maintained the grim silence which was her only way of
+expressing emotion.
+
+She was going back home to Skernford, to blindness, now known to be
+inevitable, to her saddened, joyless life. I was going to remain in
+Elberthal--for what? When I look back I ask myself--was I not as blind
+as she, in truth? In the afternoon of the day of Miss Hallam's
+departure, I left Frau Steinmann's house. Clara promised to come and
+see me sometimes. Frau Steinmann kissed me, and called me _liebes Kind_.
+I got into the cab and directed the driver to go to Wehrhahn, 39.
+He drove me along one or two streets into the one known as the
+Schadowstrasse, a long, wide street, in which stood the Tonhalle. A
+little past that building, round a corner, and he stopped, on the same
+side of the road.
+
+"Not here!" said I, putting my head out of the window when I saw the
+window of the curiosity shop exactly opposite. "Not here!"
+
+"Wehrhahn, 39, Fraeulein?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"This is it."
+
+I stared around. Yes--on the wall stood in plainly to be read white
+letters, "Wehrhahn," and on the door of the house, 39. Yielding to a
+conviction that it was to be, I murmured "Kismet," and descended from my
+chariot. The woman of the house received me civilly. "The young lady for
+whom the Herr Direktor had taken lodgings? _Schon_! Please to come this
+way, Fraeulein. The room was on the third _etage_." I followed her
+upstairs--steep, dark, narrow stairs, like those of the opposite house.
+The room was a bare-looking, tolerably large one. There was a little
+closet of a bedroom opening from it--a scrap of carpet upon the floor,
+and open windows letting in the air. The woman chatted good-naturedly
+enough.
+
+"So! I hope the room will suit, Fraeulein. It is truly not to be
+called richly furnished, but one doesn't need that when one is a
+_Sing-student_. I have had many in my time--ladies and gentlemen
+too--pupils of Herr von Francius often. _Na!_ what if they did make a
+great noise? I have no children--thank the good God! and one gets used
+to the screaming just as one gets used to everything else." Here she
+called me to the window.
+
+"You might have worse prospects than this, Fraeulein, and worse neighbors
+than those over the way. See! there is the old furniture shop where so
+many of the Herren Maler go, and then there there is Herr Duntze, the
+landscape painter, and Herr Knoop who paints _Genrebilder_ and does not
+make much by it--so a picture of a child with a raveled skein of wool,
+or a little girl making ear-rings for herself with bunches of
+cherries--for my part I don't see much in them, and wonder that there
+are people who will lay down good hard thalers for them. Then there is
+Herr Courvoisier, the musiker--but perhaps you know who he is."
+
+"Yes," I assented.
+
+"And his little son!" Here she threw up her hands. "_Ach!_ the poor man!
+There are people who speak against him, and every one knows he and the
+Herr Direktor are not the best friends, but _sehn Sie wohl, Fraeulein_,
+the Herr Direktor is well off, settled, provided for; Herr Courvoisier
+has his way to make yet, and the world before him; and what sort of a
+story it may be with the child, I don't know, but this I will say, let
+those dare to doubt it or question it who will, he is a good father--I
+know it. And the other young man with Herr Courvoisier--his friend, I
+suppose--he is a musiker too. I hear them practicing a good deal
+sometimes--things without any air or tune to them; for my part I wonder
+how they can go on with it. Give me a good song with a tune in
+it--'Drunten im Unterland,' or 'In Berlin, sagt er,' or something one
+knows. _Na!_ I suppose the fiddling all lies in the way of business, and
+perhaps they can fall asleep over it sometimes, as I do now and then
+over my knitting, when I'm weary. The young man, Herr Courvoisier's
+friend, looked ill when they first came; even now he is not to call a
+robust-looking person--but formerly he looked as if he would go out of
+the fugue altogether. _Entschuldigen_, Fraeulein, if I use a few
+professional proverbs. My husband, the sainted man! was a piano-tuner by
+calling, and I have picked up some of his musical expressions and use
+them, more for his sake than any other reason--for I have heard too much
+music to believe in it so much as ignorant people do. _Nun!_ I will send
+Fraeulein her box up, and then I hope she will feel comfortable and at
+home, and send for whatever she wants."
+
+In a few moments my luggage had come upstairs, and when they who brought
+it had finally disappeared, I went to the window again and looked out.
+Opposite, on the same _etage_, were two windows, corresponding to my
+two, wide open, letting me see into an empty room, in which there seemed
+to be books and many sheets of white paper, a music-desk and a vase of
+flowers. I also saw a piano in the clare-obscure, and another door, half
+open, leading into the inner room. All the inhabitants of the rooms were
+out. No tone came across to me--no movement of life. But the influence
+of the absent ones was there. Strange concourse of circumstances which
+had placed me as the opposite neighbor, in the same profession too, of
+Eugen Courvoisier! Pure chance it certainly was, for von Francius had
+certainly had no motive in bringing me hither.
+
+"Kismet!" I murmured once again, and wondered what the future would
+bring.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+ "He looks his angel in the face
+ Without a blush: nor heeds disgrace,
+ Whom naught disgraceful done
+ Disgraces. Who knows nothing base
+   Fears nothing known."
+
+
+It was noon. The probe to "Tannhauser" was over, and we, the members of
+the kapelle, turned out, and stood in a knot around the orchestra
+entrance to the Elberthal Theater.
+
+It was a raw October noontide. The last traces of the by-gone summer
+were being swept away by equinoctial gales, which whirled the remaining
+yellowing leaves from the trees, and strewed with them the walks of the
+deserted Hofgarten; a stormy gray sky promised rain at the earliest
+opportunity; our Rhine went gliding by like a stream of ruffled lead.
+
+"Proper theater weather," observed one of my fellow-musicians; "but it
+doesn't seem to suit you, Friedhelm. What makes you look so down?"
+
+I shrugged my shoulders. Existence was not at that time very pleasant to
+me; my life's hues were somewhat of the color of the autumn skies and of
+the dull river. I scarcely knew why I stood with the others now; it was
+more a mechanical pause before I took my spiritless way home, than
+because I felt any interest in what was going on.
+
+"I should say he will be younger by a long way than old Kohler,"
+observed Karl Linders, one of the violoncellists, a young man with an
+unfailing flow of good nature, good spirits, and eagerness to enjoy
+every pleasure which came in his way, which qualities were the objects
+of my deep wonder and mild envy. "And they say," he continued, "that
+he's coming to-night; so Friedhelm, my boy, you may look out. Your
+master's on the way."
+
+"So!" said I, lending but an indifferent attention; "what is his name?"
+
+"That's his way of gently intimating that he hasn't got no master," said
+Karl, jocosely, but the general answer to my question was, "I don't
+know."
+
+"But they say," said a tall man who wore spectacles and sat behind me in
+the first violins--"they say that von Francius doesn't like the
+appointment. He wanted some one else, but Die Direktion managed to beat
+him. He dislikes the new fellow beforehand, whatever he may be."
+
+"So! Then he will have a roughish time of it!" agreed one or two others.
+
+The "he" of whom they spoke was the coming man who should take the place
+of the leader of the first violins--it followed that he would be at
+least an excellent performer--possibly a clever man in many other ways,
+for the post was in many ways a good one. Our kapelle was no mean
+one--in our own estimation at any rate. Our late first violinist, who
+had recently died, had been on visiting terms with persons of the
+highest respectability, had given lessons to the very best families, and
+might have been seen bowing to young ladies and important dowagers
+almost any day. No wonder his successor was speculated about with some
+curiosity.
+
+"_Alle Wetter!_" cried Karl Linders, impatiently--that young man was
+much given to impatience--"what does von Francius want? He can't have
+everything. I suppose this new fellow plays a little too well for his
+taste. He will have to give him a solo now and then instead of keeping
+them all for himself."
+
+"_Weiss 's nit_," said another, shrugging his shoulders, "I've only
+heard that von Francius had a row with the Direction, and was outvoted."
+
+"What a sweet temper he will be in at the probe to-morrow!" laughed
+Karl. "Won't he give it to the _Maedchen_ right and left!"
+
+"What time is he coming?" proceeded one of the oboists.
+
+"Don't know; know nothing about it; perhaps he'll appear in 'Tannhauser'
+to-night. Look out, Friedhelm."
+
+"Here comes little Luischen," said Karl, with a winning smile, a
+straightening of his collar, and a general arming-for-conquest
+expression, as some of the "ladies of the chorus and ballet," appeared
+from the side door. "Isn't she pretty?" he went on, in an audible aside
+to me. "I've a crow to pluck with her too. _Tag_, Fraeulein!" he added,
+advancing to the young lady who had so struck him.
+
+He was "struck" on an average once a week, every time with the most
+beautiful and charming of her sex. The others, with one or two
+exceptions, also turned. I said good-morning to Linders, who wished,
+with a noble generosity, to make me a partaker in his cheerful
+conversation with Fraeulein Luise of the first soprans, slipped from his
+grasp and took my way homeward. Fraeulein Luischen was no doubt very
+pretty, and in her way a companionable person. Unfortunately I never
+could appreciate that way. With every wish to accommodate myself to the
+only society with which fortune supplied me, it was but ill that I
+succeeded.
+
+I, Friedhelm Helfen, was at that time a lonely, soured misanthrope of
+two-and-twenty. Let the announcement sound as absurd as it may, it is
+simply and absolutely true, I was literally alone in the world. My last
+relative had died and left me entirely without any one who could have
+even a theoretical reason for taking any interest in me. Gradually,
+during the last few months, I had fallen into evil places of thought and
+imagination. There had been a time before, as there has been a time
+since--as it is with me now--when I worshiped my art with all my
+strength as the most beautiful thing on earth; the art of arts--the most
+beautiful and perfect development of beauty which mankind has yet
+succeeded in attaining to, and when the very fact of its being so and of
+my being gifted with some poor power of expressing and interpreting that
+beauty was enough for me--gave me a place in the world with which I was
+satisfied, and made life understandable to me. At that time this
+belief--my natural and normal state--was clouded over; between me and
+the goddess of my idolatry had fallen a veil; I wasted my brain tissue
+in trying to philosophize--cracked my head, and almost my reason over
+the endless, unanswerable question, _Cui bono?_ that question which may
+so easily become the destruction of the fool who once allows himself to
+be drawn into dallying with it. _Cui bono?_ is a mental Delilah who will
+shear the locks of the most arrogant Samson. And into the arms and to
+the tender mercies of this Delilah I had given myself. I was in a fair
+way of being lost forever in her snares, which she sets for the feet of
+men. To what use all this toil? To what use--music? After by dint of
+hard twisting my thoughts and coping desperately with problems that I
+did not understand, having managed to extract a conviction that there
+was use in music--a use to beautify, gladden, and elevate--I began to
+ask myself further, "What is it to me whether mankind is elevated or
+not? made better or worse? higher or lower?"
+
+Only one who has asked himself that question, as I did, in bitter
+earnest, and fairly faced the answer, can know the horror, the
+blackness, the emptiness of the abyss into which it gives one a glimpse.
+Blackness of darkness--no standpoint, no vantage-ground--it is a horror
+of horrors; it haunted me then day and night, and constituted itself not
+only my companion but my tyrant.
+
+I was in bad health too. At night, when the joyless day was over, the
+work done, the play played out, the smell of the foot-lights and gas and
+the dust of the stage dispersed, a deadly weariness used to overcome me;
+an utter, tired, miserable apathy; and alone, surrounded by loneliness,
+I let my morbid thoughts carry me whither they would. It had gone so far
+that I had even begun to say to myself lately:
+
+"Friedhelm Helfen, you are not wanted. On the other side this life is a
+nothingness so large that you will be as nothing in it. Launch yourself
+into it. The story that suicide is wrong and immoral is, like other
+things, to be taken with reservation. There is no absolute right and
+wrong. Suicide is sometimes the highest form of right and reason."
+
+This mood was strong upon me on that particular day, and as I paced
+along the Schadowstrasse toward the Wehrhahn, where my lodging was, the
+very stones seemed to cry out, "The world is weary, and you are not
+wanted in it."
+
+A heavy, cold, beating rain began to fall. I entered the room which
+served me as living- and sleeping-room. From habit I ate and drank
+at the same restauration as that frequented by my _confreres_ of the
+orchestra. I leaned my elbows upon the table, and listened drearily to
+the beat of the rain upon the pane. Scattered sheets of music
+containing, some great, others little thoughts, lay around me. Lately
+it seemed as if the flavor was gone from them. The other night Beethoven
+himself had failed to move me, and I accepted it as a sign that all
+was over with me. In an hour it would be time to go out and seek dinner,
+if I made up my mind to have any dinner. Then there would be the
+afternoon--the dreary, wet afternoon, the tramp through the soaking
+streets, with the lamp-light shining into the pools of water, to
+the theater; the lights, the people, the weary round of painted
+ballet-girls, and accustomed voices and faces of audience and
+performers. The same number of bars to play, the same to leave unplayed;
+the whole dreary story, gone through so often before, to be gone through
+so often again.
+
+The restauration did not see me that day; I remained in the house. There
+was to be a great concert in the course of a week or two; the "Tower of
+Babel" was to be given at it. I had the music. I practiced my part, and
+I remember being a little touched with the exquisite loveliness of one
+of the choruses, that sung by the "Children of Japhet" as they wander
+sadly away with their punishment upon them into the _Waldeinsamkeit_
+(that lovely and untranslatable word) one of the purest and most
+pathetic melodies ever composed.
+
+It was dark that afternoon. I had not stirred from my hole since coming
+in from the probe--had neither eaten nor drunk, and was in full
+possession of the uninterrupted solitude coveted by busy men. Once I
+thought that it would have been pleasant if some one had known and cared
+for me well enough to run up the stairs, put his head into the room, and
+talk to me about his affairs.
+
+To the sound of gustily blowing wind and rain beating on the pane, the
+afternoon hours dragged slowly by, and the world went on outside and
+around me until about five o'clock. Then there came a knock at my door,
+an occurrence so unprecedented that I sat and stared at the said door
+instead of speaking, as if Edgar Poe's raven had put in a sudden
+appearance and begun to croak its "never-more" at me.
+
+The door was opened. A dreadful, dirty-looking young woman, a servant of
+the house, stood in the door-way.
+
+"What do you want?" I inquired.
+
+A gentleman wished to speak to me.
+
+"Bring him in then," said I, somewhat testily.
+
+She turned and requested some one to come forward. There entered a tall
+and stately man, with one of those rare faces, beautiful in feature,
+bright in expression, which one meets sometimes, and, having once seen,
+never forgets. He carried what I took at first for a bundle done up in a
+dark-green plaid, but as I stood up and looked at him I perceived that
+the plaid was wrapped round a child. Lost in astonishment, I gazed at
+him in silence.
+
+"I beg you will excuse my intruding upon you thus," said he, bowing, and
+I involuntarily returned his bow, wondering more and more what he could
+be. His accent was none of the Elberthal one; it was fine, refined,
+polished.
+
+"How can I serve you?" I asked, impressed by his voice, manner, and
+appearance; agreeably impressed. A little masterful he looked--a little
+imperious, but not unapproachable, with nothing ungenial in his pride.
+
+"You could serve me very much by giving me one or two pieces of
+information. In the first place let me introduce myself; you, I think,
+are Herr Helfen?" I bowed. "My name is Eugen Courvoisier. I am the new
+member of your _staedtisches Orchester_."
+
+"_O, was!_" said I, within myself. "That our new first violin!"
+
+"And this is my son," he added, looking down at the plaid bundle, which
+he held very carefully and tenderly. "If you will tell me at what time
+the opera begins, what it is to-night, and finally, if there is a room
+to be had, perhaps in this house, even for one night. I must find a nest
+for this _Voegelein_ as soon as I possibly can."
+
+"I believe the opera begins at seven," said I, still gazing at him in
+astonishment, with open mouth and incredulous eyes. Our orchestra
+contained among its sufficiently varied specimens of nationality and
+appearance nothing in the very least like this man, beside whom I felt
+myself blundering, clumsy, and unpolished. It was not mere natural grace
+of manner. He had that, but it had been cultivated somewhere, and
+cultivated highly.
+
+"Yes?" he said.
+
+"At seven--yes. It is 'Tannhauser' to-night. And the rooms--I believe
+they have rooms in the house."
+
+"Ah, then I will inquire about it," said he, with an exceedingly open
+and delightful smile. "I thank you for telling me. Adieu, _mein Herr_."
+
+"Is he asleep?" I asked, abruptly, and pointing to the bundle.
+
+"Yes; _armes Kerlchen_! just now he is," said the young man.
+
+He was quite young, I saw. In that half light I supposed him even
+younger than he really was. He looked down at the bundle again and
+smiled.
+
+"I should like to see him," said I, politely and gracefully, seized by
+an impulse of which I felt ashamed, but which I yet could not resist.
+
+With that I stepped forward and came to examine the bundle. He moved
+the plaid a little aside and showed me a child--a very young, small,
+helpless child, with closed eyes, immensely long, black, curving lashes,
+and fine, delicate black brows. The small face was flushed, but even in
+sleep this child looked melancholy. Yet he was a lovely child--most
+beautiful and most pathetic to see.
+
+I looked at the small face in silence, and a great desire came upon me
+to look at it oftener--to see it again, then up at that of the father.
+How unlike the two faces! Now that I fairly looked at the man I found he
+was different from what I had thought; older, sparer, with more sharply
+cut features. I could not tell what the child's eyes might be--those of
+the father were piercing as an eagle's; clear, open, strange. There was
+sorrow in the face, I saw, as I looked so earnestly into it; and it was
+worn as if with a keen inner life. This glance was one of those which
+penetrate deep, not the glance of a moment, but a revelation for life.
+
+"He is very beautiful," said I.
+
+"_Nicht wahr?_" said the other, softly.
+
+"Look here," I added, going to a sofa which was strewn with papers,
+books, and other paraphernalia; "couldn't we put him here, and then go
+and see about the rooms? Such a young, tender child must not be carried
+about the passages, and the house is full of draughts."
+
+I do not know what had so suddenly supplied me with this wisdom as to
+what was good for a "young, tender child," nor can I account for the
+sudden deep interest which possessed me. I dashed the things off the
+sofa, beat the dust from it, desired him to wait one moment while I
+rushed to my bed to ravish it of its pillow. Then with the sight of the
+bed (I was buying my experience) I knew that that, and not the sofa, was
+the place for the child, and said so.
+
+"Put him here, do put him here!" I besought, earnestly. "He will sleep
+for a time here, won't he?"
+
+"You are very good," said my visitor, hesitating a moment.
+
+"Put him there!" said I, flushed with excitement, and with the hitherto
+unknown joy of being able to offer hospitality.
+
+Courvoisier looked meditatively at me for a short time then laid the
+child upon the bed, and arranged the plaid around it as skillfully and
+as quickly as a woman would have done it.
+
+"How clever he must be," I thought, looking at him with awe, and with
+little less awe contemplating the motionless child.
+
+"Wouldn't you like something to put over him?" I asked, looking
+excitedly about. "I have an overcoat. I'll lend it you." And I was
+rushing off to fetch it, but he laughingly laid his hand upon my arm.
+
+"Let him alone," said he; "he's all right."
+
+"He won't fall off, will he?" I asked, anxiously.
+
+"No; don't be alarmed. Now, if you will be so good, we will see about
+the rooms."
+
+"Dare you leave him?" I asked, still with anxiety, and looking back as
+we went toward the door.
+
+"I dare because I must," replied he.
+
+He closed the door, and we went down-stairs to seek the persons in
+authority. Courvoisier related his business and condition, and asked
+to see rooms. The woman hesitated when she heard there was a child.
+
+"The child will never trouble you, madame," said he, quietly, but rather
+as if the patience of his look were forced.
+
+"No, never!" I added, fervently. "I will answer for that, Frau Schmidt."
+
+A quick glance, half gratitude, half amusement, shot from his eyes as
+the woman went on to say that she only took gentlemen lodgers, and could
+not do with ladies, children, and nurse-maids. They wanted so much
+attending to, and she did not profess to open her house to them.
+
+"You will not be troubled with either lady or nurse-maid," said he. "I
+take charge of the child myself. You will not know that he is in the
+house."
+
+"But your wife--" she began.
+
+"There will be no one but myself and my little boy," he replied, ever
+politely, but ever, as it seemed, to me, with repressed pain or
+irritation.
+
+"So!" said the woman, treating him to a long, curious, unsparing look
+of wonder and inquiry, which made me feel hot all over. He returned the
+glance quietly and unsmilingly. After a pause she said:
+
+"Well, I suppose I must see about it, but it will be the first child I
+ever took into the house, in that way, and only as a favor to Herr
+Helfen."
+
+I was greatly astonished, not having known before that I stood in such
+high esteem. Courvoisier threw me a smiling glance as we followed the
+woman up the stairs, up to the top of the house, where I lived. Throwing
+open a door, she said there were two rooms which must go together.
+Courvoisier shook his head.
+
+"I do not want two rooms," said he, "or rather, I don't think I can
+afford them. What do you charge?"
+
+She told him.
+
+"If it were so much," said he, naming a smaller sum, "I could do it."
+
+"_Nie!_" said the woman, curtly, "for that I can't do it. _Um
+Gotteswillen!_ One must live."
+
+She paused, reflecting, and I watched anxiously. She was going to
+refuse. My heart sunk. Rapidly reviewing my own circumstances and
+finances, and making a hasty calculation in my mind, I said:
+
+"Why can't we arrange it? Here is a big room and a little room. Make the
+little room into a bedroom, and use the big room for a sitting-room. I
+will join at it, and so it will come within the price you wish to pay."
+
+The woman's face cleared a little. She had listened with a clouded
+expression and her head on one side. Now she straightened herself, drew
+herself up, smoothed down her apron, and said:
+
+"Yes, that lets itself be heard. If Herr Helfen agreed to that, she
+would like it."
+
+"Oh, but I can't think of putting you to the extra expense," said
+Courvoisier.
+
+"I should like it," said I. "I have often wished I had a little more
+room, but, like you, I couldn't afford the whole expense. We can have a
+piano, and the child can play there. Don't you see?" I added, with great
+earnestness and touching his arm. "It is a large airy room; he can run
+about there, and make as much noise as he likes."
+
+He still seemed to hesitate.
+
+"I can afford it," said I. "I've no one but myself, unluckily. If you
+don't object to my company, let us try it. We shall be neighbors in the
+orchestra."
+
+"So!"
+
+"Why not at home too? I think it an excellent plan. Let us decide it
+so."
+
+I was very urgent about it. An hour ago I could not have conceived
+anything which could make me so urgent and set my heart beating so.
+
+"If I did not think it would inconvenience you," he began.
+
+"Then it is settled?" said I. "Now let us go and see what kind of
+furniture there is in that big room."
+
+Without allowing him to utter any further objection, I dragged him
+to the large room, and we surveyed it. The woman, who for some
+unaccountable reason appeared to have recovered her good-temper in a
+marvelous manner, said quite cheerfully that she would send the maid to
+make the smaller room ready as a bedroom for two. "One of us won't take
+much room," said Courvoisier with a laugh, to which she assented with a
+smile, and then left us. The big room was long, low, and rather dark.
+Beams were across the ceiling, and two not very large windows looked
+upon the street below, across to two similar windows of another
+lodging-house, a little to the left of which was the Tonhalle. The floor
+was carpetless, but clean; there was a big square table, and some
+chairs.
+
+"There," said I, drawing Courvoisier to the window, and pointing across:
+"there is one scene of your future exertions, the Staedtische Tonhalle."
+
+"So!" said he, turning away again from the window--it was as dark as
+ever outside--and looking round the room again. "This is a dull-looking
+place," he added, gazing around it.
+
+"We'll soon make it different," said I, rubbing my hands and gazing
+round the room with avidity. "I have long wished to be able to inhabit
+this room. We must make it more cheerful, though, before the child comes
+to it. We'll have the stove lighted, and we'll knock up some shelves
+and we'll have a piano in, and the sofa from my room, _nicht wahr?_ Oh,
+we'll make a place of it, I can tell you."
+
+He looked at me as if struck with my enthusiasm, and I bustled about.
+We set to work to make the room habitable. He was out for a short time
+at the station and returned with the luggage which he had left there.
+While he was away I stole into my room and took a good look at my new
+treasure; he still slept peacefully and calmly on. We were deep in
+impromptu carpentering and contrivances for use and comfort, when it
+occurred to me to look at my watch.
+
+"Five minutes to seven!" I almost yelled, dashing wildly into my room to
+wash my hands and get my violin. Courvoisier followed me. The child was
+awake. I felt a horrible sense of guilt as I saw it looking at me with
+great, soft, solemn, brown eyes, not in the least those of its father,
+but it did not move. I said apologetically that I feared I had awakened
+it.
+
+"Oh, no! He's been awake for some time," said Courvoisier. The child saw
+him, and stretched out its arms toward him.
+
+"_Na! junger Taugenichts!_" he said, taking it up and kissing it. "Thou
+must stay here till I come back. Wilt be happy till I come?"
+
+The answer made by the mournful-looking child was a singular one. It put
+both tiny arms around the big man's neck, laid its face for a moment
+against his, and loosed him again. Neither word nor sound did it emit
+during the process. A feeling altogether new and astonishing overcame
+me. I turned hastily away, and as I picked up my violin-case, was amazed
+to find my eyes dim. My visitors were something unprecedented to me.
+
+"You are not compelled to go to the theater to-night, you know, unless
+you like," I suggested, as we went down-stairs.
+
+"Thanks, it is as well to begin at once."
+
+On the lowest landing we met Frau Schmidt.
+
+"Where are you going, _mein Herren_?" she demanded.
+
+"To work, madame," he replied, lifting his cap with a courtesy which
+seemed to disarm her.
+
+"But the child?" she demanded.
+
+"Do not trouble yourself about him."
+
+"Is he asleep?"
+
+"Not just now. He is all right, though."
+
+She gave us a look which meant volumes. I pulled Courvoisier out.
+
+"Come along, do!" cried I. "She will keep you there for half an hour,
+and it is time now."
+
+We rushed along the streets too rapidly to have time or breath to speak,
+and it was five minutes after the time when we scrambled into the
+orchestra, and found that the overture was already begun.
+
+Though there is certainly not much time for observing one's fellows when
+one is helping in the overture to "Tannhauser," yet I saw the many
+curious and astonished glances which were cast toward our new member,
+glances of which he took no notice, simply because he apparently did not
+see them. He had the finest absence of self-consciousness that I ever
+saw.
+
+The first act of the opera was over, and it fell to my share to make
+Courvoisier known to his fellow-musicians. I introduced him to the
+director, who was not von Francius, nor any friend of his. Then we
+retired to one of the small rooms on one side of the orchestra.
+
+"_Hundewetter!_" said one of the men, shivering. "Have you traveled far
+to-day?" he inquired of Courvoisier, by way of opening the conversation.
+
+"From Koeln only."
+
+"Live there?"
+
+"No."
+
+The man continued his catechism, but in another direction.
+
+"Are you a friend of Helfen's?"
+
+"I rather think Helfen has been a friend to me," said Courvoisier,
+smiling.
+
+"Have you found lodgings already?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"So!" said his interlocutor, rather puzzled with the new arrival. I
+remember the scene well. Half a dozen of the men were standing in one
+corner of the room, smoking, drinking beer, and laughing over some not
+very brilliant joke; we three were a little apart. Courvoisier, stately
+and imposing-looking, and with that fine manner of his, politely
+answering his interrogator, a small, sharp-featured man, who looked up
+to him and rattled complacently away, while I sat upon the table among
+the fiddle-cases and beer-glasses, my foot on a chair, my chin in
+my hand, feeling my cheeks glow, and a strange sense of dizziness
+and weakness all over me, a lightness in my head which I could not
+understand. It had quite escaped me that I had neither eaten nor drunk
+since my breakfast at eight o'clock, on a cup of coffee and dry
+_Broedchen_, and it was now twelve hours later.
+
+The pause was not a long one, and we returned to our places. But
+"Tannhauser" is not a short opera. As time went on my sensations of
+illness and faintness increased. During the second pause I remained in
+my place. Courvoisier presently came and sat beside me.
+
+"I'm afraid you feel ill," said he.
+
+I denied it. But though I struggled on to the end, yet at last a deadly
+faintness overcame me. As the curtain went down amid the applause,
+everything reeled around me. I heard the bustle of the others--of the
+audience going away. I myself could not move.
+
+"_Was ist denn mit ihm?_" I heard Courvoisier say as he stooped over me.
+
+"Is that Friedhelm Helfen?" asked Karl Linders, surveying me. "_Potz
+blitz!_ he looks like a corpse! he's been at his old tricks again,
+starving himself. I expect he has touched nothing the whole day."
+
+"Let's get him out and give him some brandy," said Courvoisier. "Lend
+him an arm, and I'll give him one on this side."
+
+Together they hauled me down to the retiring-room.
+
+"_Ei!_ he wants a schnapps, or something of the kind," said Karl, who
+seemed to think the whole affair an excellent joke. "Look here, _alter
+Narr!_" he added; "you've been going without anything to eat, _nicht_?"
+
+"I believe I have," I assented, feebly. "But I'm all right; I'll go
+home."
+
+Rejecting Karl's pressing entreaties to join him at supper at his
+favorite Wirthschaft, we went home, purchasing our supper on the way.
+Courvoisier's first step was toward the place where he had left the
+child. He was gone.
+
+"_Verschwunden!_" cried he, striding off to the sleeping-room, whither I
+followed him. The little lad had been undressed and put to bed in a
+small crib, and was sleeping serenely.
+
+"That's Frau Schmidt, who can't do with children and nurse-maids," said
+I, laughing.
+
+"It's very kind of her," said he, as he touched the child's cheek
+slightly with his little finger, and then, without another word,
+returned to the other room, and we sat down to our long-delayed supper.
+
+"What on earth made you spend more than twelve hours without food?" he
+asked me, laying down his knife and fork, and looking at me.
+
+"I'll tell you some time perhaps, not now," said I, for there had begun
+to dawn upon my mind, like a sun-ray, the idea that life held an
+interest for me--two interests--a friend and a child. To a miserable,
+lonely wretch like me, the idea was divine.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+ Though nothing can bring back the hour
+ Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower.
+ We will grieve not--rather find
+ Strength in what remains behind;
+ In the primal sympathy
+ Which having been, must ever be.
+ In the soothing thoughts that spring
+ Out of human suffering!
+ In the faith that looks through death--
+ In years, that bring the philosophic mind.
+                WORDSWORTH.
+
+
+From that October afternoon I was a man saved from myself. Courvoisier
+had said, in answer to my earnest entreaties about joining housekeeping:
+"We will try--you may not like it, and if so, remember you are at
+liberty to withdraw when you will." The answer contented me, because I
+knew that I should not try to withdraw.
+
+Our friendship progressed by such quiet, imperceptible degrees, each one
+knotting the past more closely and inextricably with the present, that I
+could by no means relate them if I wished it. But I do not wish it. I
+only know, and am content with it, that it has fallen to my lot to be
+blessed with that most precious of all earthly possessions, the
+"friend" that "sticketh closer than a brother." Our union has grown and
+remained not merely "_fest und treu_," but immovable, unshakable.
+
+There was first the child. He was two years old; a strange, weird,
+silent child, very beautiful--as the son of his father could scarcely
+fail to be--but with a different kind of beauty. How still he was, and
+how patient! Not a fretful child, not given to crying or complaint; fond
+of resting in one place, with solemn, thoughtful eyes fixed, when his
+father was there, upon him; when his father was not there, upon the
+strip of sky which was to be seen, through the window above the
+house-tops.
+
+The child's name was Sigmund; he displayed a friendly disposition toward
+me, indeed, he was passively friendly and--if one may say such a thing
+of a baby--courteous to all he came in contact with. He had inherited
+his father's polished manner; one saw that when he grew up he would be a
+"gentleman," in the finest outer sense of the word. His inner life he
+kept concealed from us. I believe he had some method of communicating
+his ideas to Eugen, even if he never spoke. Eugen never could conceal
+his own mood from the child; it knew--let him feign otherwise never so
+cunningly--exactly what he felt, glad or sad, or between the two, and no
+acting could deceive him. It was a strange, intensely interesting study
+to me; one to which I daily returned with fresh avidity. He would let me
+take him in my arms and talk to him; would sometimes, after looking at
+me long and earnestly, break into a smile--a strange, grave, sweet
+smile. Then I could do no otherwise than set him hastily down and look
+away, for so unearthly a smile I had never seen. He was, though fragile,
+not an unhealthy child; though so delicately formed, and intensely
+sensitive to nervous shocks, had nothing of the coward in him, as was
+proved to us in a thousand ways; shivered through and through his little
+frame at the sight of a certain picture to which he had taken a great
+antipathy, a picture which hung in the public gallery at the Tonhalle;
+he hated it, because of a certain evil-looking man portrayed in it; but
+when his father, taking his hand, said to him, "Go, Sigmund, and look at
+that man; I wish thee to look at him," went without turn or waver, and
+gazed long and earnestly at the low type, bestial visage portrayed to
+him. Eugen had trodden noiselessly behind him; I watched, and he
+watched, how his two little fists clinched themselves at his sides,
+while his gaze never wavered, never wandered, till at last Eugen, with a
+strange expression, caught him in his arms and half killed him with
+kisses.
+
+"_Mein liebling!_" he murmured, as if utterly satisfied with him.
+
+Courvoisier himself? There were a great many strong and positive
+qualities about this man, which in themselves would have set him
+somewhat apart from other men. Thus he had crotchety ideas about truth
+and honor, such as one might expect from so knightly looking a
+personage. It was Karl Linders, who, at a later period of our
+acquaintance, amused himself by chalking up, "Prinz Eugen, der edle
+Ritter," beneath his name. His musical talent--or rather genius, it was
+more than talent--was at that time not one fifth part known to me, yet
+even what I saw excited my wonder. But these, and a long list of other
+active characteristics, all faded into insignificance before the
+towering passion of his existence--his love for his child. It was
+strange, it was touching, to see the bond between father and son. The
+child's thoughts and words, as told in his eyes and from his lips,
+formed the man's philosophy. I believe Eugen confided everything to his
+boy. His first thought in the morning, his last at night, was for _der
+Kleine_. His leisure was--I can not say "given up" to the boy--but it
+was always passed with him.
+
+Courvoisier soon gained a reputation among our comrades for being a sham
+and a delusion. They said that to look at him one would suppose that no
+more genial, jovial fellow could exist--there was kindliness in his
+glance, _bon camaraderie_ in his voice, a genial, open, human
+sympathetic kind of influence in his nature, and in all he did. "And
+yet," said Karl Linders to me, with gesticulation, "one never can get
+him to go anywhere. One may invite him, one may try to be friends with
+him, but, no! off he goes home! What does the fellow want at home? He
+behaves like a young miss of fifteen, whose governess won't let her mix
+with vulgar companions."
+
+I laughed, despite myself, at this tirade of Karl. So that was how
+Eugen's behavior struck outsiders!
+
+"And you are every bit as bad as he is, and as soft--he has made you
+so," went on Linders, vehemently. "It isn't right. You two ought to be
+leaders outside as well as in, but you walk yourselves away, and stay at
+home! At home, indeed! Let green goslings and grandfathers stay at
+home."
+
+Indeed, Herr Linders was not a person who troubled home much; spending
+his time between morning and night between the theater and concert-room,
+restauration and verein.
+
+"What do you do at home?" he asked, irately.
+
+"That's our concern, _mein lieber_," said I, composedly, thinking of
+young Sigmund, whose existence was unknown except to our two selves, and
+laughing.
+
+"Are you composing a symphony? or an opera buffa? You might tell a
+fellow."
+
+I laughed again, and said we led a peaceable life, as honest citizens
+should; and added, laying my hand upon his shoulder, for I had more of a
+leaning toward Karl, scamp though he was, than to any of the others,
+"You might do worse than follow our example, old fellow."
+
+"Bah!" said he, with unutterable contempt. "I'm a man; not a milksop.
+Besides, how do I know what your example is? You say you behave
+yourselves; but how am I to know it? I'll drop upon you unawares and
+catch you, some time. See if I don't."
+
+The next evening, by a rare chance with us, was a free one--there was no
+opera and no concert; we had had probe that morning, and were at liberty
+to follow the devices and desires of our own hearts that evening.
+
+These devices and desires led us straight home, followed by a sneering
+laugh from Herr Linders, which vastly amused me. The year was drawing to
+a close. Christmas was nigh; the weather was cold and unfriendly. Our
+stove was lighted; our lamp burned pleasantly on the table; our big room
+looked homely and charming by these evening lights. Master Sigmund was
+wide awake in honor of the occasion, and sat upon my knee while his
+father played the fiddle. I have not spoken of his playing before--it
+was, in its way, unique. It was not a violin that he played--it was a
+spirit that he invoked--and a strange answer it sometimes gave forth to
+his summons. To-night he had taken it up suddenly, and sat playing,
+without book, a strange melody which wrung my heart--full of minor
+cadences, with an infinite wail and weariness in it. I closed my eyes
+and listened. It was sad, but it was absorbing. When I opened my eyes
+again and looked down, I found that tears were running from Sigmund's
+eyes. He was sobbing quietly, his head against my breast.
+
+"I say, Eugen! Look here!"
+
+"Is he crying? Poor little chap! He'll have a good deal to go through
+before he has learned all his lessons," said Eugen, laying down his
+violin.
+
+"What was that? I never heard it before."
+
+"I have, often," said he, resting his chin upon his hand, "in the sound
+of streams--in the rush of a crowd--upon a mountain--yes, even alone
+with the woman I--" He broke off abruptly.
+
+"But never on a violin before?" said I, significantly.
+
+"No, never."
+
+"Why don't you print some of those impromptus that you are always
+making?" I asked.
+
+He shrugged his shoulders. Ere I could pursue the question some one
+knocked at the door, and in answer to our _herein!_ appeared a handsome,
+laughing face, and a head of wavy hair, which, with a tall, shapely
+figure, I recognized as those of Karl Linders.
+
+"I told you fellows I'd hunt you up, and I always keep my word," said
+he, composedly. "You can't very well turn me out for calling upon you."
+
+He advanced. Courvoisier rose, and with a courteous cordiality offered
+his hand and drew a chair up. Karl came forward, looking round, smiling
+and chuckling at the success of his experiment, and as he came opposite
+to me his eyes fell upon those of the child, who had raised his head and
+was staring gravely at him.
+
+Never shall I forget the start--the look of amaze, almost of fear, which
+shot across the face of Herr Linders. Amazement would be a weak word in
+which to describe it. He stopped, stood stock-still in the middle of the
+room; his jaw fell--he gazed from one to the other of us in feeble
+astonishment, then said, in a whisper:
+
+"_Donnerwetter!_ A child!"
+
+"Don't use bad language before the little innocent," said I, enjoying
+his confusion.
+
+"Which of you does it belong to? Is it he or she?" he inquired in an
+awe-struck and alarmed manner.
+
+"His name is Sigmund Courvoisier," said I, with difficulty preserving my
+gravity.
+
+"Oh, indeed! I--I wasn't aware--" began Karl, looking at Eugen in such a
+peculiar manner--half respectful, half timid, half ashamed--that I could
+no longer contain my feelings, but burst into such a shout of laughter
+as I had not enjoyed for years. After a moment, Eugen joined in; we
+laughed peal after peal of laughter, while poor Karl stood feebly
+looking from one to the other of the company--speechless--crestfallen.
+
+"I beg your pardon." he said, at last, "I won't intrude any longer.
+Good--"
+
+He was making for the door, but Eugen made a dash after him, turned him
+round, and pushed him into a chair.
+
+"Sit down, man," said he, stifling his laughter. "Sit down, man; do you
+think the poor little chap will hurt you?"
+
+Karl cast a distrustful glance sideways at my nursling and spoke not.
+
+"I'm glad to see you," pursued Eugen. "Why didn't you come before?"
+
+At that Karl's lips began to twitch with a humorous smile; presently he
+too began to laugh, and seemed not to know how or when to stop.
+
+"It beats all I ever saw or heard or dreamed of," said he, at last.
+"That's what brought you home in such a hurry every night. Let me
+congratulate you, Friedel! You make a first-rate nurse; when everything
+else fails I will give you a character as _Kindermaedchen_; clean, sober,
+industrious, and not given to running after young men." With which he
+roared again, and Sigmund surveyed him with a somewhat severe, though
+scarcely a disapproving, expression. Karl seated himself near him, and,
+though not yet venturing to address him, cast various glances of
+blandishment and persuasion upon him.
+
+Half an hour passed thus, and a second knock was followed by the
+entrance of Frau Schmidt.
+
+"Good evening, gentlemen," she remarked, in a tone which said
+unutterable things--scorn, contempt, pity--all finely blended into a
+withering sneer, as she cast her eyes around, and a slight but awful
+smile played about her lips. "Half past eight, and that blessed
+baby not in bed yet. I knew how it would be. And you all smoking,
+too--_natuerlich!_ You ought to know better, Herr Courvoisier--you ought,
+at any rate," she added, scorn dropping into heart-piercing reproach.
+"Give him to me," she added, taking him from me, and apostrophizing him.
+"You poor, blessed lamb! Well for you that I'm here to look after you,
+that have had children of my own, and know a little about the sort of
+way that you ought to be brought up in."
+
+Evident signs of uneasiness on Karl's part, as Frau Schmidt, with the
+same extraordinary contortion of the mouth--half smile, half
+sneer--brought Sigmund to his father, to say good-night. That process
+over, he was brought to me, and then, as if it were a matter which
+"understood itself," to Karl. Eugen and I, like family men, as we were,
+had gone through the ceremony with willing grace. Karl backed his chair
+a little, looked much alarmed, shot a queer glance at us, at the child,
+and then appealingly up into the woman's face. We, through our smoke,
+watched him.
+
+"He looks so very--very--" he began.
+
+"Come, come, _mein Herr_, what does that mean? Kiss the little angel,
+and be thankful you may. The innocent! You ought to be delighted," said
+she, standing with grenadier-like stiffness beside him.
+
+"He won't bite you, Karl," I said, reassuringly. "He's quite harmless."
+
+Thus encouraged, Herr Linders stooped forward and touched the cheek of
+the child with his lips; then, as if surprised, stroked it with his
+finger.
+
+"_Lieber Himmel!_ how soft! Like satin, or rose leaves!" he murmured, as
+the woman carried the child away, shut the door and disappeared.
+
+"Does she tackle you in that way every night?" he inquired next.
+
+"Every evening," said Eugen. "And I little dare open my lips before her.
+You would notice how quiet I kept. It's because I am afraid of her."
+
+Frau Schmidt, who had at first objected so strongly to the advent of the
+child, was now devoted to it, and would have resented exceedingly the
+idea of allowing any one but herself to put it to bed, dress or undress
+it, or look after it in general. This state of things had crept on very
+gradually; she had never said how fond she was of the child, but put
+her kindness upon the ground that as a Christian woman she could not
+stand by and see it mishandled by a couple of _men_, and oh! the
+unutterable contempt upon the word "men." Under this disguise she
+attempted to cover the fact that she delighted to have it with her, to
+kiss it, fondle it, admire it, and "do for it." We knew now that no
+sooner had we left the house than the child would be brought down, and
+would never leave the care of Frau Schmidt until our return, or until he
+was in bed and asleep. She said he was a quiet child, and "did not give
+so much trouble." Indeed, the little fellow won a friend in whoever saw
+him. He had made another conquest to-night. Karl Linders, after puffing
+away for some time, inquired, with an affectation of indifference:
+
+"How old is he--_der kleine Bengel_?"
+
+"Two--a little more."
+
+"Handsome little fellow!"
+
+"Glad you think so."
+
+"Sure of it. But I didn't know, Courvoisier--so sure as I live, I knew
+nothing about it!"
+
+"I dare say not. Did I ever say you did?"
+
+I saw that Karl wished to ask another question; one which had trembled
+upon my own lips many a time, but which I had never asked--which I knew
+that I never should ask. "The mother of that child--is she alive or
+dead? Why may we never hear one word of her? Why this silence, as of the
+grave? Was she your wife? Did you love her? Did she love you?"
+
+Questions which could not fail to come to me, and about which my
+thoughts would hang for hours. I could imagine a woman being very deeply
+in love with Courvoisier. Whether he would love very deeply himself,
+whether love would form a mainspring of his life and actions, or whether
+it took only a secondary place--I speak of the love of woman--I could
+not guess. I could decide upon many points of his character. He was a
+good friend, a high-minded and a pure-minded man; his every-day life,
+the turn of his thoughts and conversation, showed me that as plainly as
+any great adventure could have done. That he was an ardent musician, an
+artist in the truest and deepest sense, of a quixotically generous and
+unselfish nature--all this I had already proved. That he loved his child
+with a love not short of passion was patent to me every day. But upon
+the past, silence so utter as I never before met with. Not a hint; not
+an allusion; not one syllable.
+
+Little Sigmund was not yet two and a half. The story upon which his
+father maintained so deep a silence was not, could not, be a very old
+one. His behavior gave me no clew as to whether it had been a joyful or
+a sorrowful one. Mere silence could tell me nothing. Some men are silent
+about their griefs; some about their joys. I knew not in which direction
+his disposition lay.
+
+I saw Karl look at him that evening once or twice, and I trembled lest
+the blundering, good-natured fellow should make the mistake of asking
+some question. But he did not; I need not have feared. People were not
+in the habit of putting obtrusive questions to Eugen Courvoisier. The
+danger was somehow quietly tided over, the delicate ground avoided.
+
+The conversation wandered quietly off to commonplace topics--the state
+of the orchestra; tales of its doings; the tempers of our different
+conductors--Malperg of the opera; Woelff of the ordinary concerts, which
+took place two or three times a week, when we fiddled and the public
+ate, drank, and listened; lastly, von Francius, _koeniglicher
+Musik-direktor_.
+
+Karl Linders gave his opinion freely upon the men in authority. He had
+nothing to do with them, nothing to hope or fear from them; he filled a
+quiet place among the violoncellists, and had attained his twenty-eighth
+year without displaying any violent talent or tendency to distinguish
+himself, otherwise than by getting as much mirth out of life as possible
+and living in a perpetual state of "carlesse contente."
+
+He desired to know what Courvoisier thought of von Francius; for
+curiosity--the fault of those idle persons who afterward develop into
+busybodies--was already beginning to leave its traces on Herr Linders.
+It was less known than guessed that the state of things between
+Courvoisier and von Francius was less peace than armed neutrality. The
+intense politeness of von Francius to his first violinist, and the
+punctilious ceremoniousness of the latter toward his chief, were topics
+of speculation and amusement to the whole orchestra.
+
+"I think von Francius would be a fiend if he could," said Karl,
+comfortably. "I wouldn't stand it if he spoke to me as he speaks to some
+people."
+
+"Oh, they like it!" said Courvoisier; and Karl stared. "Girls don't
+object to a little bullying; anything rather than be left quite alone,"
+Courvoisier went on, tranquilly.
+
+"Girls!" ejaculated Karl.
+
+"You mean the young ladies in the chorus, don't you?" asked Courvoisier,
+unmovedly. "He does bully them, I don't deny; but they come back again."
+
+"Oh, I see!" said Karl, accepting the rebuff.
+
+He had not referred to the young ladies of the chorus.
+
+"Have you heard von Francius play?" he began next.
+
+"_Natuerlich!_"
+
+"What do you think of it?"
+
+"I think it is superb!" said Courvoisier.
+
+Baffled again, Karl was silent.
+
+"The power and the daring of it are grand," went on Eugen, heartily. "I
+could listen to him for hours. To see him seat himself before the piano,
+as if he were sitting down to read a newspaper, and do what he does,
+without moving a muscle, is simply superb--there's no other word. Other
+men may play the piano; he takes the key-board and plays with it, and it
+says what he likes."
+
+I looked at him, and was satisfied. He found the same want in von
+Francius' "superb" manipulation that I did--the glitter of a diamond,
+not the glow of a fire.
+
+Karl had not the subtlety to retort, "Ay, but does it say what we like?"
+He subsided again, merely giving a meek assent to the proposition, and
+saying, suggestively:
+
+"He's not liked, though he is such a popular fellow."
+
+"The public is often a great fool."
+
+"Well, but you can't expect it to kiss the hand that slaps it in the
+face, as von Francius does," said Karl, driven to metaphor, probably for
+the first time in his life, and seeming astonished at having discovered
+a hitherto unknown mental property pertaining to himself.
+
+Courvoisier laughed.
+
+"I'm certain of one thing: von Francius will go on slapping the public's
+face. I won't say how it will end; but it would not surprise me in the
+least to see the public at his feet, as it is now at those of--"
+
+"Humph!" said Karl, reflectively.
+
+He did not stay much longer, but having finished his cigar, rose. He
+seemed to feel very apologetic, and out of the fullness of his heart his
+mouth spake.
+
+"I really wouldn't have intruded if I had known--"
+
+"Known what?" inquired Eugen, with well-assumed surprise.
+
+"I thought you were just by yourselves, you know, and--"
+
+"So we are; but we can do with other society. Friedel here gets very
+tedious sometimes--in fact, _langweilig_. Come again, _nicht wahr_?"
+
+"If I sha'n't be in your way," said Karl, looking round the room with
+somewhat wistful eyes.
+
+We assured him to the contrary, and he promised, with unnecessary
+emphasis, to come again.
+
+"He will return; I know he will!" said Eugen, after he had gone.
+
+The next time that Herr Linders arrived, which was ere many days had
+passed, he looked excited and important; and after the first greetings
+were over, he undid a great number of papers which wrapped and infolded
+a parcel of considerable dimensions, and displayed to our enraptured
+view of a white woolly animal of stupendous dimensions, fastened upon a
+green stand, which stand, when pressed, caused the creature to give
+forth a howl like unto no lowing of oxen nor bleating of sheep ever
+heard on earth. This inviting-looking creature he held forth toward
+Sigmund, who stared at it.
+
+"Perhaps he's got one already?" said Karl, seeing that the child did not
+display any violent enthusiasm about the treasure.
+
+"Oh, no!" said Eugen, promptly.
+
+"Perhaps he doesn't know what it is," I suggested, rather unkindly,
+scarcely able to keep my countenance at the idea of that baby playing
+with such a toy.
+
+"Perhaps not," said Karl, more cheerfully, kneeling down by my
+side--Sigmund sat on my knee--and squeezing the stand, so that the
+woolly animal howled. "_Sieh!_ Sigmund! Look at the pretty lamb!"
+
+"Oh, come, Karl! Are you a lamb? Call it an eagle at once," said I,
+skeptically.
+
+"It is a lamb, ain't it?" said he, turning it over. "They called it a
+lamb at the shop."
+
+"A very queer lamb; not a German breed, anyhow."
+
+"Now I think of it, my little sister has one, but she calls it a rabbit,
+I believe."
+
+"Very likely. You might call that anything, and no one could contradict
+you."
+
+"Well, _der Kleine_ doesn't know the difference; it's a toy," said Karl,
+desperately.
+
+"Not a toy that seems to take his fancy much," said I, as Sigmund, with
+evident signs of displeasure, turned away from the animal on the green
+stand, and refused to look at it. Karl looked despondent.
+
+"He doesn't like the look of it," said he, plaintively.
+
+"I thought I was sure to be right in this. My little sister" (Karl's
+little sister had certainly never been so often quoted by her brother
+before) "plays for hours with that thing that she calls a rabbit."
+
+Eugen had come to the rescue, and grasped the woolly animal which Karl
+had contemptuously thrown aside. After convincing himself by near
+examination as to which was intended for head and which for tail, he
+presented it to his son, remarking that it was "a pretty toy."
+
+"I'll pray for you after that, Eugen--often and earnestly," said I.
+
+Sigmund looked appealingly at him, but seeing that his father appeared
+able to endure the presence of the beast, and seemed to wish him to do
+the same, from some dark and inscrutable reason not to be grasped by so
+young a mind--for he was modest as to his own intelligence--he put out
+his small arm, received the creature into it, and embracing it round the
+body, held it to his side, and looked at Eugen with a pathetic
+expression.
+
+"Pretty plaything, _nicht wahr_?" said Eugen, encouragingly.
+
+Sigmund nodded silently. The animal emitted a howl; the child winced,
+but looked resigned. Eugen rose and stood at some little distance,
+looking on. Sigmund continued to embrace the animal with the same
+resigned expression, until Karl, stooping, took it away.
+
+"You mustn't _make_ him, just because I brought it," said he. "Better
+luck next time. I see he's not a common child. I must try to think of
+something else."
+
+We commanded our countenances with difficulty, but preserved them.
+Sigmund's feelings had been severely wounded. For many days he eyed Karl
+with a strange, cold glance, which the latter used every art in his
+power to change, and at last succeeded. Woolly lambs became a forbidden
+subject. Nothing annoyed Karl more than for us to suggest, if Sigmund
+happened to be a little cross or mournful, "Suppose you just go home,
+Karl, and fetch the 'lamb-rabbit-lion.' I'm sure he would like it." From
+that time the child had another worshiper, and we a constant visitor in
+Karl Linders.
+
+We sat together one evening--Eugen and I, after Sigmund had been in bed
+a long time, after the opera was over--chatting, as we often did, or as
+often remained silent. He had been reading, and the book from which he
+read was a volume of English poetry. At last, laying the book aside, he
+said:
+
+"The first night we met, you fainted away from exhaustion and long
+fasting. You said you would tell me why you had allowed yourself to do
+so, but you have never kept your word."
+
+"I didn't care to eat. People eat to live--except those who live to eat,
+and I was not very anxious to live, I didn't care for my life, in fact,
+I wished I was dead."
+
+"Why? An unlucky love?"
+
+"_I, bewahre!_ I never knew what it was to be in love in my life," said
+I, with perfect truth.
+
+"Is that true, Friedel?" he asked, apparently surprised.
+
+"As true as possible. I think a timely love affair, however unlucky,
+would have roused me and brought me to my senses again."
+
+"General melancholy?"
+
+"Oh, I was alone in the world. I had been reading, reading, reading; my
+brain was one dark and misty muddle of Kant, Schopenhauer, von Hartmann,
+and a few others. I read them one after another, as quickly as possible;
+the mixture had the same effect upon my mind as the indiscriminate
+contents of taffy-shop would have upon Sigmund's stomach--it made it
+sick. In my crude, ungainly, unfinished fashion I turned over my
+information, laying down big generalizations upon a foundation of
+experience of the smallest possible dimensions, and all upon one side."
+
+He nodded. "_Ei!_ I know it."
+
+"And after considering the state of the human race--that is to say the
+half dozen people I knew, and the miseries of the human lot as set forth
+in the books I had read, and having proved to myself, all up in that
+little room, you know"--I pointed to my bedroom--"that there neither was
+nor could be heaven or hell or any future state, and having decided,
+also from that room, that there was no place for me in the world, and
+that I was very likely actually filling the place of some other man,
+poorer than I was, and able to think life a good thing" (Eugen was
+smiling to himself in great amusement), "I came to the conclusion that
+the best thing I could do was to leave the world."
+
+"Were you going to starve yourself to death? That is rather a tedious
+process, _nicht wahr_?"
+
+"Oh, no! I had not decided upon any means of effacing myself; and it was
+really your arrival which brought on that fainting fit, for if you
+hadn't turned up when you did I should probably have thought of my
+interior some time before seven o'clock. But you came. Eugen, I wonder
+what sent you up to my room just at that very time, on that very day!"
+
+"Von Francius," said Eugen, tranquilly. "I had seen him, and he was very
+busy and referred me to you--that's all."
+
+"Well--let us call it von Francius."
+
+"But what's the end of it? Is that the whole story?"
+
+"I thought I might as well help you a bit," said I, rather awkwardly.
+"You were not like other people, you see--it was the child, I think. I
+was as much amazed as Karl, if I didn't show it so much, and after
+that--"
+
+"After that?"
+
+"Well. There was the child, you see, and things seemed quite different
+somehow. I've been very comfortable" (this was my way of putting it)
+"ever since, and I am curious to see what the boy will be like in a few
+years. Shall you make him into a musician too?"
+
+Courvoisier's brow clouded a little.
+
+"I don't know," was all he said. Later, I learned the reason of that
+"don't know."
+
+"So it was no love affair," said Eugen again. "Then I have been wrong
+all the time. I quite fancied it was some girl--"
+
+"What could make you think so?" I asked, with a whole-hearted laugh. "I
+tell you I don't know what it is to be in love. The other fellows are
+always in love. They are in a constant state of _Schwaeramerei_ about
+some girl or other. It goes in epidemics. They have not each a separate
+passion. The whole lot of them will go mad about one young woman. I
+can't understand it. I wish I could, for they seem to enjoy it so much."
+
+"You heathen!" said he, but not in a very bantering tone.
+
+"Why, Eugen, do you mean to say that you are so very susceptible? Oh, I
+beg your pardon," I added, hastily, shocked and confused to find that I
+had been so nearly overstepping the boundary which I had always marked
+out for myself. And I stopped abruptly.
+
+"That's like you, Friedhelm," said he, in a tone which was in some way
+different from his usual one. "I never knew such a ridiculous,
+chivalrous, punctilious fellow as you are. Tell me something--did you
+never speculate about me?"
+
+"Never impertinently, I assure you, Eugen," said I, earnestly.
+
+He laughed.
+
+"You impertinent! That is amusing, I must say. But surely you have given
+me a thought now and then, have wondered whether I had a history, or
+sprung out of nothing?"
+
+"Certainly, and wondered what your story was; but I do not need to know
+it to--"
+
+"I understand. Well, but it is rather difficult to say this to such an
+unsympathetic person; you won't understand it. I have been in love,
+Friedel."
+
+"So I can suppose."
+
+I waited for the corollary, "and been loved in return," but it did not
+come. He said, "And received as much regard in return as I
+deserved--perhaps more."
+
+As I could not cordially assent to this proposition, I remained silent.
+
+After a pause he went on: "I am eight-and-twenty, and have lived my
+life. The story won't bear raking up now--perhaps never. For a long time
+I went on my own way, and was satisfied with it--blindly, inanely,
+densely satisfied with it; then all at once I was brought to reason--"
+He laughed, not a very pleasant laugh. "Brought to reason," he resumed,
+"but how? By waking one morning to find myself a spoiled man, and
+spoiled by myself, too."
+
+A pause, while I turned this information over in my mind, and then said,
+composedly:
+
+"I don't quite believe in your being a spoiled man. Granted that you
+have made some _fiasco_--even a very bad one--what is to prevent your
+making a life again?"
+
+"Ha, ha!" said he, ungenially. "Things not dreamed of, Friedel, by your
+straightforward philosophy. One night I was, take it all in all,
+straight with the world and my destiny; the next night I was an outcast,
+and justly so. I don't complain. I have no right to complain."
+
+Again he laughed.
+
+"I once knew some one," said I, "who used to say that many a good man
+and many a great man was lost to the world simply because nothing
+interrupted the course of his prosperity."
+
+"Don't suppose that I am an embryo hero of any description," said he,
+bitterly. "I am merely, as I said, a spoiled man, brought to his senses
+and with life before him to go through as best he may, and the knowledge
+that his own fault has brought him to what he is."
+
+"But look here! If it is merely a question of name or money," I began.
+
+"It is not merely that; but suppose it were, what then?"
+
+"It lies with yourself. You may make a name either as a composer or
+performer--your head or your fingers will secure you money and fame."
+
+"None the less should I be, as I said, a spoiled man," he said, quietly.
+"I should be ashamed to come forward. It was I myself who sent myself
+and my prospects _caput_;[A] and for that sort of obscurity is the best
+taste and the right sphere."
+
+[Footnote A: _Caput_--a German slang expression with the general
+significance of the English "gone to smash," but also a hundred other
+and wider meanings, impossible to render in brief.]
+
+"But there's the boy," I suggested. "Let him have the advantage."
+
+"Don't, don't!" he said, suddenly, and wincing visibly, as if I had
+touched a raw spot. "No; my one hope for him is that he may never be
+known as my son."
+
+"But--but--"
+
+"Poor little beggar! I wonder what will become of him," he uttered,
+after a pause, during which I did not speak again.
+
+Eugen puffed fitfully at his cigar, and at last knocking the ash from it
+and avoiding my eyes, he said, in a low voice:
+
+"I suppose some time I must leave the boy."
+
+"Leave him!" I echoed, intelligently.
+
+"When he grows a little older--before he is old enough to feel it very
+much, though, I must part from him. It will be better."
+
+Another pause. No sign of emotion, no quiver of the lips, no groan,
+though the heart might be afaint. I sat speechless.
+
+"I have not come to the conclusion lately. I've always known it," he
+went on, and spoke slowly. "I have known it--and have thought about
+it--so as to get accustomed to it--see?"
+
+I nodded.
+
+"At that time--as you seem to have a fancy for the child--will you give
+an eye to him--sometimes, Friedel--that is, if you care enough for me--"
+
+For a moment I did not speak. Then I said:
+
+"You are quite sure the parting must take place?"
+
+He assented.
+
+"When it does, will you give him to me--to my charge altogether?"
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"If he must lose one father, let me grow as like another to him as I
+can."
+
+"Friedhelm--"
+
+"On no other condition," said I. "I will not 'have an eye' to him
+occasionally. I will not let him go out alone among strangers, and give
+a look in upon him now and then."
+
+Eugen had covered his face with his hands, but spoke not.
+
+"I will have him with me altogether, or not at all," I finished, with a
+kind of jerk.
+
+"Impossible!" said he, looking up with a pale face, and eyes full of
+anguish--the more intense in that he uttered not a word of it.
+"Impossible! You are no relation--he has not a claim--there is not a
+reason--not the wildest reason for such a--"
+
+"Yes, there is; there is the reason that I won't have it otherwise,"
+said I, doggedly.
+
+"It is fantastic, like your insane self," he said, with a forced smile,
+which cut me, somehow, more than if he had groaned.
+
+"Fantastic! I don't know what you mean. What good would it be to me to
+see him with strangers? I should only make myself miserable with wishing
+to have him. I don't know what you mean by fantastic."
+
+He drew a long breath. "So be it, then," said he, at last. "And he need
+know nothing about his father. I may even see him from time to time
+without his knowing--see him growing into a man like you, Friedel; it
+would be worth the separation, even if one had not to make a merit of
+necessity; yes, well worth it."
+
+"Like me? _Nie, mein lieber_; he shall be something rather better than I
+am, let us hope," said I; "but there is time enough to talk about it."
+
+"Oh, yes! In a year or two from now," said he, almost inaudibly. "The
+worst of it is that in a case like this, the years go so fast, so
+cursedly fast."
+
+I could make no answer to this, and he added, "Give me thy hand upon it,
+Friedel."
+
+I held out my hand. We had risen, and stood looking steadfastly into
+each other's eyes.
+
+"I wish I were--what I might have been--to pay you for this," he said,
+hesitatingly, wringing my hand and laying his left for a moment on my
+shoulder; then, without another word, went into his room, shutting the
+door after him.
+
+I remained still--sadder, gladder than I had ever been before. Never had
+I so intensely felt the deep, eternal sorrow of life--that sorrow which
+can be avoided by none who rightly live; yet never had life towered
+before me so rich and so well worth living out, so capable of high
+exultation, pure purpose, full satisfaction, and sufficient reward. My
+quarrel with existence was made up.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+ "The merely great are, all in all,
+ No more than what the merely small
+   Esteem them. Man's opinion
+ Neither conferred nor can remove
+   _This_ man's dominion."
+
+
+Three years passed--an even way. In three years there happened little of
+importance--little, that is, of open importance--to either of us. I read
+that sentence again, and can not help smiling; "to either of us." It
+shows the progress that our friendship has made. Yes, it had grown every
+day.
+
+I had no past, painful or otherwise, which I could even wish to conceal;
+I had no thought that I desired hidden from the man who had become my
+other self. What there was of good in me, what of evil, he saw. It was
+laid open to him, and he appeared to consider that the good predominated
+over the bad; for, from that first day of meeting, our intimacy went on
+steadily in one direction--increasing, deepening. He was six years
+older than I was. At the end of this time of which I speak he was
+one-and-thirty, I five-and-twenty; but we met on equal ground--not that
+I had anything approaching his capacities in any way. I do not think
+that had anything to do with it. Our happiness did not depend on
+mental supremacy. I loved him--because I could not help it; he me,
+because--upon my word, I can think of no good reason--probably because
+he did.
+
+And yet we were as unlike as possible. He had habits of reckless
+extravagance, or what seemed to me reckless extravagance, and a lordly
+manner (when he forgot himself) of speaking of things, which absolutely
+appalled my economical burgher soul. I had certain habits, too, the
+outcomes of my training, and my sparing, middle-class way of living,
+which I saw puzzled him very much. To cite only one insignificant
+incident. We were both great readers, and, despite our sometimes arduous
+work, contrived to get through a good amount of books in the year. One
+evening he came home with a brand-new novel, in three volumes, in his
+hands.
+
+"Here, Friedel; here is some mental dissipation for to-night. Drop that
+Schopenhauer, and study Heyse. Here is 'Die Kinder der Welt;' it will
+suit our case exactly, for it is what we are ourselves."
+
+"How clean it looks!" I observed, innocently.
+
+"So it ought, seeing that I have just paid for it."
+
+"Paid for it!" I almost shouted. "Paid for it! You don't mean that you
+have bought the book!"
+
+"Calm thy troubled spirit! You don't surely mean that you thought me
+capable of stealing the book?"
+
+"You are hopeless. You have paid at least eighteen marks for it."
+
+"That's the figure to a pfennig."
+
+"Well," said I, with conscious superiority, "you might have had the
+whole three volumes from the library for five or six groschen."
+
+"I know. But their copy looked so disgustingly greasy I couldn't have
+touched it; so I ordered a new one."
+
+"Very well. Your accounts will look well when you come to balance and
+take stock," I retorted.
+
+"What a fuss about a miserable eighteen marks!" said he, stretching
+himself out, and opening a volume. "Come, Sig, learn how the children of
+the world are wiser in their generation than the children of light, and
+leave that low person to prematurely age himself by beginning to balance
+his accounts before they are ripe for it."
+
+"I don't know whether you are aware that you are talking the wildest and
+most utter rubbish that was ever conceived," said I, nettled. "There is
+simply no sense in it. Given an income of--"
+
+"_Aber, ich bitte Dich!_" he implored, though laughing; and I was
+silent.
+
+But his three volumes of "Die Kinder der Welt" furnished me with many an
+opportunity to "point a moral or adorn a tale," and I believe really
+warned him off one or two other similar extravagances. The idea of men
+in our position recklessly ordering three-volume novels because the
+circulating library copy happened to be greasy, was one I could not get
+over for a long time.
+
+We still inhabited the same rooms at No. 45, in the Wehrhahn. We had
+outstayed many other tenants; men had come and gone, both from our
+house and from those rooms over the way whose windows faced ours. We
+passed our time in much the same way--hard work at our profession, and,
+with Eugen at least, hard work out of it; the education of his boy,
+whom he made his constant companion in every leisure moment, and
+taught, with a wisdom that I could hardly believe--it seemed so like
+inspiration--composition, translation, or writing of his own--incessant
+employment of some kind. He never seemed able to pass an idle moment;
+and yet there were times when, it seemed to me, his work did not satisfy
+him, but rather seemed to disgust him.
+
+Once when I asked him if it were so, he laid down his pen and said,
+"Yes."
+
+"Then why do you do it?"
+
+"Because--for no reason that I know; but because I am an unreasonable
+fool."
+
+"An unreasonable fool to work hard?"
+
+"No; but to go on as if hard work now can ever undo what years of
+idleness have done."
+
+"Do you believe in work?" I asked.
+
+"I believe it is the very highest and holiest thing there is, and the
+grandest purifier and cleanser in the world. But it is not a panacea
+against every ill. I believe that idleness is sometimes as strong as
+work, and stronger. You may do that in a few years of idleness which a
+life-time of afterwork won't cover, mend, or improve. You may make holes
+in your coat from sheer laziness, and then find that no amount of
+stitching will patch them up again."
+
+I seldom answered these mystic monologues. Love gives a wonderful
+sharpness even to dull wits; it had sharpened mine so that I often felt
+he indulged in those speeches out of sheer desire to work off some grief
+or bitterness from his heart, but that a question might, however
+innocent, overshoot the mark, and touch a sore spot--the thing I most
+dreaded. And I did not feel it essential to my regard for him to know
+every item of his past.
+
+In such cases, however, when there is something behind--when one knows
+it, only does not know what it is (and Eugen had never tried to conceal
+from me that something had happened to him which he did not care to
+tell)--then, even though one accept the fact, as I accepted it, without
+dispute or resentment, one yet involuntarily builds theories, has ideas,
+or rather the ideas shape themselves about the object of interest, and
+take their coloring from him, one can not refrain from conjectures,
+surmises. Mine were necessarily of the most vague and shadowy
+description; more negative than active, less theories as to what he had
+been or done than inferences from what he let fall in talk or conduct as
+to what he had not been or done.
+
+In our three years' acquaintance, it is true, there had not been much
+opportunity for any striking display on his part of good or bad
+qualities; but certainly ample opportunity of testing whether he were,
+taken all in all, superior, even with, or inferior to the average man
+of our average acquaintance. And, briefly speaking, to me he had become
+a standing model of a superior man.
+
+I had by this time learned to know that when there were many ways of
+looking at a question, that one, if there were such an one, which was
+less earthily practical, more ideal and less common than the others,
+would most inevitably be the view taken by Eugen Courvoisier, and
+advocated by him with warmth, energy, and eloquence to the very last.
+The point from which he surveyed the things and the doings of life was,
+taken all in all, a higher one than that of other men, and was illumined
+with something of the purple splendor of that "light that never was on
+sea or land." A less practical conduct, a more ideal view of right and
+wrong--sometimes a little fantastic even--always imbued with something
+of the knightliness which sat upon him as a natural attribute.
+_Ritterlich_, Karl Linders called him, half in jest, half in earnest;
+and _ritterlich_ he was.
+
+In his outward demeanor to the world with which he came in contact, he
+was courteous to men; to a friend or intimate, as myself, an ever-new
+delight and joy; to all people, truthful to fantasy; and to women, on
+the rare occasions on which I ever saw him in their company, he was
+polite and deferential--but rather overwhelmingly so; it was a
+politeness which raised a barrier, and there was a glacial surface to
+the manner. I remarked this, and speculated about it. He seemed to have
+one manner to every woman with whom he had anything to do; the
+maid-servant who, at her leisure or pleasure, was supposed to answer our
+behests (though he would often do a thing himself, alleging that he
+preferred doing so to "seeing that poor creature's apron"), old Frau
+Henschel who sold the programmes at the kasse at the concerts, to the
+young ladies who presided behind a counter, to every woman to whom he
+spoke a chance word, up to Frau Sybel, the wife of the great painter,
+who came to negotiate about lessons for the lovely Fraeulein, her
+daughter, who wished to play a different instrument from that affected
+by every one else. The same inimitable courtesy, the same unruffled,
+unrufflable quiet indifference, and the same utter unconsciousness that
+he, or his appearance, or behavior, or anything about him, could
+possibly interest them. And yet he was a man eminently calculated to
+attract women, only he never to this day has been got to believe so, and
+will often deprecate his poor power of entertaining ladies.
+
+I often watched this little by-play of behavior from and to the fairer
+sex with silent amusement, more particularly when Eugen and I made
+shopping expeditious for Sigmund's benefit. We once went to buy
+stockings--winter stockings for him; it was a large miscellaneous and
+smallware shop, full of young women behind the counters and ladies of
+all ages before them.
+
+We found ourselves in the awful position of being the only male
+creatures in the place. Happy in my insignificance and plainness, I
+survived the glances that were thrown upon us; I did not wonder that
+they fell upon my companions. Eugen consulted a little piece of paper on
+which Frau Schmidt had written down what we were to ask for, and,
+marching straight up to a disengaged shop-woman, requested to be shown
+colored woolen stockings.
+
+"For yourself, _mein Herr_?" she inquired, with a fascinating smile.
+
+"No, thank you; for my little boy," says Eugen, politely, glancing
+deferentially round at the piles of wool and packets of hosen around.
+
+"Ah, so! For the young gentleman? _Bitte, meine Herren_, be seated." And
+she gracefully pushes chairs for us; on one of which I, unable to resist
+so much affability, sit down.
+
+Eugen remains standing; and Sigmund, desirous of having a voice in the
+matter, mounts upon his stool, kneels upon it, and leans his elbows on
+the counter.
+
+The affable young woman returns, and with a glance at Eugen that speaks
+of worlds beyond colored stockings, proceeds to untie a packet and
+display her wares. He turns them over. Clearly he does not like them,
+and does not understand them. They are striped; some are striped
+latitudinally, others longitudinally. Eugen turns them over, and the
+young woman murmurs that they are of the best quality.
+
+"Are they?" says he, and his eyes roam round the shop. "Well, Sigmund,
+wilt thou have legs like a stork, as these long stripes will inevitably
+make them, or wilt thou have legs like a zebra's back?"
+
+"I should like legs like a little boy, please," is Sigmund's modest
+expression of a reasonable desire.
+
+Eugen surveys them.
+
+"_Von der besten Qualitaet_," repeats the young woman, impressively.
+
+"Have you no blue ones?" demands Eugen. "All blue, you know. He wears
+blue clothes."
+
+"Assuredly, _mein Herr_, but of a much dearer description; real English,
+magnificent."
+
+She retires to find them, and a young lady who has been standing near us
+turns and observes:
+
+"Excuse me--you want stockings for your little boy?"
+
+We both assent. It is a joint affair, of equal importance to both of us.
+
+"I wouldn't have those," says she, and I remark her face.
+
+I have seen her often before--moreover, I have seen her look very
+earnestly at Eugen. I learned later that her name was Anna Sartorius.
+Ere she can finish, the shop-woman with wreathed smiles still lingering
+about her face, returns and produces stockings--fine, blue-ribbed
+stockings, such as the children of rich English parents wear. Their
+fineness, and the smooth quality of the wool, and the good shape appear
+to soothe Eugen's feelings. He pushes away his heap of striped ones,
+which look still coarser and commoner now, observing hopefully and
+cheerily:
+
+"_Ja wohl!_ That is more what I mean." (The poor dear fellow had meant
+nothing, but he knew what he wanted when he saw it.) "These look more
+like thy legs, Sigmund, _nicht wahr_? I'll take--"
+
+I dug him violently in the ribs.
+
+"Hold on, Eugen! How much do they cost the pair, Fraeulein?"
+
+"Two thalers twenty-five; the very best quality," she says, with a
+ravishing smile.
+
+"There! eight shillings a pair!" say I. "It is ridiculous."
+
+"Eight shillings!" he repeats, ruefully. "That is too much."
+
+"They are real English, _mein Herr_," she says, feelingly.
+
+"But, _um Gotteswillen_! don't we make any like them in Germany?"
+
+"Oh, sir!" she says, reproachfully.
+
+"Those others are such brutes," he remarks, evidently wavering.
+
+I am in despair. The young woman is annoyed to find that he does not
+even see the amiable looks she has bestowed upon him, so she sweeps back
+the heap of striped stockings and announces that they are only three
+marks the pair--naturally inferior, but you can not have the best
+article for nothing.
+
+Fraeulein Sartorius, about to go, says to Eugen:
+
+"_Mein Herr_, ask for such and such an article. I know they keep them,
+and you will find it what you want."
+
+Eugen, much touched and much surprised (as he always is and has been)
+that any one should take an interest in him, makes a bow, and a speech,
+and rushes off to open the door for Fraeulein Sartorius, thanking her
+profusely for her goodness. The young lady behind the counter smiles
+bitterly, and now looks as if butter would not melt in her mouth. I,
+assuming the practical, mention the class of goods referred to by
+Fraeulein Sartorius, which she unwillingly brings forth, and we
+straightway purchase. The errand accomplished, Eugen takes Sigmund by
+the hand, makes a grand bow to the young woman, and instructs his son to
+take off his hat, and, this process being complete, we sally forth
+again, and half-way home Eugen remarks that it was very kind of that
+young lady to help us.
+
+"Very," I assent, dryly, and when Sigmund has contributed the artless
+remark that all the ladies laughed at us and looked at us, and has been
+told by his father not to be so self-conceited, for that no one can
+possibly wish to look at us, we arrive at home, and the stockings are
+tried on.
+
+Constantly I saw this willingness to charm on the part of women;
+constantly the same utter ignorance of any such thought on the part of
+Eugen, who was continually expressing his surprise at the kindness of
+people, and adding with the gravest simplicity that he had always found
+it so, at which announcement Karl laughed till he had to hold his sides.
+
+And Sigmund? Since the day when Courvoisier had said to me, slowly and
+with difficulty, the words about parting, he had mentioned the subject
+twice--always with the same intention expressed. Once it was when I had
+been out during the evening, and he had not. I came into our
+sitting-room, and found it in darkness. A light came from the inner
+room, and, going toward it, I found that he had placed the lamp upon a
+distant stand, and was sitting by the child's crib, his arms folded, his
+face calm and sad. He rose when he saw me, brought the lamp into the
+parlor again, and said:
+
+"Pardon, Friedel, that I left you without light. The time of parting
+will come, you know, and I was taking a look in anticipation of the time
+when there will be no one there to look at."
+
+I bowed. There was a slight smile upon his lips, but I would rather have
+heard a broken voice and seen a mien less serene.
+
+The second, and only time, up to now, and the events I am coming to, was
+once when he had been giving Sigmund a music lesson, as we called
+it--that is to say, Eugen took his violin and played a melody, but
+incorrectly, and Sigmund told him every time a wrong note was played, or
+false time kept. Eugen sat, giving a look now and then at the boy, whose
+small, delicate face was bright with intelligence, whose dark eyes
+blazed with life and fire, and whose every gesture betrayed spirit,
+grace, and quick understanding. A child for a father to be proud of. No
+meanness there; no littleness in the fine, high-bred features;
+everything that the father's heart could wish, except perhaps some
+little want of robustness; one might have desired that the limbs were
+less exquisitely graceful and delicate--more stout and robust.
+
+As Eugen laid aside his violin, he drew the child toward him, and asked
+(what I had never heard him ask before):
+
+"What wilt thou be, Sigmund, when thou art a man?"
+
+"_Ja, lieber Vater_, I will be just like thee."
+
+"How just like me?"
+
+"I will do what thou dost."
+
+"So! Thou wilt be a musiker like me and Friedel?"
+
+"_Ja wohl!_" said Sigmund, but something else seemed to weigh upon his
+small mind. He eyed his father with a reflective look, then looked down
+at his own small hands and slender limbs (his legs were cased in the new
+stockings).
+
+"How?" inquired his father.
+
+"I should like to be a musician," said Sigmund, who had a fine
+confidence in his sire, and confided his every thought to him.
+
+"I don't know how to say it," he went on, resting his elbows upon
+Eugen's knee, and propping his chin upon his two small fists, he looked
+up into his father's face.
+
+"Friedhelm is a musician, but he is not like thee," he pursued. Eugen
+reddened; I laughed.
+
+"True as can be, Sigmund," I said.
+
+"'I would I were as honest a man,'" said Eugen, slightly altering
+"Hamlet;" but as he spoke English I contented myself with shaking my
+head at him.
+
+"I like Friedel," went on Sigmund. "I love him; he is good. But thou,
+_mein Vater_--"
+
+"Well?" asked Eugen again.
+
+"I will be like thee," said the boy, vehemently, his eyes filling with
+tears. "I will. Thou saidst that men who try can do all they will--and I
+will, I will."
+
+"Why, my child?"
+
+It was a long earnest look that the child gave the man. Eugen had said
+to me some few days before, and I had fully agreed with him:
+
+"That child's life is one strife after the beautiful in art, and nature,
+and life--how will he succeed in the search?"
+
+I thought of this--it flashed subtly through my mind as Sigmund gazed at
+his father with a childish adoration--then, suddenly springing round his
+neck, said, passionately:
+
+"Thou art so beautiful--so beautiful! I must be like thee."
+
+Eugen bit his lip momentarily, saying to me in English:
+
+"I am his God, you see, Friedel. What will he do when he finds out what
+a common clay figure it was he worshiped?"
+
+But he had not the heart to banter the child; only held the little
+clinging figure to his breast; the breast which Sigmund recognized as
+his heaven.
+
+It was after this that Eugen said to me when we were alone:
+
+"It must come before he thinks less of me than he does now, Friedel."
+
+To these speeches I could never make any answer, and he always had the
+same singular smile--the same paleness about the lips and unnatural
+light in the eyes when he spoke so.
+
+He had accomplished one great feat in those three years--he had won over
+to himself his comrades, and that without, so to speak, actively laying
+himself out to do so. He had struck us all as something so very
+different from the rest of us, that, on his arrival and for some time
+afterward, there lingered some idea that he must be opposed to us. But I
+very soon, and the rest by gradual degrees, got to recognize that though
+in, not of us, yet he was no natural enemy of ours; if he made no
+advances, he never avoided or repulsed any, but on the very contrary,
+seemed surprised and pleased that any one should take an interest in
+him. We soon found that he was extremely modest as to his own merits and
+eager to acknowledge those of other people.
+
+"And," said Karl Linders once, twirling his mustache, and smiling in the
+consciousness that his own outward presentment was not to be called
+repulsive, "he can't help his looks; no fellow can."
+
+At the time of which I speak, his popularity was much greater than he
+knew, or would have believed if he had been told of it.
+
+Only between him and von Francius there remained a constant gulf and a
+continual coldness. Von Francius never stepped aside to make friends;
+Eugen most certainly never went out of his way to ingratiate himself
+with von Francius. Courvoisier had been appointed contrary to the wish
+of von Francius, which perhaps caused the latter to regard him a little
+coldly--even more coldly than was usual with him, and he was never
+enthusiastic about any one or anything, while to Eugen there was
+absolutely nothing in von Francius which attracted him, save the
+magnificent power of his musical talent--a power which was as calm and
+cold as himself.
+
+Max von Francius was a man about whom there were various opinions,
+expressed and unexpressed; he was a person who never spoke of himself,
+and who contrived to live a life more isolated and apart than any one I
+have ever known, considering that he went much into society, and mixed a
+good deal with the world. In every circle in Elberthal which could by
+any means be called select, his society was eagerly sought, nor did he
+refuse it. His days were full of engagements; he was consulted, and his
+opinion deferred to in a singular manner--singular, because he was no
+sayer of smooth things, but the very contrary; because he hung upon no
+patron, submitted to no dictation, was in his way an autocrat. This
+state of things he had brought about entirely by force of his own will
+and in utter opposition to precedent, for the former directors had been
+notoriously under the thumb of certain influential outsiders, who were
+in reality the directors of the director. It was the universal feeling
+that though the Herr Direktor was the busiest man, and had the largest
+circle of acquaintance of any one in Elberthal, yet that he was less
+really known than many another man of half his importance. His business
+as musik-direktor took up much of his time; the rest might have been
+filled to overflowing with private lessons, but von Francius was not a
+man to make himself cheap; it was a distinction to be taught by him, the
+more so as the position or circumstances of a would-be pupil appeared to
+make not the very smallest impression upon him. Distinguished for hard,
+practical common sense, a ready sneer at anything high-flown or
+romantic, discouraging not so much enthusiasm as the outward
+manifestation of it, which he called melodrama, Max von Francius was the
+cynosure of all eyes in Elberthal, and bore the scrutiny with glacial
+indifference.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+FRIEDHELM'S STORY.
+
+
+[Illustration: Music, JOACHIM, RAFF. _Op._ 177.]
+
+"Make yourself quite easy, Herr Concertmeister. No child that was left
+to my charge was ever known to come to harm."
+
+Thus Frau Schmidt to Eugen, as she stood with dubious smile and folded
+arms in our parlor, and harangued him, while he and I stood,
+violin-cases in our hands, in a great hurry, and anxious to be off.
+
+"You are very kind, Frau Schmidt, I hope he will not trouble you."
+
+"He is a well-behaved child, and not nearly so disagreeable and bad to
+do with as most. And at what time will you be back?"
+
+"That is uncertain. It just depends upon the length of the probe."
+
+"Ha! It is all the same. I am going out for a little excursion this
+afternoon, to the Grafenberg, and I shall take the boy with me."
+
+"Oh, thank you," said Eugen; "that will be very kind. He wants some
+fresh air, and I've had no time to take him out. You are very kind."
+
+"Trust to me, Herr Concertmeister--trust to me," said she, with the
+usual imperial wave of her hand, as she at last moved aside from the
+door-way which she had blocked up and allowed us to pass out. A last
+wave of the hand from Eugen to Sigmund, and then we hurried away to the
+station. We were bound for Cologne, where that year the Lower Rhine
+Musikfest was to be held. It was then somewhat past the middle of April,
+and the fest came off at Whitsuntide, in the middle of May. We, among
+others, were engaged to strengthen the Cologne orchestra for the
+occasion, and we were bidden this morning to the first probe.
+
+We just caught our train, seeing one or two faces of comrades we knew,
+and in an hour were in Koeln.
+
+"The Tower of Babel," and Raff's Fifth Symphonie, that called "Lenore,"
+were the subjects we had been summoned to practice. They, together with
+Beethoven's "Choral Fantasia" and some solos were to come off on the
+third evening of the fest.
+
+The probe lasted a long time; it was three o'clock when we left the
+concert-hall, after five hours' hard work.
+
+"Come along, Eugen," cried I, "we have just time to catch the three-ten,
+but only just."
+
+"Don't wait for me," he answered, with an absent look. "I don't think I
+shall come by it. Look after yourself, Friedel, and _auf wiedersehen_!"
+
+I was scarcely surprised, for I had seen that the music had deeply moved
+him, and I can understand the wish of any man to be alone with the
+remembrance or continuance of such emotions. Accordingly I took my way
+to the station, and there met one or two of my Elberthal comrades, who
+had been on the same errand as myself, and, like me, were returning
+home.
+
+Lively remarks upon the probable features of the coming fest, and the
+circulation of any amount of loose and hazy gossip respecting composers
+and soloists followed, and we all went to our usual restauration and
+dined together. There was an opera that night to which we had probe that
+afternoon, and I scarcely had time to rush home and give a look at
+Sigmund before it was time to go again to the theater.
+
+Eugen's place remained empty. For the first time since he had come into
+the orchestra he was absent from his post, and I wondered what could
+have kept him.
+
+Taking my way home, very tired, with fragments of airs from "Czar und
+Zimmermann," in which I had just been playing, the "March" from
+"Lenore," and scraps of choruses and airs from the "Thurm zu Babel," all
+ringing in my head in a confused jumble, I sprung up the stairs (up
+which I used to plod so wearily and so spiritlessly), and went into the
+sitting-room. Darkness! After I had stood still and gazed about for a
+time, my eyes grew accustomed to the obscurity. I perceived that a dim
+gray light still stole in at the open window, and that some one reposing
+in an easy-chair was faintly shadowed out against it.
+
+"Is that you, Friedhelm?" asked Eugen's voice.
+
+"_Lieber Himmel!_ Are you there? What are you doing in the dark?"
+
+"Light the lamp, my Friedel! Dreams belong to darkness, and facts to
+light. Sometimes I wish light and facts had never been invented."
+
+I found the lamp and lighted it, carried it up to him, and stood before
+him, contemplating him curiously. He lay back in our one easy-chair, his
+hands clasped behind his head, his legs outstretched. He had been idle
+for the first time, I think, since I had known him. He had been sitting
+in the dark, not even pretending to do anything.
+
+"There are things new under the sun," said I, in mingled amusement and
+amaze. "Absent from your post, to the alarm and surprise of all who know
+you, here I find you mooning in the darkness, and when I illuminate you,
+you smile up at me in a somewhat imbecile manner, and say nothing. What
+may it portend?"
+
+He roused himself, sat up, and looked at me with an ambiguous half
+smile.
+
+"Most punctual of men! most worthy, honest, fidgety old friend," said
+he, with still the same suppressed smile, "how I honor you! How I wish
+I could emulate you! How I wish I were like you! and yet, Friedel, old
+boy, you have missed something this afternoon."
+
+"So! I should like to know what you have been doing. Give an account of
+yourself."
+
+"I have erred and gone astray, and have found it pleasant. I have done
+that which I ought not to have done, and am sorry, for the sake of
+morality and propriety, to have to say that it was delightful; far more
+delightful than to go on doing just what one ought to do. Say, good
+Mentor, does it matter? For this occasion only. Never again, as I am a
+living man."
+
+"I wish you would speak plainly," said I, first putting the lamp and
+then myself upon the table. I swung my legs about and looked at him.
+
+"And not go on telling you stories like that of Munchausen, in Arabesks,
+eh? I will be explicit; I will use the indicative mood, present tense.
+Now then. I like Cologne; I like the cathedral of that town; I like the
+Hotel du Nord; and, above all, I love the railway station."
+
+"Are you raving?"
+
+"Did you ever examine the Cologne railway station?" he went on, lighting
+a cigar. "There is a great big waiting-room, which they lock up; there
+is a delightful place in which you may get lost, and find yourself
+suddenly alone in a deserted wing of the building, with an impertinent
+porter, who doesn't understand one word of Eng--of your native tongue--"
+
+"Are you mad?" was my varied comment.
+
+"And while you are in the greatest distress, separated from your
+friends, who have gone on to Elberthal (like mine), and struggling to
+make this porter understand you, you may be encountered by a mooning
+individual--a native of the land--and you may address him. He drives the
+fumes of music from his brain, and looks at you, and finds you
+charming--more than charming. My dear Friedhelm, the look in your eyes
+is quite painful to see. By the exercise of a little diplomacy, which,
+as you are charmingly naive, you do not see through, he manages to seal
+an alliance by which you and he agree to pass three or four hours in
+each other's society, for mutual instruction and entertainment. The
+entertainment consists of cutlets, potatoes--the kind called kartoffeln
+frittes, which they give you very good at the Nord--and the wine known
+to us as Doctorberger. The instruction is varied, and is carried on
+chiefly in the aisle of the Koelner Dom, to the sound of music. And when
+he is quite spell-bound, in a magic circle, a kind of golden net or
+cloud, he pulls out an earthly watch, made of dust and dross ('More fool
+he,' your eye says, and you are quite right), and sees that time is
+advancing. A whole army of horned things with stings, called feelings of
+propriety, honor, correctness, the right thing, etc., come in thick
+battalions in _sturmschritt_ upon him, and with a hasty word he hurries
+her--he gets off to the station. There is still an hour, for both are
+coming to Elberthal--an hour of unalloyed delight; then"--he snapped his
+fingers--"a drosky, an address, a crack of the whip, and _ade_!"
+
+I sat and stared at him while he wound up this rhodomontade by singing:
+
+       "Ade, ade, ade!
+     Ja, Scheiden und Meiden thut Weh!"
+
+"You are too young and fair," he presently resumed, "too slight and
+sober for apoplexy; but a painful fear seizes me that your mental
+faculties are under some slight cloud. There is a vacant look in your
+usually radiant eyes; a want of intelligence in the curve of your rosy
+lips--"
+
+"Eugen! Stop that string of fantastic rubbish! Where have you been, and
+what have you been doing?"
+
+"I have not deserved that from you. Haven't I been telling you all this
+time where I have been and what I have been doing? There is a brutality
+in your behavior which is to a refined mind most lamentable."
+
+"But where have you been, and what have you done?"
+
+"Another time, _mein lieber_--another time!"
+
+With this misty promise I had to content myself. I speculated upon the
+subject for that evening, and came to the conclusion that he had
+invented the whole story, to see whether I would believe it (for we had
+all a reprehensible habit of that kind), and very soon the whole
+circumstance dropped from my memory.
+
+On the following morning I had occasion to go to the public eye
+hospital. Eugen and I had interested ourselves to procure a ticket for
+free, or almost free, treatment as an out-patient for a youth whom we
+knew--one of the second violins--whose sight was threatened, and who,
+poor boy, could not afford to pay for proper treatment. Eugen being
+busy, I went to receive the ticket.
+
+It was the first time I had been in the place. I was shown into a room
+with the light somewhat obscured, and there had to wait some few
+minutes. Every one had something the matter with his or her eyes--at
+least so I thought, until my own fell upon a girl who leaned, looking a
+little tired and a little disappointed, against a tall desk at one side
+of the room.
+
+She struck me on the instant as no feminine appearance had ever struck
+me before. She, like myself, seemed to be waiting for some one or
+something. She was tall and supple in figure, and her face was girlish
+and very innocent-looking; and yet, both in her attitude and countenance
+there was a little pride, some hauteur. It was evidently natural to her,
+and sat well upon her. A slight but exquisitely molded figure, different
+from those of our stalwart Elberthaler _Maedchen_--finer, more refined
+and distinguished, and a face to dream of. I thought it then, and I say
+it now. Masses, almost too thick and heavy, of dark auburn hair, with
+here and there a glint of warmer hue, framed that beautiful face--half
+woman's, half child's. Dark-gray eyes, with long dark lashes and brows;
+cheeks naturally very pale, but sensitive, like some delicate alabaster,
+showing the red at every wave of emotion; something racy, piquant,
+unique, enveloped the whole appearance of this young girl. I had never
+seen anything at all like her before.
+
+She looked wearily round the room, and sighed a little. Then her eyes
+met mine; and seeing the earnestness with which I looked at her, she
+turned away, and a slight, very slight, flush appeared in her cheek.
+
+I had time to notice (for everything about her interested me) that her
+dress was of the very plainest and simplest kind, so plain as to be
+almost poor, and in its fashion not of the newest, even in Elberthal.
+
+Then my name was called out. I received my ticket, and went to the probe
+at the theater.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+"Wishes are pilgrims to the vale of tears."
+
+
+A week--ten days passed. I did not see the beautiful girl again--nor
+did I forget her. One night at the opera I found her. It was
+"Lohengrin"--but she has told all that story herself--how Eugen came in
+late (he had a trick of never coming in till the last minute, and I used
+to think he had some reason for it)--and the recognition and the cut
+direct, first on her side, then on his.
+
+Eugen and I walked home together, arm in arm, and I felt provoked with
+him.
+
+"I say, Eugen, did you see the young lady with Vincent and the others in
+the first row of the parquet?"
+
+"I saw some six or eight ladies of various ages in the first row of the
+parquet. Some were old and some were young. One had a knitted shawl over
+her head, which she kept on during the whole of the performance."
+
+"Don't be so maddening. I said the young lady with Vincent and Fraeulein
+Sartorius. By the bye, Eugen, do you know, or have you ever known her?"
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Fraeulein Sartorius."
+
+"Who is she?"
+
+"Oh, bother! The young lady I mean sat exactly opposite to you and me--a
+beautiful young girl; an _Englaenderin_--fair, with that hair that we
+never see here, and--"
+
+"In a brown hat--sitting next to Vincent. I saw her--yes."
+
+"She saw you too."
+
+"She must have been blind if she hadn't."
+
+"Have you seen her before?"
+
+"I have seen her before--yes."
+
+"And spoken to her?"
+
+"Even spoken to her."
+
+"Do tell me what it all means."
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"But, Eugen--"
+
+"Are you so struck with her, Friedel? Don't lose your heart to her, I
+warn you."
+
+"Why?" I inquired, wilily, hoping the answer would give me some clew to
+his acquaintance with her.
+
+"Because, _mein Bester_, she is a cut above you and me, in a different
+sphere, one that we know nothing about. What is more, she knows it, and
+shows it. Be glad that you can not lay yourself open to the snub that I
+got to-night."
+
+There was so much bitterness in his tone that I was surprised. But a
+sudden remembrance flushed into my mind of his strange remarks after I
+had left him that day at Cologne, and I laughed to myself, nor, when he
+asked me, would I tell him why. That evening he had very little to say
+to Karl Linders and myself.
+
+Eugen never spoke to me of the beautiful girl who had behaved so
+strangely that evening, though we saw her again and again.
+
+Sometimes I used to meet her in the street, in company with the dark,
+plain girl, Anna Sartorius, who, I fancied, always surveyed Eugen with a
+look of recognition. The two young women formed in appearance an almost
+startling contrast. She came to all the concerts, as if she made music a
+study--generally she was with a stout, good-natured-looking German
+Fraeulein, and the young Englishman, Vincent. There was always something
+rather melancholy about her grace and beauty.
+
+Most beautiful she was; with long, slender, artist-like hands, the face
+a perfect oval, but the features more piquant than regular; sometimes a
+subdued fire glowed in her eyes and compressed her lips, which removed
+her altogether from the category of spiritless beauties--a genus for
+which I never had the least taste.
+
+One morning Courvoisier and I, standing just within the entrance to the
+theater orchestra, saw two people go by. One, a figure well enough known
+to every one in Elberthal, and especially to us--that of Max von
+Francius. Did I ever say that von Francius was an exceedingly handsome
+fellow, in a certain dark, clean-shaved style? On that occasion he was
+speaking with more animation than was usual with him, and the person to
+whom he had unbent so far was the fair English woman--that enigmatical
+beauty who had cut my friend at the opera. She also was looking animated
+and very beautiful; her face turned to his with a smile--a glad,
+gratified smile. He was saying:
+
+"But in the next lesson, you know--"
+
+They passed on. I turned to ask Eugen if he had seen. I needed not to
+put the question. He had seen. There was a forced smile upon his lips.
+Before I could speak he had said:
+
+"It's time to go in, Friedel; come along!" With which he turned into the
+theater, and I followed thoughtfully.
+
+Then it was rumored that at the coming concert--the benefit of von
+Francius--a new soprano was to appear--a young lady of whom report used
+varied tones; some believable facts at least we learned about her. Her
+name, they said was Wedderburn; she was an English woman, and had a most
+wonderful voice. The Herr Direktor took a very deep interest in her; he
+not only gave her lessons; he had asked to give her lessons, and
+intended to form of her an artiste who should one day be to the world a
+kind of Patti, Lucca, or Nilsson.
+
+I had no doubt in my own mind as to who she was, but for all that I felt
+considerable excitement on the evening of the haupt-probe to the
+"Verlorenes Paradies."
+
+Yes, I was right. Miss Wedderburn, the pupil of von Francius, of whom so
+much was prophesied, was the beautiful, forlorn-looking English girl.
+The feeling which grew upon me that evening, and which I never found
+reason afterward to alter, was that she was modest, gentle, yet
+spirited, very gifted, and an artiste by nature and gift, yet sadly ill
+at ease and out of place in that world into which von Francius wished to
+lead her.
+
+She sat quite near to Eugen and me, and I saw how alone she was, and how
+she seemed to feel her loneliness. I saw how certain young ladies drew
+themselves together, and looked at her (it was on this occasion that I
+first began to notice the silent behavior of women toward each other,
+and the more I have observed, the more has my wonder grown and
+increased), and whispered behind their music, and shrugged their
+shoulders when von Francius, seeing how isolated she seemed, bent
+forward and said a few kind words to her.
+
+I liked him for it. After all, he was a man. But his distinguishing the
+child did not add to the delights of her position--rather made it worse.
+I put myself in her place as well as I could, and felt her feelings when
+von Francius introduced her to one of the young ladies near her, who
+first stared at him, then at her, then inclined her head a little
+forward and a little backward, turned her back upon Miss Wedderburn,
+and appeared lost in conversation of the deepest importance with her
+neighbor. And I thought of the words which Karl Linders had said to us
+in haste and anger, and after a disappointment he had lately had, "_Das
+weib ist der teufel._" Yes, woman is the devil sometimes, thought I, and
+a mean kind of devil too. A female Mephistopheles would not have damned
+Gretchen's soul, nor killed her body, she would have left the latter on
+this earthly sphere, and damned her reputation.
+
+Von Francius was a clever man, but he made a grand mistake that night,
+unless he were desirous of making his protegee as uncomfortable as
+possible. How could those ladies feel otherwise than insulted at seeing
+the man of ice so suddenly attentive and bland to a nobody, an upstart,
+and a beautiful one?
+
+The probe continued, and still she sat alone and unspoken to, her only
+acquaintance or companion seeming to be Fraeulein Sartorius, with whom
+she had come in. I saw how, when von Francius called upon her to do her
+part, and the looks which had hitherto been averted from her were now
+turned pitilessly and unwinkingly upon her, she quailed. She bit her
+lip; her hand trembled. I turned to Eugen with a look which said
+volumes. He sat with his arms folded, and his face perfectly devoid of
+all expression, gazing straight before him.
+
+Miss Wedderburn might have been satisfied to the full with her revenge.
+That was a voice! such a volume of pure, exquisite melody as I had
+rarely heard. After hearing that, all doubts were settled. The gift
+might be a blessing or a curse--let every one decide that for himself,
+according to his style of thinking--but it was there. She possessed the
+power which put her out of the category of commonplace, and had the most
+melodious "Open, Sesame!" with which to besiege the doors of the courts
+in which dwell artists--creative and interpretative.
+
+The performance finished the gap between her and her companions. Their
+looks said, "You are not one of us." My angry spirit said, "No; you can
+never be like her."
+
+She seemed half afraid of what she had done when it was over, and shrunk
+into herself with downcast eyes and nervous quivering of the lips at the
+subdued applause of the men. I wanted to applaud too, but I looked at
+Eugen. I had instinctively given him some share in the affairs of this
+lovely creature--a share, which he always strenuously repudiated, both
+tacitly and openly.
+
+Nevertheless, when I saw him I abstained from applauding, knowing, by a
+lightning-quick intuition, that it would be highly irritating to him. He
+showed no emotion; if he had done, I should not have thought the
+occasion was anything special to him. It was his absurd gravity, stony
+inexpressiveness, which impressed me with the fact that he was
+moved--moved against his will and his judgment. He could no more help
+approving both of her and her voice than he could help admiring a
+perfect, half-opened rose.
+
+It was over, and we went out of the saal, across the road, and home.
+
+Sigmund, who had not been very well that day, was awake, and restless.
+Eugen took him up, wrapped him in a little bed-gown, carried him into
+the other room, and sat down with him. The child rested his head on the
+loved breast, and was soothed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+She had gone; the door had closed after her. Eugen turned to me, and
+took Sigmund into his arms again.
+
+"_Mein Vater_, who is the beautiful lady, and why did you speak so
+harshly to her? Why did you make her cry?"
+
+The answer, though ostensibly spoken to Sigmund, was a revelation to me.
+
+"That I may not have to cry myself," said Eugen, kissing him.
+
+"Could the lady make thee cry?" demanded Sigmund, sitting up, much
+excited at the idea.
+
+Another kiss and a half laugh was the answer. Then he bade him go to
+sleep, as he did not understand what he was talking about.
+
+By and by Sigmund did drop to sleep. Eugen carried him to his bed,
+tucked him up, and returned. We sat in silence--such an uncomfortable
+constrained silence, as had never before been between us. I had a book
+before me. I saw no word of it. I could not drive the vision away--the
+lovely, pleading face, the penitence. Good heavens! How could he repulse
+her as he had done? Her repeated request that he would take that
+money--what did it all mean? And, moreover, my heart was sore that he
+had concealed it all from me. About the past I felt no resentment;
+there was a secret there which I respected; but I was cut up at this.
+The more I thought of it, the keener was the pain I felt.
+
+"Friedel!"
+
+I looked up. Eugen was leaning across the table and his hand was
+stretched toward me; his eyes looked full into mine. I answered his
+look, but I was not clear yet.
+
+"Forgive me!"
+
+"Forgive thee what?"
+
+"This playing with thy confidence."
+
+"Don't mention it," I forced myself to say, but the sore feeling still
+remained. "You have surely a right to keep your affairs to yourself if
+you choose."
+
+"You will not shake hands? Well, perhaps I have no right to ask it; but
+I should like to tell you all about it."
+
+I put my hand into his.
+
+"I was wounded," said I, "it is true. But it is over."
+
+"Then listen, Friedel."
+
+He told me the story of his meeting with Miss Wedderburn. All he said of
+the impression she had made upon him was:
+
+"I thought her very charming, and the loveliest creature I had ever
+seen. And about the trains. It stands in this way. I thought a few hours
+of her society would make me very happy, and would be like--oh, well! I
+knew that in the future, if she ever should see me again, she would
+either treat me with distant politeness as an inferior, or, supposing
+she discovered that I had cheated her, would cut me dead. And as it did
+not matter, as I could not possibly be an acquaintance of hers in the
+future, I gave myself that pleasure then. It has turned out a mistake
+on my part, but that is nothing new; my whole existence has been a
+monstrous mistake. However, now she sees what a churl's nature was under
+my fair-seeming exterior, her pride will show her what to do. She will
+take a wrong view of my character, but what does that signify? She will
+say that to be deceitful first and uncivil afterward are the main
+features of the German character, and when she is at Cologne on her
+honey-moon, she will tell her bride-groom about this adventure, and he
+will remark that the fellow wanted horsewhipping, and she--"
+
+"There! You have exercised your imagination quite sufficiently. Then
+you intend to keep up this farce of not recognizing her. Why?"
+
+He hesitated, looked as nearly awkward as he could, and said, a little
+constrainedly:
+
+"Because I think it will be for the best."
+
+"For you or for her?" I inquired, not very fairly, but I could not
+resist it.
+
+Eugen flushed all over his face.
+
+"What a question!" was all he said.
+
+"I do not think it such a remarkable question. Either you have grown
+exceedingly nervous as to your own strength of resistance or your fear
+for hers."
+
+"Friedhelm," said he, in a cutting voice, "that is a tone which I should
+not have believed you capable of taking. It is vulgar, my dear fellow,
+and uncalled for; and it is so unlike you that I am astonished. If you
+had been one of the other fellows--"
+
+I fired up.
+
+"Excuse me, Eugen, it might be vulgar if I were merely chaffing you, but
+I am not; and I think, after what you have told me, that I have said
+very little. I am not so sure of her despising you. She looks much more
+as if she were distressed at your despising her."
+
+"Pre--pos--ter--ous!"
+
+"If you can mention an instance in her behavior this evening which
+looked as if she were desirous of snubbing you, I should be obliged by
+your mentioning it," I continued:
+
+"Well--well--"
+
+"Well--well. If she had wished to snub you she would have sent you that
+money through the post, and made an end of it. She simply desired, as
+was evident all along, to apologize for having been rude to a person who
+had been kind to her. I can quite understand it, and I am not sure that
+your behavior will not have the very opposite effect to that you
+expect."
+
+"I think you are mistaken. However, it does not matter; our paths lie
+quite apart. She will have plenty of other things to take up her time
+and thoughts. Anyhow I am glad that you and I are quits once more."
+
+So was I. We said no more upon the subject, but I always felt as if a
+kind of connecting link existed between my friend and me, and that
+beautiful, solitary English girl.
+
+The link was destined to become yet closer. The concert was over at
+which she sung. She had a success. I see she has not mentioned it; a
+success which isolated her still more from her companions, inasmuch as
+it made her more distinctly professional and them more severely
+virtuous.
+
+One afternoon when Eugen and I happened to have nothing to do, we took
+Sigmund to the Grafenberg. We wandered about in the fir wood, and at
+last came to a pause and rested. Eugen lay upon his back and gazed up
+into the thickness of brown-green fir above, and perhaps guessed at the
+heaven beyond the dark shade. I sat and stared before me through the
+straight red-brown stems across the ground,
+
+     "With sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged,"
+
+to an invisible beyond which had charms for me, and was a kind of
+symphonic beauty in my mind. Sigmund lay flat upon his stomach, kicked
+his heels and made intricate patterns with the fir needles, while he
+hummed a gentle song to himself in a small, sweet voice, true as a
+lark's, but sadder. There was utter stillness and utter calm all round.
+
+Presently Eugen's arm stole around Sigmund and drew him closer and
+closer to him, and they continued to look at each other until a mutual
+smile broke upon both faces, and the boy said, his whole small frame as
+well as his voice quivering (the poor little fellow had nerves that
+vibrated to the slightest emotion): "I love thee."
+
+A light leaped into the father's eyes; a look of pain followed it
+quickly.
+
+"And I shall never leave thee," said Sigmund.
+
+Eugen parried the necessity of speaking by a kiss.
+
+"I love thee too, Friedel," continued he, taking my hand. "We are very
+happy together, aren't we?" And he laughed placidly to himself.
+
+Eugen, as if stung by some tormenting thought, sprung up and we left the
+wood.
+
+Oh, far back, by-gone day! There was a soft light over you shed by a
+kindly sun. That was a time in which joy ran a golden thread through the
+gray homespun of every-day life.
+
+Back to the restauration at the foot of the _berg_, where Sigmund was
+supplied with milk and Eugen and I with beer, where we sat at a little
+wooden table in a garden and the pleasant clack of friendly conversation
+sounded around; where the women tried to make friends with Sigmund, and
+the girls whispered behind their coffee-cups or (_pace_, elegant
+fiction!) their beer-glasses, and always happened to be looking up if
+our eyes roved that way. Two poor musiker and a little boy; persons of
+no importance whatever, who could scrape their part in the symphony with
+some intelligence and feel they had done their duty. Well, well! it is
+not all of us who can do even so much. I know some instruments that are
+always out of tune. Let us be complacent where we justly can. The
+opportunities are few.
+
+We took our way home. The days were long, and it was yet light when we
+returned and found the reproachful face of Frau Schmidt looking for us,
+and her arms open to receive the weary little lad who had fallen asleep
+on his father's shoulder.
+
+I went upstairs, and, by a natural instinct, to the window. Those facing
+it were open; some one moved in the room. Two chords of a piano were
+struck. Some one came and stood by the window, shielded her eyes from
+the rays of the setting sun which streamed down the street and looked
+westward. Eugen was passing behind me. I pulled him to the window, and
+we both looked--silently, gravely.
+
+The girl dropped her hand; her eyes fell upon us. The color mounted to
+her cheek; she turned away and went to the interior of the room. It was
+May Wedderburn.
+
+"Also!" said Eugen, after a pause. "A new neighbor; it reminds me of one
+of Andersen's 'Maerchen,' but I don't know which."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+ "For though he lived aloof from ken,
+ The world's unwitnessed denizen,
+   The love within him stirs
+ Abroad, and with the hearts of men
+   His own confers."
+
+
+The story of my life from day to day was dull enough, same enough for
+some time after I went to live at the Wehrhahn. I was studying hard, and
+my only variety was the letters I had from home; not very cheering,
+these. One, which I received from Adelaide, puzzled me somewhat. After
+speaking of her coming marriage in a way which made me sad and
+uncomfortable, she condescended to express her approval of what I was
+doing, and went on:
+
+     "I am catholic in my tastes. I suppose all our friends would faint
+     at the idea of there being a 'singer' in the family. Now, I should
+     rather like you to be a singer--only be a great one--not a little
+     twopenny-halfpenny person who has to advertise for engagements.
+
+     "Now I am going to give you some advice. This Herr von
+     Francius--your teacher or whatever he is. Be cautious what you are
+     about with him. I don't say more, but I say that again. Be
+     cautious! Don't burn your fingers. Now, I have not much time, and I
+     hate writing letters, as you know. In a week I am to be married,
+     and then--_nous verrons_. We go to Paris first, and then on to
+     Rome, where we shall winter--to gratify my taste, I wonder, or Sir
+     Peter's for moldering ruins, ancient pictures, and the Coliseum by
+     moonlight? I have no doubt that we shall do our duty by the
+     respectable old structures. Remember what I said, and write to me
+     now and then.
+
+                    "A."
+
+I frowned and puzzled a little over this letter. Be cautious? In what
+possible way could I be cautious? What need could there be for it when
+all that passed between me and von Francius was the daily singing lesson
+at which he was so strict and severe, sometimes so sharp and cutting
+with me. I saw him then; I saw him also at the constant proben to
+concerts whose season had already begun; proben to the "Passions-musik,"
+the "Messiah," etc. At one or two of these concerts I was to sing. I did
+not like the idea, but I could not make von Francius see it as I did. He
+said I must sing--it was part of my studies, and I was fain to bend to
+his will.
+
+Von Francius--I looked at Adelaide's letter, and smiled again. Von
+Francius had kept his word; he had behaved to me as a kind elder
+brother. He seemed instinctively to understand the wish, which was very
+strong on my part, not to live entirely at Miss Hallam's expense--to
+provide, partially at any rate, for myself, if possible. He helped me to
+do this. Now he brought me some music to be copied; now he told me of a
+young lady who wanted lessons in English--now of one little thing--now
+of another, which kept me, to my pride and joy, in such slender
+pocket-money as I needed. Truly, I used to think in those days, it does
+not need much money nor much room for a person like me to keep her place
+in the world. I wished to trouble no one--only to work as hard as I
+could, and do the work that was set for me as well as I knew how. I had
+my wish and so far was not unhappy.
+
+But what did Adelaide mean? True, I had once described von Francius to
+her as young, that is youngish, clever and handsome. Did she,
+remembering my well-known susceptibility, fear that I might fall in love
+with him and compromise myself by some silly _Schwaermerei_? I laughed
+about all by myself at the very idea of such a thing. Fall in love with
+von Francius, and--my eyes fell upon the two windows over the way. No;
+my heart was pure of the faintest feeling for him, save that of respect,
+gratitude, and liking founded at that time more on esteem than
+spontaneous growth. And he--I smiled at that idea, too.
+
+In all my long interviews with von Francius throughout our intercourse
+he maintained one unvaried tone, that of a kind, frank, protecting
+interest, with something of the patron on his part. He would converse
+with me about Schiller and Goethe, true; he would also caution me
+against such and such shop-keepers as extortioners, and tell me the
+place where they gave the largest discount on music paid for on the
+spot; would discuss the "Waldstein" or "Appassionata" with me, or the
+beauties of Rubinstein or the deep meanings of Schumann, also the
+relative cost of living _en pension_ or providing for one's self.
+
+No. Adelaide was mistaken. I wished, parenthetically, that she could
+make the acquaintance of von Francius, and learn how mistaken--and again
+my eyes fell upon the opposite windows. Friedhelm Helfen leaned from
+one, holding fast Courvoisier's boy. The rich Italian coloring of the
+lovely young face; the dusky hair; the glow upon the cheeks, the deep
+blue of his serge dress, made the effect of a warmly tinted southern
+flower; it was a flower-face too; delicate and rich at once.
+
+Adelaide's letter dropped unheeded to the floor. Those two could not see
+me, and I had a joy in watching them.
+
+To say, however, that I actually watched my opposite neighbors would not
+be true. I studiously avoided watching them; never sat in the window;
+seldom showed myself at it, though in passing I sometimes allowed myself
+to linger, and so had glimpses of those within. They were three and I
+was one. They were the happier by two. Or if I knew that they were out,
+that a probe was going on, or an opera or concert, there was nothing I
+liked better than to sit for a time and look to the opposite windows.
+They were nearly always open, as were also mine, for the heat of the
+stove was oppressive to me, and I preferred to temper it with a little
+of the raw outside air. I used sometimes to hear from those opposite
+rooms the practicing or playing of passages on the violin and
+violoncello--scales, shakes, long complicated flourishes and phrases.
+Sometimes I heard the very strains that I had to sing to: airs, scraps
+of airs, snatches from operas, concerts and symphonies. They were always
+humming and singing things. They came home haunted with "The Last Rose,"
+from "Marta"--now some air from "Faust," "Der Freischuetz," or
+"Tannhauser."
+
+But one air was particular to Eugen, who seemed to be perfectly
+possessed by it--that which I had heard him humming when I first met
+him--the March from "Lenore." He whistled it and sung it; played it on
+violin, 'cello and piano; hummed it first thing in the morning and last
+thing at night; harped upon it until in despair his companion threw
+books and music at him, and he, dodging them, laughed, begged pardon,
+was silent for five minutes, and then the March _da Capo_ set in a
+halting kind of measure to the ballad.
+
+By way of a slight and wholesome variety there was the whole repertory
+of "Volkslieder," from
+
+     "Du, du, liegst mir im Herzen;
+     Du, du, liegst mir im Sinn,"
+
+up to
+
+     "Maedele, ruck, ruck, ruck
+     An meine gruene Seite."
+
+Sometimes they--one or both of them with the boy--might be seen at the
+window leaning out, whistling or talking. When doors banged and quick
+steps rushed up or down the stairs two steps at a time I knew it was
+Courvoisier. Friedhelm Helfen's movements were slower and more sedate.
+I grew to know his face as well as Eugen's, and to like it better the
+more I saw of it. A quite young, almost boyish face, with an
+inexpressibly pure, true, and good expression upon the mouth and in the
+dark-brown eyes. Reticent, as most good faces are, but a face which made
+you desire to know the owner of it, made you feel that you could trust
+him in any trial. His face reminded me in a distant manner of two
+others, also faces of musicians, but greater in their craft than he,
+they being creators and pioneers, while he was only a disciple, of
+Beethoven and of the living master, Rubinstein. A gentle, though far
+from weak face, and such a contrast in expression and everything else to
+that of my musician, as to make me wonder sometimes whether they had
+been drawn to each other from very oppositeness of disposition and
+character. That they were very great friends I could not doubt; that the
+leadership was on Courvoisier's side was no less evident. Eugen's
+affection for Helfen seemed to have something fatherly in it, while I
+could see that both joined in an absorbing worship of the boy, who was a
+very Croesus in love if in nothing else. Sigmund had, too, an adorer
+in a third musician, a violoncellist, one of their comrades, who
+apparently spent much of his spare substance in purchasing presents of
+toys and books and other offerings, which he laid at the shrine of St.
+Sigmund, with what success I could not tell. Beyond this young fellow,
+Karl Linders, they had not many visitors. Young men used occasionally to
+appear with violin-cases in their hands, coming for lessons, probably.
+
+All these things I saw without absolutely watching for them; they made
+that impression upon me which the most trifling facts connected with a
+person around whom cling all one's deepest pleasures and deepest pains
+ever do and must make. I was glad to know them, but at the same time
+they impressed the loneliness and aloofness of my own life more
+decidedly upon me.
+
+I remember one small incident which at the time it happened struck home
+to me. My windows were open; it was an October afternoon, mild and
+sunny. The yellow light shone with a peaceful warmth upon the afternoon
+quietness of the street. Suddenly that quietness was broken. The sound
+of music, the peculiar blatant noise of trumpets smote the air. It came
+nearer, and with it the measured tramp of feet. I rose and went to look
+out. A Hussar regiment was passing; before them was borne a soldier's
+coffin; they carried a comrade to his grave. The music they played was
+the "Funeral March for the Death of a Hero," from the "Sinfonia Eroica."
+Muffled, slow, grand and mournful, it went wailing and throbbing by. The
+procession passed slowly on in the October sunshine, along the
+Schadowstrasse, turning off by the Hofgarten, and so on to the cemetery.
+I leaned out of the window and looked after it--forgetting all outside,
+till just as the last of the procession passed by my eyes fell upon
+Courvoisier going into his house, and who presently entered the room. He
+was unperceived by Friedhelm and Sigmund, who were looking after the
+procession. The child's face was earnest, almost solemn--he had not seen
+his father come up. I saw Helfen's lip caress Sigmund's loose black hair
+that waved just beneath them.
+
+Then I saw a figure--only a black shadow to my eyes which were dazzled
+by the sun--come behind them. One hand was laid upon Helfen's shoulder,
+another turned the child's chin. What a change! Friedhelm's grave face
+smiled: Sigmund sprung aside, made a leap to his father, who stooped to
+him, and clasping his arms tight round his neck was raised up in his
+arms.
+
+They were all satisfied--all smiling--all happy. I turned away. That was
+a home--that was a meeting of three affections. What more could they
+want? I shut the window--shut it all out, and myself with it into the
+cold, feeling my lips quiver. It was very fine, this life of
+independence and self-support, but it was dreadfully lonely.
+
+The days went on. Adelaide was now Lady Le Marchant. She had written to
+me again, and warned me once more to be careful what I was about. She
+had said that she liked her life--at least she said so in her first two
+or three letters, and then there fell a sudden utter silence about
+herself, which seemed to me ominous.
+
+Adelaide had always acted upon the assumption that Sir Peter was a far
+from strong-minded individual, with a certain hardness and cunning
+perhaps in relation to money matters, but nothing that a clever wife
+with a strong enough sense of her own privileges could not overcome.
+
+She said nothing to me about herself. She told me about Rome; who was
+there; what they did and looked like; what she wore; what compliments
+were paid to her--that was all.
+
+Stella told me my letters were dull--and I dare say they were--and that
+there was no use in her writing, because nothing ever happened in
+Skernford, which was also true. And for Eugen, we were on exactly the
+same terms--or rather no terms--as before. Opposite neighbors, and as
+far removed as if we had lived at the antipodes.
+
+My life, as time went on, grew into a kind of fossilized dream, in which
+I rose up and lay down, practiced so many hours a day, ate and drank and
+took my lesson, and it seemed as if I had been living so for years, and
+should continue to live on so to the end of my days--until one morning
+my eyes would not open again, and for me the world would have come to an
+end.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+ "And nearer still shall further be,
+ And words shall plague and vex and buffet thee."
+
+
+It was December, close upon Christmas. Winter at last in real earnest. A
+black frost. The earth bound in fetters of iron. The land gray; the sky
+steel; the wind a dagger. The trees, leafless and stark, rattled their
+shriveled boughs together in that wind.
+
+It met you at corners and froze the words out of your mouth; it whistled
+a low, fiendish, malignant whistle round the houses; as vicious and
+little louder than the buzz of a mosquito. It swept, thin, keen and
+cutting, down the Koenigsallee, and blew fine black dust into one's face.
+
+It cut up the skaters upon the pond in the Neue Anlage, which was in the
+center of the town, and comparatively sheltered; but it was in its glory
+whistling across the flat fields leading to the great skating-ground of
+Elberthal in general--the Schwanenspiegel at the Grafenbergerdahl.
+
+The Grafenberg was a low chain of what, for want of a better name, may
+be called hills, lying to the north of Elberthal. The country all around
+this unfortunate apology for a range of hills was, if possible, flatter
+than ever. The Grafenbergerdahl was, properly, no "dale" at all, but a
+broad plain of meadows, with the railway cutting them at one point, then
+diverging and running on under the Grafenberg.
+
+One vast meadow which lay, if possible, a trifle lower than the rest,
+was flooded regularly by the autumn rains, but not deeply. It was frozen
+over now, and formed a model skating place, and so, apparently, thought
+the townspeople, for they came out, singly or in bodies, and from nine
+in the morning till dusk the place was crowded, and the merry music of
+the iron on the ice ceased not for a second.
+
+I discovered this place of resort by accident one day when I was taking
+a constitutional, and found myself upon the borders of the great frozen
+mere covered with skaters. I stood looking at them, and my blood warmed
+at the sight. If there were one thing--one accomplishment upon which I
+prided myself, it was this very one--skating.
+
+In a drawing-room I might feel awkward--confused among clever people,
+bashful among accomplished ones; shy about music and painting, diffident
+as to my voice, and deprecatory in spirit as to the etiquette to be
+observed at a dinner-party. Give me my skates and put me on a sheet of
+ice, and I was at home.
+
+As I paused and watched the skaters, it struck me that there was no
+reason at all why I should deny myself that seasonable enjoyment. I had
+my skates, and the mere was large enough to hold me as well as the
+others--indeed, I saw in the distance great tracts of virgin ice to
+which no skater seemed yet to have reached.
+
+I went home, and on the following afternoon carried out my resolution;
+though it was after three o'clock before I could set out.
+
+A long, bleak way. First up the merry Jaegerhofstrasse, then through the
+Malkasten garden, up a narrow lane, then out upon the open, bleak road,
+with that bitter wind going ping-ping at one's ears and upon one's
+cheek. Through a big gate-way, and a court-yard pertaining to an orphan
+asylum--along a lane bordered with apple-trees, through a rustic arch,
+and, hurrah! the field was before me--not so thickly covered as
+yesterday, for it was getting late, and the Elberthalers did not seem to
+understand the joy of careering over the black ice by moonlight, in the
+night wind. It was, however, as yet far from dark, and the moon was
+rising in silver yonder, in a sky of a pale but clear blue.
+
+I quickly put on my skates--stumbled to the edge, and set off. I took a
+few turns, circling among the people--then, seeing several turn to look
+at me, I fixed my eyes upon a distant clump of reeds rising from the
+ice, and resolved to make it my goal. I could only just see it, even
+with my long-sighted eyes, but struck out for it bravely. Past group
+after group of the skaters who turned to look at my scarlet shawl as it
+flashed past. I glanced at them and skimmed smoothly on, till I came to
+the outside circle where there was a skater all alone, his hands thrust
+deep into his great-coat pockets, the collar of the same turned high
+about his ears, and the inevitable little gray cloth _Studentenhut_
+crowning the luxuriance of waving dark hair. He was gliding round in
+complicated figures and circles, doing the outside edge for his own
+solitary gratification, so far as I could see; active, graceful, and
+muscular, with practiced ease and assured strength in every limb. It
+needed no second glance on my part to assure me who he was--even if the
+dark bright eyes had not been caught by the flash of my cloak, and
+gravely raised for a moment as I flew by. I dashed on, breasting the
+wind. To reach the bunch of reeds seemed more than ever desirable now. I
+would make it my sole companion until it was time to go away. At least
+he had seen me, and I was safe from any _contretemps_--he would avoid me
+as strenuously as I avoided him. But the first fresh lust after pleasure
+was gone. Just one moment's glance into a face had had the power to
+alter everything so much. I skated on, as fast, as surely as ever, but,
+
+     "A joy has taken flight."
+
+The pleasant sensation of solitude, which I could so easily have felt
+among a thousand people had he not been counted among them, was gone.
+The roll of my skates upon the ice had lost its music for me; the wind
+felt colder--I sadder. At least I thought so. Should I go away again now
+that this disturbing element had appeared upon the scene? No, no, no,
+said something eagerly within me, and I bit my lip, and choked back a
+kind of sob of disgust as I realized that despite my gloomy reflections
+my heart was beating a high, rapid march of--joy! as I skimmed, all
+alone, far away from the crowd, among the dismal withered reeds, and
+round the little islets of stiffened grass and rushes which were frozen
+upright in their places.
+
+The daylight faded, and the moon rose. The people were going away. The
+distant buzz of laughter had grown silent. I could dimly discern some
+few groups, but very few, still left, and one or two solitary figures.
+Even my preternatural eagerness could not discern who they were! The
+darkness, the long walk home, the probe at seven, which I should be too
+tired to attend, all had quite slipped from my mind; it was possible
+that among those figures which I still dimly saw, was yet remaining that
+of Courvoisier, and surely there was no harm in my staying here.
+
+I struck out in another direction, and flew on in the keen air; the
+frosty moon shedding a weird light upon the black ice; I saw the railway
+lines, polished, gleaming too in the light; the belt of dark firs to my
+right; the red sand soil frozen hard and silvered over with frost. Flat
+and tame, but still beautiful. I felt a kind of rejoicing in it; I felt
+it home. I was probably the first person who had been there since the
+freezing of the mere, thought I, and that idea was soon converted to a
+certainty in my mind, for in a second my rapid career was interrupted.
+At the furthest point from help or human presence the ice gave way with
+a crash, and I shrieked aloud at the shock of the bitter water. Oh, how
+cold it was! how piercing, frightful, numbing! It was not deep--scarcely
+above my knees, but the difficulty was how to get out. Put my hand where
+I would the ice gave way. I could only plunge in the icy water, feeling
+the sodden grass under my feet. What sort of things might there not be
+in that water? A cold shudder, worse than any ice, shot through me at
+the idea of newts and rats and water-serpents, absurd though it was. I
+screamed again in desperation, and tried to haul myself out by catching
+at the rushes. They were rotten with the frost and gave way in my hand.
+I made a frantic effort at the ice again; stumbled and fell on my knees
+in the water. I was wet all over now, and I gasped. My limbs ached
+agonizingly with the cold. I should be, if not drowned, yet benumbed,
+frozen to death here alone in the great mere, among the frozen reeds and
+under the steely sky.
+
+I was pausing, standing still, and rapidly becoming almost too benumbed
+to think or hold myself up, when I heard the sound of skates and the
+weird measure of the "Lenore March" again. I held my breath; I desired
+intensely to call out, shriek aloud for help, but I could not. Not a
+word would come.
+
+"I did hear some one," he muttered, and then in the moonlight he came
+skating past, saw me, and stopped.
+
+"_Sie_, Fraeulein!" he began, quickly, and then altering his tone. "The
+ice has broken. Let me help you."
+
+"Don't come too near; the ice is very thin--it doesn't hold at all," I
+chattered, scarcely able to get the words out.
+
+"You are cold?" he asked, and smiled. I felt the smile cruel; and
+realized that I probably looked rather ludicrous.
+
+"Cold!" I repeated, with an irrepressible short sob.
+
+He knelt down upon the ice at about a yard's distance from me.
+
+"Here it is strong," said he, holding out his arms. "Lean this way,
+_mein Fraeulein_, and I will lift you out."
+
+"Oh, no! You will certainly fall in yourself."
+
+"Do as I tell you," he said, imperatively, and I obeyed, leaning a
+little forward. He took me round the waist, lifted me quietly out of the
+water, and placed me upon the ice at a discreet distance from the hole
+in which I had been stuck, then rose himself, apparently undisturbed by
+the effort.
+
+Miserable, degraded object that I felt! My clothes clinging round me;
+icy cold, shivering from head to foot; so aching with cold that I could
+no longer stand. As he opened his mouth to say something about its being
+"happily accomplished," I sunk upon my knees at his feet. My strength
+had deserted me; I could no longer support myself.
+
+"Frozen!" he remarked to himself, as he stooped and half raised me. "I
+see what must be done. Let me take off your skates--_sonst geht's
+nicht_."
+
+I sat down upon the ice, half hysterical, partly from the sense of the
+degrading, ludicrous plight I was in, partly from intense yet painful
+delight at being thus once more with him, seeing some recognition in his
+eyes again, and hearing some cordiality in his voice.
+
+He unfastened my skates deftly and quickly, slung them over his arm, and
+helped me up again. I essayed feebly to walk, but my limbs were numb
+with cold. I could not put one foot before the other, but could only
+cling to his arm in silence.
+
+"So!" said he, with a little laugh. "We are all alone here! A fine time
+for a moonlight skating."
+
+"Ah! yes," said I, wearily, "but I can't move."
+
+"You need not," said he. "I am going to carry you away in spite of
+yourself, like a popular preacher."
+
+He put his arm round my waist and bade me hold fast to his shoulder. I
+obeyed, and directly found myself carried along in a swift, delightful
+movement, which seemed to my drowsy, deadened senses, quick as the
+nimble air, smooth as a swallow's flight. He was a consummate master in
+the art of skating--that was evident. A strong, unfailing arm held me
+fast. I felt no sense of danger, no fear lest he should fall or stumble;
+no such idea entered my head.
+
+We had far to go--from one end of the great Schwanenspiegel to the
+other. Despite the rapid motion, numbness overcame me; my eyes closed,
+my head sunk upon my hands, which were clasped over his shoulder. A sob
+rose to my throat. In the midst of the torpor that was stealing over me,
+there shot every now and then a shiver of ecstasy so keen as to almost
+terrify me. But then even that died away. Everything seemed to whirl
+round me--the meadows and trees, the stiff rushes and the great black
+sheet of ice, and the white moon in the inky heavens became only a
+confused dream. Was it sleep or faintness, or coma? What was it that
+seemed to make my senses as dull as my limbs, and as heavy? I scarcely
+felt the movement, as he lifted me from the ice to the ground. His shout
+did not waken me, though he sent the full power of his voice ringing out
+toward the pile of buildings to our left.
+
+With the last echo of his voice I lost consciousness entirely; all
+failed and faded, and then vanished before me, until I opened my eyes
+again feebly, and found myself in a great stony-looking room, before a
+big black stove, the door of which was thrown open. I was lying upon a
+sofa, and a woman was bending over me. At the foot of the sofa, leaning
+against the wall, was Courvoisier, looking down at me, his arms folded,
+his face pensive.
+
+"Oh, dear!" cried I, starting up. "What is the matter? I must go home."
+
+"You shall--when you can," said Courvoisier, smiling as he had smiled
+when I first knew him, before all these miserable misunderstandings had
+come between us.
+
+My apprehensions were stilled. It did me good, warmed me, sent the tears
+trembling to my eyes, when I found that his voice had not resumed the
+old accent of ice, nor his eyes that cool, unrecognizing stare which had
+frozen me so many a time in the last few weeks.
+
+"_Trinken sie 'mal, Fraeulein_," said the woman, holding a glass to my
+lips; it held hot spirits and water, which smoked.
+
+"Bah!" replied I, gratefully, and turning away. "_Nie, nie!_" she
+repeated. "You must drink just a _Schnaeppschen_, Fraeulein."
+
+I pushed it away with some disgust. Courvoisier took it from her hand
+and held it to me.
+
+"Don't be so foolish and childish. Think of your voice after this," said
+he, smiling kindly; and I, with an odd sensation, choked down my tears
+and drank it. It was bad--despite my desire to please, I found it very
+bad.
+
+"Yes, I know," said he, with a sympathetic look, as I made a horrible
+face after drinking it, and he took the glass. "And now this woman will
+lend you some dry things. Shall I go straight to Elberthal and send a
+drosky here for you, or will you try to walk home?"
+
+"Oh, I will walk. I am sure it would be the best--if--do you think it
+would?"
+
+"Do you feel equal to it? is the question," he answered, and I was
+surprised to see that though I was looking hard at him he did not look
+at me, but only into the glass he held.
+
+"Yes," said I. "And they say that people who have been nearly drowned
+should always walk; it does them good."
+
+"In that case then," said he, repressing a smile, "I should say it would
+be better for you to try. But pray make haste and get your wet things
+off, or you will come to serious harm."
+
+"I will be as quick as ever I can."
+
+"Now hurry," he replied, sitting down, and pulling one of the woman's
+children toward him. "Come, _mein Junge_, tell me how old you are?"
+
+I followed the woman to an inner room, where she divested me of my
+dripping things, and attired me in a costume consisting of a short full
+brown petticoat, a blue woolen jacket, thick blue knitted stockings, and
+a pair of wide low shoes, which habiliments constituted the uniform of
+the orphan asylum of which she was matron, and belonged to her niece.
+
+She expatiated upon the warmth of the dress, and did not produce any
+outer wrap or shawl, and I, only anxious to go, said nothing, but
+twisted up my loose hair, and went back into the large stony room before
+spoken of, from which a great noise had been proceeding for some time.
+
+I stood in the door-way and saw Eugen surrounded by other children, in
+addition to the one he had first called to him. There were likewise two
+dogs, and they--the children, the dogs, and Herr Concertmeister
+Courvoisier most of all--were making as much noise as they possibly
+could. I paused for a moment to have the small gratification of watching
+the scene. One child on his knee and one on his shoulder pulling his
+hair, which was all ruffled and on end, a laugh upon his face, a dancing
+light in his eyes as if he felt happy and at home among all the little
+flaxen heads.
+
+Could he be the same man who had behaved so coldly to me? My heart went
+out to him in this kinder moment. Why was he so genial with those
+children and so harsh to me, who was little better than a child myself?
+
+His eye fell upon me as he held a shouting and kicking child high in the
+air, and his own face laughed all over in mirth and enjoyment.
+
+"Come here, Miss Wedderburn; this is Hans, there is Fritz, and here is
+Franz--a jolly trio; aren't they?"
+
+He put the child into his mother's arms, who regarded him with an eye of
+approval, and told him that it was not every one who knew how to
+ingratiate himself with her children, who were uncommonly spirited.
+
+"Ready?" he asked, surveying me and my costume and laughing. "Don't you
+feel a stranger in these garments?"
+
+"No! Why?"
+
+"I should have said silk and lace and velvet, or fine muslins and
+embroideries, were more in your style."
+
+"You are quite mistaken. I was just thinking how admirably this costume
+suits me, and that I should do well to adopt it permanently."
+
+"Perhaps there was a mirror in the inner room," he suggested.
+
+"A mirror! Why?"
+
+"Then your idea would quite be accounted for. Young ladies must of
+course wish to wear that which becomes them."
+
+"Very becoming!" I sneered, grandly.
+
+"Very," he replied, emphatically. "It makes me wish to be an orphan."
+
+"Ah, _mein Herr_," said the woman, reproachfully, for he had spoken
+German. "Don't jest about that. If you have parents--"
+
+"No, I haven't," he interposed, hastily.
+
+"Or children either?"
+
+"I should not else have understood yours so well," he laughed. "Come,
+my--Miss Wedderburn, if you are ready."
+
+After arranging with the woman that she should dry my things and return
+them, receiving her own in exchange, we left the house.
+
+It was quite moonlight now; the last faint streak of twilight had
+disappeared. The way that we must traverse to reach the town stretched
+before us, long, straight, and flat.
+
+"Where is your shawl?" he asked, suddenly.
+
+"I left it; it was wet through."
+
+Before I knew what he was doing, he had stripped off his heavy overcoat,
+and I felt its warmth and thickness about my shoulders.
+
+"Oh, don't!" I cried, in great distress, as I strove to remove it again,
+and looked imploringly into his face.
+
+"Don't do that. You will get cold; you will--"
+
+"Get cold!" he laughed, as if much amused, as he drew the coat around me
+and fastened it, making no more ado of my resisting hands than if they
+had been bits of straw.
+
+"So!" said he, pushing one of my arms through the sleeve. "Now," as he
+still held it fastened together, and looked half laughingly at me, "do
+you intend to keep it on or not?"
+
+"I suppose I must."
+
+"I call that gratitude. Take my arm--so. You are weak yet."
+
+We walked on in silence for some time. I was happy; for the first time
+since the night I had heard "Lohengrin" I was happy and at rest. True,
+no forgiveness had been asked or extended; but he had ceased to behave
+as if I were not forgiven.
+
+"Am I not going too fast?" he inquired.
+
+"N--no."
+
+"Yes, I am, I see. We will moderate the pace a little."
+
+We walked more slowly. Physically I was inexpressibly weary. The
+reaction after my drenching had set in; I felt a languor which amounted
+to pain, and an aching and weakness in every limb. I tried to regret the
+event, but could not; tried to wish it were not such a long walk to
+Elberthal, and found myself perversely regretting that it was such a
+short one.
+
+At length the lights of the town came in sight. I heaved a deep sigh.
+Soon it would be over--"the glory and the dream."
+
+"I think we are exactly on the way to your house, _nicht wahr_?" said
+he.
+
+"Yes; and to yours since we are opposite neighbors."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"You are not as lonely as I am, though; you have companions."
+
+"I--oh--Friedhelm; yes."
+
+"And--your little boy."
+
+"Sigmund also," was all he said.
+
+But "_auch_ Sigmund" may express much more in German than in English. It
+did so then.
+
+"And you?" he added.
+
+"I am alone," said I.
+
+I did not mean to be foolishly sentimental. The sigh that followed my
+words was involuntary.
+
+"So you are. But I suppose you like it?"
+
+"Like it? What can make you think so?"
+
+"Well, at least you have good friends."
+
+"Have I? Oh, yes, of course!" said I, thinking of von Francius.
+
+"Do you get on with your music?" he next inquired.
+
+"I hope so. I--do you think it strange that I should live there all
+alone?" I asked, tormented with a desire to know what he did think of
+me, and crassly ready to burst into explanations on the least
+provocation. I was destined to be undeceived.
+
+"I have not thought about it at all; it is not my business."
+
+Snub number one. He had spoken quickly, as if to clear himself as much
+as possible from any semblance of interest to me.
+
+I went on, rashly plunging into further intricacies of conversation:
+
+"It is curious that you and I should not only live near to each other,
+but actually have the same profession at last."
+
+"How?"
+
+Snub number two. But I persevered.
+
+"Music. Your profession is music, and mine will be."
+
+"I do not see the resemblance. There is little point of likeness between
+a young lady who is in training for a prima-donna and an obscure
+musiker, who contributes his share of shakes and runs to the symphony."
+
+"I in training for a prima-donna! How can you say so?"
+
+"Do we not all know the forte of Herr von Francius? And--excuse me--are
+not your windows opposite to ours, and open as a rule? Can I not hear
+the music you practice, and shall I not believe my own ears?"
+
+"I am sure your own ears do not tell you that a future prima-donna lives
+opposite to you," said I, feeling most insanely and unreasonably hurt
+and cut up at the idea.
+
+"Will you tell me that you are not studying for the stage?"
+
+"I never said I was not. I said I was not a future prima-donna. My voice
+is not half good enough. I am not clever enough, either."
+
+He laughed.
+
+"As if voice or cleverness had anything to do with it. Personal
+appearance and friends at court are the chief things. I have known
+prime-donne--seen them, I mean--and from my place below the foot-lights
+I have had the impertinence to judge them upon their own merits.
+Provided they were handsome, impudent, and unscrupulous enough, their
+public seemed gladly to dispense with art, cultivation, or genius in
+their performances and conceptions."
+
+"And you think that I am, or shall be in time, handsome, impudent, and
+unscrupulous enough," said I, in a low choked tone.
+
+My fleeting joy was being thrust back by hands most ruthless. Unmixed
+satisfaction for even the brief space of an hour or so was not to be
+included in my lot.
+
+"_O, bewahre!_" said he, with a little laugh, that chilled me still
+further. "I think no such thing. The beauty is there, _mein
+Fraeulein_--pardon me for saying so--"
+
+Indeed, I was well able to pardon it. Had he been informing his
+grandmother that there were the remains of a handsome woman to be traced
+in her, he could not have spoken more unenthusiastically.
+
+"The beauty is there. The rest, as I said, when one has friends, these
+things are arranged for one."
+
+"But I have no friends."
+
+"No," with again that dry little laugh. "Perhaps they will be provided
+at the proper time, as Elijah was fed by the ravens. Some fine
+night--who knows--I may sit with my violin in the orchestra at your
+benefit, and one of the bouquets with which you are smothered may fall
+at my feet and bring me _aus der fuge_. When that happens, will you
+forgive me if I break a rose from the bouquet before I toss it on to the
+feet of its rightful owner? I promise that I will seek for no note, nor
+spy out any ring or bracelet. I will only keep the rose in remembrance
+of the night when I skated with you across the Schwanenspiegel, and
+prophesied unto you the future. It will be a kind of 'I told you so,' on
+my part."
+
+Mock sentiment, mock respect, mock admiration; a sneer in the voice, a
+dry sarcasm in the words. What was I to think? Why did he veer round in
+this way, and from protecting kindness return to a raillery which was
+more cruel than his silence? My blood rose, though, at the mockingness
+of his tone.
+
+"I don't know what you mean," said I, coldly. "I am studying operatic
+music. If I have any success in that line, I shall devote myself to it.
+What is there wrong in it? The person who has her living to gain must
+use the talents that have been given her. My talent is my voice;
+it is the only thing I have--except, perhaps, some capacity to
+love--those--who are kind to me. I can do that, thank God! Beyond that
+I have nothing, and I did not make myself."
+
+"A capacity to love those who are kind to you," he said, hastily. "And
+do you love all who are kind to you?"
+
+"Yes," said I, stoutly, though I felt my face burning.
+
+"And hate them that despitefully use you?"
+
+"Naturally," I said, with a somewhat unsteady laugh. A rush of my ruling
+feeling--propriety and decent reserve--tied my tongue, and I could not
+say, "Not all--not always."
+
+He, however, snapped, as it were, at my remark or admission, and chose
+to take it as if it were in the deepest earnest; for he said, quickly,
+decisively, and, as I thought, with a kind of exultation:
+
+"Ah, then I will be disagreeable to you."
+
+This remark, and the tone in which it was uttered, came upon me with a
+shock which I can not express. He would be disagreeable to me because I
+hated those who were disagreeable to me, _ergo_, he wished me to hate
+him. But why? What was the meaning of the whole extraordinary
+proceeding?
+
+"Why?" I asked, mechanically, and asked nothing more.
+
+"Because then you will hate me, unless you have the good sense to do so
+already."
+
+"Why? What effect will my hatred have upon you?"
+
+"None. Not a jot. _Gar keine._ But I wish you to hate me, nevertheless."
+
+"So you have begun to be disagreeable to me by pulling me out of the
+water, lending me your coat, and giving me your arm all along this hard,
+lonely road," said I, composedly.
+
+He laughed.
+
+"That was before I knew of your peculiarity. From to-morrow morning on I
+shall begin. I will make you hate me. I shall be glad if you hate me."
+
+I said nothing. My head felt bewildered; my understanding benumbed. I
+was conscious that I was very weary--conscious that I should like to
+cry, so bitter was my disappointment.
+
+As we came within the town, I said:
+
+"I am very sorry, Herr Courvoisier, to have given you so much trouble."
+
+"That means that I am to put you into a cab and relieve you of my
+company."
+
+"It does not," I ejaculated, passionately, jerking my hand from his arm.
+"How can you say so? How dare you say so?"
+
+"You might meet some of your friends, you know."
+
+"And I tell you I have no friends except Herr von Francius, and I am not
+accountable to him for my actions."
+
+"We shall soon be at your house now."
+
+"Herr Courvoisier, have you forgiven me?"
+
+"Forgiven you what?"
+
+"My rudeness to you once."
+
+"Ah, _mein Fraeulein_," said he, shrugging his shoulders a little and
+smiling slightly, "you are under a delusion about that circumstance. How
+can I forgive that which I never resented?"
+
+This was putting the matter in a new, and, for me, an humbling light.
+
+"Never resented!" I murmured, confusedly.
+
+"Never. Why should I resent it? I forgot myself, _nicht wahr_! and you
+showed me at one and the same time my proper place and your own
+excellent good sense. You did not wish to know me, and I did not resent
+it. I had no right to resent it."
+
+"Excuse me," said I, my voice vibrating against my will; "you are wrong
+there, and either you are purposely saying what is not true, or you have
+not the feelings of a gentleman." His arm sprung a little aside as I
+went on, amazed at my own boldness. "I did not show you your 'proper
+place.' I did not show my own good sense. I showed my ignorance, vanity,
+and surprise. If you do not know that, you are not what I take you
+for--a gentleman."
+
+"Perhaps not," said he, after a pause. "You certainly did not take me
+for one then. Why should I be a gentleman? What makes you suppose I am
+one?"
+
+Questions which, however satisfactorily I might answer them to myself, I
+could not well reply to in words. I felt that I had rushed upon a topic
+which could not be explained, since he would not own himself offended. I
+had made a fool of myself and gained nothing by it. While I was racking
+my brain for some satisfactory closing remark, we turned a corner and
+came into the Wehrhahn. A clock struck seven.
+
+"_Gott im Himmel!_" he exclaimed. "Seven o'clock! The opera--_da geht's
+schon an!_ Excuse me, Fraeulein, I must go. Ah, here is your house."
+
+He took the coat gently from my shoulders, wished me _gute besserung_,
+and ringing the bell, made me a profound bow, and either not noticing or
+not choosing to notice the hand which I stretched out toward him, strode
+off hastily toward the theater, leaving me cold, sick, and miserable, to
+digest my humble pie with what appetite I might.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII.
+
+CUI BONO?
+
+
+Christmas morning. And how cheerfully I spent it! I tried first of all
+to forget that it was Christmas, and only succeeded in impressing the
+fact more forcibly and vividly upon my mind, and with it others; the
+fact that I was alone especially predominating. And a German Christmas
+is not the kind of thing to let a lonely person forget his loneliness
+in; its very bustle and union serves to emphasize their solitude to
+solitary people.
+
+I had seen such quantities of Christmas-trees go past the day before.
+One to every house in the neighborhood. One had even come here, and the
+widow of the piano-tuner had hung it with lights and invited some
+children to make merry for the feast of Weihnachten Abend.
+
+Every one had a present except me. Every one had some one with whom to
+spend their Christmas--except me. A little tiny Christmas-tree had gone
+to the rooms whose windows faced mine. I had watched its arrival; for
+once I had broken through my rule of not deliberately watching my
+neighbors, and had done so. The tree arrived in the morning. It was kept
+a profound mystery from Sigmund, who was relegated, much to his disgust,
+to the society of Frau Schmidt down-stairs, who kept a vigilant watch
+upon him and would not let him go upstairs on any account.
+
+The afternoon gradually darkened down. My landlady invited me to join
+her party down-stairs; I declined. The rapturous, untutored joy of half
+a dozen children had no attraction for me; the hermit-like watching of
+the scene over the way had. I did not light my lamp. I was secure of
+not being disturbed; for Frau Lutzler, when I would not come to her, had
+sent my supper upstairs, and said she would not be able to come to me
+again that evening.
+
+"So much the better!" I murmured, and put myself in a window corner.
+
+The lights over the way were presently lighted. For a moment I trembled
+lest the blinds were going to be put down, and all my chance of spying
+spoiled. But no; my neighbors were careless fellows--not given to
+watching their neighbors themselves nor to suspecting other people of
+it. The blinds were left up, and I was free to observe all that passed.
+
+Toward half past five I saw by the light of the street-lamp, which
+was just opposite, two people come into the house; a young man who
+held the hand of a little girl. The young man was Karl Linders, the
+violoncellist; the little girl, I supposed, must be his sister. They
+went upstairs, or rather Karl went upstairs; his little sister remained
+below.
+
+There was a great shaking of hands and some laughing when Karl came into
+the room. He produced various packages which were opened, their contents
+criticised, and hung upon the tree. Then the three men surveyed their
+handiwork with much satisfaction. I could see the whole scene. They
+could not see my watching face pressed against the window, for they were
+in light and I was in darkness.
+
+Friedhelm went out of the room, and, I suppose, exerted his lungs from
+the top of the stairs, for he came back, flushed and laughing, and
+presently the door opened, and Frau Schmidt, looking like the mother
+of the Gracchi, entered, holding a child by each hand. She never
+moved a muscle. She held a hand of each, and looked alternately
+at them. Breathless, I watched. It was almost as exciting as if I
+had been joining in the play--more so, for to me everything was
+_sur l'imprevu_--revealed piecemeal, while to them some degree of
+foreknowledge must exist, to deprive the ceremony of some of its charms.
+
+There was awed silence for a time. It was a pretty scene. In the middle
+of the room a wooden table; upon it the small green fir, covered with
+little twinkling tapers; the orthodox waxen angels, and strings of balls
+and bonbons hanging about--the white _Christ-kind_ at the top in the
+arms of Father Christmas. The three men standing in a semi-circle at one
+side; how well I could see them! A suppressed smile upon Eugen's face,
+such as it always wore when pleasing other people. Friedhelm not
+allowing the smile to fully appear upon his countenance, but with a
+grave delight upon his face, and with great satisfaction beaming from
+his luminous brown eyes. Karl with his hands in his pockets, and an
+attitude by which I knew he said, "There! what do you think of that?"
+Frau Schmidt and the two children on the other side.
+
+The tree was not a big one. The wax-lights were probably cheap ones; the
+gifts that hung upon the boughs or lay on the table must have been
+measured by the available funds of three poor musicians. But the whole
+affair did its mission admirably--even more effectively than an official
+commission to (let us say) inquire into the cause of the loss of an
+ironclad. It--the tree I mean, not the commission--was intended to
+excite joy and delight, and it did excite them to a very high extent. It
+was meant to produce astonishment in unsophisticated minds--it did that
+too, and here it has a point in common with the proceedings of the
+commission respectfully alluded to.
+
+The little girl who was a head taller than Sigmund, had quantities of
+flaxen hair plaited in a pigtail and tied with light blue ribbon--new;
+and a sweet face which was a softened girl miniature of her brother's.
+She jumped for joy, and eyed the tree and the bonbons, and everything
+else with irrepressible rapture. Sigmund was not given to effusive
+declaration of his emotion, but after gazing long and solemnly at the
+show, his eyes turned to his father, and the two smiled in the odd
+manner they had, as if at some private understanding existing between
+themselves. Then the festivities were considered inaugurated.
+
+Friedhelm Helfen took the rest of the proceedings into his own hands;
+and distributed the presents exactly as if he had found them all growing
+on the tree, and had not the least idea what they were nor whence they
+came. A doll which fell to the share of the little Gretchen was from
+Sigmund, as I found from the lively demonstrations that took place.
+Gretchen kissed him, at which every one laughed, and made him kiss the
+doll, or receive a kiss from it--a waxy salute which did not seem to
+cause him much enthusiasm.
+
+I could not see what the other things were, only it was evident that
+every one gave every one else something, and Frau Schmidt's face relaxed
+into a stern smile on one or two occasions, as the young men presented
+her one after the other with some offering, accompanied with speeches
+and bows and ceremony. A conspicuous parcel done up in white paper was
+left to the last. Then Friedhelm took it up, and apparently made a long
+harangue, for the company--especially Karl Linders--became attentive. I
+saw a convulsive smile twitch Eugen's lips now and then, as the oration
+proceeded. Karl by and by grew even solemn, and it was with an almost
+awe-struck glance that he at last received the parcel from Friedhelm's
+hands, who gave it as if he were bestowing his blessing.
+
+Great gravity, eager attention on the part of the children, who pressed
+up to him as he opened it; then the last wrapper was torn off, and to my
+utter amazement and bewilderment Karl drew forth a white woolly animal
+of indefinite race, on a green stand. The look which crossed his face
+was indescribable; the shout of laughter which greeted the discovery
+penetrated even to my ears.
+
+With my face pressed against the window I watched; it was really too
+interesting. But my spying was put an end to. A speech appeared to be
+made to Frau Schmidt, to which she answered by a frosty smile and an
+elaborate courtesy. She was apparently saying good-night, but, with the
+instinct of a housekeeper, set a few chairs straight, pulled a
+table-cloth, and pushed a footstool to its place, and in her tour round
+the room her eyes fell upon the windows. She came and put the shutters
+to. In one moment it had all flashed from my sight--tree and faces and
+lamp-light and brightness.
+
+I raised my chin from my hands, and found that I was cold, numb, and
+stiff. I lighted the lamp, and passed my hands over my eyes; but could
+not quite find myself, and instead of getting to some occupation of my
+own, I sat with Richter's "Through Bass and Harmony" before me and a pen
+in my hand, and wondered what they were doing now.
+
+It was with the remembrance of this evening in my mind to emphasize my
+loneliness that I woke on Christmas morning.
+
+At post-time my landlady brought me a letter, scented, monogrammed,
+with the Roman post-mark. Adelaide wrote:
+
+     "I won't wish you a merry Christmas. I think it is such nonsense.
+     Who does have a merry Christmas now, except children and paupers?
+     And, all being well--or rather ill, so far as I am concerned--we
+     shall meet before long. We are coming to Elberthal. I will tell you
+     why when we meet. It is too long to write--and too vexatious" (this
+     word was half erased), "troublesome. I will let you know when we
+     come, and our address. How are you getting on?
+
+                    "ADELAIDE."
+
+I was much puzzled with this letter, and meditated long over it.
+Something lay in the background. Adelaide was not happy. It surely could
+not be that Sir Peter gave her any cause for discomfort. Impossible! Did
+he not dote upon her? Was not the being able to "turn him round her
+finger" one of the principal advantages of her marriage? And yet, that
+she should be coming to Elberthal of her own will, was an idea which my
+understanding declined to accept. She must have been compelled to
+it--and by nothing pleasant. This threw another shadow over my spirit.
+
+Going to the window, I saw again how lonely I was. The people were
+passing in groups and throngs; it was Christmas-time; they were glad.
+They had nothing in common with me. I looked inside my room--bare,
+meager chamber that it was--the piano the only thing in it that was more
+than barely necessary, and a great wonder came over me.
+
+"What is the use of it all? What is the use of working hard? Why am I
+leading this life? To earn money, and perhaps applause--some time. Well,
+and when I have got it--even supposing, which is extremely improbable,
+that I win it while I am young and can enjoy it--what good will it do
+me? I don't believe it will make me very happy. I don't know that I long
+for it very much. I don't know why I am working for it, except because
+Herr von Francius has a stronger will than I have, and rather compels me
+to it. Otherwise--
+
+"Well, what should I like? What do I wish for?" At the moment I seemed
+to feel myself free from all prejudice and all influence, and surveying
+with a calm, impartial eye possibilities and prospects, I could not
+discover that there was anything I particularly wished for. Had
+something within me changed during the last night?
+
+I had been so eager before; I felt so apathetic now. I looked across the
+way. I dimly saw Courvoisier snatch up his boy, hold him in the air, and
+then, gathering him to him, cover him with kisses. I smiled. At the
+moment I felt neutral--experienced neither pleasure nor pain from the
+sight. I had loved the man so eagerly and intensely--with such warmth,
+fervor, and humility. It seemed as if now a pause had come (only for a
+time, I knew, but still a pause) in the warm current of delusion, and I
+contemplated facts with a dry, unmoved eye. After all--what was he? A
+man who seemed quite content with his station--not a particularly good
+or noble man that I could see; with some musical talent which he turned
+to account to earn his bread. He had a fine figure, a handsome face, a
+winning smile, plenty of presence of mind, and an excellent opinion of
+himself.
+
+Stay! Let me be fair--he had only asserted his right to be treated as a
+gentleman by one whom he had treated in every respect as a lady. He did
+not want me--nor to know anything about me--else, why could he laugh for
+very glee as his boy's eyes met his? Want me? No! he was rich already.
+What he had was sufficient for him, and no wonder, I thought, with a
+jealous pang.
+
+Who would want to have anything to do with grown-up people, with their
+larger selfishnesses, more developed self-seeking--robust jealousies and
+full-grown exactions and sophistications, when they had a beautiful
+little one like that? A child of one's own--not any child, but that very
+child to love in that ideal way. It was a relation that one scarcely
+sees out of a romance; it was the most beautiful thing I ever saw.
+
+His life was sufficient to him. He did not suffer as I had been
+suffering. Suppose some one were to offer him a better post than that he
+now had. He would be glad, and would take it without a scruple. Perhaps,
+for a little while some casual thought of me might now and then cross
+his mind--but not for long; certainly in no importunate or troublesome
+manner. While I--why was I there, if not for his sake? What, when I
+accepted the proposal of von Francius, had been my chief thought? It
+had been, though all unspoken, scarcely acknowledged--yet a whispered
+force--"I shall not lose sight of him--of Eugen Courvoisier." I was
+rightly punished.
+
+I felt no great pain just now in thinking of this. I saw myself, and
+judged myself, and remembered how Faust had said once, in an immortal
+passage, half to himself, half to Mephisto:
+
+     "Entbehren sollst du; sollst entbehren."
+
+And that read both ways, it comes to the same thing.
+
+     "Entbehren sollst du; sollst entbehren."
+
+It flitted rhythmically through my mind on this dreamful morning, when I
+seemed a stranger to myself; or rather, when I seemed to stand outside
+myself, and contemplate, calmly and judicially, the heart which had of
+late beaten and throbbed with such vivid, and such unreasoning,
+unconnected pangs. It is as painful and as humiliating a description of
+self-vivisection as there is, and one not without its peculiar merits.
+
+The end of my reflections was the same as that which is, I believe,
+often arrived at by the talented class called philosophers, who spend
+much learning and science in going into the questions about whose skirts
+I skimmed; many of them, like me, after summing up, say, _Cui bono?_
+
+So passed the morning, and the gray cloud still hung over my spirits. My
+landlady brought me a slice of _kuchen_ at dinner-time, for Christmas,
+and wished me _guten appetit_ to it, for which I thanked her with
+gravity.
+
+In the afternoon I turned to the piano. After all it was Christmas-day.
+After beginning a bravura singing exercise, I suddenly stopped myself,
+and found myself, before I knew what I was about, singing the "Adeste
+Fidelis"--till I could not sing any more. Something rose in my
+throat--ceasing abruptly, I burst into tears, and cried plentifully over
+the piano keys.
+
+"In tears, Fraeulein May! _Aber_--what does that mean?"
+
+I looked up. Von Francius stood in the door-way, looking not unkindly at
+me, with a bouquet in his hand of Christmas roses and ferns.
+
+"It is only because it is Christmas," said I.
+
+"Are you quite alone?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"So am I."
+
+"You! But you have so many friends."
+
+"Have I? It is true, that if friends count by the number of invitations
+that one has, I have many. Unfortunately I could not make up my mind to
+accept any. As I passed through the flower-market this morning I thought
+of you--naturally. It struck me that perhaps you had no one to come and
+wish you the Merry Christmas and Happy New-year which belongs to you of
+right, so I came, and have the pleasure to wish it you now, with these
+flowers, though truly they are not _Maibluemchen_."
+
+He raised my hand to his lips, and I was quite amazed at the sense of
+strength, healthiness, and new life which his presence brought.
+
+"I am very foolish," I remarked; "I ought to know better. But I am
+unhappy about my sister, and also I have been foolishly thinking of old
+times, when she and I were at home together."
+
+"_Ei!_ That is foolish. Those things--old times and all that--are the
+very deuce for making one miserable. Strauss--he who writes dance
+music--has made a waltz, and called it 'The Good Old times.' _Lieber
+Himmel!_ Fancy waltzing to the memory of old times. A requiem or a
+funeral march would have been intelligible."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Well, you must not sit here and let these old times say what they like
+to you. Will you come out with me?"
+
+"Go out!" I echoed, with an unwilling shrinking from it. My soul
+preferred rather to shut herself up in her case and turn surlily away
+from the light outside. But, as usual, he had his way.
+
+"Yes--out. The two loneliest people in Elberthal will make a little
+zauberfest for themselves. I will show you some pictures. There are some
+new ones at the exhibition. Make haste."
+
+So calm, so matter-of-fact was his manner, so indisputable did he seem
+to think his proposition, that I half rose; then I sat down again.
+
+"I don't want to go out, Herr von Francius."
+
+"That is foolish. Quick! before the daylight fades and it grows too dark
+for the pictures."
+
+Scarcely knowing why I complied, I went to my room and put on my
+things. What a shabby sight I looked! I felt it keenly; so much, that
+when I came back and found him seated at the piano, and playing a
+wonderful in-and-out fugue of immense learning and immense difficulty,
+and quite without pathos or tenderness, I interrupted him incontinently.
+
+"Here I am, Herr von Francius. You have asked the most shabbily dressed
+person in Elberthal to be your companion. I have a mind to make you hold
+to your bargain, whether you like it or not."
+
+Von Francius turned, surveying me from head to foot, with a smile. All
+the pedagogue was put off. It was holiday-time. I was half vexed at
+myself for beginning to feel as if it were holiday-time with me too.
+
+We went out together. The wind was raw and cold, the day dreary, the
+streets not so full as they had been. We went along the street past
+the Tonhalle, and there we met Courvoisier alone. He looked at us,
+but though von Francius raised his hat, he did not notice us. There
+was a pallid change upon his face, a fixed look in his eyes, a strange,
+drawn, subdued expression upon his whole countenance. My heart leaped
+with an answering pang. That mood of the morning had fled. I had
+"found myself again," but again not "happily."
+
+I followed von Francius up the stairs of the picture exhibition. No one
+was in the room. All the world had other occupations on Christmas
+afternoon, or preferred the stove-side and the family circle.
+
+Von Francius showed me a picture which he said every one was talking
+about.
+
+"Why?" I inquired when I had contemplated it, and failed to find it
+lovely.
+
+"The drawing, the grouping, are admirable, as you must see. The art
+displayed is wonderful. I find the picture excellent."
+
+"But the subject?" said I.
+
+It was not a large picture, and represented the interior of an artist's
+atelier. In the foreground a dissipated-looking young man tilted his
+chair backward as he held his gloves in one hand, and with the other
+stroked his mustache, while he contemplated a picture standing on an
+easel before him. The face was hard, worn, _blase_; the features,
+originally good, and even beautiful, had had all the latent loveliness
+worn out of them by a wrong, unbeautiful life. He wore a tall hat, very
+much to one side, as if to accent the fact that the rest of the company,
+upon whom he had turned his back, certainly did not merit that he should
+be at the trouble of baring his head to them. And the rest of the
+company--a girl, a model, seated on a chair upon a raised dais, dressed
+in a long, flounced white skirt, not of the freshest, some kind
+of Oriental wrap falling negligently about it--arms, models of
+shapeliness, folded, and she crouching herself together as if
+wearied, or contemptuous, or perhaps a little chilly. Upon a divan
+near her a man--presumably the artist to whom the establishment
+pertained--stretched at full length, looking up carelessly into
+her face, a pipe in his mouth, with indifference and--scarcely
+impertinence--it did not take the trouble to be a fully developed
+impertinence--in every gesture. This was the picture; faithful to life,
+significant in its very insignificance, before which von Francius sat,
+and declared that the drawing, coloring, and grouping were perfect.[B]
+
+[Footnote B: The original is by Charles Herman, of Brussels.]
+
+"The subject?" he echoed, after a pause. "It is only a scrap of
+artist-life."
+
+"Is that artist-life?" said I, shrugging my shoulders. "I do not like it
+at all; it is common, low, vulgar. There is no romance about it; it only
+reminds one of stale tobacco and flat champagne."
+
+"You are too particular," said von Francius, after a pause, and with a
+flavor of some feeling which I did not quite understand tincturing his
+voice.
+
+For my part, I was looking at the picture and thinking of what
+Courvoisier had said: "Beauty, impudence, assurance, and an admiring
+public." That the girl was beautiful--at least, she had the battered
+remains of a decided beauty; she had impudence certainly, and assurance
+too, and an admiring public, I supposed, which testified its admiration
+by lolling on a couch and staring at her, or keeping its hat on and
+turning its back to her.
+
+"Do you really admire the picture, Herr von Francius?" I inquired.
+
+"Indeed I do. It is so admirably true. That is the kind of life into
+which I was born, and in which I was for a long time brought up; but I
+escaped from it."
+
+I looked at him in astonishment. It seemed so extraordinary that
+that model of reticence should speak to me, above all, about himself.
+It struck me for the very first time that no one ever spoke of von
+Francius as if he had any one belonging to him. Calm, cold, lonely,
+self-sufficing--and self-sufficing, too, because he must be so, because
+he had none other to whom to turn--that was his character, and viewing
+him in that manner I had always judged him. But what might the truth be?
+
+"Were you not happy when you were young?" I asked, on a quick impulse.
+
+"Happy! Who expects to be happy? If I had been simply not miserable, I
+should have counted my childhood a good one; but--"
+
+He paused a moment, then went on:
+
+"Your great novelist, Dickens, had a poor, sordid kind of childhood
+in outward circumstances. But mine was spiritually sordid--hideous,
+repulsive. There are some plants which spring from and flourish in mud
+and slime; they are but a flabby, pestiferous growth, as you may
+suppose. I was, to begin with, a human specimen of that kind; I was in
+an atmosphere of moral mud, an intellectual hot-bed. I don't know what
+there was in me that set me against the life; that I never can tell. It
+was a sort of hell on earth that I was living in. One day something
+happened--I was twelve years old then--something happened, and it seemed
+as if all my nature--its good and its evil, its energies and indolence,
+its pride and humility--all ran together, welded by the furnace of
+passion into one furious, white-hot rage of anger, rebellion. In an
+instant I had decided my course; in an hour I had acted upon it. I am an
+odd kind of fellow, I believe. I quitted that scene and have never
+visited it since. I can not describe to you the anger I then felt, and
+to which I yielded. Twelve years old I was then. I fought hard for
+many years; but, _mein Fraeulein_"--(he looked at me, and paused a
+moment)--"that was the first occasion upon which I ever was really
+angry; it has been the last. I have never felt the sensation of anger
+since--I mean personal anger. Artistic anger I have known; the anger at
+bad work, at false interpretations, at charlatanry in art; but I have
+never been angry with the anger that resents. I tell you this as a
+curiosity of character. With that brief flash all resentment seemed to
+evaporate from me--to exhaust itself in one brief, resolute, effective
+attempt at self-cleansing, self-government."
+
+He paused.
+
+"Tell me more, Herr von Francius," I besought. "Do not leave off there.
+Afterward?"
+
+"You really care to hear? Afterward I lived through hardships in plenty;
+but I had effectually severed the whole connection with that which
+dragged me down. I used all my will to rise. I am not boasting, but
+simply stating a peculiarity of my temperament when I tell you that what
+I determine upon I always accomplish. I determined upon rising, and I
+have risen to what I am. I set it, or something like it, before me as my
+goal, and I have attained it."
+
+"Well?" I asked, with some eagerness; for I, after all my unfulfilled
+strivings, had asked myself _Cui bono?_ "And what is the end of it? Are
+you satisfied?"
+
+"How quickly and how easily you see!" said he, with a smile. "I value
+the position I have, in a certain way--that is, I see the advantage it
+gives me, and the influence. But that deep inner happiness, which lies
+outside of condition and circumstances--that feeling of the poet in
+'Faust'--don't you remember?--
+
+     "'I nothing had, and yet enough'--
+
+all that is unknown to me. For I ask myself, _Cui bono?_"
+
+"Like me," I could not help saying.
+
+He added:
+
+"Fraeulein May, the nearest feeling I have had to happiness has been the
+knowing you. Do you know that you are a person who makes joy?"
+
+"No, indeed I did not."
+
+"It is true, though. I should like, if you do not mind--if you can say
+it truly--to hear from your lips that you look upon me as your friend."
+
+"Indeed, Herr von Francius, I feel you my very best friend, and I would
+not lose your regard for anything," I was able to assure him.
+
+And then, as it was growing dark, the woman from the receipt of custom
+by the door came in and told us that she must close the rooms.
+
+We got up and went out. In the street the lamps were lighted, and the
+people going up and down.
+
+Von Francius left me at the door of my lodgings.
+
+"Good-evening, _liebes Fraeulein_; and thank you for your company this
+afternoon."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A light burned steadily all evening in the sitting-room of my opposite
+neighbors; but the shutters were closed. I only saw a thin stream coming
+through a chink.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII.
+
+ "Es ist bestimmt, in Gottes Rath,
+ Dass man vom Liebsten was man hat
+   Muss scheiden."
+
+
+Our merry little zauberfest of Christmas-eve was over. Christmas morning
+came. I remember that morning well--a gray, neutral kind of day, whose
+monotony outside emphasized the keenness of emotion within.
+
+On that morning the postman came--a rather rare occurrence with us; for,
+except with notes from pupils, notices of proben, or other official
+communications, he seldom troubled us.
+
+It was Sigmund who opened the door; it was he who took the letter, and
+wished the postman "good-morning" in his courteous little way. I dare
+say that the incident gave an additional pang afterward to the father,
+if he marked it, and seldom did the smallest act or movement of his
+child escape him.
+
+"Father, here is a letter," he said, giving it into Eugen's hand.
+
+"Perhaps it is for Friedel; thou art too ready to think that everything
+appertains to thy father," said Eugen, with a smile, as he took the
+letter and looked at it; but before he had finished speaking the smile
+had faded. There remained a whiteness, a blank, a haggardness.
+
+I had caught a glimpse of the letter; it was large, square, massive, and
+there was a seal upon the envelope--a regular letter of fate out of a
+romance.
+
+Eugen took it into his hand, and for once he made no answer to the
+caress of his child, who put his arms round his neck and wanted to climb
+upon his knee. He allowed the action, but passively.
+
+"Let me open it!" cried Sigmund. "Let me open thy letter!"
+
+"No, no, child!" said Eugen, in a sharp, pained tone. "Let it alone."
+
+Sigmund looked surprised, and recoiled a little; a shock clouding his
+eyes. It was all right if his father said no, but a shade presently
+crossed his young face. His father did not usually speak so; did not
+usually have that white and pallid look about the eyes--above all, did
+not look at his son with a look that meant nothing.
+
+Eugen was usually prompt enough in all he did, but he laid aside that
+letter, and proposed in a subdued tone that we should have breakfast.
+Which we had, and still the letter lay unopened. And when breakfast
+was over he even took up his violin and played runs and shakes and
+scales--and the air of a drinking song, which sounded grotesque in
+contrast with the surroundings. This lasted for some time, and yet the
+letter was not opened. It seemed as if he could not open it. I knew that
+it was with a desperate effort that he at last took it up, and--went
+into his room and shut the door.
+
+I was reading--that is, I had a book in my hands, and was stretched out
+in the full luxury of an unexpected holiday upon the couch; but I could
+no more have read under the new influence, could no more have helped
+watching Sigmund, than I could help breathing and feeling.
+
+He, Sigmund, stood still for a moment, looking at the closed door;
+gazing at it as if he expected it to open, and a loved hand to beckon
+him within. But it remained pitilessly shut, and the little boy had to
+accommodate himself as well as he could to a new phase in his mental
+history--the being excluded--left out in the cold. After making an
+impulsive step toward the door he turned, plunged his hands into his
+pockets as if to keep them from attacking the handle of that closed
+door, and walking to the window, gazed out, silent and motionless. I
+watched; I was compelled to watch. He was listening with every faculty,
+every fiber, for the least noise, the faintest movement from the room
+from which he was shut out. I did not dare to speak to him. I was very
+miserable myself; and a sense of coming loss and disaster was driven
+firmly into my mind and fixed there--a heavy prevision of inevitable
+sorrow and pain overhung my mind. I turned to my book and tried to read.
+It was one of the most delightful of romances that I held--no other than
+"Die Kinder der Welt"--and the scene was that in which Edwin and
+Toinette make that delightful, irregular Sunday excursion to the
+Charlottenburg, but I understood none of it. With that pathetic little
+real figure taking up so much of my consciousness, and every moment more
+insistently so, I could think of nothing else.
+
+Dead silence from the room within; utter and entire silence, which
+lasted so long that my misery grew acute, and still that little figure,
+which was now growing terrible to me, neither spoke nor stirred. I do
+not know how long by the clock we remained in these relative positions;
+by my feelings it was a week; by those of Sigmund, I doubt not, a
+hundred years. But he turned at last, and with a face from which all
+trace of color had fled walked slowly toward the closed door.
+
+"Sigmund!" I cried, in a loud whisper. "Come here, my child! Stay here,
+with me."
+
+"I must go in," said he. He did not knock. He opened the door softly,
+and went in, closing it after him. I know not what passed. There was
+silence as deep as before, after one short, inarticulate murmur. There
+are some moments in this our life which are at once sacrificial,
+sacramental, and strong with the virtue of absolution for sins past;
+moments which are a crucible from which a stained soul may come out
+white again. Such were these--I know it now--in which father and son
+were alone together.
+
+After a short silence, during which my book hung unheeded from my hand,
+I left the house, out of a sort of respect for my two friends. I had
+nothing particular to do, and so strolled aimlessly about, first into
+the Hofgarten, where I watched the Rhine, and looked Hollandward along
+its low, flat shores, to where there was a bend, and beyond the bend,
+Kaiserswerth. It is now long since I saw the river. Fair are his banks
+higher up--not at Elberthal would he have struck the stranger as being a
+stream for which to fight and die; but to me there is no part of his
+banks so lovely as the poor old Schoene Aussicht in the Elberthal
+Hofgarten, from whence I have watched the sun set flaming over the broad
+water, and felt my heart beat to the sense of precious possessions in
+the homely town behind. Then I strolled through the town, and coming
+down the Koenigsallee, beheld some bustle in front of a large,
+imposing-looking house, which had long been shut up and uninhabited. It
+had been a venture by a too shortly successful banker. He had built the
+house, lived in it three months, and finding himself bankrupt, had one
+morning disposed of himself by cutting his throat. Since then the house
+had been closed, and had had an ill name, though it was the handsomest
+building in the most fashionable part of the town, with a grand
+_porte-cochere_ in front, and a pleasant, enticing kind of bowery garden
+behind--the house faced the Exerzierplatz, and was on the promenade of
+Elberthal. A fine chestnut avenue made the street into a pleasant wood,
+and yet Koenigsallee No. 3 always looked deserted and depressing. I
+paused to watch the workmen who were throwing open the shutters and
+uncovering the furniture. There were some women-servants busy with brush
+and duster in the hall, and a splendid barouche was being pushed through
+the _porte-cochere_ into the back premises; a couple of trim-looking
+English grooms with four horses followed.
+
+"Is some one coming to live here?" I demanded of a workman, who made
+answer:
+
+"_Ja wohl!_ A rich English milord has taken the house furnished for six
+months--Sir Le Marchant, _oder so etwas_. I do not know the name quite
+correctly. He comes in a few days."
+
+"So!" said I, wondering what attraction Elberthal could offer to a
+rich English sir or milord, and feeling at the same time a mild
+glow of curiosity as to him and his circumstances, for I humbly confess
+it--I had never seen an authentic milord. Elberthal and Koeln were
+almost the extent of my travels, and I only remembered that at the
+Niederrheinisches Musikfest last year some one had pointed out to me a
+decrepit-looking old gentleman, with a bottle-nose and a meaningless
+eye, as a milord--very, very rich, and exceedingly good. I had sorrowed
+a little at the time in thinking that he did not personally better grace
+his circumstances and character, but until this moment I had never
+thought of him again.
+
+"That is his secretary," pursued the workman to me, in an under-tone, as
+he pointed out a young man who was standing in the middle of the hall,
+note-book in hand. "Herr Arkwright. He is looking after us."
+
+"When does the _Englaender_ come?"
+
+"In a few days, with his servants and milady, and milady's maid and dogs
+and bags and everything. And she--milady--is to have those rooms"--he
+pointed overhead, and grinned--"those where Banquier Klein was found
+with his throat cut. _He!_"
+
+He laughed, and began to sing lustily, "In Berlin, sagt' er."
+
+After giving one more short survey to the house, and wondering why the
+apartments of a suicide should be assigned to a young and beautiful
+woman (for I instinctively judged her to be young and beautiful), I went
+on my way, and my thoughts soon returned to Eugen and Sigmund, and that
+trouble which I felt was hanging inevitably over us.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Eugen was, that evening, in a mood of utter, cool aloofness. His trouble
+did not appear to be one that he could confide--at present, at least. He
+took up his violin and discoursed most eloquent music, in the dark, to
+which music Sigmund and I listened. Sigmund sat upon my knee, and Eugen
+went on playing--improvising, or rather speaking the thoughts which were
+uppermost in his heart. It was wild, strange, melancholy, sometimes
+sweet, but ever with a ringing note of woe so piercing as to stab,
+recurring perpetually--such a note as comes throbbing to life now and
+then in the "Sonate Pathetique," or in Raff's Fifth Symphony.
+
+Eugen always went to Sigmund after he had gone to bed, and talked to him
+or listened to him. I do not know if he taught him something like a
+prayer at such times, or spoke to him of supernatural things, or upon
+what they discoursed. I only know that it was an interchange of soul,
+and that usually he came away from it looking glad. But to-night, after
+remaining longer than usual, he returned with a face more haggard than I
+had seen it yet.
+
+He sat down opposite me at the table, and there was silence, with an
+ever-deepening, sympathetic pain on my part. At last I raised my eyes to
+his face; one elbow rested upon the table, and his head leaned upon his
+hand. The lamp-light fell full upon his face, and there was that in it
+which would let me be silent no longer, any more than one could see a
+comrade bleeding to death, and not try to stanch the wound. I stepped up
+to him and laid my hand upon his shoulder. He looked up drearily,
+unrecognizingly, unsmilingly at me.
+
+"Eugen, what hast thou?"
+
+"_La mort dans l'ame_," he answered, quoting from a poem which we had
+both been reading.
+
+"And what has caused it?"
+
+"Must you know, friend?" he asked. "If I did not need to tell it, I
+should be very glad."
+
+"I must know it, or--or leave you to it!" said I, choking back some
+emotion. "I can not pass another day like this."
+
+"And I had no right to let you spend such a day as this," he answered.
+"Forgive me once again, Friedel--you who have forgiven so much and so
+often."
+
+"Well," said I, "let us have the worst, Eugen. It is something about--"
+
+I glanced toward the door, on the other side of which Sigmund was
+sleeping.
+
+His face became set, as if of stone. One word, and one alone, after a
+short pause, passed his lips--"_Ja!_"
+
+I breathed again. It was so then.
+
+"I told you, Friedel, that I should have to leave him?"
+
+The words dropped out one by one from his lips, distinct, short, steady.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"That was bad, very bad. The worst, I thought, that could befall; but it
+seems that my imagination was limited."
+
+"Eugen, what is it?"
+
+"I shall not have to leave him. I shall have to send him away from me."
+
+As if with the utterance of the words, the very core and fiber of
+resolution melted away and vanished, and the broken spirit turned
+writhing and shuddering from the phantom that extended its arms for the
+sacrifice, he flung his arms upon the table; his shoulders heaved. I
+heard two suppressed, choked-down sobs--the sobs of a strong man--strong
+alike in body and mind; strongest of all in the heart and spirit and
+purpose to love and cherish.
+
+"_La mort dans l'ame_," indeed! He could have chosen no fitter
+expression.
+
+"Send him away!" I echoed, beneath my breath.
+
+"Send my child away from me--as if I--did not--want him," said
+Courvoisier, slowly, and in a voice made low and halting with anguish,
+as he lifted his gaze, dim with the desperate pain of coming parting,
+and looked me in the face.
+
+I had begun in an aimless manner to pace the room, my heart on fire,
+my brain reaching wildly after some escape from the fetters of
+circumstance, invisible but iron strong, relentless as cramps and
+glaives of tempered steel. I knew no reason, of course. I knew no
+outward circumstances of my friend's life or destiny. I did not wish to
+learn any. I did know that since he said it was so it must be so.
+Sigmund must be sent away! He--we--must be left alone; two poor men,
+with the brightness gone from our lives.
+
+The scene does not let me rightly describe it. It was an anguish allied
+in its intensity to that of Gethsemane. Let me relate it as briefly as I
+can.
+
+I made no spoken assurance of sympathy. I winced almost at the idea of
+speaking to him. I knew then that we may contemplate, or believe we
+contemplate, some coming catastrophe for years, believing that so the
+suffering, when it finally falls, will be lessened. This is a delusion.
+Let the blow rather come short, sharp, and without forewarning;
+preparation heightens the agony.
+
+"Friedel," said he at last, "you do not ask why must this be."
+
+"I do not need to ask why. I know that it must be, or you would not do
+it."
+
+"I would tell you if I could--if I might."
+
+"For Heaven's sake, don't suppose that I wish to pry--" I began. He
+interrupted me.
+
+"You will make me laugh in spite of myself," said he. "You wish to pry!
+Now, let me see how much more I can tell you. You perhaps think it
+wrong, in an abstract light, for a father to send his young son away
+from him. That is because you do not know what I do. If you did, you
+would say, as I do, that it must be so--I never saw it till now. That
+letter was a revelation. It is now all as clear as sunshine."
+
+I assented.
+
+"Then you consent to take my word that it must be so, without more."
+
+"Indeed, Eugen, I wish for no more."
+
+He looked at me. "If I were to tell you," said he, suddenly, and an
+impulsive light beamed in his eyes. A look of relief--it was nothing
+else--of hope, crossed his face. Then he sunk again into his former
+attitude--as if tired and wearied with some hard battle; exhausted, or
+what we more expressively call _niedergeschlagen_.
+
+"Now something more," he went on; and I saw the frown of desperation
+that gathered upon his brow. He went on quickly, as if otherwise he
+could not say what had to be said: "When he goes from me, he goes to
+learn to become a stranger to me. I promise not to see him, nor write to
+him, nor in any way communicate with him, or influence him. We
+part--utterly and entirely."
+
+"Eugen! Impossible! _Herrgott!_ Impossible!" cried I, coming to a stop,
+and looking incredulously at him. That I did not believe. "Impossible!"
+I repeated, beneath my breath.
+
+"By faith men can move mountains," he retorted.
+
+This, then, was the flavoring which made the cup so intolerable.
+
+"You say that that is and must be wrong under all circumstances," said
+Eugen, eying me steadily.
+
+I paused. I could almost have found it in my heart to say, "Yes, I do."
+But my faith in and love for this man had grown with me; as a daily
+prayer grows part of one's thoughts, so was my confidence in him part of
+my mind. He looked as if he were appealing to me to say that it must be
+wrong, and so give him some excuse to push it aside. But I could not.
+After wavering for a moment, I answered:
+
+"No. I am sure you have sufficient reasons."
+
+"I have. God knows I have."
+
+In the silence that ensued my mind was busy. Eugen Courvoisier was not a
+religious man, as the popular meaning of religious runs. He did not say
+of his misfortune, "It is God's will," nor did he add, "and therefore
+sweet to me." He said nothing of whose will it was; but I felt that had
+that cause been a living thing--had it been a man, for instance, he
+would have gripped it and fastened to it until it lay dead and impotent,
+and he could set his heel upon it.
+
+But it was no strong, living, tangible thing. It was a breathless
+abstraction--a something existing in the minds of men, and which they
+call "Right!" and being that--not an outside law which an officer of
+the law could enforce upon him; being that abstraction, he obeyed it.
+
+As for saying that because it was right he liked it, or felt any
+consolation from the knowledge--he never once pretended to any such
+thing; but, true to his character of Child of the World, hated it with
+a hatred as strong as his love for the creature which it deprived him
+of. Only--he did it. He is not alone in such circumstances. Others have
+obeyed and will again obey this invisible law in circumstances as
+anguishing as those in which he stood, will steel their hearts to
+hardness while every fiber cries out, "Relent!" or will, like him,
+writhe under the lash, shake their chained hands at Heaven, and--submit.
+
+"One more question, Eugen. When?"
+
+"Soon."
+
+"A year would seem soon to any of us three."
+
+"In a very short time. It may be in weeks; it may be in days. Now,
+Friedhelm, have a little pity and don't probe any further."
+
+But I had no need to ask any more questions. The dreary evening passed
+somehow over, and bed-time came, and the morrow dawned.
+
+For us three it brought the knowledge that for an indefinite time
+retrospective happiness must play the part of sun on our mental horizon.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV.
+
+"My Lady's Glory."
+
+
+"Koenigsallee, No. 3," wrote Adelaide to me, "is the house which has been
+taken for us. We shall be there on Tuesday evening."
+
+I accepted this communication in my own sense, and did not go to meet
+Adelaide, nor visit her that evening, but wrote a card, saying I would
+come on the following morning. I had seen the house which had been taken
+for Sir Peter and Lady Le Marchant--a large, gloomy-looking house, with
+a tragedy attached to it, which had stood empty ever since I had come to
+Elberthal.
+
+Up to the fashionable Koenigsallee, under the naked chestnut avenue, and
+past the great long Caserne and Exerzierplatz--a way on which I did not
+as a rule intrude my ancient and poverty-stricken garments, I went on
+the morning after Adelaide's arrival. Lady Le Marchant had not yet left
+her room, but if I were Miss Wedderburn I was to be taken to her
+immediately. Then I was taken upstairs, and had time to remark upon the
+contrast between my sister's surroundings and my own, before I was
+delivered over to a lady's-maid--French in nationality--who opened a
+door and announced me as Mlle. Veddairebairne. I had a rapid, dim
+impression that it was quite the chamber of a _grande dame_, in the
+midst of which stood my lady herself, having slowly risen as I came in.
+
+"At last you have condescended to come," said the old proud, curt voice.
+
+"How are you, Adelaide?" said I, originally, feeling that any display of
+emotion would be unwelcome and inappropriate, and moreover, feeling any
+desire to indulge in the same suddenly evaporate.
+
+She took my hand loosely, gave me a little chilly kiss on the cheek, and
+then held me off at arms'-length to look at me.
+
+I did not speak. I could think of nothing agreeable to say. The only
+words that rose to my lips were, "How very ill you look!" and I wisely
+concluded not to say them. She was very beautiful, and looked prouder
+and more imperious than ever. But she was changed. I could not tell what
+it was. I could find no name for the subtle alteration; ere long I knew
+only too well what it was. Then, I only knew that she was different from
+what she had been, and different in a way that aroused tenfold all my
+vague forebodings.
+
+She was wasted too--had gone, for her, quite thin; and the repressed
+restlessness of her eyes made a disagreeable impression upon me. Was she
+perhaps wasted with passion and wicked thoughts? She looked as if it
+would not have taken much to bring the smoldering fire into a blaze of
+full fury--as if fire and not blood ran in her veins.
+
+She was in a loose silk dressing-gown, which fell in long folds about
+her stately figure. Her thick black hair was twisted into a knot about
+her head. She was surrounded on all sides with rich and costly things.
+All the old severe simplicity of style had vanished--it seemed as if she
+had gratified every passing fantastic wish or whim of her restless,
+reckless spirit, and the result was a curious medley of the ugly,
+grotesque, ludicrous and beautiful--a feverish dream of Cleopatra-like
+luxury, in the midst of which she stood, as beautiful and sinuous as a
+serpent, and looking as if she could be, upon occasion, as poisonous as
+the same.
+
+She looked me over from head to foot with piercing eyes, and then said
+half scornfully, half enviously:
+
+"How well a stagnant life seems to suit some people! Now you--you are
+immensely improved--unspeakably improved. You have grown into a pretty
+woman--more than a pretty woman. I shouldn't have thought a few months
+could make such an alteration in any one."
+
+Her words struck me as a kind of satire upon herself.
+
+"I might say the same to you," said I, constrainedly. "I think you are
+very much altered."
+
+Indeed I felt strangely ill at ease with the beautiful creature who, I
+kept trying to convince myself, was my sister Adelaide, but who seemed
+further apart from me than ever. But the old sense of fascination which
+she had been wont to exercise over me returned again in all or in more
+than its primitive strength.
+
+"I want to talk to you," said she, forcing me into a deep easy-chair. "I
+have millions of things to ask you. Take off your hat and mantle. You
+must stay all day. Heavens! how shabby you are! I never saw anything so
+worn out--and yet your dress suits you, and you look nice in it." (She
+sighed deeply.) "Nothing suits me now. Formerly I looked well in
+everything. I should have looked well in rags, and people would have
+turned to look after me. Now, whatever I put on makes me look hideous."
+
+"Nonsense!"
+
+"It does--And I am glad of it," she added, closing her lips as if she
+closed in some bitter joy.
+
+"I wish you would tell me why you have come here," I inquired,
+innocently. "I was so astonished. It was the last place I should have
+thought of your coming to."
+
+"Naturally. But you see Sir Peter adores me so that he hastens to
+gratify my smallest wish. I expressed a desire one day to see you, and
+two days afterward we were _en route_. He said I should have my wish.
+Sisterly love was a beautiful thing, and he felt it his duty to
+encourage it."
+
+I looked at her, and could not decide whether she were in jest or
+earnest. If she were in jest, it was but a sorry kind of joke--if in
+earnest, she chose a disagreeably flippant manner of expressing herself.
+
+"Sir Peter has great faith in annoying and thwarting me," she went on.
+"He has been looking better and more cheerful ever since we left Rome."
+
+"But Adelaide--if you wished to leave Rome--"
+
+"But I did not wish to leave Rome. I wished to stay--so we came away,
+you know."
+
+The suppressed rage and hatred in her tone made me feel uncomfortable. I
+avoided speaking, but I could not altogether avoid looking at her. Our
+eyes met, and Adelaide burst into a peal of harsh laughter.
+
+"Oh, your face, May! It is a study! I had a particular objection to
+coming to Elberthal, therefore Sir Peter instantly experienced a
+particular desire to come. When you are married you will understand
+these things. I was almost enjoying myself in Rome; I suppose Sir
+Peter was afraid that familiarity might bring dislike, or that if we
+stayed too long I might feel it dull. This is a gay, lively place, I
+believe--we came here, and for aught I know we are going to stay here."
+
+She laughed again, and I sat aghast. I had been miserable about
+Adelaide's marriage, but I had very greatly trusted in what she had
+prognosticated about being able to do what she liked with him. I began
+now to think that there must have been some miscalculation--that she
+had mistaken the metal and found it not quite so ductile as she had
+expected. I knew enough of her to be aware that I was probably the first
+person to whom she had spoken in such a manner, and that not even to me
+would she have so spoken unless some strong feeling had prompted her to
+it. This made me still more uneasy. She held so fast by the fine polish
+of the outside of the cup and platter. Very likely the world in general
+supposed that she and Sir Peter were a model couple.
+
+"I am glad you are here," she pursued. "It is a relief to have some one
+else than Arkwright to speak to."
+
+"Who is Arkwright?"
+
+"Sir Peter's secretary--a very good sort of boy. He knows all about our
+domestic bliss and other concerns--because he can't help. Sir Peter
+tells him--"
+
+A hand on the door-handle outside. A pause ere the persons came in, for
+Sir Peter's voice was audible, giving directions to some one, probably
+the secretary of whom Adelaide had spoken. She started violently; the
+color fled from her face; pale dismay painted itself for a moment upon
+her lips, but only for a moment. In the next she was outwardly herself
+again. But the hand trembled which passed her handkerchief over her
+lips.
+
+The door was fully opened, and Sir Peter came in.
+
+Yes; that was the same face, the same pent-house of ragged eyebrow over
+the cold and snaky eye beneath, the same wolfish mouth and permanent
+hungry smile. But he looked better, stouter, stronger; more cheerful. It
+seemed as if my lady's society had done him a world of good, and acted
+as a kind of elixir of life.
+
+I observed Adelaide. As he came in her eyes dropped; her hand closed
+tightly over the handkerchief she held, crushing it together in her
+grasp; she held her breath; then, recovered, she faced him.
+
+"Heyday! Whom have we here?" he asked, in a voice which time and a
+residence in hearing of the language of music had not mollified. "Whom
+have we here? Your dress-maker, my lady? Have you had to send for a
+dress-maker already? Ha! what? Your sister? Impossible! Miss May,
+I am delighted to see you again! Are you very well? You look a
+little--a--shabby, one might almost say, my dear--a little seedy, hey?"
+
+I had no answer ready for this winning greeting.
+
+"Rather like my lady before she was my lady," he continued, pleasantly,
+as his eyes roved over the room, over its furniture, over us.
+
+There was power--a horrible kind of strength and vitality in that
+figure--a crushing impression of his potency to make one miserable,
+conveyed in the strong, rasping voice. Quite a different Sir Peter
+from my erstwhile wooer. He was a masculine, strong, planning creature,
+whose force of will was able to crush that of my sister as easily as
+her forefinger might crush a troublesome midge. He was not blind or
+driveling; he could reason, plot, argue, concoct a systematic plan for
+revenge, and work it out fully and in detail; he was able at once to
+grasp the broadest bearing and the minute details of a position, and to
+act upon their intimations with crushing accuracy. He was calm, decided,
+keen, and all in a certain small, bounded, positive way which made him
+all the more efficient as a ruling factor in this social sphere, where
+small, bounded, positive strength, without keen sympathies save in the
+one direction--self--and without idea of generosity, save with regard to
+its own merits, pays better than a higher kind of strength--better than
+the strength of Joan of Arc, or St. Stephen, or Christ.
+
+This was the real Sir Peter, and before the revelation I stood aghast.
+And that look in Adelaide's eyes, that tone in her voice, that
+restrained spring in her movements, would have been rebellion,
+revolution, but in the act of breaking forth it became--fear. She had
+been outwitted, most thoroughly and completely. She had got a jailer and
+a prison. She feared the former, and every tradition of her life bade
+her remain in the latter.
+
+Sir Peter, pleasantly exhilarated by my confusion and my lady's sullen
+silence, proceeded with an agreeable smile:
+
+"Are you never coming down-stairs, madame? I have been deprived long
+enough of the delights of your society. Come down! I want you to read to
+me."
+
+"I am engaged, as you may see," she answered in a low voice of
+opposition.
+
+"Then the engagement must be deferred. There is a great deal of reading
+to do. There is the 'Times' for a week."
+
+"I hate the 'Times,' and I don't understand it."
+
+"So much the more reason why you should learn to do so. In half an
+hour," said Sir Peter, consulting his watch, "I shall be ready, or say
+in quarter of an hour."
+
+"Absurd! I can not be ready in quarter of an hour. Where is Mr.
+Arkwright?"
+
+"What is Mr. Arkwright to you, my dear? You may be sure that Mr.
+Arkwright's time is not being wasted. If his mamma knew what he was
+doing she would be quite satisfied--oh, quite. In quarter of an hour."
+
+He was leaving the room, but paused at the door, with a suspicious look.
+
+"Miss May, it is a pity for you to go away. It will do you good to see
+your sister, I am sure. Pray spend the day with us. Now, my lady, waste
+no more time."
+
+With that he finally departed. Adelaide's face was white, but she did
+not address me. She rang for her maid.
+
+"Dress my hair, Toinette, and do it as quickly as possible. Is my dress
+ready?" was all she said.
+
+"_Mais oui, madame._"
+
+"Quick!" she repeated. "You have only quarter of an hour."
+
+Despite the suppressed cries, expostulations, and announcements that it
+was impossible, Adelaide was dressed in quarter of an hour.
+
+"You will stay, May?" said she; and I knew it was only the presence of
+Toinette which restrained her from urgently imploring me to stay.
+
+I remained, though not all day; only until it was time to go and have my
+lesson from von Francius. During my stay, however, I had ample
+opportunity to observe how things were.
+
+Sir Peter appeared to have lighted upon a congenial occupation somewhat
+late in life, or perhaps previous practice had made him an adept in it.
+His time was fully occupied in carrying out a series of experiments upon
+his wife's pride, with a view to humble and bring it to the ground. If
+he did not fully succeed in that, he succeeded in making her hate him as
+scarcely ever was man hated before.
+
+They had now been married some two or three months, and had forsworn all
+semblance of a pretense at unity or concord. She thwarted him as much as
+she could, and defied him as far as she dared. He played round and round
+his victim, springing upon her at last, with some look, or word, or
+hint, or smile, which meant something--I know not what--that cowed her.
+
+Oh, it was a pleasant household!--a cheerful, amiable scene of connubial
+love, in which this fair woman of two-and-twenty found herself, with
+every prospect of its continuing for an indefinite number of years; for
+the Le Marchants were a long-lived family, and Sir Peter ailed nothing.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV.
+
+ "Wenn Menschen aus einander gehen,
+ So sagen sie, Auf Wiedersehen!
+   Auf Wiedersehen!"
+
+
+Eugen had said, "Very soon--it may be weeks, it may be days," and had
+begged me not to inquire further into the matter. Seeing his anguish, I
+had refrained; but when two or three days had passed, and nothing was
+done or said, I began to hope that the parting might not be deferred
+even a few weeks; for I believe the father suffered, and with him the
+child, enough each day to wipe out years of transgression.
+
+It was impossible to hide from Sigmund that some great grief threatened,
+or had already descended upon his father, and therefore upon him. The
+child's sympathy with the man's nature, with every mood and feeling--I
+had almost said his intuitive understanding of his father's very
+thoughts, was too keen and intense to be hoodwinked or turned aside. He
+did not behave like other children, of course--_versteht sich_, as Eugen
+said to me with a dreary smile. He did not hang about his father's neck,
+imploring to hear what was the matter; he did not weep or wail, or make
+complaints. After that first moment of uncontrollable pain and anxiety,
+when he had gone into the room whose door was closed upon him, and
+in which Eugen had not told him all that was coming, he displayed
+no violent emotion; but he did what was to Eugen and me much more
+heart-breaking--brooded silently; grew every day wanner and thinner, and
+spent long intervals in watching his father, with eyes which nothing
+could divert and nothing deceive. If Eugen tried to be cheerful, to put
+on a little gayety of demeanor which he did not feel in his heart,
+Sigmund made no answer to it, but continued to look with the same
+solemn, large and mournful gaze.
+
+His father's grief was eating into his own young heart. He asked not
+what it was; but both Eugen and I knew that in time, if it went on
+long enough, he would die of it. The picture, "Innocence Dying of
+Blood-stain," which Hawthorne has suggested to us, may have its
+prototypes and counterparts in unsuspected places. Here was one. Nor did
+Sigmund, as some others, children both of larger and smaller growth,
+might have done, turn to me and ask me to tell him the meaning of the
+sad change which had crept silently and darkly into our lives. He
+outspartaned the Spartan in many ways. His father had not chosen to tell
+him; he would die rather than ask the meaning of the silence.
+
+One night--when some three days had passed since the letter had come--as
+Eugen and I sat alone, it struck me that I heard a weary turning over in
+the little bed in the next room, and a stifled sob coming distinctly to
+my ears. I lifted my head. Eugen had heard too; he was looking, with an
+expression of pain and indecision, toward the door. With a vast
+effort--the greatest my regard for him had yet made--I took it upon
+myself, laid my hand on his arm, and coercing him again into the chair
+from which he had half risen, whispered:
+
+"I will tell him. You can not. _Nicht wahr?_"
+
+A look was the only, but a very sufficient answer.
+
+I went into the inner room and closed the door. A dim whiteness of
+moonlight struggled through the shutters, and very, very faintly showed
+me the outline of the child who was dear to me. Stooping down beside
+him, I asked if he were awake.
+
+"_Ja, ich wache_," he replied, in a patient, resigned kind of small
+voice.
+
+"Why dost thou not sleep, Sigmund? Art thou not well?"
+
+"No, I am not well," he answered; but with an expression of double
+meaning. "_Mir ist's nicht wohl._"
+
+"What ails thee?"
+
+"If you know what ails him, you know what ails me."
+
+"Do you not know yourself?" I asked.
+
+"No," said Sigmund, with a short sob. "He says he can not tell me."
+
+I slipped upon my knees beside the little bed, and paused a moment. I am
+not ashamed to say that I prayed to something which in my mind existed
+outside all earthly things--perhaps to the "Freude" which Schiller sung
+and Beethoven composed to--for help in the hardest task of my life.
+
+"Can not tell me." No wonder he could not tell that soft-eyed,
+clinging warmth; that subtle mixture of fire and softness, spirit and
+gentleness--that spirit which in the years of trouble they had passed
+together had grown part of his very nature--that they must part! No
+wonder that the father, upon whom the child built his every idea of what
+was great and good, beautiful, right and true in every shape and form,
+could not say, "You shall not stay with me; you shall be thrust forth to
+strangers; and, moreover, I will not see you nor speak to you, nor shall
+you hear my name; and this I will do without telling you why"--that he
+could not say this--what had the man been who could have said it?
+
+As I knelt in the darkness by Sigmund's little bed, and felt his pillow
+wet with his silent tears, and his hot cheek touching my hand, I knew it
+all. I believe I felt for once as a man who has begotten a child and
+must hurt it, repulse it, part from it, feels.
+
+"No, my child, he can not tell thee, because he loves thee so dearly,"
+said I. "But I can tell thee; I have his leave to tell thee, Sigmund."
+
+"Friedel?"
+
+"Thou art a very little boy, but thou art not like other boys; thy
+father is not just like other fathers."
+
+"I know it."
+
+"He is very sad."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And his life which he has to live will be a sad one."
+
+The child began to weep again. I had to pause. How was I to open my lips
+to instruct this baby upon the fearful, profound abyss of a subject--the
+evil and the sorrow that are in the world--how, how force those little
+tender, bare feet, from the soft grass on to the rough up-hill path all
+strewed with stones, and all rugged with ups and downs? It was horribly
+cruel.
+
+"Life is very sad sometimes, _mein_ Sigmund."
+
+"Is it?"
+
+"Yes. Some people, too, are much sadder than others. I think thy father
+is one of those people. Perhaps thou art to be another."
+
+"What my father is I will be," said he, softly; and I thought that it
+was another and a holier version of Eugen's words to me, wrung out of
+the inner bitterness of his heart. "The sins of the fathers shall be
+visited upon the children, even unto the third and fourth generation,
+whether they deserve it or not." The child, who knew nothing of the
+ancient saying, merely said with love and satisfaction swelling his
+voice to fullness, "What my father is, I will be."
+
+"Couldst thou give up something very dear for his sake?"
+
+"What a queer question!" said Sigmund. "I want nothing when I am with
+him."
+
+"_Ei! mein kind!_ Thou dost not know what I mean. What is the greatest
+joy of thy life? To be near thy father and see him, hear his voice, and
+touch him, and feel him near thee; _nicht?_"
+
+"Yes," said he, in a scarcely audible whisper.
+
+There was a pause, during which I was racking my brains to think of some
+way of introducing the rest without shocking him too much, when suddenly
+he said, in a clear, low voice:
+
+"That is it. He would never let me leave him, and he would never leave
+me."
+
+Silence again for a few moments, which seemed to deepen some sneaking
+shadow in the boy's mind, for he repeated through clinched teeth, and in
+a voice which fought hard against conviction, "Never, never, never!"
+
+"Sigmund--never of his own will. But remember what I said, that he is
+sad, and there is something in his life which makes him not only unable
+to do what he likes, but obliged to do exactly what he does not
+like--what he most hates and fears--to--to part from thee."
+
+"_Nein, nein, nein!_" said he. "Who can make him do anything he does not
+wish? Who can take me away from him?"
+
+"I do not know. I only know that it must be so. There is no escaping
+from it, and no getting out of it. It is horrible, but it is so.
+Sometimes, Sigmund, there are things in the world like this."
+
+"The world must be a very cruel place," he said, as if first struck with
+that fact.
+
+"Now dost thou understand, Sigmund, why he did not speak? Couldst thou
+have told him such a thing?"
+
+"Where is he?"
+
+"There, in the next room, and very sad for thee."
+
+Sigmund, before I knew what he was thinking of, was out of bed and had
+opened the door. I saw that Eugen looked up, saw the child standing in
+the door-way, sprung up, and Sigmund bounded to meet him. A cry as of a
+great terror came from the child. Self-restraint, so long maintained,
+broke down; he cried in a loud, frightened voice:
+
+"_Mein Vater_, Friedel says I must leave thee!" and burst into a storm
+of sobs and crying such as I had never before known him yield to. Eugen
+folded him in his arms, laid his head upon his breast, and clasping him
+very closely to him, paced about the room with him in silence, until the
+first fit of grief was over. I, from the dark room, watched them in a
+kind of languor, for I was weary, as though I had gone through some
+physical struggle.
+
+They passed to and fro like some moving dream. Bit by bit the child
+learned from his father's lips the pitiless truth, down to the last
+bitter drop; that the parting was to be complete, and they were not to
+see each other.
+
+"But never, never?" asked Sigmund, in a voice of terror and pain
+mingled.
+
+"When thou art a man that will depend upon thyself," said Eugen. "Thou
+wilt have to choose."
+
+"Choose what?"
+
+"Whether thou wilt see me again."
+
+"When I am a man may I choose?" he asked, raising his head with sudden
+animation.
+
+"Yes; I shall see to that."
+
+"Oh, very well. I have chosen now," said Sigmund, and the thought gave
+him visible joy and relief.
+
+Eugen kissed him passionately. Blessed ignorance of the hardening
+influences of the coming years! Blessed tenderness of heart
+and singleness of affection which could see no possibility that
+circumstances might make the acquaintance of a now loved and adored
+superior being appear undesirable! And blessed sanguineness of five
+years old, which could bridge the gulf between then and manhood, and
+cry, _Auf wiedersehen!_
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+During the next few days more letters were exchanged. Eugen received one
+which he answered. Part of the answer he showed to me, and it ran thus:
+
+"I consent to this, but only upon one condition, which is that when my
+son is eighteen years old, you tell him all, and give him his choice
+whether he see me again or not. My word is given not to interfere in the
+matter, and I can trust yours when you promise that it shall be as I
+stipulate. I want your answer upon this point, which is very simple, and
+the single condition I make. It is, however, one which I can not and
+will not waive."
+
+"Thirteen years, Eugen," said I.
+
+"Yes; in thirteen years I shall be forty-three."
+
+"You will let me know what the answer to that is," I went on.
+
+He nodded. By return of post the answer came.
+
+"It is 'yes,'" said he, and paused. "The day after to-morrow he is to
+go."
+
+"Not alone, surely?"
+
+"No; some one will come for him."
+
+I heard some of the instructions he gave his boy.
+
+"There is one man where you are going, whom I wish you to obey as you
+would me, Sigmund," he told him.
+
+"Is he like thee?"
+
+"No; much better and wiser than I am. But, remember, he never commands
+twice. Thou must not question and delay as thou dost with thy
+weak-minded old father. He is the master in the place thou art going
+to."
+
+"Is it far from here?"
+
+"Not exceedingly far."
+
+"Hast thou been there?"
+
+"Oh, yes," said Eugen, in a peculiar tone, "often."
+
+"What must I call this man?" inquired Sigmund.
+
+"He will tell thee that. Do thou obey him and endeavor to do what he
+wishes, and so thou mayst know thou art best pleasing me."
+
+"And when I am a man I can choose to see thee again. But where wilt thou
+be?"
+
+"When the time comes thou wilt soon find me if it is necessary--And
+thy music," pursued Eugen. "Remember that in all troubles that may come
+to thee, and whatever thou mayst pass through, there is one great,
+beautiful goddess who abides above the troubles of men, and is often
+most beautiful in the hearts that are most troubled. Remember--whom?"
+
+"Beethoven," was the prompt reply.
+
+"Just so. And hold fast to the service of the goddess Music, the most
+beautiful thing in the world."
+
+"And thou art a musician," said Sigmund, with a little laugh, as if it
+"understood itself" that his father should naturally be a priest of "the
+most beautiful thing in the world."
+
+I hurry over that short time before the parting came. Eugen said to me:
+
+"They are sending for him--an old servant. I am not afraid to trust him
+with him."
+
+And one morning he came--the old servant. Sigmund happened at the moment
+not to be in the sitting-room; Eugen and I were. There was a knock, and
+in answer to our _Herein!_ there entered an elderly man of soldierly
+appearance, with a grizzled mustache, and stiff, military bearing; he
+was dressed in a very plain, but very handsome livery, and on entering
+the room and seeing Eugen, he paused just within the door, and saluted
+with a look of deep respect; nor did he attempt to advance further.
+Eugen had turned very pale.
+
+It struck me that he might have something to say to this messenger of
+fate, and with some words to that effect I rose to leave them together.
+Eugen laid his hand upon my arm.
+
+"Sit still, Friedhelm." And turning to the man, he added: "How were all
+when you left, Heinrich?"
+
+"Well, Herr Gr--"
+
+"Courvoisier."
+
+"All were well, _mein Herr_."
+
+"Wait a short time," said he.
+
+A silent inclination on the part of the man. Eugen went into the inner
+room where Sigmund was, and closed the door. There was silence. How long
+did it endure? What was passing there? What throes of parting? What
+grief not to be spoken or described?
+
+Meanwhile the elderly man-servant remained in his sentinel attitude, and
+with fixed expressionless countenance, within the door-way. Was the time
+long to him, or short?
+
+At last the door opened, and Sigmund came out alone. God help us all! It
+is terrible to see such an expression upon a child's soft face. White
+and set and worn as if with years of suffering was the beautiful little
+face. The elderly man started, surprised from his impassiveness, as the
+child came into the room. An irrepressible flash of emotion crossed his
+face; he made a step forward. Sigmund seemed as if he did not see us. He
+was making a mechanical way to the door, when I interrupted him.
+
+"Sigmund, do not forget thy old Friedhelm!" I cried, clasping him in my
+arms, and kissing his little pale face, thinking of the day, three years
+ago, when his father had brought him wrapped up in the plaid on that wet
+afternoon, and my heart had gone out to him.
+
+"_Lieber_ Friedhelm!" he said, returning my embrace, "Love my father
+when I--am gone. And--_auf--auf--wiedersehen_!"
+
+He loosed his arms from round my neck and went up to the man, saying:
+
+"I am ready."
+
+The large horny hand clasped round the small delicate one. The
+servant-man turned, and with a stiff, respectful bow to me, led Sigmund
+from the room. The door closed after him--he was gone. The light of two
+lonely lives was put out. Was our darling right or wrong in that
+persistent _auf wiedersehen_ of his?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI.
+
+Resignation! Welch' elendes Hulfsmittel! und doch bleibt es mir das
+einzig Uebrige--_Briefe_ BEETHOVEN'S.
+
+
+Several small events which took place at this time had all their
+indirect but strong bearing on the histories of the characters in this
+veracious narrative. The great concert of the "Passions-musik" of Bach
+came off on the very evening of Sigmund's departure. It was, I confess,
+with some fear and trembling that I went to call Eugen to his duties,
+for he had not emerged from his own room since he had gone into it to
+send Sigmund away.
+
+He raised his face as I came in; he was sitting looking out of the
+window, and told me afterward that he had sat there, he believed, ever
+since he had been unable to catch another glimpse of the carriage which
+bore his darling away from him.
+
+"What is it, Friedel?" he asked, when I came in.
+
+I suggested in a subdued tone that the concert began in half an hour.
+
+"Ah, true!" said he, rising; "I must get ready. Let me see, what is it?"
+
+"The 'Passions-musik.'"
+
+"To be sure! Most appropriate music! I feel as if I could write a
+Passion Music myself just now."
+
+We had but to cross the road from our dwelling to the concert-room. As
+we entered the corridor two ladies also stepped into it from a very
+grand carriage. They were accompanied by a young man, who stood a little
+to one side to let them pass; and as they came up and we came up, von
+Francius came up too.
+
+One of the ladies was May Wedderburn, who was dressed in black, and
+looked exquisitely lovely to my eyes, and, I felt, to some others, with
+her warm auburn hair in shining coils upon her head. The other was a
+woman in whose pale, magnificent face I traced some likeness to our
+fair singer, but she was different; colder, grander, more severe. It
+so happened that the ladies barred the way as we arrived, and we had
+to stand by for a few moments as von Francius shook hands with Miss
+Wedderburn, and asked her smilingly if she were in good voice.
+
+She answered in the prettiest broken German I ever heard, and then
+turned to the lady, saying:
+
+"Adelaide, may I introduce Herr von Francius--Lady Le Marchant."
+
+A stately bow from the lady--a deep reverence, with a momentary glance
+of an admiration warmer than I had ever seen in his eyes, on the part
+of von Francius--a glance which was instantly suppressed to one of
+conventional inexpressiveness. I was pleased and interested with this
+little peep at a rank which I had never seen, and could have stood
+watching them for a long time; the splendid beauty and the great pride
+of bearing of the English lady were a revelation to me, and opened quite
+a large, unknown world before my mental eyes. Romances and poems, and
+men dying of love, or killing each other for it, no longer seemed
+ridiculous; for a smile or a warmer glance from that icily beautiful
+face must be something not to forget.
+
+It was Eugen who pushed forward, with a frown on his brow, and less than
+his usual courtesy. I saw his eyes and Miss Wedderburn's meet; I saw the
+sudden flush that ran over her fair face; the stern composure of his. He
+would own nothing; but I was strangely mistaken if he could say that it
+was merely because he had nothing to own.
+
+The concert was a success, so far as Miss Wedderburn went. If von
+Francius had allowed repetitions, one song at least would have been
+encored. As it was, she was a success. And von Francius spent his time
+in the pauses with her and her sister; in a grave, sedate way he and the
+English lady seemed to "get on."
+
+The concert was over. The next thing that was of any importance to
+us occurred shortly afterward. Von Francius had long been somewhat
+unpopular with his men, and at silent enmity with Eugen, who was, on the
+contrary, a universal favorite. There came a crisis, and the men sent a
+deputation to Eugen to say that if he would accept the post of leader
+they would strike, and refuse to accept any other than he.
+
+This was an opportunity for distinguishing himself. He declined the
+honor; his words were few; he said something about how kind we had all
+been to him, "from the time when I arrived; when Friedhelm Helfen, here,
+took me in, gave me every help and assistance in his power, and showed
+how appropriate his name was;[C] and so began a friendship which, please
+Heaven, shall last till death divides us, and perhaps go on afterward."
+He ended by saying some words which made a deep impression upon me.
+After saying that he might possibly leave Elberthal, he added: "Lastly,
+I can not be your leader because I never intend to be any one's
+leader--more than I am now," he added, with a faint smile. "A kind of
+deputy, you know. I am not fit to be a leader. I have no gift in that
+line--"
+
+[Footnote C: _Helfen_--to help.]
+
+"_Doch!_" from half a dozen around.
+
+"None whatever. I intend to remain in my present condition--no lower if
+I can help it, but certainly no higher. I have good reasons for knowing
+it to be my duty to do so."
+
+And then he urged them so strongly to stand by Herr von Francius that we
+were quite astonished. He told them that von Francius would some time
+rank with Schumann, Raff, or Rubinstein, and that the men who rejected
+him now would then be pointed out as ignorant and prejudiced.
+
+And amid the silence that ensued, he began to direct us--we had a probe
+to Liszt's "Prometheus," I remember.
+
+He had won the day for von Francius, and von Francius, getting to hear
+of it, came one day to see him and frankly apologized for his prejudice
+in the past, and asked Eugen for his friendship in the future. Eugen's
+answer puzzled me.
+
+"I am glad, you know, that I honor your genius, and wish you well," said
+he, "and your offer of friendship honors me. Suppose I say I accept
+it--until you see cause to withdraw it."
+
+"You are putting rather a remote contingency to the front," said von
+Francius.
+
+"Perhaps--perhaps not," said Eugen, with a singular smile. "At least I
+am glad to have had this token of your sense of generosity. We are on
+different paths, and my friends are not on the same level as yours--"
+
+"Excuse me; every true artist must be a friend of every other true
+artist. We recognize no division of rank or possession."
+
+Eugen bowed, still smiling ambiguously, nor could von Francius prevail
+upon him to say anything nearer or more certain. They parted, and long
+afterward I learned the truth, and knew the bitterness which must have
+been in Eugen's heart; the shame, the gloom; the downcast sorrow, as he
+refused indirectly but decidedly the thing he would have liked so
+well--to shake the hand of a man high in position and honorable in
+name--look him in the face and say, "I accept your friendship--nor need
+you be ashamed of wearing mine openly."
+
+He refused the advance; he refused that and every other opening for
+advancement. The man seemed to have a horror of advancement, or of
+coming in any way forward. He rejected even certain offers which were
+made that he should perform some solos at different concerts in
+Elberthal and the neighborhood. I once urged him to become rich and have
+Sigmund back again. He said: "If I had all the wealth in Germany, it
+would divide us further still."
+
+I have said nothing about the blank which Sigmund's absence made in our
+lives, simply because it was too great a blank to describe. Day after
+day we felt it, and it grew keener, and the wound smarted more sharply.
+One can not work all day long, and in our leisure hours we learned to
+know only too well that he was gone--and gone indeed. That which
+remained to us was the "Resignation," the "miserable assistant" which
+poor Beethoven indicated with such a bitter smile. We took it to us as
+inmate and _Hausfreund_, and made what we could of it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+"So runs the world away."
+
+
+Koenigsallee, No. 3, could scarcely be called a happy establishment. I
+saw much of its inner life, and what I saw made me feel mortally
+sad--envy, hatred, and malice; no hour of satisfaction; my sister's
+bitter laughs and sneers and jibes at men and things; Sir Peter's calm
+consciousness of his power, and his no less calm, crushing, unvarying
+manner of wielding it--of silently and horribly making it felt.
+Adelaide's very nature appeared to have changed. From a lofty
+indifference to most things, to sorrow and joy, to the hopes, fears,
+and feelings of others, she had become eager, earnest, passionate,
+resenting ill-usage, strenuously desiring her own way, deeply angry when
+she could not get it. To say that Sir Peter's influence upon her was
+merely productive of a negative dislike would be ridiculous. It was
+productive of an intense, active hatred, a hatred which would gladly, if
+it could, have vented itself in deeds. That being impossible, it showed
+itself in a haughty, unbroken indifference of demeanor which it seemed
+to be Sir Peter's present aim in some way to break down, for not only
+did she hate him--he hated her.
+
+She used to the utmost what liberty she had. She was not a woman to talk
+of regret for what she had done, or to own that she had miscalculated
+her game. Her life was a great failure, and that failure had been
+brought home to her mind in a mercilessly short space of time; but of
+what use to bewail it? She was not yet conquered. The bitterness of
+spirit which she carried about with her took the form of a scoffing
+pessimism. A hard laugh at the things which made other people shake
+their heads and uplift their hands; a ready scoff at all tenderness; a
+sneer at anything which could by any stretch of imagination be called
+good; a determined running up of what was hard, sordid, and worldly, and
+a persistent and utter skepticism as to the existence of the reverse of
+those things; such was now the yea, yea, and nay, nay, of her
+communication.
+
+To a certain extent she had what she had sold herself for; outside pomp
+and show in plenty--carriages, horses, servants, jewels, and clothes.
+Sir Peter liked, to use his own expression, "to see my lady blaze
+away"--only she must blaze away in his fashion, not hers. He declared he
+did not know how long he might remain in Elberthal; spoke vaguely of
+"business at home," about which he was waiting to hear, and said that
+until he heard the news he wanted, he could not move from the place he
+was in. He was in excellent spirits at seeing his wife chafing under the
+confinement to a place she detested, and appeared to find life sweet.
+
+Meanwhile she, using her liberty, as I said, to the utmost extent, had
+soon plunged into the midst of the fastest set in Elberthal.
+
+There was a fast set there as there was a musical set, an artistic set,
+a religious set, a free-thinking set; for though it was not so large or
+so rich as many dull, wealthy towns in England, it presented from its
+mixed inhabitants various phases of society.
+
+This set into which Adelaide had thrown herself was the fast one; a
+coterie of officers, artists, the richer merchants and bankers, medical
+men, literati, and the young (and sometimes old) wives, sisters and
+daughters of the same; many of them priding themselves upon not being
+natives of Elberthal, but coming from larger and gayer towns--Berlin,
+Dresden, Hamburg, Frankfurt, and others.
+
+They led a gay enough life among themselves--a life of theater, concert,
+and opera-going, of dances, private at home, public at the Malkasten or
+Artists' Club, flirtations, marriages, engagements, disappointments, the
+usual dreary and monotonous round. They considered themselves the only
+society worthy the name in Elberthal, and whoever was not of their set
+was _niemand_.
+
+I was partly dragged, partly I went to a certain extent of my own will,
+into this vortex. I felt myself to have earned a larger experience now
+of life and life's realities. I questioned when I should once have
+discreetly inclined the head and held my peace. I had a mind to examine
+this clique and the characters of some of its units, and see in what it
+was superior to some other acquaintances (in an humbler sphere) with
+whom my lot had been cast. As time went on I found the points of
+superiority to decrease--those of inferiority rapidly to increase.
+
+I troubled myself little about them and their opinions. My joys and
+griefs, hopes and fears, lay so entirely outside their circle that I
+scarce noticed whether they noticed me or not. I felt and behaved coldly
+toward them! to the women because their voices never had the ring of
+genuine liking in speaking to me; to the men because I found them as a
+rule shallow, ignorant, and pretentious; repellent to me, as I dare say
+I, with my inability to understand them, was to them. I saw most men and
+things through a distorting glass; that of contrast, conscious or
+unconscious, with Courvoisier.
+
+My musician, I reasoned, wrongly or rightly, had three times their wit,
+three times their good looks, manners and information, and many times
+three times their common sense, as well as a juster appreciation of
+his own merits; besides which, my musician was not a person whose
+acquaintance and esteem were to be had for the asking--or even for a
+great deal more than the asking, while it seemed that these young
+gentleman gave their society to any one who could live in a certain
+style and talk a certain _argot_, and their esteem to every one who
+could give them often enough the savory meat that their souls loved, and
+the wine of a certain quality which made glad their hearts, and rendered
+them of a cheerful countenance.
+
+But my chief reason for mixing with people who were certainly as a rule
+utterly distasteful and repugnant to me, was because I could not bear to
+leave Adelaide alone. I pitied her in her lonely and alienated misery;
+and I knew that it was some small solace to her to have me with her.
+
+The tale of one day will give an approximate idea of most of the days I
+spent with her. I was at the time staying with her. Our hours were late.
+Breakfast was not over till ten, that is by Adelaide and myself. Sir
+Peter was an exceedingly active person, both in mind and body, who saw
+after the management of his affairs in England in the minutest manner
+that absence would allow. Toward half past eleven he strolled into the
+room in which we were sitting, and asked what we were doing.
+
+"Looking over costumes," said I, as Adelaide made no answer, and I
+raised my eyes from some colored illustrations.
+
+"Costumes--what kind of costumes?"
+
+"Costumes for the maskenball," I answered, taking refuge in brevity of
+reply.
+
+"Oh!" He paused. Then, turning suddenly to Adelaide:
+
+"And what is this entertainment, my lady?"
+
+"The Carnival Ball," said she, almost inaudibly, between her closed
+lips, as she shut the book of illustrations, pushed it away from her,
+and leaned back in her chair.
+
+"And you think you would like to go to the Carnival Ball, hey?"
+
+"No, I do not," said she, as she stroked her lap-dog with a long, white
+hand on which glittered many rings, and steadily avoided looking at him.
+She did wish to go to the ball, but she knew that it was as likely as
+not that if she displayed any such desire he would prevent it. Despite
+her curt reply she foresaw impending the occurrence which she most of
+anything disliked--a conversation with Sir Peter. He placed himself in
+our midst, and requested to look at the pictures. In silence I handed
+him the book. I never could force myself to smile when he was there, nor
+overcome a certain restraint of demeanor which rather pleased and
+flattered him than otherwise. He glanced sharply round in the silence
+which followed his joining our company, and turning over the
+illustrations, said:
+
+"I thought I heard some noise when I came in. Don't let me interrupt the
+conversation."
+
+But the conversation was more than interrupted; it was dead--the life
+frozen out of it by his very appearance.
+
+"When is the carnival, and when does this piece of tomfoolery come off?"
+he inquired, with winning grace of diction.
+
+"The carnival begins this year on the 26th of February. The ball is on
+the 27th," said I, confining myself to facts and figures.
+
+"And how do you get there? By paying?"
+
+"Well, you have to pay--yes. But you must get your tickets from some
+member of the Malkasten Club. It is the artists' ball, and they arrange
+it all."
+
+"H'm! Ha! And as what do you think of going, Adelaide?" he inquired,
+turning with suddenness toward her.
+
+"I tell you I had not thought of going--nor thought anything about it.
+Herr von Francius sent us the pictures, and we were looking over them.
+That is all."
+
+Sir Peter turned over the pages and looked at the commonplace costumes
+therein suggested--Joan of Arc, Cleopatra, Picardy Peasant, Maria
+Stuart, a Snow Queen, and all the rest of them.
+
+"Well, I don't see anything here that I would wear if I were a woman,"
+he said, as he closed the book. "February, did you say?"
+
+"Yes," said I, as no one else spoke.
+
+"Well, it is the middle of January now. You had better be looking out
+for something; but don't let it be anything in those books. Let the
+beggarly daubers see how English women do these things."
+
+"Do you intend me to understand that you wish us to go to the ball?"
+inquired Adelaide, in an icy kind of voice.
+
+"Yes, I do," almost shouted Sir Peter. Adelaide could, despite the whip
+and rein with which he held her, exasperate and irritate him--by no
+means more thoroughly than by pretending that she did not understand
+his grandiloquent allusions, and the vague grandness of the commands
+which he sometimes gave. "I mean you to go, and your little sister here,
+and Arkwright too. I don't know about myself. Now, I am going to ride.
+Good-morning."
+
+As Sir Peter went out, von Francius came in. Sir Peter greeted him with
+a grin and exaggerated expressions of affability at which von Francius
+looked silently scornful. Sir Peter added:
+
+"Those two ladies are puzzled to know what they shall wear at the
+Carnival Ball. Perhaps you can give them your assistance."
+
+Then he went away. It was as if a half-muzzled wolf had left the room.
+
+Von Francius had come to give me my lesson, which was now generally
+taken at my sister's house and in her presence, and after which von
+Francius usually remained some half hour or so in conversation with one
+or both of us. He had become an _intime_ of the house. I was glad of
+this, and that without him nothing seemed complete, no party rounded,
+scarcely an evening finished.
+
+When he was not with us in the evening, we were somewhere where he was;
+either at a concert or a probe, or at the theater or opera, or one of
+the fashionable lectures which were then in season.
+
+It could hardly be said that von Francius was a more frequent visitor
+than some other men at the house, but from the first his attitude with
+regard to Adelaide had been different. Some of those other men were, or
+professed to be, desperately in love with the beautiful English woman;
+there was always a half gallantry in their behavior, a homage which
+might not be very earnest, but which was homage all the same, to a
+beautiful woman. With von Francius it had never been thus, but there had
+been a gravity and depth about their intercourse which pleased me. I had
+never had the least apprehension with regard to those other people; she
+might amuse herself with them; it would only be amusement, and some
+contempt.
+
+But von Francius was a man of another mettle. It had struck me almost
+from the first that there might be some danger, and I was unfeignedly
+thankful to see that as time went on and his visits grew more and more
+frequent and the intimacy deeper, not a look, not a sign occurred to
+hint that it ever was or would be more than acquaintance, liking,
+appreciation, friendship, in successive stages. Von Francius had never
+from the first treated her as an ordinary person, but with a kind of
+tacit understanding that something not to be spoken of lay behind all
+she did and said, with the consciousness that the skeleton in Adelaide's
+cupboard was more ghastly to look upon than most people's secret
+specters, and that it persisted, with an intrusiveness and want of
+breeding peculiar to guests of that caliber, in thrusting its society
+upon her at all kinds of inconvenient times.
+
+I enjoyed these music lessons, I must confess. Von Francius had begun to
+teach me music now, as well as singing. By this time I had resigned
+myself to the conviction that such talent as I might have lay in my
+voice, not my fingers, and accepted it as part of the conditions which
+ordain that in every human life shall be something _manque_, something
+incomplete.
+
+The most memorable moments with me have been those in which pain and
+pleasure, yearning and satisfaction, knowledge and seeking, have been so
+exquisitely and so intangibly blended, in listening to some deep sonata,
+some stately and pathetic old _ciacconna_ or gavotte, some concerto or
+symphony; the thing nearest heaven is to sit apart with closed eyes
+while the orchestra or the individual performer interprets for one the
+mystic poetry, or the dramatic fire, or the subtle cobweb refinements of
+some instrumental poem.
+
+I would rather have composed a certain little "Traumerei" of Schumann's
+or a "Barcarole" of Rubinstein's, or a sonata of Schubert's than have
+won all the laurels of Grisi, all the glory of Malibran and Jenny Lind.
+
+But it was not to be. I told myself so, and yet I tried so hard in my
+halting, bungling way to worship the goddess of my idolatry, that my
+master had to restrain me.
+
+"Stop!" said he this morning, when I had been weakly endeavoring to
+render a _ciacconna_ from a suite of Lachner's, which had moved me to
+thoughts too deep for tears at the last symphonie concert. "Stop,
+Fraeulein May! Duty first; your voice before your fingers."
+
+"Let me try once again!" I implored.
+
+He shut up the music and took it from the desk.
+
+"_Entbehren sollst du; sollst entbehren!_" said he, dryly.
+
+I took my lesson and then practiced shakes for an hour, while he talked
+to Adelaide; and then, she being summoned to visitors, he went away.
+
+Later I found Adelaide in the midst of a lot of visitors--Herr Hauptmann
+This, Herr Lieutenant That, Herr Maler The Other, Herr Concertmeister
+So-and-So--for von Francius was not the only musician who followed in
+her train. But there I am wrong. He did not follow in her train; he
+might stand aside and watch the others who did; but following was not in
+his line.
+
+There were ladies there too--gay young women, who rallied round Lady Le
+Marchant as around a master spirit in the art of _Zeitvertreib_.
+
+This levee lasted till the bell rang for lunch, when we went into the
+dining-room, and found Sir Peter and his secretary, young Arkwright,
+already seated. He--Arkwright--was a good-natured, tender-hearted lad,
+devoted to Adelaide. I do not think he was very happy or very well
+satisfied with his place, but from his salary he half supported a mother
+and sister, and so was fain to "grin and bear it."
+
+Sir Peter was always exceedingly affectionate to me. I hated to be in
+the same room with him, and while I detested him, was also conscious of
+an unheroic fear of him. For Adelaide's sake I was as attentive to him
+as I could make myself, in order to free her a little from his
+surveillance, for poor Adelaide Wedderburn, with her few pounds of
+annual pocket-money, and her proud, restless, ambitious spirit, had been
+a free, contented woman in comparison with Lady Le Marchant.
+
+On the day in question he was particularly amiable, called me "my dear"
+every time he spoke to me, and complimented me upon my good looks,
+telling me I was growing monstrous handsome--ay, devilish handsome, by
+Gad! far outstripping my lady, who had gone off dreadfully in her good
+looks, hadn't she, Arkwright?
+
+Poor Arkwright, tingling with a scorching blush, and ready to sink
+through the floor with confusion, stammered out that he had never
+thought of venturing to remark upon my Lady Le Marchant's looks.
+
+"What a lie, Arkwright! You know you watch her as if she was the apple
+of your eye," chuckled Sir Peter, smiling round upon the company with
+his cold, glittering eyes. "What are you blushing so for, my pretty
+May? Isn't there a song something about my pretty May, my dearest May,
+eh?"
+
+"My pretty Jane, I suppose you mean," said I, nobly taking his attention
+upon myself, while Adelaide sat motionless and white as marble, and
+Arkwright cooled down somewhat from his state of shame and anguish at
+being called upon to decide which of us eclipsed the other in good
+looks.
+
+"Pretty Jane! Whoever heard of a pretty Jane?" said Sir Peter. "If it
+isn't May, it ought to be. At any rate, there was a Charming May."
+
+"The month--not a person."
+
+"Pretty Jane, indeed! You must sing me that after lunch, and then we can
+see whether the song was pretty or not, my dear, eh?"
+
+"Certainly, Sir Peter, if you like."
+
+"Yes, I do like. My lady here seems to have lost her voice lately. I
+can't imagine the reason. I am sure she has everything to make her sing
+for joy; have you not, my dear?"
+
+"Everything, and more than everything," replies my lady, laconically.
+
+"And she has a strong sense of duty, too; loves those whom she ought to
+love, and despises those whom she ought to despise. She always has done,
+from her infancy up to the time when she loved me and despised public
+opinion for my sake."
+
+The last remark was uttered in tones of deeper malignity, while the eyes
+began to glare, and the under lip to droop, and the sharp eye-teeth,
+which lent such a very emphatic point to all Sir Peter's smiles, sneers,
+and facial movements in general, gleamed.
+
+Adelaide's lip quivered for a second; her color momentarily faded.
+
+In this kind of light and agreeable badinage the meal passed over, and
+we were followed into the drawing-room by Sir Peter, loudly demanding
+"'My Pretty Jane'--or May, or whatever it was."
+
+"We are going out," said my lady. "You can have it another time. May can
+not sing the moment she has finished lunch."
+
+"Hold your tongue, my dear," said Sir Peter; and inspired by an
+agreeable and playful humor, he patted his wife's shoulder and pinched
+her ear.
+
+The color fled from her very lips and she stood pale and rigid with a
+look in her eyes which I interpreted to mean a shuddering recoil,
+stopped by sheer force of will.
+
+Sir Peter turned with an engaging laugh to me:
+
+"Miss May--bonny May--made me a promise, and she must keep it; or if she
+doesn't I shall take the usual forfeit. We know what that is. Upon my
+word, I almost wish she would break her promise."
+
+"I have no wish to break my promise," said I, hastening to the piano,
+and then and there singing "My Pretty Jane," and one or two others,
+after which he released us, chuckling at having contrived to keep my
+lady so long waiting for her drive.
+
+The afternoon's programme was, I confess, not without attraction to me;
+for I knew that I was pretty, and I had not one of the strong and
+powerful minds which remained unelated by admiration and undepressed by
+the absence of it.
+
+We drove to the picture exhibitions, and at both of them had a little
+crowd attending us. That crowd consisted chiefly of admirers, or
+professed admirers, of my sister, with von Francius in addition, who
+dropped in at the first exhibition.
+
+Von Francius did not attend my sister; it was by my side that he
+remained and it was to me that he talked. He looked on at the men who
+were around her, but scarcely addressed her himself.
+
+There was a clique of young artists who chose to consider the wealth of
+Sir Peter Le Marchant as fabulous, and who paid court to his wife from
+mixed motives; the prevailing one being a hope that she would be smitten
+by some picture of theirs at a fancy price, and order it to be sent
+home--as if she ever saw with anything beyond the most superficial
+outward eye those pictures, and as if it lay in her power to order any
+one, even the smallest and meanest of them. These ingenuous artists had
+yet to learn that Sir Peter's picture purchases were formed from his own
+judgment, through the medium of himself or his secretary, armed with
+strict injunctions as to price, and upon the most purely practical and
+business-like principles--not in the least at the caprice of his wife.
+
+We went to the larger gallery last. As we entered it I turned aside with
+von Francius to look at a picture in a small back room, and when we
+turned to follow the others, they had all gone forward into the large
+room; but standing at the door by which we had entered, and looking
+calmly after us, was Courvoisier.
+
+A shock thrilled me. It was some time since I had seen him; for I had
+scarcely been at my lodgings for a fortnight, and we had had no
+haupt-proben lately. I had heard some rumor that important things--or,
+as Frau Lutzler gracefully expressed it, _was wichtiges_--had taken
+place between von Francius and the kapelle, and that Courvoisier had
+taken a leading part in the affair. To-day the greeting between the two
+men was a cordial if a brief one.
+
+Eugen's eyes scarcely fell upon me; he included me in his bow--that was
+all. All my little day-dream of growing self-complacency was shattered,
+scattered; the old feeling of soreness, smallness, wounded pride, and
+bruised self-esteem came back again. I felt a wild, angry desire to
+compel some other glance from those eyes than that exasperating one of
+quiet indifference. I felt it like a lash every time I encountered it.
+Its very coolness and absence of emotion stung me and made me quiver.
+
+We and Courvoisier entered the large room at the same time. While
+Adelaide was languidly making its circuit, von Francius and I sat upon
+the ottoman in the middle of the room. I watched Eugen, even if he took
+no notice of me--watched him till every feeling of rest, every hard-won
+conviction of indifference to him and feeling of regard conquered came
+tumbling down in ignominious ruins. I knew he had had a fiery trial. His
+child, for whom I used to watch his adoration with a dull kind of envy,
+had left him. There was some mystery about it, and much pain. Frau
+Lutzler had begun to tell me a long story culled from one told her by
+Frau Schmidt, and I had stopped her, but knew that "Herr Courvoisier was
+not like the same man any more."
+
+That trouble was visible in firmly marked lines, even now; he looked
+subdued, older, and his face was thin and worn. Yet never had I noticed
+so plainly before the bright light of intellect in his eye; the noble
+stamp of mind upon his brow. There was more than the grace of a kindly
+nature in the pleasant curve of the lips--there was thought, power,
+intellectual strength. I compared him with the young men who were at
+this moment dangling round my sister. Not one among them could approach
+him--not merely in stature and breadth and the natural grace and dignity
+of carriage, but in far better things--in the mind that dominates sense;
+the will that holds back passion with a hand as strong and firm as that
+of a master over the dog whom he chooses to obey him. This man--I write
+from knowledge--had the capacity to appreciate and enjoy life--to taste
+its pleasures--never to excess, but with no ascetic's lips. But the
+natural prompting--the moral "eat, drink, and be merry," was held back
+with a ruthless hand, with chain of iron, and biting thong to chastise
+pitilessly each restive movement. He dreed out his weird most
+thoroughly, and drank the cup presented to him to the last dregs.
+
+When the weird is very long and hard--when the flavor of the cup is
+exceeding bitter, this process leaves its effects in the form of sobered
+mien, gathering wrinkles, and a permanent shadow on the brow, and in the
+eyes. So it was with him.
+
+He went round the room, looking at a picture here and there with the eye
+of a connoisseur--then pausing before the one which von Francius had
+brought me to look at on Christmas-day, Courvoisier, folding his arms,
+stood before it and surveyed it, straightly, and without moving a
+muscle; coolly, criticisingly and very fastidiously. The _blase_-looking
+individual in the foreground received, I saw, a share of his
+attention--the artist, too, in the background; the model, with the white
+dress, oriental fan, bare arms, and half-bored, half-cynic look. He
+looked at them all long--attentively--then turned away; the only token
+of approval or disapproval which he vouchsafed being a slight smile and
+a slight shrug, both so very slight as to be almost imperceptible. Then
+he passed on--glanced at some other pictures--at my sister, on whom his
+eyes dwelt for a moment as if he thought that she at least made a very
+beautiful picture; then out of the room.
+
+"Do you know him?" said von Francius, quite softly, to me.
+
+I started violently. I had utterly forgotten that he was at my side, and
+I know not what tales my face had been telling. I turned to find the
+dark and impenetrable eyes of von Francius fixed on me.
+
+"A little," I said.
+
+"Then you know a generous, high-minded man--a man who has made me feel
+ashamed of myself--and a man to whom I made an apology the other day
+with pleasure."
+
+My heart warmed. This praise of Eugen by a man whom I admired so
+devotedly as I did Max von Francius seemed to put me right with myself
+and the world.
+
+Soon afterward we left the exhibition, and while the others went away it
+appeared somehow by the merest casualty that von Francius was asked to
+drive back with us and have afternoon tea, _englischerweise_--which he
+did, after a moment's hesitation.
+
+After tea he left for an orchestra probe to the next Saturday's concert;
+but with an _auf wiedersehen_, for the probe will not last long, and we
+shall meet again at the opera and later at the Malkasten Ball.
+
+I enjoyed going to the theater. I knew my dress was pretty. I knew that
+I looked nice, and that people would look at me, and that I, too, should
+have my share of admiration and compliments as a _schoene Englaenderin_.
+
+We were twenty minutes late--naturally. All the people in the place
+stare at us and whisper about us, partly because we have a conspicuous
+place--the proscenium loge to the right of the stage, partly because we
+are in full toilet--an almost unprecedented circumstance in that homely
+theater--partly, I suppose, because Adelaide is supremely beautiful.
+
+Mr. Arkwright was already with us. Von Francius joined us after the
+first act, and remained until the end. Almost the only words he
+exchanged with Adelaide were:
+
+"Have you seen this opera before, Lady Le Marchant?"
+
+"No; never."
+
+It was Auber's merry little opera, "Des Teufels Antheil." The play was
+played. Von Francius was beside me. Whenever I looked down I saw Eugen,
+with the same calm, placid indifference upon his face; and again I felt
+the old sensation of soreness, shame, and humiliation. I feel wrought
+up to a great pitch of nervous excitement when we leave the theater and
+drive to the Malkasten, where there is more music--dance music, and
+where the ball is at its height. And in a few moments I find myself
+whirling down the room in the arms of von Francius, to the music of
+"Mein schoenster Tag in Baden," and wishing very earnestly that the
+heart-sickness I feel would make me ill or faint, or anything that would
+send me home to quietness and--him. But it does not have the desired
+effect. I am in a fever; I am all too vividly conscious, and people tell
+me how well I am looking, and that rosy cheeks become me better than
+pale ones.
+
+They are merry parties, these dances at the Malkasten, in the quaintly
+decorated saal of the artists' club-house. There is a certain license in
+the dress. Velvet coats, and coats, too, in many colors, green and prune
+and claret, vying with black, are not tabooed. There are various
+uniforms of hussars, infantry, and uhlans, and some of the women, too,
+are dressed in a certain fantastically picturesque style to please their
+artist brothers or _fiances_.
+
+The dancing gets faster, and the festivities are kept up late. Songs are
+sung which perhaps would not be heard in a quiet drawing-room; a little
+acting is done with them. Music is played, and von Francius, in a
+vagrant mood, sits down and improvises a fitful, stormy kind of
+fantasia, which in itself and in his playing puts me much in mind of the
+weird performances of the Abbate Liszt.
+
+I at least hear another note than of yore, another touch. The soul that
+it wanted seems gradually creeping into it. He tells a strange story
+upon the quivering keys--it is becoming tragic, sad, pathetic. He says
+hastily to me and in an under-tone: "Fraeulein May, this is a thought of
+one of your own poets:
+
+     "'How sad, and mad, and bad it was,
+     And yet how it was sweet.'"
+
+I am almost in tears, and every face is affording illustrations for "The
+Expressions of the Emotions in Men and Women," when it suddenly breaks
+off with a loud, Ha! ha! ha! which sounds as if it came from a human
+voice, and jars upon me, and then he breaks into a waltz, pushing the
+astonished musicians aside, and telling the company to dance while he
+pipes.
+
+A mad dance to a mad tune. He plays and plays on, ever faster, and ever
+a wilder measure, with strange eerie clanging chords in it which are not
+like dance notes, until Adelaide prepares to go, and then he suddenly
+ceases, springs up, and comes with us to our carriage. Adelaide looks
+white and worn.
+
+Again at the carriage door, "a pair of words" passes between them.
+
+"Milady is tired?" from him, in a courteous tone, as his dark eyes dwell
+upon her face.
+
+"Thanks, Herr Direktor, I am generally tired," from her, with a slight
+smile, as she folds her shawl across her breast with one hand, and
+extends the other to him.
+
+"Milady, adieu."
+
+"Adieu, Herr von Francius."
+
+The ball is over, and I think we have all had enough of it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII.
+
+THE CARNIVAL BALL.
+
+
+"Aren't you coming to the ball, Eugen?"
+
+"I? No."
+
+"I would if I were you."
+
+"But you are yourself, you see, and I am I. What was it that Heinrich
+Mohr in 'The Children of the World' was always saying? _Ich bin ich,
+und setze mich selbst._ Ditto me, that's all."
+
+"It is no end of a lark," I pursued.
+
+"My larking days are over."
+
+"And you can talk to any one you like."
+
+"I am going to talk to myself, thanks. I have long wanted a little
+conversation with that interesting individual, and while you are
+masquerading, I will be doing the reverse. By the time you come home I
+shall be so thoroughly self-investigated and set to rights that a mere
+look at me will shake all the frivolity out of you."
+
+"Miss Wedderburn will be there."
+
+"I hope she may enjoy it."
+
+"At least she will look so lovely that she will make others enjoy it."
+
+He made no answer.
+
+"You won't go--quite certain?"
+
+"Quite certain, _mein lieber_. Go yourself, and may you have much
+pleasure."
+
+Finding that he was in earnest, I went out to hire one domino and
+purchase one mask, instead of furnishing myself, as I had hoped, with
+two of each of those requisites.
+
+It was Sunday, the first day of the carnival, and that devoted to the
+ball of the season. There were others given, but this was the Malerball,
+or artists' ball. It was considered rather select, and had I not been
+lucky enough to have one or two pupils, members of the club, who had
+come forward with offerings of tickets, I might have tried in vain to
+gain admittance.
+
+Everybody in Elherthal who was anybody would be at this ball. I had
+already been at one like it, as well as at several of the less select
+and rougher entertainments, and I found a pleasure which was somewhat
+strange even to myself in standing to one side and watching the motley
+throng and the formal procession which was every year organized by the
+artists who had the management of the proceedings.
+
+The ball began at the timely hour of seven; about nine I enveloped
+myself in my domino, and took my way across the road to the scene of the
+festivities, which took up the whole three saals of the Tonhalle.
+
+The night was bitter cold, but cold with that rawness which speaks of a
+coming thaw. The lamps were lighted, and despite the cold there was a
+dense crowd of watchers round the front of the building and in the
+gardens, with cold, inquisitive noses flattened against the long glass
+doors through which I have seen the people stream in the pleasant May
+evenings after the concert or musikfest into the illuminated gardens.
+
+The last time I had been in the big saal had been to attend a dry probe
+to a dry concert--the "Erste Walpurgisnacht" of Mendelssohn. The scene
+was changed now; the whole room was a mob--"motley the only wear." It
+was full to excess, so that there was scarcely room to move about, much
+less for dancing. For that purpose the middle saal of the three had been
+set aside, or rather a part of it railed off.
+
+I felt a pleasant sense of ease and well-being--a security that I should
+not be recognized, as I had drawn the pointed hood of my domino over my
+head, and enveloped myself closely in its ample folds, and thus I could
+survey the brilliant Maskenball as I surveyed life from a quiet,
+unnoticed obscurity, and without taking part in its active affairs.
+
+There was music going on as I entered. It could scarcely be heard above
+the Babel of tongues which was sounding. People were moving as well as
+they could. I made my way slowly and unobtrusively toward the upper end
+of the saal, intending to secure a place on the great orchestra, and
+thence survey the procession.
+
+I recognized dozens of people whom I knew personally, or by sight, or
+name, transformed from sober Rhenish burger, or youths of the period,
+into persons and creatures whose appropriateness or inappropriateness to
+their every-day character it gave me much joy to witness. The most
+foolish young man I knew was attired as Cardinal Richelieu; the wisest,
+in certain respects, had a buffoon's costume, and plagued the statesman
+and churchman grievously.
+
+By degrees I made my way through the mocking, taunting, flouting,
+many-colored crowd, to the orchestra, and gradually up its steps until I
+stood upon a fine vantage-ground. Near me were others; I looked round.
+One party seemed to keep very much together--a party which for richness
+and correctness of costume outshone all others in the room. Two ladies,
+one dark and one fair, were dressed as Elsa and Ortrud. A man, whose
+slight, tall, commanding figure I soon recognized, was attired in the
+blue mantle, silver helm and harness of Lohengrin the son of Percivale;
+and a second man, too boyish-looking for the character, was masked as
+Frederic of Telramund. Henry the Fowler was wanting, but the group was
+easily to be recognized as personating the four principal characters
+from Wagner's great opera.
+
+They had apparently not been there long, for they had not yet unmasked.
+I had, however, no difficulty in recognizing any of them. The tall, fair
+girl in the dress of Elsa was Miss Wedderburn; the Ortrud was Lady Le
+Marchant, and right well she looked the character. Lohengrin was von
+Francius, and Friedrich von Telramund was Mr. Arkwright, Sir Peter's
+secretary. Here was a party in whom I could take some interest, and I
+immediately and in the most unprincipled manner devoted myself to
+watching them--myself unnoticed.
+
+"Who in all that motley crowd would I wish to be?" I thought, as my eyes
+wandered over them.
+
+The procession was just forming; the voluptuous music of "Die Tausend
+und eine Nacht" waltzes was floating from the gallery and through the
+room. They went sweeping past--or running, or jumping; a ballet-girl
+whose mustache had been too precious to be parted with and a lady of the
+_vielle cour_ beside her, nuns and corpses; Christy Minstrels (English,
+these last, whose motives were constantly misunderstood), fools and
+astrologers, Gretchens, Claerchens, devils, Egmonts, Joans of Arc enough
+to have rescued France a dozen times, and peasants of every race: Turks
+and Finns; American Indians and Alfred the Great--it was tedious and
+dazzling.
+
+Then the procession was got into order; a long string of German legends,
+all the misty chronicle of Gudrun, the "Nibelungenlied" and the
+Rheingold--Siegfried and Kriemhild--those two everlasting figures of
+beauty and heroism, love and tragedy, which stand forth in hues of pure
+brightness that no time can dim; Brunhild and von Tronje-Hagen--this was
+before the days of Bayreuth and the Tetralogy--Tannhauser and Lohengrin,
+the Loreley, Walther von der Vogelweide, the two Elizabeths of the
+Wartburg, dozens of obscure legends and figures from "Volkslieder" and
+Folklore which I did not recognize; "Dornroschen," Rubezahl; and the
+music to which they marched, was the melancholy yet noble measure, "The
+Last Ten of the Fourth Regiment."
+
+I surveyed the masks and masquerading for some time, keeping my eye all
+the while upon the party near me. They presently separated. Lady Le
+Marchant took the arm which von Francius offered her, and they went down
+the steps. Miss Wedderburn and the young secretary were left alone. I
+was standing near them, and two other masks, both in domino, hoveredaeae
+about. One wore a white domino with a scarlet rosette on the breast. The
+other was a black domino, closely disguised, who looked long after von
+Francius and Lady Le Marchant, and presently descended the orchestra
+steps and followed in their wake.
+
+"Do not remain with me, Mr. Arkwright," I heard Miss Wedderburn say.
+"You want to dance. Go and enjoy yourself."
+
+"I could not think of leaving you alone, Miss Wedderburn."
+
+"Oh, yes, you could, and can. I am not going to move from here. I want
+to look on--not to dance. You will find me here when you return."
+
+Again she urged him not to remain with her, and finally he departed in
+search of amusement among the crowd below.
+
+Miss Wedderburn was now alone. She turned; her eyes, through her mask,
+met mine through my mask, and a certain thrill shot through me. This was
+such an opportunity as I had never hoped for, and I told myself that I
+should be a great fool if I let it slip. But how to begin? I looked at
+her. She was very beautiful, this young English girl, with the wonderful
+blending of fire and softness which had made me from the first think her
+one of the most attractive women I had ever seen.
+
+As I stood, awkward and undecided, she beckoned me to her. In an instant
+I was at her side, bowing but maintaining silence.
+
+"You are Herr Helfen, _nicht wahr_?" said she, inquiringly.
+
+"Yes," said I, and removed my mask. "How did you know it?"
+
+"Something in your figure and attitude. Are you not dancing?"
+
+"I--oh, no!"
+
+"Nor I--I am not in the humor for it. I never felt less like dancing,
+nor less like a masquerade." Then--hesitatingly--"Are you alone
+to-night?"
+
+"Yes. Eugen would not come."
+
+"He will not be here at all?"
+
+"Not at all?"
+
+"I am surprised."
+
+"I tried to persuade him to come," said I, apologetically. "But he would
+not. He said he was going to have a little conversation at home with
+himself."
+
+"So!" She turned to me with a mounting color, which I saw flush to her
+brow above her mask, and with parted lips.
+
+"He has never cared for anything since Sigmund left us," I continued.
+
+"Sigmund--was that the dear little boy?"
+
+"You say very truly."
+
+"Tell me about him. Was not his father very fond of him?"
+
+"Fond! I never saw a man idolize his child so much. It was only
+need--the hardest need that made them part."
+
+"How--need? You do not mean poverty?" said she, somewhat awe-struck.
+
+"Oh, no! Moral necessity. I do not know the reason. I have never asked.
+But I know it was like a death-blow."
+
+"Ah!" said she, and with a sudden movement removed her mask, as if she
+felt it stifling her, and looked me in the face with her beautiful clear
+eyes.
+
+"Who could oblige him to part with his own child?" she asked.
+
+"That I do not know, _mein Fraeulein_. What I do know is that some shadow
+darkens my friend's life and imbitters it--that he not only can not do
+what he wishes, but is forced to do what he hates--and that parting was
+one of the things."
+
+She looked at me with eagerness for some moments; then said, quickly:
+
+"I can not help being interested in all this, but I fancy I ought not to
+listen to it, for--for--I don't think he would like it. He--he--I
+believe he dislikes me, and perhaps you had better say no more."
+
+"Dislikes you!" I echoed. "Oh, no!"
+
+"Oh, yes! he does," she repeated, with a faint smile, which struggled
+for a moment with a look of pain, and then was extinguished. "I
+certainly was once very rude to him, but I should not have thought he
+was an ungenerous man--should you?"
+
+"He is not ungenerous; the very reverse; he is too generous."
+
+"It does not matter, I suppose," said she, repressing some emotion. "It
+can make no difference, but it pains me to be so misunderstood and so
+behaved to by one who was at first so kind to me--for he was very kind."
+
+"_Mein Fraeulein_," said I, eager, though puzzled, "I can not explain
+it; it is as great a mystery to me as to you. I know nothing of his
+past--nothing of what he has been or done; nothing of who he is--only
+of one thing I am sure--that he is not what he seems to be. He may be
+called Eugen Courvoisier, or he may call himself Eugen Courvoisier; he
+was once known by some name in a very different world to that he lives
+in now. I know nothing about that, but I know this--that I believe in
+him. I have lived more than three years with him; he is true and
+honorable; fantastically, chivalrously honorable" (her eyes were
+downcast and her cheeks burning). "He never did anything false or
+dishonest--"
+
+A slight, low, sneering laugh at my right hand caused me to look up.
+That figure in a white domino with a black mask, and a crimson rosette
+on the breast, stood leaning up against the foot of the organ, but other
+figures were near; the laugh might have come from one of them; it might
+have nothing to do with us or our remarks. I went on in a vehement and
+eager tone:
+
+"He is what we Germans call a _ganzer kerl_--thorough in all--out and
+out good. Nothing will ever make me believe otherwise. Perhaps the
+mystery will never be cleared up. It doesn't matter to me. It will make
+no difference in my opinion of the only man I love."
+
+A pause. Miss Wedderburn was looking at me; her eyes were full of tears;
+her face strangely moved. Yes--she loved him. It stood confessed in the
+very strength of the effort she made to be calm and composed. As she
+opened her lips to speak, that domino that I mentioned glided from her
+place and stooping down between us, whispered or murmured:
+
+"You are a fool for your pains. Believe no one--least of all those who
+look most worthy of belief. He is not honest; he is not honorable. It is
+from shame and disgrace that he hides himself. Ask him if he remembers
+the 20th of April five years ago; you will hear what he has to say about
+it, and how brave and honorable he looks."
+
+Swift as fire the words were said, and rapidly as the same she had
+raised herself and disappeared. We were left gazing at each other. Miss
+Wedderburn's face was blanched--she stared at me with large dilated
+eyes, and at last in a low voice of anguish and apprehension said:
+
+"Oh, what does it mean?"
+
+Her voice recalled me to myself.
+
+"It may mean what it likes," said I, calmly. "As I said, it makes no
+difference to me. I do not and will not believe that he ever did
+anything dishonorable."
+
+"Do you not?" said she, tremulously. "But--but--Anna Sartorius does know
+something of him."
+
+"Who is Anna Sartorius?"
+
+"Why, that domino who spoke to us just now. But I forgot. You will not
+know her. She wanted long ago to tell me about him, and I would not let
+her, so she said I might learn for myself, and should never leave off
+until I knew the lesson by heart. I think she has kept her word," she
+added, with a heartsick sigh.
+
+"You surely would not believe her if she said the same thing fifty times
+over," said I, not very reasonably, certainly.
+
+"I do not know," she replied, hesitatingly. "It is very difficult to
+know."
+
+"Well, I would not. If the whole world accused him I would believe
+nothing except from his own lips."
+
+"I wish I knew all about Anna Sartorius," said she, slowly, and she
+looked as if seeking back in her memory to remember some dream. I stood
+beside her; the motley crowd ebbed and flowed beneath us, but the
+whisper we had heard had changed everything; and yet, no--to me not
+changed, but only darkened things.
+
+In the meantime it had been growing later. Our conversation, with its
+frequent pauses, had taken a longer time than we had supposed. The crowd
+was thinning. Some of the women were going.
+
+"I wonder where my sister is!" observed Miss Wedderburn, rather wearily.
+Her face was pale, and her delicate head drooped as if it were
+overweighed and pulled down by the superabundance of her beautiful
+chestnut hair, which came rippling and waving over her shoulders. A
+white satin petticoat, stiff with gold embroidery; a long trailing blue
+mantle of heavy brocade, fastened on the shoulders with golden clasps; a
+golden circlet in the gold of her hair; such was the dress, and right
+royally she became it. She looked a vision of loveliness. I wondered if
+she would ever act Elsa in reality; she would be assuredly the loveliest
+representative of that fair and weak-minded heroine who ever trod the
+boards. Supposing it ever came to pass that she acted Elsa to some one
+else's Lohengrin, would she think of this night? Would she remember the
+great orchestra--and me, and the lights, and the people--our words--a
+whisper? A pause.
+
+"But where can Adelaide be?" she said, at last. "I have not seen them
+since they left us."
+
+"They are there," said I, surveying from my vantage-ground the thinning
+ranks. "They are coming up here too. And there is the other gentleman,
+Graf von Telramund, following them."
+
+They drew up to the foot of the orchestra, and then Mr. Arkwright came
+up to seek us.
+
+"Miss Wedderburn, Lady Le Marchant is tired and thinks it is time to be
+going."
+
+"So am I tired," she replied. I stepped back, but before she went away
+she turned to me, holding out her hand:
+
+"Good-night, Herr Helfen. I, too, will not believe without proof."
+
+We shook hands, and she went away.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The lamp still burning, the room cold, the stove extinct. Eugen seated
+motionless near it.
+
+"Eugen, art thou asleep?"
+
+"I asleep, my dear boy! Well, how was it?"
+
+"Eugen, I wish you had been there."
+
+"Why?" He roused himself with an effort and looked at me. His brow was
+clouded, his eyes too.
+
+"Because you would have enjoyed it. I did. I saw Miss Wedderburn, and
+spoke to her. She looked lovely."
+
+"In that case it would have been odd indeed if you had not enjoyed
+yourself."
+
+"You are inexplicable."
+
+"It is bed-time," he remarked, rising and speaking, as I thought,
+coldly.
+
+We both retired. As for the whisper, frankly and honestly, I did not
+give it another thought.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX.
+
+MAY'S STORY.
+
+
+[Illustration: Music, SCHUMANN]
+
+Following Arkwright, I joined Adelaide and von Francius at the foot of
+the orchestra. She had sent word that she was tired. Looking at her, I
+thought indeed she must be very tired, so white, so sad she looked.
+
+"Adelaide," I expostulated, "why did you remain so long?"
+
+"Oh, I did not know it was so late. Come!"
+
+We made our way out of the hall through the veranda to the entrance.
+Lady Le Merchant's carriage, it seemed, was ready and waiting. It was
+a pouring night. The thaw had begun. The steady downpour promised a
+cheerful ending to the carnival doings of the Monday and Tuesday; all
+but a few homeless or persevering wretches had been driven away. We
+drove away too. I noticed that the "good-night" between Adelaide and
+von Francius was of the most laconical character. They barely spoke, did
+not shake hands, and he turned and went to seek his cab before we had
+all got into the carriage.
+
+Adelaide uttered not a word during our drive home, and I, leaning back,
+shut my eyes and lived the evening over again. Eugen's friend had
+laughed the insidious whisper to scorn. I could not deal so summarily
+with it; nor could I drive the words of it out of my head. They set
+themselves to the tune of the waltz, and rang in my ears:
+
+"He is not honest; he is not honorable. It is from shame and disgrace
+that he is hiding. Ask him if he remembers the 20th of April five years
+ago."
+
+The carriage stopped. A sleepy servant let us in. Adelaide, as we went
+upstairs, drew me into her dressing-room.
+
+"A moment, May. Have you enjoyed yourself?"
+
+"H'm--well--yes and no. And you, Adelaide?"
+
+"I never enjoy myself now," she replied, very gently. "I am getting used
+to that, I think."
+
+She clasped her jeweled hands and stood by the lamp, whose calm light
+lighted her calm face, showing it wasted and unutterably sad.
+
+Something--a terror, a shrinking as from a strong menacing hand--shook
+me.
+
+"Are you ill, Adelaide?" I cried.
+
+"No. Good-night, dear May. _Schlaf' wohl_, as they say here."
+
+To my unbounded astonishment, she leaned forward and gave me a gentle
+kiss; then, still holding my hand, asked: "Do you still say your
+prayers, May?"
+
+"Sometimes."
+
+"What do you say?"
+
+"Oh! the same that I always used to say; they are better than any I can
+invent."
+
+"Yes. I never do say mine now. I rather think I am afraid to begin
+again."
+
+"Good-night, Adelaide," I said, inaudibly; and she loosed my hand.
+
+At the door I turned. She was still standing by the lamp; still her face
+wore the same strange, subdued look. With a heart oppressed by new
+uneasiness, I left her.
+
+It must have been not till toward dawn that I fell into a sleep, heavy,
+but not quiet--filled with fantastic dreams, most of which vanished as
+soon as they had passed my mind. But one remained. To this day it is as
+vivid before me, as if I had actually lived through it.
+
+Meseemed again to be at the Grafenbergerdahl, again to be skating, again
+rescued--and by Eugen Courvoisier. But suddenly the scene changed; from
+a smooth sheet of ice, across which the wind blew nippingly, and above
+which the stars twinkled frostily, there was a huge waste of water which
+raged, while a tempest howled around--the clear moon was veiled, all was
+darkness and chaos. He saved me, not by skating with me to the shore,
+but by clinging with me to some floating wood until we drove upon a bank
+and landed. But scarcely had we set foot upon the ground, than all was
+changed again. I was alone, seated upon a bench in the Hofgarten, on a
+spring afternoon. It was May; the chestnuts and acacias were in full
+bloom, and the latter made the air heavy with their fragrance. The
+nightingales sung richly, and I sat looking, from beneath the shade of
+a great tree, upon the fleeting Rhine, which glided by almost past my
+feet. It seemed to me that I had been sad--so sad as never before. A
+deep weight appeared to have been just removed from my heart, and yet so
+heavy had it been that I could not at once recover from its pressure;
+and even then, in the sunshine, and feeling that I had no single cause
+for care or grief, I was unhappy, with a reflex mournfulness.
+
+And as I sat thus, it seemed that some one came and sat beside me
+without speaking, and I did not turn to look at him; but ever as I sat
+there and felt that he was beside me, the sadness lifted from my heart,
+until it grew so full of joy that tears rose to my eyes. Then he who was
+beside me placed his hand upon mine, and I looked at him. It was Eugen
+Courvoisier. His face and his eyes were full of sadness; but I knew
+that he loved me, though he said but one word, "Forgive!" to which I
+answered, "Can you forgive?" But I knew that I alluded to something much
+deeper than that silly little episode of having cut him at the theater.
+He bowed his head; and then I thought I began to weep, covering my face
+with my hands; but they were tears of exquisite joy, and the peace at my
+heart was the most entire I had ever felt. And he loosened my hands, and
+drew me to him and kissed me, saying "My love!" And as I felt--yes,
+actually felt--the pressure of his lips upon mine, and felt the spring
+shining upon me, and heard the very echo of the twitter of the birds,
+saw the light fall upon the water, and smelled the scent of the acacias,
+and saw the Lotus-blume as she--
+
+     "Duftet und weinet und zittert
+     Vor Liebe und Liebesweh,"
+
+I awoke, and confronted a gray February morning, felt a raw chilliness
+in the air, heard a cold, pitiless rain driven against the window; knew
+that my head ached, my heart harmonized therewith; that I was awake, not
+in a dream; that there had been no spring morning, no acacias, no
+nightingales; above all, no love--remembered last night, and roused to
+the consciousness of another day, the necessity of waking up and living
+on.
+
+Nor could I rest or sleep. I rose and contemplated through the window
+the driving rain and the soaking street, the sorrowful naked trees, the
+plain of the parade ground, which looked a mere waste of mud and
+half-melted ice; the long plain line of the Caserne itself--a cheering
+prospect truly!
+
+When I went down-stairs I found Sir Peter, in heavy traveling overcoat,
+standing in the hall; a carriage stood at the door; his servant was
+putting in his master's luggage and rugs. I paused in astonishment. Sir
+Peter looked at me and smiled with the dubious benevolence which he was
+in the habit of extending to me.
+
+"I am very sorry to be obliged to quit your charming society, Miss
+Wedderburn, but business calls me imperatively to England; and, at
+least, I am sure that my wife can not be unhappy with such a companion
+as her sister."
+
+"You are going to England?"
+
+"I am going to England. I have been called so hastily that I can make no
+arrangements for Adelaide to accompany me, and indeed it would not be at
+all pleasant for her, as I am only going on business; but I hope to
+return for her and bring her home in a few weeks. I am leaving Arkwright
+with you. He will see that you have all you want."
+
+Sir Peter was smiling, ever smiling, with the smile which was my horror.
+
+"A brilliant ball, last night, was it not?" he added, extending his
+hand to me, in farewell, and looking at me intently with eyes that
+fascinated and repelled me at once.
+
+"Very, but--but--you were not there?"
+
+"Was I not? I have a strong impression that I was. Ask my lady if she
+thinks I was there. And now good-bye, and _au revoir_!"
+
+He loosened my hand, descended the steps, entered the carriage, and was
+driven away. His departure ought to have raised a great weight from my
+mind, but it did not; it impressed me with a sense of coming disaster.
+
+Adelaide breakfasted in her room. When I had finished I went to her. Her
+behavior puzzled me. She seemed elated, excited, at the absence of Sir
+Peter, and yet, suddenly turning to me, she exclaimed, eagerly:
+
+"Oh, May! I wish I had been going to England, too! I wish I could leave
+this place, and never see it again."
+
+"Was Sir Peter at the ball, Adelaide?" I asked.
+
+She turned suddenly pale; her lip trembled; her eye wavered, as she said
+in a low, uneasy voice:
+
+"I believe he was--yes; in domino."
+
+"What a sneaking thing to do!" I remarked, candidly. "He had told us
+particularly that he was not coming."
+
+"That very statement should have put us on our guard," she remarked.
+
+"On our guard? Against what?" I asked, unsuspectingly.
+
+"Oh, nothing--nothing! I wonder when he will return! I would give a
+world to be in England!" she said, with a heartsick sigh; and I, feeling
+very much bewildered, left her.
+
+In the afternoon, despite wind and weather, I sallied forth, and took my
+way to my old lodgings in the Wehrhahn. Crossing a square leading to the
+street I was going to, I met Anna Sartorius. She bowed, looking at me
+mockingly. I returned her salutation, and remembered last night again
+with painful distinctness. The air seemed full of mysteries and
+uncertainties; they clung about my mind like cobwebs, and I could not
+get rid of their soft, stifling influence.
+
+Having arrived at my lodgings, I mounted the stairs. Frau Lutzler met
+me.
+
+"_Na_, _na_, Fraeulein! You do not patronize me much now. My rooms are
+becoming too small for you, I reckon."
+
+"Indeed, Frau Lutzler, I wish I had never been in any larger ones," I
+answered her, earnestly.
+
+"So! Well, 'tis true you look thin and worn--not as well as you used to.
+And were you--but I heard you were, so where's the use of telling lies
+about it--at the Maskenball last night? And how did you like it?"
+
+"Oh, it was all very new to me. I never was at one before."
+
+"_Nicht?_ Then you must have been astonished. They say there was a
+Mephisto so good he would have deceived the devil himself. And you,
+Fraeulein--I heard that you looked very beautiful."
+
+"So! It must have been a mistake."
+
+"_Doch nicht!_ I have always maintained that at certain times you were
+far from bad-looking, and dressed and got up for the stage, would be
+absolutely handsome. Nearly any one can be that--if you are not too
+near the foot-lights, that is, and don't go behind the scenes."
+
+With which neat slaying of a particular compliment by a general one, she
+released me, and let me go on my way upstairs.
+
+Here I had some books and some music. But the room was cold; the books
+failed to interest me, and the music did not go--the piano was like
+me--out of tune. And yet I felt the need of some musical expression
+of the mood that was upon me. I bethought myself of the Tonhalle,
+next door, almost, and that in the rittersaal it would be quiet and
+undisturbed, as the ball that night was not to be held there, but in
+one of the large rooms of the Caserne.
+
+Without pausing to think a second time of the plan, I left the house and
+went to the Tonhalle, only a few steps away. In consequence of the rain
+and bad weather almost every trace of the carnival had disappeared. I
+found the Tonhalle deserted save by a bar-maid at the restauration. I
+asked her if the rittersaal were open, and she said yes. I passed on. As
+I drew near the door I heard music; the piano was already being played.
+Could it be von Francius who was there? I did not think so. The touch
+was not his--neither so practiced, so brilliant, nor so sure.
+
+Satisfied, after listening a moment, that it was not he, I resolved to
+go in and pass through the room. If it were any one whom I could send
+away I would do so, if not, I could go away again myself.
+
+I entered. The room was somewhat dark, but I went in and had almost
+come to the piano before I recognized the player--Courvoisier. Overcome
+with vexation and confusion at the _contretemps_, I paused a moment,
+undecided whether to turn back and go out again. In any case I resolved
+not to remain in the room. He was seated with his back to me, and still
+continued to play. Some music was on the desk of the piano before him.
+
+I might turn back without being observed. I would do so. Hardly,
+though--a mirror hung directly before the piano, and I now saw that
+while he continued to play, he was quietly looking at me, and that his
+keen eyes--that hawk's glance which I knew so well--must have recognized
+me. That decided me. I would not turn back. It would be a silly,
+senseless proceeding, and would look much more invidious than my
+remaining. I walked up to the piano, and he turned, still playing.
+
+"_Guten Tag, mein Fraeulein._"
+
+I merely bowed, and began to search through a pile of songs and music
+upon the piano. I would at any rate take some away with me to give some
+color to my proceedings. Meanwhile he played on.
+
+I selected a song, not in the least knowing what it was, and rolling it
+up, was turning away.
+
+"Are you busy, Miss Wedderburn?"
+
+"N--no."
+
+"Would it be asking too much of you to play the pianoforte
+accompaniment?"
+
+"I will try," said I, speaking briefly, and slowly drawing off my
+gloves.
+
+"If it is disagreeable to you, don't do it," said he, pausing.
+
+"Not in the very least," said I, avoiding looking at him.
+
+He opened the music. It was one of Jensen's "Wanderbilder" for piano and
+violin--the "Kreuz am Wege."
+
+"I have only tried it once before," I remarked, "and I am a dreadful
+bungler."
+
+"_Bitte sehr!_" said he, smiling, arranging his own music on one of the
+stands and adding, "Now I am ready."
+
+I found my hands trembling so much that I could scarcely follow the
+music. Truly this man, with his changes from silence to talkativeness,
+from ironical hardness to cordiality, was a puzzle and a trial to me.
+
+"Das Kreuz am Wege" turned out rather lame. I said so when it was over.
+
+"Suppose we try it again," he suggested, and we did so. I found my
+fingers lingering and forgetting their part as I listened to the
+piercing beauty of his notes.
+
+"That is dismal," said he.
+
+"It is a dismal subject, is it not?"
+
+"Suggestive, at least. 'The Cross by the Wayside.' Well, I have a mind
+for something more cheerful. Did you leave the ball early last night?"
+
+"No; not very early."
+
+"Did you enjoy it?"
+
+"It was all new to me--very interesting--but I don't think I quite
+enjoyed it."
+
+"Ah, you should see the balls at Florence, or Venice, or Vienna!"
+
+He smiled as he leaned back, as if thinking over past scenes.
+
+"Yes," said I, dubiously, "I don't think I care much for such things,
+though it is interesting to watch the little drama going on around."
+
+"And to act in it," I also thought, remembering Anna Sartorius and her
+whisper, and I looked at him. "Not honest, not honorable. Hiding from
+shame and disgrace."
+
+I looked at him and did not believe it. For the moment the torturing
+idea left me. I was free from it and at peace.
+
+"Were you going to practice?" he asked. "I fear I disturb you."
+
+"Oh, no! It does not matter in the least. I shall not practice now."
+
+"I want to try some other things," said he, "and Friedhelm's and my
+piano was not loud enough for me, nor was there sufficient space between
+our walls for the sounds of a symphony. Do you not know the mood?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"But I am afraid to ask you to accompany me."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"You seem unwilling."
+
+"I am not: but I should have supposed that my unwillingness--if I had
+been unwilling--would have been an inducement to you to ask me."
+
+"_Herrgott!_ Why?"
+
+"Since you took a vow to be disagreeable to me, and to make me hate
+you."
+
+A slight flush passed rapidly over his face, as he paused for a moment
+and bit his lips.
+
+"_Mein Fraeulein_--that night I was in bitterness of spirit--I hardly
+knew what I was saying--"
+
+"I will accompany you," I interrupted him, my heart beating. "Only how
+can I begin unless you play, or tell me what you want to play?"
+
+"True," said he, laughing, and yet not moving from his place beside
+the piano, upon which he had leaned his elbow, and across which he now
+looked at me with the self-same kindly, genial glance as that he had
+cast upon me across the little table at the Koeln restaurant. And yet not
+the self-same glance, but another, which I would not have exchanged for
+that first one.
+
+If he would but begin to play I felt that I should not mind so much; but
+when he sat there and looked at me and half smiled, without beginning
+anything practical, I felt the situation at least trying.
+
+He raised his eyes as the door opened at the other end of the saal.
+
+"Ah, there is Friedhelm," said he, "now he will take seconds."
+
+"Then I will not disturb you any longer."
+
+"On the contrary," said he, laying his hand upon my wrist. (My dream of
+the morning flashed into my mind.) "It would be better if you remained,
+then we could have a trio. Friedel, come here! You are just in time.
+Fraeulein Wedderburn will be good enough to accompany us, and we can try
+the Fourth Symphony."
+
+"What you call 'Spring'?" inquired Helfen, coming up smilingly. "With
+all my heart. Where is the score?"
+
+"What you call Spring?" Was it possible that in winter--on a cold and
+unfriendly day--we were going to have spring, leafy bloom, the desert
+filled with leaping springs, and blossoming like a rose? Full of wonder,
+surprise, and a certain excitement at the idea, I sat still and thought
+of my dream, and the rain beat against the windows, and a draughty wind
+fluttered the tinselly decorations of last night. The floor was strewed
+with fragments of garments torn in the crush--paper and silken flowers,
+here a rosette, there a buckle, a satin bow, a tinsel spangle. Benches
+and tables were piled about the room, which was half dark; only to
+westward, through one window, was visible a paler gleam, which might by
+comparison be called light.
+
+The two young men turned over the music, laughing at something, and
+chaffing each other. I never in my life saw two such entire friends as
+these; they seemed to harmonize most perfectly in the midst of their
+unlikeness to each other.
+
+"Excuse that we kept you waiting, _mein Fraeulein_," said Courvoisier,
+placing some music before me. "This fellow is so slow, and will put
+everything into order as he uses it."
+
+"Well for you that I am, _mein lieber_," said Helfen, composedly. "If
+any one had the enterprise to offer a prize to the most extravagant,
+untidy fellow in Europe, the palm would be yours--by a long way too."
+
+"Friedel binds his music and numbers it," observed Courvoisier. "It is
+one of the most beautiful and affecting of sights to behold him with
+scissors, paste-pot, brush and binding. It occurs periodically about
+four times a year, I think, and moves me almost to tears when I see it."
+
+"_Der edle Ritter_ leaves his music unbound, and borrows mine on every
+possible occasion when his own property is scattered to the four winds
+of heaven."
+
+"_Aber! aber!_" cried Eugen. "That is too much! I call Frau Schmidt to
+witness that all my music is put in one place."
+
+"I never said it wasn't. But you never can find it when you want it, and
+the confusion is delightfully increased by your constantly rushing off
+to buy a new _partitur_ when you can't find the old one; so you have
+three or four of each."
+
+"This is all to show off what he considers his own good qualities; a
+certain slow, methodical plodding and a good memory, which are natural
+gifts, but which he boasts of as if they were acquired virtues. He binds
+his music because he is a pedant and a prig, and can't help it; a bad
+fellow to get on with. Now, _mein bester_, for the 'Fruhling.'"
+
+"But the Fraeulein ought to have it explained," expostulated Helfen,
+laughing. "Every one has not the misfortune to be so well acquainted
+with you as I am. He has rather insane fancies sometimes," he added,
+turning to me, "without rhyme or reason that I am aware, and he chooses
+to assert that Beethoven's Fourth Symphony, or the chief motive of it,
+occurred to him on a spring day, when the master was, for a time, quite
+charmed from his bitter humor, and had, perhaps, some one by his side
+who put his heart in tune with the spring songs of the birds, the green
+of the grass, the scent of the flowers. So he calls it the 'Fruhling
+Symphonie,' and will persist in playing it as such. I call the idea
+rather far-fetched, but then that is nothing unusual with him."
+
+"Having said your remarkably stupid say, which Miss Wedderburn has far
+too much sense to heed in the least, suppose you allow us to begin,"
+said Courvoisier, giving the other a push toward his violin.
+
+But we were destined to have yet another coadjutor in the shape of Karl
+Linders, who at that moment strolled in, and was hailed by his friends
+with jubilation.
+
+"Come and help! Your 'cello will give just the mellowness that is
+wanted," said Eugen.
+
+"I must go and get it then," said Karl, looking at me.
+
+Eugen, with an indescribable expression as he intercepted the glance,
+introduced us to one another. Karl and Friedhelm Helfen went off to
+another part of the Tonhalle to fetch Karl's violoncello, and we were
+left alone again.
+
+"Perhaps I ought not to have introduced him. I forgot 'Lohengrin,'" said
+Eugen.
+
+"You know that you did not," said I, in a low voice.
+
+"No," he answered, almost in the same tone. "It was thinking of that
+which led me to introduce poor old Karl to you. I thought, perhaps, that
+you would accept it as a sign--will you?"
+
+"A sign of what?"
+
+"That I feel myself to have been in the wrong throughout--and forgive."
+
+As I sat, amazed and a little awed at this almost literal fulfillment of
+my dream, the others returned.
+
+Karl contributed the tones of his mellowest of instruments, which he
+played with a certain pleasant breadth and brightness of coloring, and
+my dream came ever truer and truer. The symphony was as spring-like
+as possible. We tried it nearly all through; the hymn-like and yet
+fairy-like first movement; the second, that song of universal love,
+joy, and thanksgiving, with Beethoven's masculine hand evident
+throughout. To the notes there seemed to fall a sunshine into the room,
+and we could see the fields casting their covering of snow, and withered
+trees bursting into bloom; brooks swollen with warm rain, birds busy at
+nest-making; clumps of primroses on velvet leaves, and the subtle scent
+of violets; youths and maidens with love in their eyes; and even a hint
+of later warmth, when hedges should be white with hawthorn, and the
+woodland slopes look, with their sheets of hyacinths, as if some of
+heaven's blue had been spilled upon earth's grass.
+
+As the last strong, melodious modulations ceased, Courvoisier pointed to
+one of the windows.
+
+"Friedhelm, you wretched unbeliever, behold the refutation of your
+theories. The symphony has brought the sun out."
+
+"For the first time," said Friedhelm, as he turned his earnest young
+face with its fringe of loose brown hair toward the sneaking sun-ray,
+which was certainly looking shyly in. "As a rule the very heavens weep
+at the performance. Don't you remember the last time we tried it, it
+began to rain instantly?"
+
+"Miss Wedderburn's co-operation must have secured its success then on
+this occasion," said Eugen, gravely, glancing at me for a moment.
+
+"Hear! hear!" murmured Karl, screwing up his violoncello and smiling
+furtively.
+
+"Oh, I am afraid I hindered rather than helped," said I, "but it is very
+beautiful."
+
+"But not like spring, is it?" asked Friedhelm.
+
+"Well, I think it is."
+
+"There! I knew she would declare for me," said Courvoisier, calmly, at
+which Karl Linders looked up in some astonishment.
+
+"Shall we try this 'Traumerei,' Miss Wedderburn, if you are not too
+tired?"
+
+I turned willingly to the piano, and we played Schumann's little
+"Dreams."
+
+"Ah," said Eugen, with a deep sigh (and his face had grown sad), "isn't
+that the essence of sweetness and poetry? Here's another which is
+lovely. 'Noch ein Paar,' _nicht wahr?_"
+
+"And it will be 'noch ein Paar' until our fingers drop off," scolded
+Friedhelm, who seemed, however, very willing to await that consummation.
+We went through many of the Kinderscenen and some of the Kreissleriana,
+and just as we finished a sweet little "Bittendes Kind," the twilight
+grew almost into darkness, and Courvoisier laid his violin down.
+
+"Miss Wedderburn, thank you a thousand times!"
+
+"Oh, _bitte sehr_!" was all I could say. I wanted to say so much more;
+to say that I had been made happy; my sadness dispelled, a dream half
+fulfilled, but the words stuck, and had they come ever so flowingly I
+could not have uttered them with Friedhelm Helfen, who knew so much,
+looking at us, and Karl Linders on his best behavior in what he
+considered superior company.
+
+I do not know how it was that Karl and Friedhelm, as we all came from
+the Tonhalle, walked off to the house, and Eugen and I were left to walk
+alone through the soaking streets, emptied of all their revelers, and
+along the dripping Koenigsallee, with its leafless chestnuts, to Sir
+Peter's house. It was cold, it was wet--cheerless, dark, and dismal, and
+I was very happy--very insanely so. I gave a glance once or twice at my
+companion. The brightness had left his face; it was stern and worn
+again, and his lips set as if with the repression of some pain.
+
+"Herr Courvoisier, have you heard from your little boy?"
+
+"No."
+
+"No?"
+
+"I do not expect to hear from him, _mein Fraeulein_. When he left me we
+parted altogether."
+
+"Oh, how dreadful!"
+
+No answer. And we spoke no more until he said "Good-evening" to me at
+the door of No. 3. As I went in I reflected that I might never meet him
+thus face to face again. Was it an opportunity missed, or was it a brief
+glimpse of unexpected joy?
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX.
+
+THE TRUTH.
+
+
+As days went on and grew into weeks, and weeks paired off until a month
+passed, and I still saw the same stricken look upon my sister's face,
+my heart grew full of foreboding.
+
+One morning the astonishing news came that Sir Peter had gone to
+America.
+
+"America!" I ejaculated (it was always I who acted the part of chorus
+and did the exclamations and questioning), and I looked at Harry
+Arkwright, who had communicated the news, and who held an open letter in
+his hand.
+
+"Yes, to America, to see about a railway which looks very bad. He has no
+end of their bonds," said Harry, folding up the letter.
+
+"When will he return?"
+
+"He doesn't know. Meanwhile we are to stay where we are."
+
+Adelaide, when we spoke of this circumstance, said, bitterly:
+
+"Everything is against me!"
+
+"Against you, Adelaide?" said I, looking apprehensively at her.
+
+"Yes, everything!" she repeated.
+
+She had never been effusive in her behavior to others; she was now, if
+possible, still less so, but the uniform quietness and gentleness with
+which she now treated all who came in contact with her, puzzled and
+troubled me. What was it that preyed upon her mind? In looking round for
+a cause my thoughts lighted first on one person, then on another; I
+dismissed the idea of all, except von Francius, with a smile. Shortly I
+abandoned that idea too. True, he was a man of very different caliber
+from the others; a man, too, for whom Adelaide had conceived a decided
+friendship, though in these latter days even that seemed to be dying
+out. He did not come so often; when he did come they had little to say
+to each other. Perhaps, after all, the cause of her sadness lay no
+deeper than her every-day life, which must necessarily grow more
+mournful day by day. She could feel intensely, as I had lately become
+aware, and had, too, a warm, quick imagination. It might be that a
+simple weariness of life and the anticipation of long years to come of
+such a life lay so heavily upon her soul as to have wrought that gradual
+change.
+
+Sometimes I was satisfied with this theory; at others it dwindled into a
+miserably inadequate measure. When Adelaide once or twice kissed me,
+smiled at me, and called me "dear," it was on my lips to ask the
+meaning of the whole thing, but it never passed them. I dared not speak
+when it came to the point.
+
+One day, about this time, I met Anna Sartorius in one of the picture
+exhibitions. I would have bowed and passed her, but she stopped and
+spoke to me.
+
+"I have not seen you often lately," said she; "but I assure you, you
+will hear more of me some time--and before long."
+
+Without replying, I passed on. Anna had ceased even to pretend to look
+friendly upon me, and I did not feel much alarm as to her power for or
+against my happiness or peace of mind.
+
+Regularly, once a month, I wrote to Miss Hallam and occasionally had a
+few lines from Stella, who had become a protegee of Miss Hallam's too.
+They appeared to get on very well together, at which I did not wonder;
+for Stella, with all her youthfulness, was of a cynical turn of mind,
+which must suit Miss Hallam well.
+
+My greatest friend in Elberthal was good little Dr. Mittendorf, who had
+brought his wife to call upon me, and to whose house I had been invited
+several times since Miss Hallam's departure.
+
+During this time I worked more steadily than ever, and with a deeper
+love of my art for itself. Von Francius was still my master and my
+friend. I used to look back upon the days, now nearly a year ago, when I
+first saw him, and seeing him, distrusted and only half liked him, and
+wondered at myself; for I had now as entire a confidence in him as can
+by any means be placed in a man. He had thoroughly won my esteem,
+respect, admiration--in a measure, too, my affection. I liked the power
+of him; the strong hand with which he carried things in his own way; the
+idiomatic language, and quick, curt sentences in which he enunciated his
+opinions. I felt him like a strong, kind, and thoughtful elder brother,
+and have had abundant evidence in his deeds and in some brief
+unemotional words of his that he felt a great regard of the fraternal
+kind for me. It has often comforted me, that friendship--pure,
+disinterested and manly on his side, grateful and unwavering on mine.
+
+I still retained my old lodgings in the Wehrhahn, and was determined to
+do so. I would not be tied to remain in Sir Peter Le Marchant's house
+unless I choose. Adelaide wished me to come and remain with her
+altogether. She said Sir Peter wished it too; he had written and said
+she might ask me. I asked what was Sir Peter's motive in wishing it? Was
+it not a desire to humiliate both of us, and to show us that we--the
+girl who had scorned him, and the woman who had sold herself to
+him--were in the end dependent upon him, and must follow his will and
+submit to his pleasure?
+
+She reddened, sighed, and owned that it was true; nor did she press me
+any further.
+
+A month, then, elapsed between the carnival in February and the next
+great concert in the latter end of March. It was rather a special
+concert, for von Francius had succeeded, in spite of many obstacles, in
+bringing out the Choral Symphony.
+
+He conducted well that night; and he, Courvoisier, Friedhelm Helfen,
+Karl Linders, and one or two others, formed in their white heat of
+enthusiasm a leaven which leavened the whole lump. Orchestra and chorus
+alike did a little more than their possible, without which no great
+enthusiasm can be carried out. As I watched von Francius, it seemed to
+me that a new soul had entered into the man. I did not believe that a
+year ago he could have conducted the Choral Symphony as he did that
+night. Can any one enter into the broad, eternal clang of the great
+"world-story" unless he has a private story of his own which may serve
+him in some measure as a key to its mystery? I think not. It was a night
+of triumph for Max von Francius. Not only was the glorious music cheered
+and applauded, he was called to receive a meed of thanks for having once
+more given to the world a never-dying joy and beauty.
+
+I was in the chorus. Down below I saw Adelaide and her devoted
+attendant, Harry Arkwright. She looked whiter and more subdued than
+ever. All the splendor of the praise of "joy" could not bring joy to her
+heart--
+
+     "Diesen Kuss der ganzen Welt"
+
+brought no warmth to her cheek, nor lessened the load on her breast.
+
+The concert over, we returned home. Adelaide and I retired to her
+dressing-room, and her maid brought us tea. She seated herself in
+silence. For my part, I was excited and hot, and felt my cheeks glowing.
+I was so stirred that I could not sit still, but moved to and fro,
+wishing that all the world could hear that music, and repeating lines
+from the "Ode to Joy," the grand march-like measure, feeling my heart
+uplifted with the exaltation of its opening strain:
+
+     "Freude, schoener Gotterfunken!
+     Tochter aus Elysium!"
+
+As I paced about thus excitedly, Adelaide's maid came in with a note.
+Mr. Arkwright had received it from Herr von Francius, who had desired
+him to give it to Lady Le Marchant.
+
+Adelaide opened it and I went on with my chant. I know now how dreadful
+it must have sounded to her.
+
+     "Freude trinken alle Wesen
+     An den Bruesten der Natur--"
+
+"May!" said Adelaide, faintly.
+
+I turned in my walk and looked at her. White as death, she held the
+paper toward me with a steady hand, and I, the song of joy slain upon my
+lips, took it. It was a brief note from von Francius.
+
+"I let you know, my lady, first of all that I have accepted the post of
+Musik-Direktor in ----. It will be made known to-morrow."
+
+I held the paper and looked at her. Now I knew the reason of her pallid
+looks. I had indeed been blind. I might have guessed better.
+
+"Have you read it?" she asked, and she stretched her arms above her
+head, as if panting for breath.
+
+"Adelaide!" I whispered, going up to her; "Adelaide--oh!"
+
+She fell upon my neck. She did not speak, and I, speechless, held her to
+my breast.
+
+"You love him, Adelaide?" I said, at last.
+
+"With my whole soul!" she answered, in a low, very low, but vehement
+voice. "With my whole soul."
+
+"And you have owned it to him?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Tell me," said I, "how it was."
+
+"I think I have loved him since almost the first time I saw him--he made
+quite a different impression upon me than other men do--quite. I hardly
+knew myself. He mastered me. No other man ever did--except--" she
+shuddered a little, "and that only because I tied myself hand and foot.
+But I liked the mastery. It was delicious; it was rest and peace. It
+went on for long. We knew--each knew quite well that we loved, but he
+never spoke of it. He saw how it was with me and he helped me--oh, why
+is he so good? He never tried to trap me into any acknowledgment. He
+never made any use of the power he knew he had except to keep me right.
+But at the Maskenball--I do not know how it was--we were alone in all
+the crowd--there was something said--a look. It was all over. But he was
+true to the last. He did not say, 'Throw everything up and come to me.'
+He said, 'Give me the only joy that we may have. Tell me you love me.'
+And I told him. I said, 'I love you with my life and my soul, and
+everything I have, for ever and ever.' And that is true. He said, 'Thank
+you, milady. I accept the condition of my knighthood,' and kissed my
+hand. There was some-one following us. It was Sir Peter. He heard all,
+and he has punished me for it since. He will punish me again."
+
+A pause.
+
+"That is all that has been said. He does not know that Sir Peter knows,
+for he has never alluded to it since. He has spared me. I say he is a
+noble man."
+
+She raised herself, and looked at me.
+
+Dear sister! With your love and your pride, your sins and your folly,
+inexpressibly dear to me! I pressed a kiss upon her lips.
+
+"Von Francius is good, Adelaide; he is good."
+
+"Von Francius would have told me this himself, but he has been afraid
+for me; some time ago he said to me that he had the offer of a post at a
+distance. That was asking my advice. I found out what it was, and said,
+'Take it.' He has done so."
+
+"Then you have decided?" I stammered.
+
+"To part. He has strength. So have I. It was my own fault. May--I could
+bear it if it were for myself alone. I have had my eyes opened now. I
+see that when people do wrong they drag others into it--they punish
+those they love--it is part of their own punishment."
+
+A pause. Facts, I felt, were pitiless; but the glow of friendship for
+von Francius was like a strong fire. In the midst of the keenest pain
+one finds a true man, and the discovery is like a sudden soothing of
+sharp anguish, or like the finding a strong comrade in a battle.
+
+Adelaide had been very self-restrained and quiet all this time, but now
+suddenly broke out into low, quick, half sobbed-out words:
+
+"Oh, I love him, I love him! It is dreadful! How shall I go through with
+it?"
+
+Ay, there was the rub! Not one short, sharp pang, and over--all fire
+quenched in cool mists of death and unconsciousness, but long years to
+come of daily, hourly, paying the price; incessant compunction, active
+punishment. A prospect for a martyr to shirk from, and for a woman who
+has made a mistake to--live through.
+
+We needed not further words. The secret was told, and the worst known.
+We parted. Von Francius was from this moment a sacred being to me.
+
+But from this time he scarcely came near the house--not even to give me
+my lessons. I went to my lodging and had them there. Adelaide said
+nothing, asked not a question concerning him, nor mentioned his name,
+and the silence on his side was almost as profound as that on hers. It
+seemed as if they feared that should they meet, speak, look each other
+in the eyes, all resolution would be swept away, and the end hurry
+resistless on.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI.
+
+"And behold, though the way was light and the sun did shine, yet my
+heart was ill at ease, for a sinister blot did now and again fleck the
+sun, and a muttered sound perturbed the air. And he repeated oft 'One
+hath told me--thus--or thus.'"
+
+
+Karl Linders, our old acquaintance, was now our fast friend. Many
+changes had taken place in the _personnel_ of our fellow-workmen in the
+kapelle, but Eugen, Karl, and I remained stationary in the same places
+and holding the same rank as on the day we had first met. He, Karl, had
+been from the first more congenial to me than any other of my fellows
+(Eugen excepted, of course). Why, I could never exactly tell. There was
+about him a contagious cheerfulness, good-humor, and honesty. He was a
+sinner, but no rascal; a wild fellow--_Taugenichts_--_wilder Gesell_,
+as our phraseology had it, but the furthest thing possible from a
+knave.
+
+Since his visits to us and his earnest efforts to curry favor with
+Sigmund by means of nondescript wool beasts, domestic or of prey, he had
+grown much nearer to us. He was the only intimate we had--the only
+person who came in and out of our quarters at any time; the only man who
+sat and smoked with us in an evening. At the time when Karl put in his
+first appearance in these pages he was a young man not only not
+particular, but utterly reckless as to the society he frequented. Any
+one, he was wont to say, was good enough to talk with, or to listen
+while talked to. Karl's conversation could not be called either affected
+or pedantic; his taste was catholic, and comprised within wide bounds;
+he considered all subjects that were amusing appropriate matter of
+discussion, and to him most subjects were--or were susceptible of being
+made--amusing.
+
+Latterly, however, it would seem that a process of growth had been going
+on in him. Three years had worked a difference. In some respects he was,
+thank Heaven! still the old Karl--the old careless, reckless, aimless
+fellow; but in others he was metamorphosed.
+
+Karl Linders, a handsome fellow himself and a slave to beauty, as he was
+careful to inform us--susceptible in the highest degree to real
+loveliness--so he often told us--and in love on an average, desperately
+and forever, once a week, had at last fallen really and actually in
+love.
+
+For a long time we did not guess it--or rather, accepting his being in
+love as a chronic state of his being--one of the "inseparable
+accidents," which may almost be called qualities, we wondered what lay
+at the bottom of his sudden intense sobriety of demeanor and propriety
+of conduct, and looked for some cause deeper than love, which did not
+usually have that effect upon him; we thought it might be debt. We
+studied the behavior itself; we remarked that for upward of ten days he
+had never lauded the charms of any young woman connected with the choral
+or terpsichorean staff of the opera, and wondered.
+
+We saw that he had had his hair very much cut, and we told him frankly
+that we did not think it improved him. To our great surprise he told us
+that we knew nothing about it, and requested us to mind our own
+business, adding testily, after a pause, that he did not see why on
+earth a set of men like us should make ourselves conspicuous by the
+fashion of our hair, as if we were Absaloms or Samsons.
+
+"Samson had a Delilah, _mein lieber_," said I, eying him. "She shore his
+locks for him. Tell us frankly who has acted the part by you."
+
+"Bah! Can a fellow have no sense in his own head to find such things
+out? Go and do likewise, and I can tell you you'll be improved."
+
+But we agreed when he was gone that the loose locks, drooping over the
+laughing glance, suited him better than that neatly cropped propriety.
+
+Days passed, and Karl was still not his old self. It became matter of
+public remark that his easy, short jacket, a mongrel kind of garment to
+which he was deeply attached, was discarded, not merely for grand
+occasions, but even upon the ordinary Saturday night concert, yea, even
+for walking out at midday, and a superior frock-coat substituted for
+it--a frock-coat in which, we told him, he looked quite _edel_. At which
+he pished and pshawed, but surreptitiously adjusted his collar before
+the looking-glass which the propriety and satisfactoriness of our
+behavior had induced Frau Schmidt to add to our responsibilities, pulled
+his cuffs down, and remarked _en passant_ that "the 'cello was a
+horribly ungraceful instrument."
+
+"Not as you use it," said we both, politely, and allowed him to lead the
+way to the concert-room.
+
+A few evenings later he strolled into our room, lighted a cigar, and
+sighed deeply.
+
+"What ails thee, then, Karl?" I asked.
+
+"I've something on my mind," he replied, uneasily.
+
+"That we know," put in Eugen; "and a pretty big lump it must be, too.
+Out with it, man! Has she accepted the bottle-nosed oboist after all?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Have you got into debt? How much? I dare say we can manage it between
+us."
+
+"No--oh, no! I am five thalers to the good."
+
+Our countenances grow more serious. Not debt? Then what was it, what
+could it be?
+
+"I hope nothing has happened to Gretchen," suggested Eugen, for
+Gretchen, his sister, was the one permanently strong love of Karl's
+heart.
+
+"Oh, no! _Das Maedel_ is very well, and getting on in her classes."
+
+"Then what is it?"
+
+"I'm--engaged--to be married."
+
+I grieve to say that Eugen and I, after staring at him for some few
+minutes, until we had taken in the announcement, both burst into the
+most immoderate laughter--till the tears ran down our cheeks, and our
+sides ached.
+
+Karl sat quite still, unresponsive, puffing away at his cigar; and when
+we had finished, or rather were becoming a little more moderate in the
+expression of our amusement, he knocked the ash away from his weed, and
+remarked:
+
+"That's blind jealousy. You both know that there isn't a _Maedchen_ in
+the place who would look at you, so you try to laugh at people who are
+better off than yourselves."
+
+This was so stinging (from the tone more than the words) as coming from
+the most sweet-tempered fellow I ever knew, that we stopped. Eugen
+apologized, and we asked who the lady was.
+
+"I shouldn't suppose you cared to know," said he, rather sulkily. "And
+it's all very fine to laugh, but let me see the man who even smiles at
+her--he shall learn who I am."
+
+We assured him, with the strongest expressions that we could call to our
+aid, that it was the very idea of his being engaged that made us
+laugh--not any disrespect, and begged his pardon again. By degrees he
+relented. We still urgently demanded the name of the lady.
+
+"_Als verlobte empfehlen sich_ Karl Linders and--who else?" asked Eugen.
+
+"_Als verlobte empfehlen sich_[D] Karl Linders and Clara Steinmann,"
+said Karl, with much dignity.
+
+[Footnote D: The German custom on an engagement taking place is to
+announce it with the above words, signifying "M. and N. announce
+(recommend) themselves as betrothed." This appears in the newspaper--as
+a marriage with us.]
+
+"Clara Steinmann," we repeated, in tones of respectful gravity, "I never
+heard of her."
+
+"No, she keeps herself rather reserved and select," said Karl,
+impressively. "She lives with her aunt in the Alleestrasse, at number
+39."
+
+"Number 39!" we both ejaculated.
+
+"Exactly so! What have you to say against it?" demanded Herr Linders,
+glaring round upon us with an awful majesty.
+
+"Nothing--oh, less than nothing. But I know now where you mean. It is a
+boarding-house, _nicht wahr?_"
+
+He nodded sedately.
+
+"I have seen the young lady," said I, carefully observing all due
+respect. "Eugen, you must have seen her too. Miss Wedderburn used to
+come with her to the Instrumental Concerts before she began to sing."
+
+"Right!" said Karl, graciously. "She did. Clara liked Miss Wedderburn
+very much."
+
+"Indeed!" said we, respectfully, and fully recognizing that this was
+quite a different affair from any of the previous flirtations with
+chorus-singers and ballet-girls which had taken up so much of his
+attention.
+
+"I don't know her," said I, "I have not that pleasure, but I am sure you
+are to be congratulated, old fellow--so I do congratulate you very
+heartily."
+
+"Thank you," said he.
+
+"I can't congratulate you, Karl, as I don't know the lady," said Eugen,
+"but I do congratulate her," laying his hand upon Karl's shoulder; "I
+hope she knows the kind of man she has won, and is worthy of him."
+
+A smile of the Miss Squeers description--"Tilda, I pities your ignorance
+and despises you"--crossed Karl's lips as he said:
+
+"Thank you. No one else knows. It only took place--decidedly, you know,
+to-night. I said I should tell two friends of mine--she said she had no
+objection. I should not have liked to keep it from you two. I wish,"
+said Karl, whose eyes had been roving in a seeking manner round the
+room, and who now brought his words out with a run; "I wish Sigmund had
+been here too. I wish she could have seen him. She loves children; she
+has been very good to Gretchen."
+
+Eugen's hand dropped from our friend's shoulder. He walked to the window
+without speaking, and looked out into the darkness--as he was then in
+more senses than one often wont to do--nor did he break the silence nor
+look at us again until some time after Karl and I had resumed the
+conversation.
+
+So did the quaint fellow announce his engagement to us. It was quite a
+romantic little history, for it turned out that he had loved the girl
+for full two years, but for a long time had not been able even to make
+her acquaintance, and when that was accomplished, had hardly dared to
+speak of his love for her; for though she was sprung from much the same
+class as himself, she was in much better circumstances, and accustomed
+to a life of ease and plenty, even if she were little better in reality
+than a kind of working housekeeper. A second suitor for her hand had,
+however, roused Karl into boldness and activity; he declared himself,
+and was accepted. Despite the opposition of Frau Steinmann, who thought
+the match in every way beneath her niece (why, I never could tell), the
+lovers managed to carry their purpose so far as the betrothal or
+_verlobung_ went; marriage was a question strictly of the future. It was
+during the last weeks of suspense and uncertainty that Karl had been
+unable to carry things off in quite his usual light-hearted manner; it
+was after finally conquering that he came to make us partners in his
+satisfaction.
+
+In time we had the honor of an introduction to Fraeulein Steinmann, and
+our amazement and amusement were equally great. Karl was a tall,
+handsome, well-knit fellow, with an exceptionally graceful figure and
+what I call a typical German face (typical, I mean, in one line of
+development)--open, frank, handsome, with the broad traits, smiling
+lips, clear and direct guileless eyes, waving hair and aptitude for
+geniality which are the chief characteristics of that type--not the
+highest, perhaps, but a good one, nevertheless--honest, loyal, brave--a
+kind which makes good fathers and good soldiers--how many a hundred are
+mourned since 1870-71!
+
+He had fallen in love with a little stout dumpy _Maedchen_, honest and
+open as himself, but stupid in all outside domestic matters. She was
+evidently desperately in love with him, and could understand a good
+waltz or a sentimental song, so that his musical talents were not
+altogether thrown away. I liked her better after a time. There was
+something touching in the way in which she said to me once:
+
+"He might have done so much better. I am such an ugly, stupid thing, but
+when he said did I love him or could I love him, or something like that,
+_um Gotteswillen_, Herr Helfen, what could I say?"
+
+"I am sure you did the best possible thing both for him and for you," I
+was able to say, with emphasis and conviction.
+
+Karl had now become a completely reformed and domesticated member of
+society; now he wore the frock-coat several times a week, and confided
+to me that he thought he must have a new one soon. Now too did other
+strange results appear of his engagement to Fraeulein Clara (he got
+sentimental and called her Claerchen sometimes). He had now the _entree_
+of Frau Steinmann's house and there met feminine society several degrees
+above that to which he had been accustomed. He was obliged to wear a
+permanently polite and polished manner (which, let me hasten to say, was
+not the least trouble to him). No chaffing of these young ladies--no
+offering to take them to places of amusement of any but the very
+sternest and severest respectability.
+
+He took Fraeulein Clara out for walks. They jogged along arm in arm, Karl
+radiant, Clara no less so, and sometimes they were accompanied by
+another inmate of Frau Steinmann's house--a contrast to them both. She
+lived _en famille_ with her hostess, not having an income large enough
+to admit of indulging in quite separate quarters, and her name was Anna
+Sartorius.
+
+It was very shortly after his engagement that Karl began to talk to me
+about Anna Sartorius. She was a clever young woman, it seemed--or as he
+called her, a _gescheidtes Maedchen_. She could talk most wonderfully.
+She had traveled--she had been in England and France, and seen the
+world, said Karl. They all passed very delightful evenings together
+sometimes, diversified with music and song and the racy jest--at which
+times Frau Steinmann became quite another person, and he, Karl, felt
+himself in heaven.
+
+The substance of all this was told me by him one day at a probe, where
+Eugen had been conspicuous by his absence. Perhaps the circumstance
+reminded Karl of some previous conversation, for he said:
+
+"She must have seen Courvoisier before somewhere. She asks a good many
+questions about him, and when I said I knew him she laughed."
+
+"Look here, Karl, don't go talking to outsiders about Eugen--or any of
+us. His affairs are no business of Fraeulein Sartorius, or any other
+busybody."
+
+"I talk about him! What do you mean? Upon my word I don't know how the
+conversation took that turn; but I am sure she knows something about
+him. She said 'Eugen Courvoisier indeed!' and laughed in a very peculiar
+way."
+
+"She is a fool. So are you if you let her talk to you about him."
+
+"She is no fool, and I want to talk to no one but my own _Maedchen_,"
+said he, easily; "but when a woman is talking one can't stop one's
+ears."
+
+Time passed. The concert with the Choral Symphony followed. Karl had had
+the happiness of presenting tickets to Fraeulein Clara and her aunt, and
+of seeing them, in company with Miss Sartorius, enjoying looking at the
+dresses, and saying how loud the music was. His visits to Frau Steinmann
+continued.
+
+"Friedel," he remarked abruptly one day to me, as we paced down the
+Casernenstrasse, "I wonder who Courvoisier is!"
+
+"You have managed to exist very comfortably for three or four years
+without knowing."
+
+"There is something behind all his secrecy about himself."
+
+"Fraeulein Sartorius says so, I suppose," I remarked, dryly.
+
+"N--no; she never said so; but I think she knows it is so."
+
+"And what if it be so?"
+
+"Oh, nothing! But I wonder what can have driven him here."
+
+"Driven him here? His own choice, of course."
+
+Karl laughed.
+
+"_Nee_, _nee_, Friedel, not quite."
+
+"I should advise you to let him and his affairs alone, unless you want a
+row with him. I would no more think of asking him than of cutting off my
+right hand."
+
+"Asking him--_lieber Himmel!_ no; but one may wonder--It was a very
+queer thing his sending poor Sigmund off in that style. I wonder where
+he is."
+
+"I don't know."
+
+"Did he never tell you?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Queer!" said Karl, reflectively. "I think there is something odd behind
+it all."
+
+"Now listen, Karl. Do you want to have a row with Eugen? Are you anxious
+for him never to speak to you again?"
+
+"_Herrgott_, no!"
+
+"Then take my advice, and just keep your mouth shut. Don't listen to
+tales, and don't repeat them."
+
+"But, my dear fellow, when there is a mystery about a man--"
+
+"Mystery! Nonsense! What mystery is there in a man's choosing to have
+private affairs? We didn't behave in this idiotic manner when you were
+going on like a lunatic about Fraeulein Clara. We simply assumed that as
+you didn't speak you had affairs which you chose to keep to yourself.
+Just apply the rule, or it may be worse for you."
+
+"For all that, there is something queer," he said, as we turned into the
+restauration for dinner.
+
+Yet again, some days later, just before the last concert came off, Karl,
+talking to me, said, in a tone and with a look as if the idea troubled
+and haunted him:
+
+"I say, Friedel, do you think Courvoisier's being here is all square?"
+
+"All square?" I repeated, scornfully.
+
+He nodded.
+
+"Yes. Of course all has been right since he came here; but don't you
+think there may be something shady in the background?"
+
+"What do you mean by 'shady'?" I asked, more annoyed than I cared to
+confess at his repeated returning to the subject.
+
+"Well, you know, there must be a reason for his being here--"
+
+I burst into a fit of laughter, which was not so mirthful as it might
+seem.
+
+"I should rather think there must. Isn't there a reason for every one
+being somewhere? Why am I here? Why are you here?"
+
+"Yes; but this is quite a different thing. We are all agreed that
+whatever he may be now, he has not always been one of us, and I like
+things to be clear about people."
+
+"It is a most extraordinary thing that you should only have felt the
+anxiety lately," said I, witheringly, and then, after a moment's
+reflection, I said:
+
+"Look here, Karl; no one could be more unwilling than I to pick a
+quarrel with you, but quarrel we must if this talking of Eugen behind
+his back goes on. It is nothing to either of us what his past has been.
+I want no references. If you want to gossip about him or any one else,
+go to the old women who are the natural exchangers of that commodity.
+Only if you mention it again to me it comes to a quarrel--_verstehst
+du?_"
+
+"I meant no harm, and I can see no harm in it," said he.
+
+"Very well; but I do. I hate it. So shake hands, and let there be an end
+of it. I wish now that I had spoken out at first. There's a dirtiness,
+to my mind, in the idea of speculating about a person with whom you are
+intimate, in a way that you wouldn't like him to hear."
+
+"Well, if you will have it so," said he; but there was not the usual
+look of open satisfaction upon his face. He did not mention the subject
+to me again, but I caught him looking now and then earnestly at Eugen,
+as if he wished to ask him something. Then I knew that in my anxiety to
+avoid gossiping about the friend whose secrets were sacred to me, I had
+made a mistake. I ought to have made Karl tell me whether he had heard
+anything specific about him or against him, and so judge the extent of
+the mischief done.
+
+It needed but little thought on my part to refer Karl's suspicions and
+vague rumors to the agency of Anna Sartorius. Lately I had begun to
+observe this young lady more closely. She was a tall, dark, plain girl,
+with large, defiant-looking eyes, and a bitter mouth; when she smiled
+there was nothing genial in the smile. When she spoke, her voice had a
+certain harsh flavor; her laugh was hard and mocking--as if she laughed
+at, not with, people. There was something rather striking in her
+appearance, but little pleasing. She looked at odds with the world, or
+with her lot in it, or with her present circumstances, or something. I
+was satisfied that she knew something of Eugen, though, when I once
+pointed her out to him and asked if he knew her, he looked at her, and
+after a moment's look, as if he remembered, shook his head, saying:
+
+"There is something a little familiar to me in her face, but I am sure
+that I have never seen her--most assuredly never spoken to her."
+
+Yet I had often seen her look at him long and earnestly, usually with a
+certain peculiar smile, and with her head a little to one side as if she
+examined some curiosity or _lusus naturae_. I was too little curious
+myself to know Eugen's past to speculate much about it; but I was quite
+sure that there was some link between him and that dark, bitter,
+sarcastic-looking girl, Anna Sartorius.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII.
+
+ "Didst thou, or didst thou not? Just tell me, friend!
+ Not that _my_ conscience may be satisfied,
+ _I_ never for a moment doubted thee--
+ But that I may have wherewithal in hand
+ To turn against them when they point at thee:
+ A whip to flog them with--a rock to crush--
+ Thy word--thy simple downright 'No, I did not.'
+
+   *       *       *       *       *
+
+   Why! How!
+ What's this? He does not, will not speak. Oh, God!
+ Nay, raise thy head and look me in the eyes!
+ Canst not? What is this thing?"
+
+
+It was the last concert of the season, and the end of April, when
+evenings were growing pleasantly long and the air balmy. Those last
+concerts, and the last nights of the opera, which closed at the end of
+April, until September, were always crowded. That night I remember we
+had Liszt's "Prometheus," and a great violinist had been announced as
+coming to enrapture the audience with the performance of a Concerto of
+Beethoven's.
+
+The concert was for the benefit of von Francius, and was probably the
+last one at which he would conduct us. He was leaving to assume the post
+of Koeniglicher Musik-Direktor at ----. Now that the time came there was
+not a man among us who was not heartily sorry to think of the parting.
+
+Miss Wedderburn was one of the soloists that evening and her sister and
+Mr. Arkwright were both there.
+
+Karl Linders came on late. I saw that just before he appeared by the
+orchestra entrance, his beloved, her aunt, and Fraeulein Sartorius had
+taken their places in the parquet. Karl looked sullen and discontented,
+and utterly unlike himself. Anna Sartorius was half smiling. Lady Le
+Marchant, I noticed, passingly, looked the shadow of her former self.
+
+Then von Francius came on; he too looked disturbed, for him very much
+so, and glanced round the orchestra and the room; and then coming up to
+Eugen, drew him a little aside, and seemed to put a question to him. The
+discussion, though carried on in low tones, was animated, and lasted
+some time. Von Francius appeared greatly to urge Courvoisier to
+something--the latter to resist. At last some understanding appeared to
+be come to. Von Francius returned to his estrade, Eugen to his seat, and
+the concert began.
+
+The third piece on the list was the Violin Concerto, and when its turn
+came all eyes turned in all directions in search of ----, the
+celebrated, who was to perform it. Von Francius advanced and made a
+short enough announcement.
+
+"_Meine Herrschaften_, I am sorry to say that I have received a telegram
+from Herr ----, saying that sudden illness prevents his playing
+to-night. I am sorry that you should be disappointed of hearing him, but
+I can not regret that you should have an opportunity of listening to one
+who will be a very effectual substitute--Herr Concertmeister
+Courvoisier, your first violin."
+
+He stepped back. Courvoisier rose. There was a dead silence in the hall.
+Eugen stood in the well-known position of the prophet without honor,
+only that he had not yet begun to speak. The rest of the orchestra and
+von Francius were waiting to begin Beethoven's Concerto; but Eugen,
+lifting his voice, addressed them in his turn:
+
+"I am sorry to say that I dare not venture upon the great Concerto; it
+is so long since I attempted it. I shall have pleasure in trying to play
+a _Chaconne_--one of the compositions of Herr von Francius."
+
+Von Francius started up as if to forbid it. But Eugen had touched the
+right key. There was a round of applause, and then an expectant settling
+down to listen on the part of the audience, who were, perhaps, better
+pleased to hear von Francius the living and much discussed than
+Beethoven the dead and undisputed.
+
+It was a minor measure, and one unknown to the public, for it had not
+yet been published. Von Francius had lent Eugen the score a few days
+ago, and he had once or twice said to me that it was full not merely of
+talent; it was replete with the fire of genius.
+
+And so, indeed, he proved to us that night. Never, before or since, from
+professional or private _virtuoso_, have I heard such playing as that.
+The work was in itself a fine one; original, strong, terse and racy,
+like him who had composed it. It was sad, very sad, but there was a
+magnificent elevation running all through it which raised it far above a
+mere complaint, gave a depth to its tragedy while it pointed at hope.
+And this, interpreted by Eugen, whose mood and whose inner life it
+seemed exactly to suit, was a thing not to be forgotten in a life-time.
+To me the scene and the sounds come freshly as if heard yesterday. I see
+the great hall full of people, attentive--more than attentive--every
+moment more inthralled. I see the pleased smile which had broken upon
+every face of his fellow-musicians at this chance of distinction
+gradually subside into admiration and profound appreciation; I feel
+again the warm glow of joy which filled my own heart; I meet again May's
+eyes and see the light in them, and see von Francius shade his face with
+his hand to conceal the intensity of the artist's delight he felt at
+hearing his own creation so grandly, so passionately interpreted.
+
+Then I see how it was all over, and Eugen, pale with the depth of
+emotion with which he had played the passionate music, retired, and
+there came a burst of enthusiastic applause--applause renewed again and
+again--it was a veritable _succes fou_.
+
+But he would make no response to the plaudits. He remained obstinately
+seated, and there was no elation, but rather gloom upon his face. In
+vain von Francius besought him to come forward. He declined, and the
+calls at last ceased. It was the last piece on the first part of the
+programme. The people at last let him alone. But there could be no doubt
+that he had both roused a great interest in himself and stimulated the
+popularity of von Francius in no common degree. And at last he had to go
+down the orchestra steps to receive a great many congratulations, and go
+through several introductions, while I sat still and mentally rubbed my
+hands.
+
+Meanwhile Karl Linders, with nearly all the other instrumentalists, had
+disappeared from the orchestra. I saw him appear again in the body of
+the hall, among all the people, who were standing up, laughing and
+discussing and roving about to talk to their friends. He had a long
+discussion with Fraeulein Clara and Anna Sartorius.
+
+And then I turned my attention to Eugen again, who, looking grave and
+unelated, released himself as soon as possible from his group of new
+acquaintance and joined me.
+
+Then von Francius brought Miss Wedderburn up the steps, and left her
+sitting near us. She turned to Eugen and said, "_Ich gratuliere_," to
+which he only bowed rather sadly. Her chair was quite close to ours, and
+von Francius stood talking to her. Others were quickly coming. One or
+two were around and behind us.
+
+Eugen was tuning his violin, when a touch on the shoulder roused me. I
+looked up. Karl stood there, leaning across me toward Eugen. Something
+in his face told me that it--that which had been hanging so long over
+us--was coming. His expression, too, attracted the attention of several
+other people--of all who were immediately around.
+
+Those who heard Karl were myself, von Francius, Miss Wedderburn, and
+some two or three others, who had looked up as he came, and had paused
+to watch what was coming.
+
+"Eugen," said he, "a foul lie has been told about you."
+
+"So!"
+
+"Of course I don't believe a word of it. I'm not such a fool. But I have
+been challenged to confront you with it. It only needs a syllable on
+your side to crush it instantly; for I will take your word against all
+the rest of the world put together."
+
+"Well?" said Eugen, whose face was white, and whose voice was low.
+
+"A lady has said to me that you had a brother who had acted the part of
+father to you, and that you rewarded his kindness by forging his name
+for a sum of money which you could have had for the asking, for he
+denied you nothing. It is almost too ridiculous to repeat, and I beg
+your pardon for doing it; but I was obliged. Will you give me a word of
+denial?"
+
+Silence!
+
+I looked at Eugen. We were all looking at him. Three things I looked for
+as equally likely for him to do; but he did none. He did not start up
+in an indignant denial; he did not utter icily an icy word of contempt;
+he did not smile and ask Karl if he were out of his senses. He dropped
+his eyes, and maintained a deadly silence.
+
+Karl was looking at him, and his candid face changed. Doubt, fear,
+dismay succeeded one another upon it. Then, in a lower and changed
+voice, as if first admitting the idea that caution might be necessary:
+
+"_Um Gotteswillen_, Eugen! Speak!"
+
+He looked up--so may look a dog that is being tortured--and my very
+heart sickened; but he did not speak.
+
+A few moments--not half a minute--did we remain thus. It seemed a
+hundred years of slow agony. But during that time I tried to comprehend
+that my friend of the bright, clear eyes, and open, fearless glance;
+the very soul and flower of honor; my ideal of almost Quixotic
+chivalrousness, stood with eyes that could not meet ours that hung upon
+him; face white, expression downcast, accused of a crime which came, if
+ever crime did, under the category "dirty," and not denying it!
+
+Karl, the wretched beginner of the wretched scene, came nearer, took the
+other's hand, and, in a hoarse whisper, said:
+
+"For God's sake, Eugen, speak! Deny it! You can deny it--you must deny
+it!"
+
+He looked up at last, with a tortured gaze; looked at Karl, at me, at
+the faces around. His lips quivered faintly. Silence yet. And yet it
+seemed to me that it was loathing that was most strongly depicted upon
+his face; the loathing of a man who is obliged to intimately examine
+some unclean thing; the loathing of one who has to drag a corpse about
+with him.
+
+"Say it is a lie, Eugen!" Karl conjured him.
+
+At last came speech; at last an answer; slow, low, tremulous, impossible
+to mistake or explain away.
+
+"No; I can not say so."
+
+His head--that proud, high head--dropped again, as if he would fain
+avoid our eyes.
+
+Karl raised himself. His face too was white. As if stricken with some
+mortal blow, he walked away. Some people who had surrounded us turned
+aside and began to whisper to each other behind their music. Von
+Francius looked impenetrable; May Wedderburn white. The noise and
+bustle was still going on all around, louder than before. The drama had
+not taken three minutes to play out.
+
+Eugen rested his brow for a moment on his hand, and his face was hidden.
+He looked up, rising as he did so, and his eyes met those of Miss
+Wedderburn. So sad, so deep a gaze I never saw. It was a sign to me, a
+significant one, that he could meet her eyes.
+
+Then he turned to von Francius.
+
+"Herr Direktor, Helfen will take my place, _nicht wahr?_"
+
+Von Francius bowed. Eugen left his seat, made his way, without a word,
+from the orchestra, and von Francius rapped sharply, the preliminary
+tumult subsided; the concert began.
+
+I glanced once or twice toward Karl; I received no answering look. I
+could not even see his face; he had made himself as small as possible
+behind his music.
+
+The concert over--it seemed to me interminable--I was hastening away,
+anxious only to find Eugen, when Karl Linders stopped me in a retired
+corner, and holding me fast, said:
+
+"Friedel, I am a damned fool."
+
+"I am sorry not to be able to contradict you."
+
+"Listen," said he. "You must listen, or I shall follow you and make
+you. I made up my mind not to hear another word against him, but when
+I went to _die Clara_ after the solo, I found her and that confounded
+girl whispering together. She--Anna Sartorius--said it was very fine
+for such scamps to cover their sins with music. I asked her pretty
+stiffly what she meant, for she is always slanging Eugen, and I thought
+she might have let him alone for once. She said she meant that he was a
+blackguard--that's the word she used--_ein lauter Spitzbube_--a forger,
+and worse. I told her I believed it was a lie. I did not believe it.
+
+"'Ask him,' said she. I said I would be--something--first. But Clara
+would have nothing to say to me, and they both badgered me until for
+mere quietness I agreed to do as they wished."
+
+He went on in distress for some time.
+
+"Oh, drop it!" said I, impatiently. "You have done the mischief. I don't
+want to listen to your whining over it. Go to the Fraeulein Steinmann
+and Sartorius. They will confer the reward of merit upon you."
+
+"_Gott behuete!_"
+
+I shook myself loose from him and took my way home. It was with a
+feeling not far removed from tremulousness that I entered the room. That
+poor room formed a temple which I had no intention of desecrating.
+
+He was sitting at the table when I entered, and looked at me absently.
+Then, with a smile in which sweetness and bitterness were strangely
+mingled, said:
+
+"So! you have returned? I will not trouble you much longer. Give me
+house-room for to-night. In the morning I shall be gone."
+
+I went up to him, pushed the writing materials which lay before him
+away, and took his hands, but could not speak for ever so long.
+
+"Well, Friedhelm," he asked, after a pause, during which the drawn and
+tense look upon his face relaxed somewhat, "what have you to say to the
+man who has let you think him honest for three years?"
+
+"Whom I know, and ever have known, to be an honest man."
+
+He laughed.
+
+"There are degrees and grades even in honesty. One kind of honesty is
+lower than others. I am honest now because my sin has found me out, I
+can't keep up appearances any longer."
+
+"Pooh! do you suppose that deceives me?" said I, contemptuously. "Me,
+who have known you for three years. That would be a joke, but one that
+no one will enjoy at my expense."
+
+A momentary expression of pleasure unutterable flashed across his face
+and into his eyes; then was repressed, as he said:
+
+"You must listen to reason. Have I not told you all along that my life
+had been spoiled by my own fault?--that I had disqualified myself to
+take any leading part among men?--that others might advance, but I
+should remain where I was? And have you not the answer to all here? You
+are a generous soul, I know, like few others. My keenest regret now is
+that I did not tell you long ago how things stood, but it would have
+cost me your friendship, and I have not too many things to make life
+sweet to me."
+
+"Eugen, why did you not tell me before? I know the reason; for the very
+same reason which prevents you from looking me in the eyes now, and
+saying, 'I am guilty. I did that of which I am accused,' because it is
+not true. I challenge you; meet my eyes, and say, 'I am guilty!'"
+
+He looked at me; his eyes were dim with anguish. He said:
+
+"Friedel, I--can not tell you that I am innocent."
+
+"I did not ask you to do so. I asked you to say you were guilty, and on
+your soul be it if you lie to me. That I could never forgive."
+
+Again he looked at me, strove to speak, but no word came. I never
+removed my eyes from his; the pause grew long, till I dropped his hands
+and turned away with a smile.
+
+"Let a hundred busybodies raise their clamoring tongues, they can never
+divide you and me. If it were not insulting I should ask you to believe
+that every feeling of mine for you is unchanged, and will remain so as
+long as I live."
+
+"It is incredible. Such loyalty, such--Friedel, you are a fool!"
+
+His voice broke.
+
+"I wish you could have heard Miss Wedderburn sing her English song after
+you were gone. It was called, 'What would You do, Love?' and she made us
+all cry."
+
+"Ah, Miss Wedderburn! How delightful she is."
+
+"If it is any comfort to you to know, I can assure you that she thinks
+as I do. I am certain of it."
+
+"Comfort--not much. It is only that if I ever allowed myself to fall in
+love again, which I shall not do, it would be with Miss Wedderburn."
+
+The tone sufficiently told me that he was much in love with her already.
+
+"She is bewitching," he added.
+
+"If you do not mean to allow yourself to fall in love with her," I
+remarked, sententiously, "because it seems that 'allowing' is a matter
+for her to decide, not the men who happen to know her."
+
+"I shall not see much more of her. I shall not remain here."
+
+As this was what I had fully expected to hear, I said nothing, but I
+thought of Miss Wedderburn, and grieved for her.
+
+"Yes, I must go forth from hence," he pursued. "I suppose I ought to be
+satisfied that I have had three years here. I wonder if there is any way
+in which a man could kill all trace of his old self; a man who has every
+desire to lead henceforth a new life, and be at peace and charity with
+all men. I suppose not--no. I suppose the brand has to be carried about
+till the last; and how long it may be before that 'last' comes!"
+
+I was silent. I had put a good face upon the matter and spoken bravely
+about it. I had told him that I did not believe him guilty--that my
+regard and respect were as high as ever, and I spoke the truth. Both
+before and since then he had told me that I had a bump of veneration and
+one of belief ludicrously out of proportion to the exigencies of the age
+in which I lived.
+
+Be it so. Despite my cheerful words, and despite the belief I did feel
+in him, I could not help seeing that he carried himself now as a marked
+man. The free, open look was gone; a blight had fallen upon him, and he
+withered under it. There was what the English call a "down" look upon
+his face, which had not been there formerly, even in those worst days
+when the parting from Sigmund was immediately before and behind us.
+
+In the days which immediately followed the scene at the concert I
+noticed how he would set about things with a kind of hurried zeal, then
+suddenly stop and throw them aside, as if sick of them, and fall to
+brooding with head sunk upon his breast, and lowering brow; a state and
+a spectacle which caused me pain and misery not to be described. He
+would begin sudden conversations with me, starting with some question,
+as:
+
+"Friedel, do you believe in a future state?"
+
+"I do, and I don't. I mean to say that I don't know anything about it."
+
+"Do you know what my idea of heaven would be?"
+
+"Indeed, I don't," said I, feebly endeavoring a feeble joke. "A place
+where all the fiddles are by Stradivarius and Guanarius, and all the
+music comes up to Beethoven."
+
+"No; but a place where there are no mistakes."
+
+"No mistakes?"
+
+"_Ja wohl!_ Where it would not be possible for a man with fair chances
+to spoil his whole career by a single mistake. Or, if there were
+mistakes, I would arrange that the punishment should be in some
+proportion to them--not a large punishment for a little sin, and _vice
+versa_."
+
+"Well, I should think that if there is any heaven there would be some
+arrangement of that kind."
+
+"As for hell," he went on, in a low, calm tone which I had learned to
+understand meant with him intense earnestness, "there are people who
+wonder that any one could invent a hell. My only wonder is why they
+should have resorted to fire and brimstone to enhance its terrors when
+they had the earth full of misery to choose from."
+
+"You think this world a hell, Eugen?"
+
+"Sometimes I think it the very nethermost hell of hells, and I think if
+you had my feelings you would think so too. A poet, an English poet (you
+do not know the English poets as you ought, Friedhelm), has said that
+the fiercest of all hells is the failure in a great purpose. I used to
+think that a fine sentiment; now I sometimes wonder whether to a man who
+was once inclined to think well of himself it may not be a much fiercer
+trial to look back and find that he has failed to be commonly honest and
+upright. It is a nice little distinction--a moral wire-drawing which I
+would recommend to the romancers if I knew any."
+
+Once and only once was Sigmund mentioned between us, and Eugen said:
+
+"Nine years, were you speaking of? No--not in nineteen, nor in
+ninety-nine shall I ever see him again."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"The other night, and what occurred then, decided me. Till then I had
+some consolation in thinking that the blot might perhaps be wiped
+out--the shame lived down. Now I see that that is a fallacy. With God's
+help I will never see him nor speak to him again. It is better that he
+should forget me."
+
+His voice did not tremble as he said this, though I knew that the idea
+of being forgotten by Sigmund must be to him anguish of a refinement not
+to be measured by me.
+
+I bided my time, saying nothing. I at least was too much engrossed with
+my own affairs to foresee the cloud then first dawning on the horizon,
+which they who looked toward France and Spain might perhaps perceive.
+
+It had not come yet--the first crack of that thunder which rattled
+so long over our land, and when we saw the dingy old Jaeger Hof
+at one end of the Hofgarten, and heard by chance the words of
+Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen, no premonition touched us. My mind was made
+up, that let Eugen go when and where he would, I would go with him.
+
+I had no ties of duty, none of love or of ambition to separate me from
+him; his God should be my God, and his people my people; if the God were
+a jealous God, dealing out wrath and terror, and the people should
+dwindle to outcasts and pariahs, it mattered not to me. I loved him.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII.
+
+ Nein, laenger kann ich diesen Kampf nicht kaempfen,
+   Den Riesenkampf der Pflicht.
+ Kannst du des Herzens Flammentrieb nicht daempfen,
+   So fordre, Tugend, dieses Opfer nicht.
+
+ Geschworen hab' ich 's, ja, ich hab's geschworen,
+   Mich selbst zu baendigen.
+ Hier ist dein Kranz, er sei auf ewig mir verloren;
+   Nimm ihn zurueck und lass mich suendigen.
+                SCHILLER.
+
+
+If I had never had a trouble before I had one now--large, stalwart,
+robust. For what seemed to me a long time there was present to my mind's
+eye little but the vision of a large, lighted room--a great undefined
+crowd surging around and below, a small knot of persons and faces in
+sharp distinctness immediately around me; low-spoken words with a
+question; no answer--vehement imploring for an answer--still no reply;
+yet another sentence conjuring denial, and then the answer itself--the
+silence that succeeded it; the face which had become part of my thoughts
+all changed and downcast--the man whom I had looked up to, feared,
+honored, as chivalrous far beyond his station and circumstances slowly
+walking away from the company of his fellows, disgraced, fallen, having
+himself owned to the disgrace being merited, pointed at as a
+cheat--bowing to the accusation.
+
+It drove me almost mad to think of it. I suffered the more keenly
+because I could speak to no one of what had happened. What sympathy
+should I get from any living soul by explaining my sick looks and absent
+demeanor with the words, "I love that man who is disgraced?" I smiled
+dryly in the midst of my anguish, and locked it the deeper in my own
+breast.
+
+I had believed in him so devotedly, so intensely, had loved him so
+entirely, and with such a humility, such a consciousness of my own
+shortcomings and of his superiority. The recoil at first was such as one
+might experience who embraces a veiled figure, presses his lips to where
+its lips should be, and finds that he kisses a corpse.
+
+Such, I say, was the recoil at first. But a recoil, from its very
+nature, is short and vehement. There are some natures, I believe, which
+after a shock turn and flee from the shocking agent. Not so I. After
+figuratively springing back and pressing my hands over my eyes, I
+removed them again, and still saw his face--and it tortured me to have
+to own it, but I had to do so--still loved that face beyond all earthly
+things.
+
+It grew by degrees familiar to me again. I caught myself thinking of the
+past and smiling at the remembrance of the jokes between Eugen and
+Helfen on Carnival Monday, then pulled myself up with a feeling of
+horror, and the conviction that I had no business to be thinking of him
+at all. But I did think of him day by day and hour by hour, and tortured
+myself with thinking of him, and wished, yet dreaded, to see him, and
+wondered how I possibly could see him, and could only live on in a hope
+which was not fulfilled. For I had no right to seek him out. His
+condition might be much--very much to me. My sympathy or pity or
+thought--as I felt all too keenly--could be nothing to him.
+
+Meanwhile, as is usual in such cases, circumstance composedly took my
+affairs into her hands and settled them for me without my being able to
+move a finger in the matter.
+
+The time was approaching for the departure of von Francius. Adelaide and
+I did not exchange a syllable upon the subject. Of what use? I knew to a
+certain extent what was passing within her. I knew that this child of
+the world--were we not all children of the world, and not of light?--had
+braced her moral forces to meet the worst, and was awaiting it calmly.
+
+Adelaide, like me, based her actions not upon religion. Religion was for
+both of us an utter abstraction; it touched us not. That which gave
+Adelaide force to withstand temptation, and to remain stoically in the
+drear sphere in which she already found herself, was not religion; it
+was pride on the one hand, and on the other love for Max von Francius.
+
+Pride forbade her to forfeit her reputation, which was dear to her,
+though her position had lost the charms with which distance had once
+gilded it for her. Love for von Francius made her struggle with all the
+force of her nature to remain where she was, renounce him blamelessly
+rather than yield at the price which women must pay who do such things
+as leave their husbands.
+
+It was wonderful to me to see how love had developed in her every higher
+emotion. I remembered how cynical she had always been as to the merits
+of her own sex. Women, according to her, were an inferior race, who
+gained their poor ends by poor means. She had never been hard upon
+female trickery and subterfuge. Bah! she said, how else are they to get
+what they want? But now with the exalted opinion of a man, had come
+exalted ideas as to the woman fit for his wife.
+
+Since to go to him she must be stained and marked forever, she would
+remain away from him. Never should any circumstance connected with him
+be made small or contemptible by any act of hers. I read the motive,
+and, reading it, read her.
+
+Von Francius was, equally with herself, distinctly and emphatically a
+child of the world--as she honored him he honored her. He proved his
+strength and the innate nobility of his nature by his stoic abstinence
+from evasion of or rebellion against the decree which had gone out
+against their love. He was a better man, a greater artist, a more
+sympathetic nature now than before. His passage through the furnace
+had cleansed him. He was a standing example to me that despite what
+our preachers and our poets, our philosophers and our novelists
+are incessantly dinning into our ears, there are yet men who can
+renounce--men to whom honor and purity are still the highest goddesses.
+
+I saw him, naturally, and often during these days--so dark for all of
+us. He spoke to me of his prospects in his new post. He asked me if I
+would write to him occasionally, even if it should be only three or four
+times in the year.
+
+"Indeed I will, if you care to hear from me," said I, much moved.
+
+This was at our last music lesson, in my dark little room at the
+Wehrhahn. Von Francius had made it indeed a lesson, more than a lesson,
+a remembrance to carry with me forever, for he had been playing
+Beethoven and Schubert to me.
+
+"Fraeulein May, everything concerning you and yours will ever be of the
+very deepest interest to me," he said, looking earnestly at me. "Take a
+few words of advice and information from one who has never felt anything
+for you since he first met you but the truest friendship. You have in
+you the materials of a great artist; whether you have the Spartan
+courage and perseverance requisite to attain the position, I can hardly
+tell. If you choose to become an artist, _eine vollkommene Kuenstlerin_,
+you must give everything else up--love and marriage and all that
+interferes with your art, for, _liebes Fraeulein_, you can not pursue two
+things at once."
+
+"Then I have every chance of becoming as great an artist as possible,"
+said I; "for none of those things will ever interfere with my pursuit of
+art."
+
+"Wait till the time of probation comes; you are but eighteen yet," said
+he, kindly, but skeptically.
+
+"Herr von Francius"--the words started to my lips as the truth into
+my mind, and fell from them in the strong desire to speak to some one
+of the matter that then filled my whole soul--"I can tell you the
+truth--you will understand--the time of probation has been--it is
+over--past. I am free for the future."
+
+"So!" said he, in a very low voice, and his eyes were filled, less with
+pity than with a fellow-feeling which made them "wondrous kind." "You
+too have suffered, and given up. There are then four people--you and I,
+and one whose name I will not speak, and--may I guess once, Fraeulein
+May?"
+
+I bowed.
+
+"My first violinist, _nicht wahr?_"
+
+Again I assented silently. He went on:
+
+"Fate is perverse about these things. And now, my fair pupil, you
+understand somewhat more that no true artist is possible without sorrow
+and suffering and renunciation. And you will think sometimes of your
+old, fault-finding, grumbling master--_ja_?"
+
+"Oh, Herr von Francius!" cried I, laying my hand upon the key-board of
+the piano, and sobbing aloud. "The kindest, best, most patient,
+gentle--"
+
+I could say no more.
+
+"That is mere nonsense, my dear May," he said, passing his hand over my
+prostrate head; and I felt that it--the strong hand--trembled. "I want a
+promise from you. Will you sing for me next season?"
+
+"If I am alive, and you send for me, I will."
+
+"Thanks. And--one other word. Some one very dear to us both is very sad;
+she will become sadder. You, my child, have the power of allaying
+sadness, and soothing grief and bitterness in a remarkable degree. Will
+you expend some of that power upon her when her burden grows very hard,
+and think that with each word of kindness to her you bind my heart more
+fast to yourself?"
+
+"I will--indeed I will!"
+
+"We will not say good-bye, but only _auf wiedersehen_!" said he. "You
+and I shall meet again. I am sure of that. _Meine liebe, gute
+Schuelerin_, adieu!"
+
+Choked with tears, I passively let him raise my hand to his lips. I hid
+my face in my handkerchief to repress my fast-flowing tears. I would
+not, because I dared not, look at him. The sight of his kind and trusted
+face would give me too much pain.
+
+He loosed my hand. I heard steps; a door opened and closed. He was gone!
+My last lesson was over. My trusty friend had departed. He was to leave
+Elberthal on the following day.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The next night there was an entertainment--half concert, half
+theatricals, wholly _dilettante_--at the Malkasten, the Artists' Club.
+We, as is the duty of a decorous English family, buried all our private
+griefs, and appeared at the entertainment, to which, indeed, Adelaide
+had received a special invitation. I was going to remain with Adelaide
+until Sir Peter's return, which, we understood, was to be in the course
+of a few weeks, and then I was going to ----, by the advice of von
+Francius, there to finish my studies.
+
+Dearly though I loved music, divine as she ever has been, and will be,
+to me, yet the idea of leaving von Francius for other masters had at
+first almost shaken my resolution to persevere. But, as I said, all this
+was taken out of my hands by an irresistible concourse of circumstances,
+over which I had simply no control whatever.
+
+Adelaide, Harry, and I went to the Malkasten. The gardens were gayly
+illuminated; there was a torch-light procession round the little
+artificial lake, and chorus singing--merry choruses, such as "Wenn Zwei
+sich gut sind, sie finden den Weg"--which were cheered and laughed at.
+The fantastically dressed artists and their friends were flitting, torch
+in hand, about the dark alleys under the twisted acacias and elms, the
+former of which made the air voluptuous with their scent. Then we
+adjourned to the saal for the concert, and heard on all sides regrets
+about the absence of von Francius.
+
+We sat out the first part of the festivities, which were to conclude
+with theatricals. During the pause we went into the garden. The May
+evening was balmy and beautiful; no moonlight, but many stars and the
+twinkling lights in the garden.
+
+Adelaide and I had seated ourselves on a circular bench surrounding a
+big tree, which had the mighty word GOETHE cut deeply into its rugged
+bark. When the others began to return to the Malkasten, Adelaide,
+turning to Arkwright, said:
+
+"Harry, will you go in and leave my sister and me here, that's a good
+boy? You can call for us when the play is over."
+
+"All right, my lady," assented he, amiably, and left us.
+
+Presently Adelaide and I moved to another seat, near to a small table
+under a thick shade of trees. The pleasant, cool evening air fanned our
+faces; all was still and peaceful. Not a soul but ourselves had remained
+out-of-doors. The still drama of the marching stars was less attractive
+than the amateur murdering of "Die Piccolomin" within. The tree-tops
+rustled softly over our heads. The lighted pond gleamed through the
+low-hanging boughs at the other end of the garden. A peal of laughter
+and a round of applause came wafted now and then from within. Ere long
+Adelaide's hand stole into mine, which closed over it, and we sat
+silent.
+
+Then there came a voice. Some one--a complaisant _dilettantin_--was
+singing Thekla's song. We heard the refrain--distance lent enchantment;
+it sounded what it really was, deep as eternity:
+
+    "Ich habe gelebt und geliebet."
+
+Adelaide moved uneasily; her hand started nervously, and a sigh broke
+from her lips.
+
+"Schiller wrote from his heart," said she, in a low voice.
+
+"Indeed, yes, Adelaide."
+
+"Did you say good-bye to von Francius, May, yesterday?"
+
+"Yes--at least, we said _au revoir_. He wants me to sing for him next
+winter."
+
+"Was he very down?"
+
+"Yes--very. He--"
+
+A footstep close at hand. A figure passed in the uncertain light, dimly
+discerned us, paused, and glanced at us.
+
+"Max!" exclaimed Adelaide, in a low voice, full of surprise and emotion,
+and she half started up.
+
+"It is you! That is too wonderful!" said he, pausing.
+
+"You are not yet gone?"
+
+"I have been detained to-day. I leave early to-morrow. I thought I would
+take at least one turn in the Malkasten garden, which I may perhaps
+never see or enter again. I did not know you were here."
+
+"We--May and I--thought it so pleasant that we would not go in again to
+listen to the play."
+
+Von Francius had come under the trees and was now leaning against a
+massive trunk; his slight, tall figure almost lost against it; his arms
+folded, and an imposing calm upon his pale face, which was just caught
+by the gleam of a lamp outside the trees.
+
+"Since this accidental meeting has taken place, I may have the privilege
+of saying adieu to your ladyship."
+
+"Yes--" said Adelaide, in a strange, low, much-moved tone.
+
+I felt uneasy, I was sorry this meeting had taken place. The shock
+and revulsion of feeling for Adelaide, after she had been securely
+calculating that von Francius was a hundred miles on his way to ----,
+was too severe. I could tell from the very _timbre_ of her voice and its
+faint vibration how agitated she was, and as she seated herself again
+beside me, I felt that she trembled like a reed.
+
+"It is more happiness than I expected," went on von Francius, and his
+voice too was agitated. Oh, if he would only say "Farewell," and go!
+
+"Happiness!" echoed Adelaide, in a tone whose wretchedness was too deep
+for tears.
+
+"Ah! You correct me. Still it is a happiness; there are some kinds of
+joy which one can not distinguish from griefs, my lady, until one comes
+to think that one might have been without them, and then one knows their
+real nature."
+
+She clasped her hands. I saw her bosom rise and fall with long, stormy
+breaths.
+
+I trembled for both; for Adelaide, whose emotion and anguish were, I
+saw, mastering her; for von Francius, because if Adelaide failed he must
+find it almost impossible to repulse her.
+
+"Herr von Francius," said I, in a quick, low voice, making one step
+toward him, and laying my hand upon his arm, "leave us! If you do love
+us," I added, in a whisper, "leave us! Adelaide, say good-bye to
+him--let him go!"
+
+"You are right," said von Francius to me, before Adelaide had time to
+speak; "you are quite right."
+
+A pause. He stepped up to Adelaide. I dared not interfere. Their eyes
+met, and his will not to yield produced the same in her, in the shape of
+a passive, voiceless acquiescence in his proceedings. He took her hands,
+saying:
+
+"My lady, adieu! Heaven send you peace, or death, which brings it,
+or--whatever is best."
+
+Loosing her hands he turned to me, saying distinctly:
+
+"As you are a woman, and her sister, do not forsake her now."
+
+Then he was gone. She raised her arms and half fell against the trunk of
+the giant acacia beneath which we had been sitting, face forward, as if
+drunk with misery.
+
+Von Francius, strong and generous, whose very submission seemed to brace
+one to meet trouble with a calmer, firmer front, was gone. I raised
+my eyes, and did not even feel startled, only darkly certain that
+Adelaide's evil star was high in the heaven of her fate, when I saw,
+calmly regarding us, Sir Peter Le Marchant.
+
+In another moment he stood beside his wife, smiling, and touched her
+shoulder; with a low cry she raised her face, shrinking away from him.
+She did not seem surprised either, and I do not think people often are
+surprised at the presence, however sudden and unexpected, of their evil
+genius. It is good luck which surprises the average human being.
+
+"You give me a cold welcome, my lady," he remarked. "You are so
+overjoyed to see me, I suppose. Your carriage is waiting outside. I came
+in it, and Arkwright told me I should find you here. Suppose you come
+home. We shall be less disturbed there than in these public gardens."
+
+Tone and words all convinced me that he had heard most of what had
+passed, and would oppress her with it hereafter.
+
+The late scene had apparently stunned her. After the first recoil she
+said, scarcely audibly, "I am ready," and moved. He offered her his arm;
+she took it, turning to me and saying, "Come, May!"
+
+"Excuse me," observed Sir Peter, "you are better alone. I am sorry I can
+not second your invitation to my charming sister-in-law. I do not think
+you fit for any society--even hers."
+
+"I can not leave my sister, Sir Peter; she is not fit to be left," I
+found voice to say.
+
+"She is not 'left,' as you say, my dear. She has her husband. She has
+me," said he.
+
+Some few further words passed. I do not chronicle them. Sir Peter was as
+firm as a rock--that I was helpless before him is a matter of course. I
+saw my sister handed into her carriage; I saw Sir Peter follow her--the
+carriage drive away. I was left alone, half mad with terror at the idea
+of her state, to go home to my lodgings.
+
+Sir Peter had heard the words of von Francius to me; "do not forsake her
+now," and had given himself the satisfaction of setting them aside as if
+they had been so much waste paper. Von Francius was, as I well knew,
+trying to derive comfort in this very moment from the fact that I at
+least was with her; I who loved them both, and would have laid down my
+life for them. Well, let him have the comfort! In the midst of my sorrow
+I rejoiced that he did not know the worst, and would not be likely to
+imagine for himself a terror grimmer than any feeling I had yet known.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIV.
+
+"Some say, 'A queen discrowned,' and some call it 'Woman's shame.'
+Others name it 'A false step,' or 'Social suicide,' just as it happens
+to strike their minds, or such understanding as they may be blessed
+with. In these days one rarely hears seriously mentioned such unruly
+words as 'Love,' or 'Wretchedness,' or 'Despair,' which may nevertheless
+be important factors in bringing about that result which stands out to
+the light of day for public inspection."
+
+
+The three days which I passed alone and in suspense were very terrible
+ones to me. I felt myself physically as well as mentally ill, and it was
+in vain that I tried to learn anything of or from Adelaide, and I waited
+in a kind of breathless eagerness for the end of it all, for I knew as
+well as if some one had shouted it aloud from the house-tops that that
+farewell in the Malkasten garden was not the end.
+
+Early one morning, when the birds were singing and the sunshine
+streaming into the room, Frau Lutzler came into the room and put a
+letter into my hand, which she said a messenger had left. I took it, and
+paused a moment before I opened it. I was unwilling to face what I knew
+was coming--and yet, how otherwise could the whole story have ended?
+
+     "DEAR MAY,--You, like me, have been suffering during these three
+     days. I have been trying--yes, I have tried to believe I could bear
+     this life, but it is too horrible. Isn't it possible that sometimes
+     it may be right to do wrong? It is of no use telling you what has
+     passed, but it is enough. I believe I am only putting the crowning
+     point to my husband's revenge when I leave him. He will be glad--he
+     does not mind the disgrace for himself; and he can get another
+     wife, as good as I, when he wants one. When you read this, or not
+     long afterward, I shall be with Max von Francius. I wrote to him--I
+     asked him to save me, and he said, 'Come!' It is not because I want
+     to go, but I must go somewhere. I have made a great mess of my
+     life. I believe everybody does make a mess of it who tries to
+     arrange things for himself. Remember that, May.
+
+     "I wonder if we shall ever meet again. Not likely, when you are
+     married to some respectable, conventional man, who will shield you
+     from contamination with such as I. I must not write more or I shall
+     write nonsense. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye! What will be the end
+     of me? Think of me sometimes, and try not to think too hardly.
+     Listen to your heart--not to what people say. Good-bye again!
+
+                    "ADELAIDE."
+
+I received this stroke without groan or cry, tear or shiver. It struck
+home to me. The heavens were riven asunder--a flash came from them,
+descended upon my head, and left me desolate. I stood, I know not how
+long, stock-still in the place where I had read that letter. In novels I
+had read of such things; they had had little meaning for me. In real
+life I had only heard them mentioned dimly and distantly, and here I
+was face to face with the awful thing, and so far from being able to
+deal out hearty, untempered condemnation, I found that the words of
+Adelaide's letter came to me like throes of a real heart. Bald, dry,
+disjointed sentences on the outside; without feeling they might seem,
+but to me they were the breathless exclamations of a soul in supreme
+torture and peril. My sister! with what a passion of love my heart went
+out to her. Think of you, Adelaide, and think of you not too hardly? Oh,
+why did not you trust me more?
+
+I saw her as she wrote these words: "I have made a great mess of it." To
+make a mess of one's life--one mistake after another, till what might
+have been at least honest, pure, and of good report, becomes a stained,
+limp, unsightly thing, at which men feel that they may gaze openly, and
+from which women turn away in scorn unutterable; and that Adelaide, my
+proudest of proud sisters, had come to this!
+
+I was not thinking of what people would say. I was not wondering how it
+had come about; I was feeling Adelaide's words ever more and more
+acutely, till they seemed to stand out from the paper and turn into
+cries of anguish in my very ears. I put my hands to my ears; I could not
+bear those notes of despair.
+
+"What will be the end of me?" she said, and I shook from head to foot as
+I repeated the question. If her will and that of von Francius ever came
+in contact. She had put herself at his mercy utterly; her whole future
+now depended upon the good pleasure of a man--and men were selfish.
+
+With a faint cry of terror and foreboding, I felt everything whirl
+unsteadily around me; the letter fell from my hand; the icy band that
+had held me fast gave way. All things faded before me, and I scarcely
+knew that I was sinking upon the floor. I thought I was dying; then
+thought faded with the consciousness that brings it.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXV.
+
+ "Allein, allein! und so soll ich genesen?
+ Allein, allein! und das des Schicksals Segen!
+ Allein, allein! O Gott, ein einzig Wesen,
+ Um dieses Haupt an seine Brust zu legen!"
+
+
+I had a sharp, if not a long attack of illness, which left me weak,
+shaken, passive, so that I felt neither ability nor wish to resist those
+who took me into their hands. I remember being surprised at the goodness
+of every one toward me; astonished at Frau Lutzler's gentle kindness,
+amazed at the unfailing goodness of Dr. Mittendorf and his wife, at that
+of the medical man who attended me in my illness. Yes, the world seemed
+full of kindness, full of kind people who were anxious to keep me in it,
+and who managed, in spite of my effort to leave it, to retain me.
+
+Dr. Mittendorf, the oculist, had been my guardian angel. It was he who
+wrote to my friends and told them of my illness; it was he who went to
+meet Stella and Miss Hallam's Merrick, who came over to nurse me--and
+take me home. The fiat had gone forth. I was to go home. I made no
+resistance, but my very heart shrunk away in fear and terror from the
+parting, till one day something happened which reconciled me to going
+home, or rather made me evenly and equally indifferent whether I went
+home, or stayed abroad, or lived, or died, or, in short, what became of
+me.
+
+I sat one afternoon for the first time in an arm-chair opposite the
+window. It was June, and the sun streamed warmly and richly in. The room
+was scented with a bunch of wall-flowers and another of mignonette,
+which Stella had brought in that morning from the market. Stella was
+very kind to me, but in a superior, patronizing way. I had always felt
+deferentially backward before the superior abilities of both my
+sisters, but Stella quite over-awed me by her decided opinions and calm
+way of setting me right upon all possible matters.
+
+This afternoon she had gone out with Merrick to enjoy a little fresh
+air. I was left quite alone, with my hands in my lap, feeling very weak,
+and looking wistfully toward the well-remembered windows on the other
+side of the street.
+
+They were wide open; I could see inside the room. No one was
+there--Friedhelm and Eugen had gone out, no doubt.
+
+The door of my room opened, and Frau Lutzler came in. She looked
+cautiously around, and then, having ascertained that I was not asleep,
+asked in a nerve-disturbing whisper if I had everything that I wanted.
+
+"Everything, thank you, Frau Lutzler," said I. "But come in! I want to
+speak to you. I am afraid I have given you no end of trouble."
+
+"_Ach, ich bitte sie, Fraeulein!_ Don't mention the trouble. We have
+managed to keep you alive."
+
+How they all did rejoice in having won a victory over that gray-winged
+angel, Death! I thought to myself, with a curious sensation of wonder.
+
+"You are very kind," I said, "and I want you to tell me something, Frau
+Lutzler: how long have I been ill?"
+
+"Fourteen days, Fraeulein; little as you may think it."
+
+"Indeed! I have heard nothing about any one in that time. Who has been
+made musik-direktor in place of Herr von Francius?"
+
+Frau Lutzler folded her arms and composed herself to tell me a history.
+
+"_Ja, Fraeulein_, the post would have been offered to Herr Courvoisier,
+only, you see, he has turned out a good-for-nothing. But perhaps you
+heard about that?"
+
+"Oh, yes! I know all about it," said I, hastily, as I passed my
+handkerchief over my mouth to hide the spasm of pain which contracted
+it.
+
+"Of course, considering all that, the Direktion could not offer it to
+him, so they proposed it to Herr Helfen--you know Herr Helfen, Fraeulein,
+_nicht_?"
+
+I nodded.
+
+"A good young man! a worthy young man, and so popular with his
+companions! _Aber denken sie nur!_ The authorities might have been
+offering him an insult instead of a good post. He refused it then and
+there; would not stop to consider about it--in fact, he was quite angry
+about it. The gentleman who was chosen at last was a stranger, from
+Hanover."
+
+"Herr Helfen refused it--why, do you know?"
+
+"They say, because he was so fond of Herr Courvoisier, and would not be
+set above him. It may be so. I know for a certainty that, so far from
+taking part against Herr Courvoisier, he would not even believe the
+story against him, though he could not deny it, and did not try to deny
+it. _Aber_, Fraeulein--what hearts men must have! To have lived three
+years, and let the world think him an honest man, when all the time he
+had that on his conscience! _Schrecklich!_"
+
+Adelaide and Courvoisier, it seemed, might almost be pelted with the
+same stones.
+
+"His wife, they say, died of grief at the disgrace--"
+
+"Yes," said I, wincing. I could not bear this any longer, nor to discuss
+Courvoisier with Frau Lutzler, and the words "his wife," uttered in that
+speculatively gossiping tone, repelled me. She turned the subject to
+Helfen again.
+
+"Herr Helfen must indeed have loved his friend, for when Herr
+Courvoisier went away he went with him."
+
+"Herr Courvoisier is gone?" I inquired, in a voice so like my usual one
+that I was surprised.
+
+"Yes, certainly he is gone. I don't know where, I am sure."
+
+"Perhaps they will return?"
+
+Frau Lutzler shook her head, and smiled slightly.
+
+"_Nee_, Fraeulein! Their places were filled immediately. They are
+gone--_ganz und gar_."
+
+I tried to listen to her, tried to answer her as she went on giving her
+opinions upon men and things, but the effort collapsed suddenly. I had
+at last to turn my head away and close my eyes, and in that weary, weary
+moment I prayed to God that He would let me die, and wondered again, and
+was almost angry with those who had nursed me, for having done their
+work so well. "We have managed to save you," Frau Lutzler had said. Save
+me from what, and for what?
+
+I knew the truth, as I sat there; it was quite too strong and too clear
+to be laid aside, or looked upon with doubtful eyes. I was fronted by a
+fact, humiliating or not--a fact which I could not deny.
+
+It was bad enough to have fallen in love with a man who had never showed
+me by word or sign that he cared for me, but exactly and pointedly the
+reverse; but now it seemed the man himself was bad too. Surely a
+well-regulated mind would have turned away from him--uninfluenced.
+
+If so, then mine was an ill-regulated mind. I had loved him from the
+bottom of my heart; the world without him felt cold, empty and
+bare--desolate to live in, and shorn of its sweetest pleasures. He had
+influenced me, he influenced me yet--I still felt the words true:
+
+     "The _greater_ soul that draweth thee
+     Hath left his shadow plain to see
+     On thy fair face, Persephone!"
+
+He had bewitched me; I did feel capable of "making a fool of myself" for
+his sake. I did feel that life by the side of any other man would be
+miserable, though never so richly set; and that life by his side would
+be full and complete though never so poor and sparing in its
+circumstances. I make no excuses, no apologies for this state of things.
+It simply was so.
+
+Gone! And Friedhelm with him! I should probably never see either of them
+again. "I have made a mess of my life," Adelaide had said, and I felt
+that I might chant the same dirge. A fine ending to my boasted artistic
+career! I thought of how I had sat and chattered so aimlessly to
+Courvoisier in the cathedral at Koeln, and had little known how large and
+how deep a shadow his influence was to cast over my life.
+
+I still retained a habit of occasionally kneeling by my bedside and
+saying my prayers, and this night I felt the impulse to do so. I tried
+to thank God for my recovery. I said the Lord's Prayer; it is a
+universal petition and thanksgiving; it did not too nearly touch my
+woes; it allowed itself to be said, but when I came to something nearer,
+tried to say a thanksgiving for blessings and friends who yet remained,
+my heart refused, my tongue cleaved to my mouth. Alas! I was not
+regenerate. I could not thank God for what had happened. I found myself
+thinking of "the pity on't," and crying most bitterly till tears
+streamed through my folded fingers, and whispering, "Oh, if I could only
+have died while I was so ill! no one would have missed me, and it would
+have been so much better for me!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the beginning of July, Stella, Merrick, and I returned to England, to
+Skernford, home. I parted in silent tears from my trusted friends, the
+Mittendorfs, who begged me to come and stay with them at some future
+day. The anguish of leaving Elberthal did not make itself fully felt at
+first--that remained to torment me at a future day. And soon after our
+return came printed in large type in all the newspapers, "Declaration of
+War between France and Germany." Mine was among the hearts which panted
+and beat with sickening terror in England while the dogs of war were
+fastened in deadly grip abroad.
+
+My time at home was spent more with Miss Hallam than in my own home. I
+found her looking much older, much feebler, and much more subdued than
+when she had been in Germany. She seemed to find some comfort from my
+society, and I was glad to devote myself to her. But for her I should
+never have known all those pains and pleasures which, bitter though
+their remembrance might be, were, and ever would be to me, the dearest
+thing of my life.
+
+Miss Hallam seemed to know this; she once asked me: "Would I return to
+Germany if I could?"
+
+"Yes," said I, "I would."
+
+To say that I found life dull, even in Skernford, at that time would be
+untrue. Miss Hallam was a furious partisan of the French, and I dared
+not mention the war to her, but I took in the "Daily News" from my
+private funds, and read it in my bedroom every night with dimmed eyes,
+fast-coming breath, and beating heart. I knew--knew well, that Eugen
+must be fighting--unless he were dead. And I knew, too, by some
+intuition founded, I suppose, on many small negative evidences unheeded
+at the time, that he would fight, not like the other men who were
+battling for the sake of hearth and home, and sheer love and pride for
+the Fatherland, but as one who has no home and no Fatherland, as one who
+seeks a grave, not as one who combats a wrong.
+
+Stella saw the pile of newspapers in my room, and asked me how I could
+read those dreary accounts of battles and bombardments. Beyond these
+poor newspapers I had, during the sixteen months that I was at home, but
+scant tidings from without. I had implored Clara Steinmann to write me
+now and then, and tell me the news of Elberthal, but her penmanship was
+of the most modest and retiring description, and she was, too, so
+desperately excited about Karl as to be able to think scarce of anything
+else. Karl belonged to a Landwehr regiment which had not yet been called
+out, but to which that frightful contingency might happen any day; and
+what should she, Clara, do in that case? She told me no news; she
+lamented over the possibility of Karl's being summoned upon active
+service. It was, she said, _grausam, schrecklich_! It made her almost
+faint to write about it, and yet she did compose four whole pages in
+that condition. The barrack, she informed me, was turned into a
+hospital, and she and "Tante" both worked hard. There was much
+work--dreadful work to do--such poor groaning fellows to nurse!
+"_Herrgott!_" cried poor little Clara, "I did not know that the world
+was such a dreadful place!" Everything was so dear, so frightfully dear,
+and Karl--that was the burden of her song--might have to go into battle
+any day.
+
+Also through the public papers I learned that Adelaide and Sir Peter Le
+Marchant were divided forever. As to what happened afterward I was for
+some time in uncertainty, longing most intensely to know, not daring to
+speak of it. Adelaide's name was the signal for a cold stare from
+Stella, and angry, indignant expostulation from Miss Hallam. To me it
+was a sorrowful spell which I carried in my heart of hearts.
+
+One day I saw in a German musical periodical which I took in, this
+announcement: "Herr Musik-direktor Max von Francius in ---- has lately
+published a new symphony in B minor. The productions of this gifted
+composer are slowly but most surely making the mark which they deserve
+to leave in the musical history of our nation; he has, we believe, left
+---- for ---- for a few weeks to join his lady (_seine Gemahlin_), who
+is one of the most active and valuable hospitable nurses of that town,
+now, alas! little else than a hospital."
+
+This paragraph set my heart beating wildly. Adelaide was then the wife
+of von Francius. My heart yearned from my solitude toward them both. Why
+did not they write? They knew how I loved them. Adelaide could not
+suppose that I looked upon her deed with the eyes of the world at
+large--with the eyes of Stella or Miss Hallam. Had I not grieved with
+her? Had I not seen the dreadful struggle? Had I not proved the nobility
+of von Francius? On an impulse I seized pen and paper, and wrote to
+Adelaide, addressing my letter under cover to her husband at the town in
+which he was musik-direktor; to him I also wrote--only a few words--"Is
+your pupil forgotten by her master? he has never been forgotten by her."
+
+At last the answer came. On the part of Adelaide it was short:
+
+     "DEAR MAY,--I have had no time till now to answer your letter. I
+     can not reply to all your questions. You ask whether I repent what
+     I have done. I repent my whole life. If I am happy--how can I be
+     happy? I am busy now, and have many calls upon my time. My husband
+     is very good: he never interposes between me and my work. Shall I
+     ever come to England again?--never."
+
+                    "Yours,
+                         "A. von F."
+
+No request to write again! No inquiry after friends or relations! This
+letter showed me that whatever I might feel to her--however my heart
+might beat and long, how warm soever the love I bore her, yet that
+Adelaide was now apart from me--divided in every thought. It was a cruel
+letter, but in my pain I could not see that it had not been cruelly
+intended. Her nature had changed. But behind this pain lay comfort. On
+the back of the same sheet as that on which Adelaide's curt epistle was
+written, were some lines in the hand I knew well.
+
+     "LIEBE MAI"--they said--"Forgive your master, who can never forget
+     you, nor ever cease to love you. You suffer. I know it; I read it
+     in those short, constrained lines, so unlike your spontaneous words
+     and frank smile. My dear child, remember the storms that are
+     beating on every side--over our country, in on our hearts. Once I
+     asked you to sing for me some time: you promised. When the war is
+     over I shall remind you of your promise. At present, believe me,
+     silence is best.
+
+                    "Your old music-master,
+                         "M. v. F."
+
+Gall and honey, roses and thistles, a dagger at the heart and a caress
+upon the lips; such seemed to me the characters of the two letters on
+the same sheet which I held in my hand. Adelaide made my heart ache; von
+Francius made tears stream from my eyes. I reproached myself for having
+doubted him, but oh, I treasured the proof that he was true! It was the
+one tangible link between me, reality, and hard facts, and the misty yet
+beloved life I had quitted. My heart was full to overflowing; I must
+tell some one--I must speak to some one.
+
+Once again I tried to talk to Stella about Adelaide, but she gazed at me
+in that straight, strange way, and said coldly that she preferred not to
+speak of "that." I could not speak to Miss Hallam about it. Alone in the
+broad meadows, beside the noiseless river, I sometimes whispered to
+myself that I was not forgotten, and tried to console myself with the
+feeling that what von Francius promised he did--I should touch his hand,
+hear his voice again--and Adelaide's. For the rest, I had to lock the
+whole affair--my grief and my love, my longing and my anxiety, fast
+within my own breast, and did so.
+
+It was a long lesson--a hard one; it was conned with bitter tears, wept
+long and alone in the darkness; it was a sorrow which lay down and rose
+up with me. It taught (or rather practiced me until I became expert in
+them) certain things in which I had been deficient; reticence,
+self-reliance, a quicker ability to decide in emergencies. It certainly
+made me feel old and sad, and Miss Hallam often said that Stella and I
+were "as quiet as nuns."
+
+Stella had the power which I so ardently coveted: she was a first-rate
+instrumentalist. The only topic she and I had in common was the music I
+had heard and taken part in. To anything concerning that she would
+listen for hours.
+
+Meanwhile the war rolled on, and Paris capitulated, and peace was
+declared. The spring passed and Germany laughed in glee, and bleeding
+France roused herself to look with a haggard eye around her; what she
+saw, we all know--desolation, and mourning, and woe. And summer glided
+by, and autumn came, and I did not write either to Adelaide or von
+Francius. I had a firm faith in him--and absolute trust. I felt I was
+not forgotten.
+
+In less than a year after my return to England, Miss Hallam died. The
+day before her death she called me to her, and said words which moved me
+very much.
+
+"May, I am an eccentric old woman, and lest you should be in any doubt
+upon the subject of my feelings toward you, I wish to tell you that my
+life has been more satisfactory to me ever since I knew you."
+
+"That is much more praise than I deserve, Miss Hallam."
+
+"No, it isn't. I like both you and Stella. Three months ago I made a
+codicil to my will by which I endeavored to express that liking. It is
+nothing very brilliant, but I fancy it will suit the views of both of
+you."
+
+Utterly astounded, I stammered out some incoherent words.
+
+"There, don't thank me," said she. "If I were not sure that I shall die
+to-morrow--or thereabouts, I should put my plan into execution at once,
+but I shall not be alive at the end of the week."
+
+Her words proved true. Grim, sardonic, and cynical to the last, she died
+quietly, gladly closing her eyes which had so long been sightless. She
+was sixty-five years old, and had lived alone since she was
+five-and-twenty.
+
+The codicil to her will, which she had spoken of with so much composure,
+left three hundred pounds to Stella and me. She wished a portion of it
+to be devoted to our instruction in music, vocal and instrumental, at
+any German conservatorium we might select. She preferred that of L----.
+Until we were of age, our parents or guardians saw to the dispensing of
+the money, after that it was our own--half belonging to each of us; we
+might either unite our funds or use them separately as we choose.
+
+It need scarcely be said that we both chose that course which she
+indicated. Stella's joy was deep and intense--mine had an unavoidable
+sorrow mingled with it. At the end of September, 18--, we departed for
+Germany, and before going to L---- it was agreed that we should pay a
+visit at Elberthal, to my friend Dr. Mittendorf.
+
+It was a gusty September night, with wind dashing angrily about and
+showers of rain flying before the gale, on which I once again set foot
+in Elberthal--the place I had thought never more to see.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVI.
+
+ "Freude trinken alle Wesen
+ An den Bruesten der Natur;
+ Alle Guten, alle Boesen
+ Folgen ihrer Rosenspur."
+
+
+I felt a deep rapture in being once more in that land where my love, if
+he did not live, slept. But I forbear to dwell on that rapture, much as
+it influenced me. It waxes tedious when put into words--loses color and
+flavor, like a pressed flower.
+
+I was at first bitterly disappointed to find that Stella and I were only
+to have a few days at Elberthal. Dr. Mittendorf no longer lived there;
+but only had his official residence in the town, going every week-end to
+his country house, or "Schloss," as he ambitiously called it, at
+Lahnburg, a four-hours' railway journey from Elberthal.
+
+Frau Mittendorf, who had been at Elberthal on a visit, was to take
+Stella and me with her to Lahnburg on the Tuesday morning after our
+arrival, which was on Friday evening.
+
+The good doctor's schloss, an erection built like the contrivances of
+the White Knight in "Through the Looking-glass," on "a plan of his own
+invention," had been his pet hobby for years, and now that it was
+finished, he invited every invitable person to come and stay at it.
+
+It was not likely that he would excuse a person for whom he had so much
+regard as he professed for me from the honor, and I was fain to conceal
+the fact that I would much rather have remained in Elberthal, and make
+up my mind to endure as well as I could the prospect of being buried in
+the country with Frau Mittendorf and her children.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was Sunday afternoon. An equinoctial gale was raging, or rather had
+been raging all day. It had rained incessantly, and the wind had howled.
+The skies were cloud-laden, the wind was furious. The Rhine was so
+swollen that the streets in the lower part of the town sloping to the
+river were under water, and the people going about in boats.
+
+But I was tired of the house; the heated rooms stifled me. I was weary
+of Frau Mittendorf's society, and thoroughly dissatisfied with my own.
+
+About five in the afternoon I went to the window and looked out. I
+perceived a strip of pale, watery blue through a rift in the storm-laden
+clouds, and I chose to see that, and that only, ignoring the wind-lashed
+trees of the allee; the leaves, wet, and sodden and sere, hurrying
+panic-stricken before the gale, ignoring, too, the low wail promising a
+coming hurricane, which sighed and soughed beneath the wind's shrill
+scream.
+
+There was a temporary calm, and I bethought myself that I would go to
+church--not to the Protestant church attended by the English
+clique--heaven forbid! but to my favorite haunt, the Jesuiten Kirche.
+
+It was just the hour at which the service would be going on. I asked
+Stella in a low voice if she would not like to come; she declined with a
+look of pity at me, so, notifying my intention to Frau Mittendorf, and
+mildly but firmly leaving the room before she could utter any
+remonstrance, I rushed upstairs, clothed myself in my winter mantle,
+threw a shawl over my arm, and set out.
+
+The air was raw, but fresh, life-giving and invigorating. The smell of
+the stove, which clung to me still, was quickly dissipated by it. I
+wrapped my shawl around me, turned down a side street, and was soon in
+the heart of the old part of the town, where all Roman Catholic churches
+were, the quarter lying near the river and wharves and bridge of boats.
+
+I liked to go to the Jesuiten Kirche, and placing myself in the
+background, kneel as others knelt, and, without taking part in the
+service, think my own thoughts and pray my own prayers.
+
+Here none of the sheep looked wolfish at you unless you kept to a
+particular pen, for the privilege of sitting in which you paid so many
+marks _per quartal_ to a respectable functionary who came to collect
+them. Here the men came and knelt down, cap in hand, and the women
+seemed really to be praying, and aware of what they were praying for,
+not looking over their prayer-books at each other's clothes.
+
+I entered the church. Within the building it was already almost dark. A
+reddish light burned in a great glittering censer, which swung gently to
+and fro in the chancel.
+
+There were many people in the church, kneeling in groups and rows, and
+all occupied with their prayers. I, too, knelt down, and presently as
+the rest sat up I sat up too. A sad-looking monk had ascended the
+pulpit, and was beginning to preach. His face was thin, hollow, and
+ascetic-looking; his eyes blazed bright from deep, sunken sockets. His
+cowl came almost up to his ears. I could dimly see the white cord round
+his waist as he began to preach, at first in a low and feeble voice,
+which gradually waxed into power.
+
+He was in earnest--whether right or wrong, he was in earnest. I listened
+with the others to what he said. He preached the beauties of
+renunciation, and during his discourse quoted the very words which had
+so often haunted me--_Entbehren sollst du! sollst entbehren!_
+
+His earnestness moved me deeply. His voice was musical, sweet. His
+accent made the German burr soft; he was half Italian. I had been at the
+instrumental concert the previous night, for old association's sake, and
+they had played the two movements of Schubert's unfinished symphony--the
+B minor. The refrain in the last movement haunted me--a refrain of seven
+cadences, which rises softly and falls, dies away, is carried softly
+from one instrument to another, wanders afar, returns again, sinks lower
+and lower, deeper and deeper, till at last the 'celli (if I mistake not)
+takes it up for the last time, and the melody dies a beautiful death,
+leaving you undecided whether to weep or smile, but penetrated through
+and through with its dreamy loveliness.
+
+This exquisite refrain lingered in my memory and echoed in my mind, like
+a voice from some heavenly height, telling me to rest and be at peace,
+in time to the swinging of the censer, in harmony with the musical
+southern voice of that unknown Brother Somebody.
+
+By degrees I began to think that the censer did not sway so regularly,
+so like a measured pendulum as it had done, but was moving somewhat
+erratically, and borne upon the gale came a low, ominous murmur, which
+first mingled itself with the voice of the preacher, and then threatened
+to dominate it. Still the refrain of the symphony rang in my ears, and I
+was soothed to rest by the inimitable nepenthe of music.
+
+But the murmur of which I had so long been, as it were, half-conscious,
+swelled and drove other sounds and the thoughts of them from my mind. It
+grew to a deep, hollow roar--a very hurricane of a roar. The preacher's
+voice ceased, drowned.
+
+I think none of us were at first certain about what was happening; we
+only felt that something tremendous was going on. Then, with one mighty
+bang and blow of the tempest, the door by which I had entered the church
+was blown bodily in, and fell crashing upon the floor; and after the
+hurricane came rushing through the church with the howl of a triumphant
+demon, and hurried round the building, extinguishing every light, and
+turning a temple of God into Hades.
+
+Sounds there were as of things flapping from the walls, as of wood
+falling; but all was in the pitchiest darkness--a very "darkness which
+might be felt." Amid the roar of the wind came disjointed, broken
+exclamations of terrified women and angry, impatient men. "_Ach Gott!_"
+"_Du meine Zeit!_" "_Herr du meine Guete!_" "_Oh je!_" etc., rang all
+round, and hurrying people rushed past me, making confusion worse
+confounded as they scrambled past to try to get out.
+
+I stood still, not from any bravery or presence of mind, but from utter
+annihilation of both qualities in the shock and surprise of it all. At
+last I began trying to grope my way toward the door. I found it. Some
+people--I heard and felt rather than saw--were standing about the
+battered-in door, and there was the sound of water hurrying past the
+door-way. The Rhine was rushing down the street.
+
+"We must go to the other door--the west door," said some one among the
+people; and as the group moved I moved too, beginning to wish myself
+well out of it.
+
+We reached the west door; it led into a small lane or _gasse_, regarding
+the geography of which I was quite at sea, for I had only been in it
+once before. I stepped from the street into the lane, which was in the
+very blackness of darkness, and seemed to be filled with wind and a
+hurricane which one could almost distinguish and grasp.
+
+The roar of the wind and the surging of water were all around, and were
+deafening. I followed, as I thought, some voices which I heard, but
+scarcely knew where I was going, as the wind seemed to be blowing all
+ways at once, and there came to me an echo here and an echo there,
+misleading rather than guiding. In a few moments I felt my foot upon
+wood, and there was a loud creaking and rattling, as of chains, a
+groaning, splitting, and great uproar going on, as well as a motion as
+if I were on board a ship.
+
+After making a few steps I paused. It was utterly impossible that I
+could have got upon a boat--wildly impossible. I stood still, then went
+on a few steps. Still the same extraordinary sounds--still such a
+creaking and groaning--still the rush, rush, and swish, swish of water;
+but not a human voice any more, not a light to be seen, not a sign!
+
+With my hat long since stripped from my head and launched into darkness
+and space, my hair lashed about me in all directions, my petticoats
+twisted round me like ropes, I was utterly and completely bewildered by
+the thunder and roar of all around. I no longer knew which way I had
+come nor where to turn. I could not imagine where I was, and my only
+chance seemed to be to hold fast and firm to the railing against which
+the wind had unceremoniously banged me.
+
+The creaking grew louder--grew into a crash; there was a splitting of
+wood, a snapping of chains, a kind of whirl, and then I felt the wind
+blow upon me, first upon this side, then from that, and became conscious
+that the structure upon which I stood was moving--floating smoothly and
+rapidly upon water. In an instant (when it was too late) it all flashed
+upon my mind. I had wandered upon the Schiffbrucke, or bridge of boats
+which crossed the Rhine from the foot of the market-place, and this same
+bridge had been broken by the strength of the water and wind, and upon a
+portion of it I was now floating down the river.
+
+With my usual wisdom, and "the shrewd application of a wide experience
+so peculiar to yourself," as some one has since insulted me by saying, I
+instantly gave myself up as lost. The bridge would run into some other
+bridge, or dash into a steamer, or do something horrible, and I should
+be killed, and none would know of my fate; or it would all break into
+little pieces, and I should have to cling to one of them, and should
+inevitably be drowned.
+
+In any case, my destruction was only a matter of time. How I loved my
+life then! How sweet, and warm, and full, and fresh it seemed! How cold
+the river, and how undesirable a speedy release from the pomps and
+vanities of this wicked world!
+
+The wind was still howling horribly--chanting my funeral dirge. Like
+grim death, I held on to my railing, and longed, with a desperate
+longing, for one glimpse of light.
+
+I had believed myself alone upon my impromptu raft--or rather, it had
+not occurred to me that there might be another than myself upon it; but
+at this instant, in a momentary lull of the wind, almost by my side I
+heard a sound that I knew well, and had cause to remember--the tune of
+the wild march from "Lenore," set to the same words, sung by the same
+voice as of yore.
+
+My heart stood still for a moment, then leaped on again. Then a faint,
+sickly kind of dread overcame me. I thought I was going out of my
+mind--was wandering in some delusion, which took the form of the dearest
+voice, and sounded with its sound in my ears.
+
+But no. The melody did not cease. As the beating of my heart settled
+somewhat down, I still heard it--not loud, but distinct. Then the tune
+ceased. The voice--ah! there was no mistaking that, and I trembled with
+the joy that thrilled me as I heard it--conned over the words as if
+struck with their weird appropriateness to the scene, which was
+certainly marked:
+
+     "Und das Gesindel, husch, husch, husch
+     Kam hinten nachgeprasselt--
+     Wie Wirbelwind am Haselbusch
+     Durch duerre Blatter rasselt."
+
+And _wirbelwind_--the whirlwind--played a wild accompaniment to the
+words.
+
+It seemed to me that a long time passed, during which I could not speak,
+but could only stand with my hands clasped over my heart, trying to
+steady its tumultuous beating. I had not been wrong, thank the good God
+above! I had not been wrong when my heart sung for joy at being once
+more in this land. He was here--he was living--he was safe!
+
+Here were all my worst fears soothed--my intensest longings answered
+without my having spoken. It was now first that I really knew how much I
+loved him--so much that I felt almost afraid of the strength of the
+passion. I knew not till now how it had grown--how fast and
+all-denominating it had become.
+
+A sob broke from my lips, and his voice was silenced.
+
+"Herr Courvoisier!" I stammered.
+
+"Who spoke?" he asked in a clear voice.
+
+"It is you!" I murmured.
+
+"May!" he uttered, and paused abruptly.
+
+A hand touched mine--warm, firm, strong--his very hand. In its lightest
+touch there seemed safety, shelter, comfort.
+
+"Oh, how glad I am! how glad I am!" I sobbed.
+
+He murmured "Sonderbar!" as if arguing with himself, and I held his hand
+fast.
+
+"Don't leave me! Stay here!" I implored.
+
+"I suppose there is not much choice about that for either of us," said
+he, and he laughed.
+
+I did not remember to wonder how he came there; I only knew that he was
+there. That tempest, which will not soon be forgotten in Elberthal,
+subsided almost as rapidly as it had arisen. The winds lulled as if a
+wizard had bidden them be still. The gale hurried on to devastate fresh
+fields and pastures new. There was a sudden reaction of stillness, and I
+began to see in the darkness the outlines of a figure beside me. I
+looked up. There was no longer that hideous, driving black mist, like
+chaos embodied, between me and heaven. The sky, though dark, was clear;
+some stars were gleaming coldly down upon the havoc which had taken
+place since they last viewed the scene.
+
+Seeing the heavens so calm and serene, a sudden feeling of shyness and
+terror overtook me. I tried to withdraw my hand from that of my
+companion, and to remove myself a little from him. He held my hand fast.
+
+"You are exhausted with standing?" said he. "Sit down upon this ledge."
+
+"If you will too."
+
+"Oh, of course. I think our voyage will be a long one, and--"
+
+"Speak German," said I. "Let me hear you speaking it again."
+
+"And I have no mind to stand all the time," he concluded in his own
+tongue.
+
+"Is there no one else here but ourselves?"
+
+"No one."
+
+I had seated myself and he placed himself beside me. I was in no
+laughing mood or I might have found something ludicrous in our
+situation.
+
+"I wonder where we are now," I half whispered, as the bridge was still
+hurried ceaselessly down the dark and rushing river. I dared not allude
+to anything else. I felt my heart was too full--I felt too, too utterly
+uncertain of him. There was sadness in his voice. I, who knew its every
+cadence, could hear that.
+
+"I think we are about passing Kaiserswerth," said he. "I wonder where we
+shall land at last."
+
+"Do you think we shall go very far?"
+
+"Perhaps we may. It is on record that the Elberthal boat bridge--part of
+it, I mean--once turned up at Rotterdam. It may happen again, _warum
+nicht_?"
+
+"How long does that take?"
+
+"Twelve or fourteen hours, I dare say."
+
+I was silent.
+
+"I am sorry for you," he said in the gentlest of voices, as he happed my
+shawl more closely around me. "And you are cold too--shivering. My coat
+must do duty again."
+
+"No, no!" cried I. "Keep it! I won't have it."
+
+"Yes you will, because you can't help it if I make you," he answered as
+he wrapped it round me.
+
+"Well, please take part of it. At least wrap half of it round you," I
+implored, "or I shall be miserable."
+
+"Pray don't. No, keep it! It is not like charity--it has not room for
+many sins at once."
+
+"Do you mean you or me?" I could not help asking.
+
+"Are we not all sinners?"
+
+I knew it would be futile to resist, but I was not happy in the new
+arrangement, and I touched his coat-sleeve timidly.
+
+"You have quite a thin coat," I remonstrated, "and I have a winter
+dress, a thick jacket, and a shawl."
+
+"And my coat, _und doch bist du_--oh, pardon! and you are shivering in
+spite of it," said he, conclusively.
+
+"It is an awful storm, is it not?" I suggested next.
+
+"Was an awful storm, _nicht wahr_? Yes. And how very strange that you
+and I, of all people, should have met here, of all places. How did you
+get here?"
+
+"I had been to church."
+
+"So! I had not."
+
+"How did you come here?" I ventured to ask.
+
+"Yes--you may well ask; but first--you have been in England, have you
+not?"
+
+"Yes, and am going back again."
+
+"Well--I came here yesterday from Berlin. When the war was over--"
+
+"Ah, you were in the war?" I gasped.
+
+"_Natuerlich, mein Fraeulein._ Where else should I have been?"
+
+"And you fought?"
+
+"Also _natuerlich_."
+
+"Where did you fight? At Sedan?"
+
+"At Sedan--yes."
+
+"Oh, my God!" I whispered to myself. "And were you wounded?" I added
+aloud.
+
+"A mere trifle. Friedhelm and I had luck to march side by side. I
+learned to know in spirit and in letter the meaning of _Ich hatt' einen
+guten Cameraden_."
+
+"You were wounded!" I repeated, unheeding all that discursiveness.
+"Where? How? Were you in the hospital?"
+
+"Yes. Oh, it is nothing. Since then I have been learning my true place
+in the world, for you see, unluckily, I was not killed."
+
+"Thank God! Thank God! How I have wondered! How I have thought--well,
+how did you come here?"
+
+"I coveted a place in one of those graves, and couldn't have it," he
+said, bitterly. "It was a little thing to be denied, but fallen men must
+do without much. I saw boys falling around me, whose mothers and sisters
+are mourning for them yet."
+
+"Oh, don't."
+
+"Well--Friedel and I are working in Berlin. We shall not stay there
+long; we are wanderers now! There is no room for us. I have a short
+holiday, and I came to spend it at Elberthal. This evening I set out,
+intending to hear the opera--'Der Fliegende Hollaender'--very
+appropriate, wasn't it?"
+
+"Very."
+
+"But the storm burst over the theater just as the performance was about
+to begin, and removed part of the roof, upon which one of the company
+came before the curtain and dismissed us with his blessing and the
+announcement that no play would be played to-night. Thus I was deprived
+of the ungodly pleasure of watching my old companions wrestle with
+Wagner's stormy music while I looked on like a gentleman."
+
+"But when you came out of the theater?"
+
+"When I came out of the theater the storm was so magnificent, and was
+telling me so much that I resolved to come down to its center-point and
+see Vater Rhein in one of his grandest furies. I strayed upon the bridge
+of boats; forgot where I was, listened only to the storm: ere I knew
+what was happening I was adrift and the tempest howling round me--and
+you, fresh from your devotions to lull it."
+
+"Are you going to stay long in Elberthal?"
+
+"It seems I may not. I am driven away by storms and tempests."
+
+"And me with you," thought I. "Perhaps there is some meaning in this.
+Perhaps fate means us to breast other storms together. If so, I am
+ready--anything--so it be with you."
+
+"There's the moon," said he; "how brilliant, is she not?"
+
+I looked up into the sky wherein she had indeed appeared "like a dying
+lady, lean and pale," shining cold and drear, but very clearly upon the
+swollen waters, showing us dim outlines of half-submerged trees,
+cottages and hedges--showing us that we were in midstream, and that
+other pieces of wreck were floating down the river with us, hurrying
+rapidly with the current--showing me, too, in a ghostly whiteness, the
+face of my companion turned toward me, and his elbow rested on his knee
+and his chin in his hand, and his loose dark hair was blown back from
+his broad forehead, his strange, deep eyes were resting upon my face,
+calmly, openly.
+
+Under that gaze my heart fell. In former days there had been in his face
+something not unakin to this stormy free night; but now it was
+changed--how changed!
+
+A year had wrought a terrible alteration. I knew not his past; but I did
+know that he had long been struggling, and a dread fear seized me that
+the struggle was growing too hard for him--his spirit was breaking. It
+was not only that the shadows were broader, deeper, more permanently
+sealed--there was a down look--a hardness and bitterness which inspired
+me both with pity and fear.
+
+"Your fate is a perverse one," he remarked, as I did not speak.
+
+"So! Why?"
+
+"It throws you so provokingly into society which must be so unpleasant
+to you."
+
+"Whose society?"
+
+"Mine, naturally."
+
+"You are much mistaken," said I, composedly.
+
+"It is kind of you to say so. For your sake, I wish it had been any one
+but myself who had been thus thrown together with you. I promise you
+faithfully that as soon as ever we can land I will only wait to see you
+safely into a train and then I will leave you and--"
+
+He was suddenly silenced. I had composed my face to an expression of
+indifference as stony as I knew how to assume, and with my hands folded
+in my lap, had steeled myself to look into his face and listen to him.
+
+I could find nothing but a kind of careless mockery in his face--a hard
+half smile upon his lips as he went on saying the hard things which cut
+home and left me quivering, and which he yet uttered as if they had been
+the most harmless pleasantries or the merest whipped-cream compliments.
+
+It was at this moment that the wind, rising again in a brief spasm, blew
+a tress of my loosened hair across his face. How it changed! flushed
+crimson. His lips parted--a strange, sudden light came into his eyes.
+
+"I beg your pardon!" said I, hastily, started from my assumed composure,
+as I raised my hand to push my hair back. But he had gathered the tress
+together--his hand lingered for one moment--a scarcely perceptible
+moment--upon it, then he laid it gently down upon my shoulder.
+
+"Then I will leave you," he went on, resuming the old manner, but with
+evident effort, "and not interfere with you any more."
+
+What was I to think? What to believe? I thought to myself that had he
+been my lover and I had intercepted such a glance of his to another
+woman my peace of mind had been gone for evermore. But, on the other
+hand, every cool word he said gave the lie to his looks--or did his
+looks give the lie to his words? Oh, that I could solve the problem once
+for all, and have done with it forever!
+
+"And you, Miss Wedderburn--have you deserted Germany?"
+
+"I have been obliged to live in England, if that is what you mean--I am
+living in Germany at present."
+
+"And art--_die Kunst_--that is cruel!"
+
+"You are amusing yourself at my expense, as you have always delighted in
+doing," said I, sharply, cut to the quick.
+
+"_Aber, Fraeulein May!_ What do you mean?"
+
+"From the very first," I repeated, the pain I felt giving a keenness to
+my reproaches. "Did you not deceive me and draw me out for your
+amusement that day we met at Koeln? You found out then, I suppose, what a
+stupid, silly creature I was, and you have repeated the process now and
+then, since--much to your own edification and that of Herr Helfen, I do
+not doubt. Whether it was just, or honorable, or kind, is a secondary
+consideration. Stupid people are only invented for the amusement of
+those who are not stupid."
+
+"How dare you, how dare you talk in that manner?" said he, emphatically,
+laying his hand upon my shoulder, and somehow compelling my gaze to meet
+his. "But I know why--I read the answer in those eyes which dare
+everything, and yet--"
+
+"Not quite everything," thought I, uncomfortably, as the said eyes sunk
+beneath his look.
+
+"Fraeulein May, will you have the patience to listen while I tell you a
+little story?"
+
+"Oh, yes!" I responded, readily, as I hailed the prospect of learning
+something more about him.
+
+"It is now nearly five years since I first came to Elberthal. I had
+never been in the town before. I came with my boy--may God bless him and
+keep him!--who was then two years old, and whose mother was dead--for my
+wife died early."
+
+A pause, during which I did not speak. It was something so wonderful to
+me that he should speak to me of his wife.
+
+"She was young--and very beautiful," said he. "You will forgive my
+introducing the subject?"
+
+"Oh, Herr Courvoisier!"
+
+"And I had wronged her. I came to Friedhelm Helfen, or rather was sent
+to him, and, as it happened, found such a friend as is not granted to
+one man in a thousand. When I came here, I was smarting under various
+griefs; about the worst was that I had recklessly destroyed my own
+prospects. I had a good career--a fair future open to me. I had cut
+short that career, annihilated that future, or any future worth speaking
+of, by--well, something had happened which divided me utterly and
+uncompromisingly and forever from the friends, and the sphere, and the
+respect and affection of those who had been parents and brother and
+sister to me. Then I knew that their good opinion, their love, was my
+law and my highest desire. And it was not their fault--it was mine--my
+very own.
+
+"The more I look back upon it all, the more I see that I have myself to
+thank for it. But that reflection, as you may suppose, does not add to
+the delights of a man's position when he is humbled to the dust as I was
+then. Biting the dust--you have that phrase in English. Well, I have
+been biting the dust--yes, eating it, living upon it, and deservedly so,
+for five years; but nothing ever can, nothing ever will, make it taste
+anything but dry, bitter, nauseating to the last degree."
+
+"Go on!" said I, breathlessly.
+
+"How kind you are to listen to the dull tale! Well, I had my boy
+Sigmund, and there were times when the mere fact that he was mine made
+me forget everything else, and thank my fate for the simple fact that I
+lived and was his father. His father--he was a part of myself, he could
+divine my every thought. But at other times, generally indeed, I was
+sick of life--that life. Don't suppose that I am one of those high-flown
+idiots who would make it out that no life is worth living: I knew and
+felt to my soul that the life from which I had locked myself out and
+then dropped the key as it were here in midstream, was a glorious life,
+worth living ten times over.
+
+"There was the sting of it. For three years I lived thus, and learned a
+great deal, learned what men in that position are--learned to respect,
+admire, and love some of them--learned to understand that man--_der
+Mensch_--is the same, and equally to be honored everywhere. I also tried
+to grow accustomed to the thought, which grew every day more certain to
+me, that I must live on so for the future--to plan my life, and shape
+out a certain kind of repentance for sins past. I decided that the only
+form my atonement could take was that of self-effacement--"
+
+"That is why you never would take the lead in anything."
+
+"Exactly. I am naturally fond of leading. I love beyond everything to
+lead those who I know like me, and like following me. When I was
+_haupt_--I mean, I knew that all that by-gone mischief had arisen from
+doing what I liked, so I dropped doing what I liked, and began to do
+what I disliked. By the time I had begun to get a little into training
+three years had passed--these things are not accomplished in a day, and
+the effects of twenty-seven years of selfishness are not killed soon. I
+was killing them, and becoming a machine in the process.
+
+"One year the Lower Rhenish Musikfest was to be held at Koeln. Long
+before it came off the Cologne Orchestra had sent to us for contingents,
+and we had begun to attend some of the proben regularly once or twice a
+week.
+
+"One day Friedhelm and I had been at a probe. The 'Tower of Babel' and
+the 'Lenore' Symphony were among the things we had practiced. Both of
+them, the 'Lenore' particularly, had got into my head. I broke lose for
+one day from routine, from drudgery and harness. It was a mistake.
+Friedhelm went off, shrugging his dear old shoulders, and I at last
+turned up, mooning at the Koelner Bahnof. Well--you know the rest. Nay,
+do not turn so angrily away. Try to forgive a fallen man one little
+indiscretion. When I saw you I can not tell what feeling stole warm and
+invigorating into my heart; it was something quite new--something I had
+never felt before: it was so sweet that I could not part with it.
+Fraeulein May, I have lived that afternoon over again many and many a
+time. Have you ever given a thought to it?"
+
+"Yes, I have," said I, dryly.
+
+"My conduct after that rose half from pride--wounded pride, I mean, for
+when you cut me, it did cut me--I own it. Partly it arose from a
+worthier feeling--the feeling that I could not see very much of you or
+learn to know you at all well without falling very deeply in love with
+you. You hide your face--you are angry at that--"
+
+"Stop. Did you never throughout all this give a thought to the
+possibility that I might fall in love with you?"
+
+I did not look at him, but he said, after a pause:
+
+"I had the feeling that if I tried I could win your love. I never was
+such a presumptuous fool as to suppose that you would love me
+unasked--or even with much asking on my part--_bewahre!_"
+
+I was silent, still concealing my face. He went on:
+
+"Besides, I knew that you were an English lady. I asked myself what was
+the right thing to do, and I decided that though you would consider me
+an ill-mannered, churlish clown, I would refuse those gracious, charming
+advances which you in your charity made. Our paths in life were destined
+to be utterly apart and divided, and what could it matter to you--the
+behavior of an insignificant fiddler? You would forget him just when he
+deserved to be forgotten, that is--instantly.
+
+"Time went on. You lived near us. Changes took place. Those who had a
+right to arbitrate for me, since I had by my own deed deprived myself of
+that right, wrote and demanded my son. I had shown myself incapable of
+managing my own affairs--was it likely that I could arrange his? And
+then he was better away from such a black sheep. It is true. The black
+sheep gave up the white lambling into the care of a legitimate shepherd,
+who carried it off to a correct and appropriate fold. Then life was
+empty indeed, for, strange though it may seem, even black sheep have
+feelings--ridiculously out of place they are too."
+
+"Oh, don't speak so harshly!" said I, tremulously, laying my hand for an
+instant upon his.
+
+His face was turned toward me; his mien was severe, but serene; he spoke
+as of some far-past, distant dream.
+
+"Then it was in looking round my darkened horizon for Sigmund, I found
+that it was not empty. You rose trembling upon it like a star of light,
+and how beautiful a star! But there! do not turn away. I will not shock
+you by expatiating upon it. Enough that I found what I had more than
+once suspected--that I loved you. Once or twice I nearly made a fool of
+myself; that Carnival Monday--do you remember? Luckily Friedel and Karl
+came in, but in my saner moments I worshiped you as a noble, distant
+good--part of the beautiful life which I had gambled with--and lost. Be
+easy! I never for one instant aspired to you--never thought of
+possessing you: I was not quite mad. I am only telling you this to
+explain, and--"
+
+"And you renounced me?" said I in a low voice.
+
+"I renounced you."
+
+I removed my hand from my eyes, and looked at him. His eyes, dry and
+calm, rested upon my face. His countenance was pale; his mouth set with
+a grave, steady sweetness.
+
+Light rushed in upon my mind in a radiant flood--light and knowledge. I
+knew what was right; an unerring finger pointed it to me. I looked deep,
+deep into his sad eyes, read his innermost soul, and found it pure.
+
+"They say you have committed a crime," said I.
+
+"And I have not denied, can not deny it," he answered, as if waiting for
+something further.
+
+"You need not," said I. "It is all one to me. I want to hear no more
+about that. I want to know if your heart is mine."
+
+The wind wuthered wearily; the water rushed. Strange, inarticulate
+sounds of the night came fitfully across ear and sense, as he answered
+me:
+
+"Yours and my honor's. What then?"
+
+"This," I answered, stooping, sweeping the loose hair from that broad,
+sad forehead, and pressing my lips upon it. "This: accept the gift or
+reject it. As your heart is mine, so mine is yours--for ever and ever."
+
+A momentary silence as I raised myself, trembling, and stood aside; and
+the water rushed, and the storm-birds on untiring wing beat the sky and
+croaked of the gale.
+
+Then he drew me to him, folded me to his breast without speaking, and
+gave me a long, tender, yearning kiss, with unspeakable love, little
+passion in it, fit seal of a love that was deeper and sadder than it was
+triumphant.
+
+"Let me have a few moments of this," said he, "just a few moments, May.
+Let me believe that I may hold you to your noble, pitying words. Then I
+shall be my own master again."
+
+Ignoring this hint, I laid my hands upon his arm, and eying him
+steadily, went on:
+
+"But understand, the man I love must not be my servant. If you want to
+keep me you must be the master; I brook no feeble curb; no weak hand can
+hold me. You must rule, or I shall rebel; you must show the way, for I
+don't know it. I don't know whether you understand what you have
+undertaken."
+
+"My dear, you are excited. Your generosity carries you away, and your
+divine, womanly pity and kindness. You speak without thinking. You will
+repent to-morrow."
+
+"That is not kind nor worthy of you," said I. "I have thought about it
+for sixteen months, and the end of my thought has always been the same:
+I love Eugen Courvoisier, and if he had loved me I should have been a
+happy woman, and if--though I thought it too good to be true, you
+know--if he ever should tell me so, nothing in this world shall make me
+spoil our two lives by cowardice; I will hold to him against the whole
+world."
+
+"It is impossible, May," he said, quietly, after a pause. "I wish you
+had never seen me."
+
+"It is only impossible if you make it so."
+
+"My sin found me out even here, in this quiet place, where I knew no
+one. It will find me out again. You--if ever you were married to
+me--would be pointed out as the wife of a man who had disgraced his
+honor in the blackest, foulest way. I must and will live it out alone."
+
+"You shall not live it out alone," I said.
+
+The idea that I could not stand by him--the fact that he was not
+prosperous, not stainless before the world--that mine would be no
+ordinary flourishing, meaningless marriage, in which "for better, for
+worse" signifies nothing but better, no worse--all this poured strength
+on strength into my heart, and seemed to warm it and do it good.
+
+"I will tell you your duty," said he. "Your duty is to go home and
+forget me. In due time some one else will find the loveliest and dearest
+being in the world--"
+
+"Eugen! Eugen!" I cried, stabbed to the quick. "How can you? You can not
+love me, or you could not coldly turn me over to some other man, some
+abstraction--"
+
+"Perhaps if he were not an abstraction I might not be able to do it," he
+said, suddenly clasping me to him with a jealous movement. "No; I am
+sure I should not be able to do it. Nevertheless, while he yet is an
+abstraction, and because of that, I say, leave me!"
+
+"Eugen, I do not love lightly!" I began, with forced calm. "I do not
+love twice. My love for you is not a mere fancy--I fought against it
+with all my strength; it mastered me in spite of myself--now I can not
+tear it away. If you send me away it will be barbarous; away to be
+alone, to England again, when I love you with my whole soul. No one but
+a man--no one but you could have said such a thing. If you do," I added,
+terror at the prospect overcoming me, "if you do I shall die--I shall
+die."
+
+I could command myself no longer, but sobbed aloud.
+
+"You will have to answer for it," I repeated; "but you will not send me
+away."
+
+"What, in Heaven's name, makes you love me so?" he asked, as if lost in
+wonder.
+
+"I don't know. I can not imagine," said I, with happy politeness. "It is
+no fault of mine." I took his hand in mine. "Eugen, look at me." His
+eyes met mine. They brightened as he looked at me. "That crime of which
+you were accused--you did not do it."
+
+Silence!
+
+"Look at me and say that you did," I continued.
+
+Silence still.
+
+"Friedhelm Helfen always said you had not done it. He was more loyal
+than I," said I, contritely; "but," I added, jealously, "he did not love
+you better than I, for I loved you all the same even though I almost
+believed you had done it. Well, that is an easy secret to keep, because
+it is to your credit."
+
+"That is just what makes it hard. If it were true, one would be anxious
+rather than not to conceal it; but as it is not true, don't you see?
+Whenever you see me suspected, it will be the impulse of your loyal,
+impetuous heart to silence the offender, and tell him he lies."
+
+In my haste I had not seen this aspect of the question. It was quite a
+new idea to me. Yes, I began to see in truer proportions the kind of
+suffering he had suffered, the kind of trials he had gone through, and
+my breath failed at the idea. When they pointed at him I must not say,
+"It is a lie; he is as honest as you." It was a solemn prospect. It
+overpowered me.
+
+"You quail before that?" said he, gently, after a pause.
+
+"No; I realize it. I do not quail before it," said I, firmly. "But," I
+added, looking at him with a new element in my glance--that of awe--"do
+you mean that for five years you have effaced yourself thus, knowing all
+the while that you were not guilty?"
+
+"It was a matter of the clearest duty--and honor," he replied, flushing
+and looking somewhat embarrassed.
+
+"Of duty!" I cried, strangely moved. "If you did not do it, who did? Why
+are you silent?"
+
+Our eyes met. I shall never forget that glance. It had the concentrated
+patience, love, and pride, and loyalty, of all the years of suffering
+past and--to come.
+
+"May, that is the test for you! That is what I shrink from exposing you
+to, what I know it is wrong to expose you to. I can not tell you. No one
+knows but I, and I shall never tell any one, not even you, if you become
+my other self and soul and thought. Now you know all."
+
+He was silent.
+
+"So that is the truth?" said I. "Thank you for telling it to me. I
+always thought you were a hero; now I am sure of it. Oh, Eugen! how I do
+love you for this! And you need not be afraid. I have been learning to
+keep secrets lately. I shall help, not hinder you. Eugen, we will live
+it down together."
+
+At last we understood each other. At last our hands clasped and our lips
+met upon the perfect union of feeling and purpose for all our future
+lives. All was clear between us, bright, calm; and I, at least, was
+supremely happy. How little my past looked now; how petty and
+insignificant all my former hopes and fears!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dawn was breaking over the river. Wild and storm-beaten was the scene on
+which we looked. A huge waste of swollen waters around us, devastated
+villages, great piles of wreck on all sides; a watery sun casting pallid
+beams upon the swollen river. We were sailing Hollandward upon a
+fragment of the bridge, and in the distance were the spires and towers
+of a town gleaming in the sickly sun-rays. I stood up and gazed toward
+that town, and he stood by my side, his arm round my waist. My chief
+wish was that our sail could go on forever.
+
+"Do you know what is ringing in my ears and will not leave my mind?" I
+asked.
+
+"Indeed, no! You are a riddle and a mystery to me."
+
+I hummed the splendid air from the Choral Symphony, the _motif_ of the
+music to the choruses to "Joy" which follow.
+
+"Ah!" said he, taking up its deep, solemn gladness, "you are right,
+May--quite right. There is a joy, if it be 'beyond the starry belt.'"
+
+"I wonder what that town is?" I said, after a pause.
+
+"I am not sure, but I fancy it is Emmerich. I am sure I hope so."
+
+Whatever the town, we were floating straight toward it. I suddenly
+thought of my dream long ago, and told it to him, adding:
+
+"I think this must have been the floating wreck to which you and I
+seemed clinging; though I thought that all of the dream that was going
+to be fulfilled had already come to pass on that Carnival Monday
+afternoon."
+
+The boat had got into one of the twisting currents, and was being
+propelled directly toward the town.
+
+Eugen looked at me and laughed. I asked why.
+
+"What for a lark! as they say in your country."
+
+"You are quite mistaken. I never heard such an expression. But what is
+such a lark?"
+
+"We have no hats; we want something to eat; we must have tickets to get
+back to Elberthal, and I have just two thalers in my pocket--oh! and a
+two-pfennige piece. I left my little all behind me."
+
+"Hurrah! At last you will be compelled to take back that three thalers
+ten."
+
+We both laughed at this _jeu d'esprit_ as if it had been something
+exquisitely witty; and I forgot my disheveled condition in watching the
+sun rise over the broad river, in feeling our noiseless progression over
+it, and, above all, in the divine sense of oneness and harmony with him
+at my side--a feeling which I can hardly describe, utterly without the
+passionate fitfulness of the orthodox lover's rapture, but as if for a
+long time I had been waiting for some quality to make me complete, and
+had quietly waked to find it there, and the world understandable--life's
+riddle read.
+
+Eugen's caresses were few, his words of endearment quiet; but I knew
+what they stood for; a love rooted in feelings deeper than those of
+sense, holier than mere earthly love--feelings which had taken root in
+adversity, had grown in darkness and "made a sunshine in a shady
+place"--feelings which in him had their full and noble growth and beauty
+of development, but which it seems to be the aim of the fashionable
+education of this period as much as possible to do away with--the
+feeling of chivalry, delicacy, reticence, manliness, modesty.
+
+As we drew nearer the town, he said to me:
+
+"In a few hours we shall have to part, May, for a time. While we are
+here alone, and you are uninfluenced, let me ask you something. This
+love of yours for me--what will it carry you through?"
+
+"Anything, now that I am sure of yours for me."
+
+"In short, you are firmly decided to be my wife some time?"
+
+"When you tell me you are ready for me," said I, putting my hand in his.
+
+"And if I find it best to leave my Fatherland, and begin life quite
+anew?"
+
+"Thy God is my God, and thy people are my people, Eugen."
+
+"One other thing. How do you know that you can marry? Your friends--"
+
+"I am twenty years old. In a year I can do as I like," said I,
+composedly. "Surely we can stand firm and faithful for a year?"
+
+He smiled, and it was a new smile--sweet, hopeful, if not merry.
+
+With this silent expression of determination and trust we settled the
+matter.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVII.
+
+ "What's failure or success to me?
+ I have subdued my life to the one purpose."
+
+
+Eugen sent a telegram from Emmerich to Frau Mittendorf to reassure her
+as to my safety. At four in the afternoon we left that town, refreshed
+and rehatted, to reach Elberthal at six.
+
+I told Eugen that we were going away the next day to stay a short time
+at a place called Lahnburg.
+
+He started and looked at me.
+
+"Lahnburg!--I--when you are there--_nein, das ist_--You are going to
+Lahnburg?"
+
+"Yes. Why not?"
+
+"You will know why I ask if you go to Schloss Rothenfels."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I say no more, dear May. I will leave you to form your own conclusions.
+I have seen that this fair head could think wisely and well under
+trying circumstances enough. I am rather glad that you are going to
+Lahnburg."
+
+"The question is--will you still be at Elberthal when I return?"
+
+"I can not say. We had better exchange addresses. I am at Frau Schmidt's
+again--my old quarters. I do not know when or how we shall meet again. I
+must see Friedhelm, and you--when you tell your friends, you will
+probably be separated at once and completely from me."
+
+"Well, a year is not much out of our lives. How old are you, Eugen?"
+
+"Thirty-two. And you?"
+
+"Twenty and two months; then you are twelve years older than I. You were
+a school-boy when I was born. What were you like?"
+
+"A regular little brute, I should suppose, as they all are."
+
+"When we are married," said I, "perhaps I may go on with my singing, and
+earn some more money by it. My voice will be worth something to me
+then."
+
+"I thought you had given up art."
+
+"Perhaps I shall see Adelaide," I added; "or, rather, I will see her." I
+looked at him rather inquiringly. To my relief he said:
+
+"Have you not seen her since her marriage?"
+
+"No; have you?"
+
+"She was my angel nurse when I was lying in hospital at ----. Did you
+not know that she has the Iron Cross? And no one ever won it more
+nobly."
+
+"Adelaide--your nurse--the Iron Cross?" I ejaculated. "Then you have
+seen her?"
+
+"Seen her shadow to bless it."
+
+"Do you know where she is now?"
+
+"With her husband at ----. She told me that you were in England, and she
+gave me this."
+
+He handed me a yellow, much-worn folded paper, which, on opening, I
+discovered to be my own letter to Adelaide, written during the war, and
+which had received so curt an answer.
+
+"I begged very hard for it," said he, "and only got it with difficulty,
+but I represented that she might get more of them, whereas I--"
+
+He stopped, for two reasons. I was weeping as I returned it to him, and
+the train rolled into the Elberthal station.
+
+On my way to Dr. Mittendorf's, I made up my mind what to do. I should
+not speak to Stella, nor to any one else of what had happened, but I
+should write very soon to my parents and tell them the truth. I hoped
+they would not refuse their consent, but I feared they would. I should
+certainly not attempt to disobey them while their authority legally
+bound me, but as soon as I was my own mistress, I should act upon my own
+judgment. I felt no fear of anything; the one fear of my life--the loss
+of Eugen--had been removed, and all others dwindled to nothing. My
+happiness, I am and was well aware, was quite set upon things below; if
+I lost Eugen I lost everything, for I, like him, and like all those who
+have been and are dearest to both of us, was a Child of the World.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXVIII.
+
+ "Oftmals hab' ich geirrt, und habe mich wiedergefunden, Aber
+ gluecklicher nie."
+
+
+It was beginning to be dusk when we alighted the next day at Lahnburg, a
+small way-side station, where the doctor's brand-new carriage met us,
+and after we had been bidden welcome, whirled us off to the doctor's
+brand-new schloss, full of brand-new furniture. I skip it all, the
+renewed greetings, the hospitality, the noise. They were very kind. It
+was all right to me, and I enjoyed it immensely. I was in a state of
+mind in which I verily believe I should have enjoyed eating a plate of
+porridge for supper, or a dish of sauerkraut for dinner.
+
+The subject for complacency and contemplation in Frau Mittendorf's life
+was her intimacy with the von Rothenfels family, whose great, dark old
+schloss, or rather, a portion of it, looking grimly over its woods, she
+pointed out to me from the windows of her salon. I looked somewhat
+curiously at it, chiefly because Eugen had mentioned it, and also
+because it was such a stern, imposing old pile. It was built of red
+stone, and stood upon red-stone foundations. Red were the rocks of this
+country, and hence its name, "Rothen-fels," the red rocks. Woods, also
+dark, but now ablaze with the last fiery autumn tints, billowed beneath
+it; on the other side, said Frau Mittendorf, was a great plateau covered
+with large trees, intersected by long, straight avenues. She would take
+us to look at it; the Graefin von Rothenfels was a great friend of hers.
+
+She was entertaining us with stories to prove the great regard and
+respect of the countess for her (Frau Mittendorf) on the morning after
+our arrival, while I was longing to go out and stroll along some of
+those pleasant breezy upland roads, or explore the sleepy, quaint old
+town below.
+
+Upon her narrative came an interruption. A servant threw open the door
+very wide, announcing the Graefin von Rothenfels. Frau Mittendorf rose in
+a tremulous hurry and flutter to greet her noble guest, and then
+introduced us to her.
+
+A tall, melancholy, meager-looking woman,--far past youth--on the very
+confines of middle age, with iron-gray hair banded across a stern,
+much-lined brow. Colorless features of a strong, large, not unhandsome
+type from which all liveliness and vivacity had long since fled. A stern
+mouth--steady, lusterless, severe eyes, a dignity--yes, even a majesty
+of mien which she did not attempt to soften into graciousness; black,
+trailing draperies; a haughty pride of movement.
+
+Such was the first impression made upon me by Hildegarde, Countess of
+Rothenfels--a forbidding, if grand figure--aristocrat in every line;
+utterly alien and apart, I thought, from me and every feeling of mine.
+
+But on looking again the human element was found in the deeply planted
+sadness which no reserve pride could conceal. Sad the eyes, sad the
+mouth; she was all sad together--and not without reason, as I afterward
+learned.
+
+She was a rigid Roman Catholic, and at sixteen had been married for _les
+convenances_ to her cousin, Count Bruno von Rothenfels, a man a good
+deal older than herself, though not preposterously so, and whose ample
+possessions and old name gave social position of the highest kind. But
+he was a Protestant by education, a thinker by nature, a rationalist by
+conviction.
+
+That was one bitter grief. Another was her childlessness. She had been
+married twenty-four years; no child had sprung from the union. This was
+a continual grief which imbittered her whole existence.
+
+Since then I have seen a portrait of her at twenty--a splendid
+brunette, with high spirit and resolute will and noble beauty in every
+line. Ah, me! What wretches we become! Sadness and bitterness, proud
+aloofness and a yearning wistfulness were subtly mingled in the demeanor
+of Graefin von Rothenfels.
+
+She bowed to us, as Frau Mittendorf introduced us. She did not bestow a
+second glance upon Stella; but bent a long look, a second, a third
+scrutinizing gaze upon me. I--I am not ashamed to own it--quivered
+somewhat under her searching glance. She impressed and fascinated me.
+
+She seated herself, and slightly apologizing to us for intruding
+domestic affairs, began to speak with Frau Mittendorf of some case of
+village distress in which they were both interested. Then she turned
+again to us, speaking in excellent English, and asked us whether we were
+staying there, after which she invited us to dine at her house the
+following day with Frau Mittendorf. After the invitation had been
+accepted with sufficient reverence by that lady, the countess rose as if
+to go, and turning again to me with still that pensive, half-wistful,
+half-mistrustful gaze, she said:
+
+"I have my carriage here. Would you like to come with me to see our
+woods and house? They are sometimes interesting to strangers."
+
+"Oh, very much!" I said, eagerly.
+
+"Then come," said she. "I will see that you are escorted back when you
+are tired. It is arranged that you remain until you feel _gene, nicht
+wahr?_"
+
+"Oh, thank you!" said I, again, hastening to make myself ready, and
+parenthetically hoping, as I ran upstairs, that Frau Mittendorf's eyes
+might not start quite out of her head with pride at the honor conferred
+upon her house and visitors.
+
+Very soon I was seated beside the Graefin in the dark-green clarence,
+with the grand coachman and the lady's own jaeger beside him, and we were
+driving along a white road with a wild kind of country spreading
+round--moorland stretches, and rich deep woods. Up and down, for the way
+was uneven, till we entered a kind of park, and to the right, high
+above, I saw the great red pile with its little pointed towers crowned
+with things like extinguishers ending in a lightning-rod, and which
+seemed to spring from all parts of the heavy mass of the main building.
+
+That, then, was Schloss Rothenfels. It looked the very image of an
+aristocratic, ancient feste burg, grim and grand; it brooded over us
+like a frown, and dominated the landscape for miles around. I was deeply
+impressed; such a place had always been like a dream to me.
+
+There was something so imposingly conservative about it; it looked as if
+it had weathered so many storms; defying such paltry forces as wind and
+weather, and would through so many more, quite untouched by the roar of
+life and progress outside--a fit and firm keeping-place for old shields,
+for weapons honorably hacked and dinted, for tattered loyal flags--for
+art treasures and for proud beauties.
+
+As we gained the height, I perceived the huge scale on which the schloss
+was constructed. It was a little town in itself. I saw, too, that
+plateau on the other side, of which I had heard; later I explored it. It
+was a natural plain--a kind of table-land, and was laid out in what have
+always, since I was a child, impressed me more than any other kind of
+surroundings to a house--mile-long avenues of great trees, stretching
+perfectly straight, like lines of marching troops in every direction.
+
+Long, melancholy alleys and avenues, with huge, moss-grown stone figures
+and groups guarding the terraces or keeping fantastic watch over the
+stone tanks, on whose surfaces floated the lazy water-lilies. Great
+moss-grown gods and goddesses, and strange hybrid beasts, and fauns and
+satyrs, and all so silent and forlorn, with the lush grass and heavy
+fern growing rank and thick under the stately trees. To right they
+stretched and to left; and straightaway westward was one long, wide,
+vast, deserted avenue, at the end of which was an opening, and in the
+opening a huge stone myth or figure of a runner, who in the act of
+racing receives an arrow in his heart, and, with arms madly tossed in
+the air, staggers.
+
+Behind this terrible figure the sun used to set, flaming, or mild, or
+sullen, and the vast arms of it were outlined against the gorgeous sky,
+or in the half-dark it glimmered like a ghost and seemed to move. It had
+been there so long that none could remember the legend of it. It was a
+grim shape.
+
+Scattered here and there were quaint wildernesses and
+pleasaunces--clipped yews and oddly trained shrubs and flowers trying to
+make a diversion, but ever dominated by the huge woods, the straight
+avenues, the mathematical melancholy on an immense scale.
+
+The Frau Graefin glanced at me once or twice as my head turned this way
+and that, and my eyes could not take in the strange scene quickly
+enough; but she said nothing, nor did her severe face relax into any
+smile.
+
+We stopped under a huge _porte-cochere_ in which more servants were
+standing about.
+
+"Come with me," said the lady to me. "First I will take you to my rooms,
+and then when you have rested a little you can do what you like."
+
+Pleased at the prospect, I followed her; through a hall which without
+any joking was baronial; through a corridor into a room, through which
+she passed, observing to me:
+
+"This is the rittersaal, one of the oldest rooms in the house."
+
+The rittersaal--a real, hereditary Hall of Knights where a sangerkrieg
+might have taken place--where Tannhauser and the others might have
+contended before Elizabeth. A polished parquet--a huge hearth on which
+burned a large bright wood fire, whose flames sparkled upon suits of
+mail in dozens--crossed swords and lances, over which hung tattered
+banners and bannerets. Shields and lances, portraits with each a pair of
+spurs beneath it--the men were all knights, of that line! dark and grave
+chiefly were these lords of the line of Sturm. In the center of the hall
+a great trophy of arms and armor, all of which had been used, and used
+to purpose; the only drapery, the banners over these lances and
+portraits. The room delighted me while it made me feel small--very
+small. The countess turned at a door at the other end and looked back
+upon me where I stood gasping in the door-way by which we had entered.
+She was one of the house; this had nothing overpowering for her, if it
+did give some of the pride to her mien.
+
+I hurried after her, apologizing for my tardiness; she waved the words
+back, and led me to a smaller room, which appeared to be her private
+sitting-room. Here she asked me to lay aside my things, adding that she
+hoped I should spend the day at the schloss.
+
+"If you find it not too intolerably stupid," she added. "It is a dull
+place."
+
+I said that it seemed to me like something out of a fairy tale, and that
+I longed to see more of it if I might.
+
+"Assuredly you shall. There may be some few things which you may like to
+see. I forget that every one is not like myself--tired. Are you
+musical?"
+
+"Very!" said I, emphatically.
+
+"Then you will be interested in the music-rooms here. How old are you?"
+
+I told her. She bowed gravely. "You are young, and, I suppose, happy?"
+she remarked.
+
+"Yes, I am--very happy--perfectly," said I, smiling, because I could not
+help it.
+
+"When I saw you I was so struck with that look," said she. "I thought I
+had never seen any one look so radiantly, transcendently happy. I so
+seldom see it--and never feel it, and I wished to see more of you. I am
+very glad you are so happy--very glad. Now I will not keep you talking
+to me. I will send for Herr Nahrath, who shall be your guide."
+
+She rang the bell. I was silent, although I longed to say that I could
+talk to her for a day without thinking of weariness, which indeed was
+true. She impressed and fascinated me.
+
+"Send Herr Nahrath here," she said, and presently there came into the
+room a young man in the garb of what is called in Germany a
+Kandidat--that is to say an embryo pastor, or parish priest. He bowed
+very deeply to the countess and did not speak or advance much beyond the
+door.
+
+Having introduced us, she desired him to act as cicerone to me until I
+was tired. He bowed, and I did not dispute the mandate, although I would
+rather have remained with her, and got to know something of the nature
+that lay behind those gray passionless features, than turn to the
+society of that smug-looking young gentleman who waited so respectfully,
+like a machine whose mainspring was awe.
+
+I accompanied him, nevertheless, and he showed me part of the schloss,
+and endeavored in the intervals of his tolerably arduous task of
+cicerone to make himself agreeable to me. It was a wonderful place
+indeed--this schloss. The deeper we penetrated into it, the more
+absorbed and interested did I become. Such piled-up, profusely scattered
+treasures of art it had never before fallen to my lot to behold. The
+abundance was prodigal; the judgment, cultivation, high perception
+of truth, rarity and beauty, seemed almost faultless. Gems of
+pictures--treasures of sculpture, bronze, china, carvings, glass, coins,
+curiosities which it would have taken a life-time properly to learn.
+Here I saw for the first time a private library on a large scale,
+collected by generation after generation of highly cultured men and
+women--a perfect thing of its kind, and one which impressed me mightily;
+but it was not there that I was destined to find the treasure which lay
+hidden for me in this enchanted palace. We strayed over an acre or so of
+passage and corridor till he paused before an arched door across which
+was hung a curtain, and over which was inscribed _Musik-kammern_ (the
+music-rooms).
+
+"If you wish to see the music, _mein Fraeulein_, I must leave you in the
+hands of Herr Brunken, who will tolerate no cicerone but himself."
+
+"Oh, I wish to see it certainly," said I, on fire with curiosity.
+
+He knocked and was bidden _herein!_ but not going in, told some one
+inside that he recommended to his charge a young lady staying with the
+countess, and who was desirous of seeing the collection.
+
+"Pray, _mein Fraeulein_, come in!" said a voice. Herr Nahrath left me,
+and I, lifting the curtain and pushing open the half-closed door, found
+myself in an octagonal room, confronted by the quaintest figure I had
+ever seen. An old man whose long gray hair, long white beard, and long
+black robe made him look like a wizard or astrologer of some mediaeval
+romance, was smiling at me and bidding me welcome to his domain. He was
+the librarian and general custodian of the musical treasures of Schloss
+Rothenfels, and his name was Brunken. He loved his place and his
+treasures with a jealous love, and would talk of favorite instruments as
+if they had been dear children, and of great composers as if they were
+gods.
+
+All around the room were large shelves filled with music--and over each
+division stood a name--such mighty names as Scarlatti, Bach, Handel,
+Beethoven, Schumann, Mozart, Haydn--all the giants, and apparently all
+the pygmies too, were there. It was a complete library of music, and
+though I have seen many since, I have never beheld any which in the
+least approached this in richness or completeness. Rare old manuscript
+scores; priceless editions of half-forgotten music; the literature of
+the productions of half-forgotten composers; Eastern music, Western
+music, and music of all ages; it was an idealized collection--a
+musician's paradise, only less so than that to which he now led me, from
+amid the piled-up scores and the gleaming busts of those mighty men, who
+here at least were honored with never-failing reverence.
+
+He took me into a second room, or rather hall, of great size, height,
+and dimensions, a museum of musical instruments. It would take far too
+long to do it justice in description; indeed, on that first brief
+investigation I could only form a dim general idea of the richness of
+its treasures. What histories--what centuries of story were there piled
+up! Musical instruments of every imaginable form and shape, and in every
+stage of development. Odd-looking pre-historic bone embryo instruments
+from different parts of France. Strange old things from Nineveh, and
+India, and Peru, instruments from tombs and pyramids, and ancient ruined
+temples in tropic groves--things whose very nature and handling is a
+mystery and a dispute--tuned to strange scales which produce strange
+melodies, and carry us back into other worlds. On them, perhaps, has the
+swarthy Ninevan, or slight Hindoo, or some
+
+     "Dusky youth with painted plumage gay"
+
+performed as he apostrophized his mistress's eyebrow. On that
+queer-looking thing which may be a fiddle or not--which may have had a
+bow or not--a slightly clad slave made music while his master the rayah
+played chess with his favorite wife. They are all dead and gone now, and
+their jewels are worn by others, and the memory of them has vanished
+from off the earth; and these, their musical instruments, repose in a
+quiet corner amid the rough hills and oak woods and under the cloudy
+skies of the land of music--Deutschland.
+
+Down through the changing scale, through the whole range of cymbal and
+spinet, "flute, harp, sackbut, psaltery, dulcimer, and all kinds of
+music," stand literally before me, and a strange revelation it is. Is it
+the same faculty which produces that grand piano of Bechstein's, and
+that clarion organ of Silbermann's, and that African drum dressed out
+with skulls, that war-trumpet hung with tiger's teeth? After this
+nothing is wonderful! Strange, unearthly looking Chinese frames of
+sonorous stones or modulated bells; huge drums, painted and carved, and
+set up on stands six feet from the ground; quaint instruments from the
+palaces of Aztec Incas, down to pianos by Broadwood, Collard & Collard,
+and Bechstein.
+
+There were trophies of Streichinstrumente and Blaseinstrumente. I was
+allowed to gaze upon two real Stradivarius fiddles. I might see the
+development by evolution, and the survival of the fittest in violin,
+'cello, contrabass, alto, beside countless others whose very names have
+perished with the time that produced them, and the fingers which played
+them--ingenious guesses, clever misses--the tragedy of harmony as well
+as its "Io Paean!"
+
+There were wind instruments, quaint old double flutes from Italy; pipes,
+single, double, treble, from ages much further back; harps--Assyrian,
+Greek, and Roman; instruments of percussion, guitars, and zithers in
+every form and kind; a dulcimer--I took it up and thought of Coleridge's
+"damsel with a dulcimer;" and a grand organ, as well as many incipient
+organs, and the quaint little things of that nature from China, Japan,
+and Siam.
+
+I stood and gazed in wonder and amazement.
+
+"Surely the present Graf has not collected all these instruments!" said
+I.
+
+"Oh, no, _mein Fraeulein_; they have been accumulating for centuries.
+They tell strange tales of what the Sturms will do for music."
+
+With which he proceeded to tell me certain narratives of certain
+instruments in the collection, in which he evidently firmly believed,
+including one relating to a quaint old violin for which he said a
+certain Graf von Rothenfels called "Max der Tolle," or the Mad Count
+Max, had sold his soul.
+
+As he finished this last he was called away, and excusing himself, left
+me. I was alone in this voiceless temple of so many wonderful sounds. I
+looked round, and a feeling of awe and weirdness crept over me. My eyes
+would not leave that shabby old fiddle, concerning whose demoniac origin
+I had just heard such a cheerful little anecdote. Every one of those
+countless instruments was capable of harmony and discord--had some time
+been used; pressed, touched, scraped, beaten or blown into by hands or
+mouths long since crumbled to dust. What tales had been told! what
+songs sung, and in what languages; what laughs laughed, tears shed, vows
+spoken, kisses exchanged, over some of those silent pieces of wood,
+brass, ivory, and catgut! The feelings of all the histories that
+surrounded me had something eerie in it.
+
+I stayed until I began to feel nervous, and was thinking of going away
+when sounds from a third room drew my attention. Some one in there began
+to play the violin, and to play it with no ordinary delicacy of
+manipulation. There was something exquisitely finished, refined, and
+delicate about the performance; it lacked the bold splendor and
+originality of Eugen's playing, but it was so lovely as to bring tears
+to my eyes, and, moreover, the air was my favorite "Traumerei."
+Something in those sounds, too, was familiar to me. With a sudden
+beating of the heart, a sudden eagerness, I stepped hastily forward,
+pushed back the dividing curtain, and entered the room whence proceeded
+those sounds.
+
+In the middle of the room, which was bare and empty, but which had large
+windows looking across the melancholy plateau, and to the terrible
+figure of the runner at the end of the avenue--stood a boy--a child with
+a violin. He was dressed richly, in velvet and silk; he was grown--the
+slender delicacy of his form was set off by the fine clothing that rich
+men's children wear; his beautiful waving black hair was somewhat more
+closely cut, but the melancholy yet richly colored young face that
+turned toward me--the deep and yearning eyes, the large, solemn gaze,
+the premature gravity, were all his--it was Sigmund, Courvoisier's boy.
+
+For a moment we both stood motionless--hardly breathing; then he flung
+his violin down, sprung forward with a low sound of intense joy,
+exclaiming:
+
+"_Das Fraeulein_, _das Fraeulein_, from home!" and stood before me
+trembling from head to foot.
+
+I snatched the child to my heart (he looked so much older and sadder),
+and covered him with kisses.
+
+He submitted--nay, more, he put his arms about my neck and laid his face
+upon my shoulder, and presently, as if he had choked down some silent
+emotion, looked up at me with large, imploring, sad eyes, and asked:
+
+"Have you seen my father?"
+
+"Sigmund, I saw him the day before yesterday."
+
+"You saw him--you spoke to him, perhaps?"
+
+"Yes. I spoke long with him."
+
+"What did he look like?"
+
+"As he always does--brave, and true, and noble."
+
+"_Nicht wahr?_" said the boy, with flashing eyes. "I know how he looks,
+just. I am waiting till I am grown up, that I may go to him again."
+
+"Do you like me, Sigmund?"
+
+"Yes; very much."
+
+"Do you think you could love me? Would you trust me to love those you
+love?"
+
+"Do you mean him?" he asked point-blank, and looked at me somewhat
+startled.
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I--don't--know."
+
+"I mean, to take care of him, and try to make him happy till you come to
+him again, and then we will all be together."
+
+He looked doubtful still.
+
+"What I mean, Sigmund, is that your father and I are going to be
+married; but we shall never be quite happy until you are with us."
+
+He stood still, taking it in, and I waited in much anxiety. I was
+certain that if I had time and opportunity I could win him; but I feared
+the result of this sudden announcement and separation. He might only see
+that his father--his supreme idol--could turn for comfort to another,
+while he would not know how I loved him and longed to make his grave
+young life happy for him. I put my arm round his shoulder, and kneeling
+down beside him, said:
+
+"You must say you are glad, Sigmund, or you will make me very unhappy. I
+want you to love me as well as him. Look at me and tell me you will
+trust me till we are all together, for I am sure we shall be together
+some day."
+
+He still hesitated some little time, but at last said, with the
+sedateness peculiar to him, as of one who overcame a struggle and made a
+sacrifice:
+
+"If he has decided it so it must be right, you know; but--but--you won't
+let him forget me, will you?"
+
+The child's nature overcame that which had been, as it were, supplanted
+and grafted upon it. The lip quivered, the dark eyes filled with tears.
+Poor little lonely child! desolate and sad in the midst of all the
+grandeur! My heart yearned to him.
+
+"Forget you, Sigmund? Your father never forgets, he can not!"
+
+"I wish I was grown up," was all he said.
+
+Then it occurred to me to wonder how he got there, and in what relation
+he stood to these people.
+
+"Do you live here, Sigmund?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What relation are you to the Herr Graf?"
+
+"Graf von Rothenfels is my uncle."
+
+"And are they kind to you?" I asked, in a hasty whisper, for his intense
+gravity and sadness oppressed me. I trembled to think of having to tell
+his father in what state I had found him.
+
+"Oh, yes!" said he. "Yes, very."
+
+"What do you do all day?"
+
+"I learn lessons from Herr Nahrath, and I ride with Uncle Bruno,
+and--and--oh! I do whatever I like. Uncle Bruno says that some time I
+shall go to Bonn, or Heidelberg, or Jena, or England, whichever I like."
+
+"And have you no friends?"
+
+"I like being with Brunken the best. He talks to me about my father
+sometimes. He knew him when he was only as old as I am."
+
+"Did he? Oh, I did not know that."
+
+"But they won't tell me why my father never comes here, and why they
+never speak of him," he added, wearily, looking with melancholy eyes
+across the lines of wood, through the wide window.
+
+"Be sure it is for nothing wrong. He does nothing wrong. He does nothing
+but what is good and right," said I.
+
+"Oh, of course! But I can't tell the reason. I think and think about
+it." He put his hand wearily to his head. "They never speak of him. Once
+I said something about him. It was at a great dinner they had. Aunt
+Hildegarde turned quite pale, and Uncle Bruno called me to him and
+said--no one heard it but me, you know--'Never let me hear that name
+again!' and his eyes looked so fierce. I'm tired of this place," he
+added, mournfully.
+
+"I want to be at Elberthal again--at the Wehrhahn, with my father and
+Friedhelm and Karl Linders. I think of them every hour. I liked Karl and
+Friedhelm, and Gretchen, and Frau Schmidt."
+
+"They do not live there now, dear, Friedhelm and your father," said I,
+gently.
+
+"Not? Then where are they?"
+
+"I do not know," I was forced to say. "They were fighting in the war. I
+think they live at Berlin now, but I am not at all sure."
+
+This uncertainty seemed to cause him much distress, and he would have
+added more, but our conversation was brought to an end by the entrance
+of Brunken, who looked rather surprised to see us in such close and
+earnest consultation.
+
+"Will you show me the way back to the countess's room?" said I to
+Sigmund.
+
+He put his hand in mine, and led me through many of those interminable
+halls and passages until we came to the rittersaal again.
+
+"Sigmund," said I, "are you not proud to belong to these?" and I pointed
+to the dim portraits hanging around.
+
+"Yes," said he, doubtfully. "Uncle Bruno is always telling me that I
+must do nothing to disgrace their name, because I shall one day rule
+their lands; but," he added, with more animation, "do you not see all
+these likenesses? These are all counts of Rothenfels, who have been
+heads of the family. You see the last one is here--Graf Bruno--my uncle.
+But in another room there are a great many more portraits, ladies and
+children and young men, and a man is painting a likeness of me, which is
+going to be hung up there; but my father is not there. What does it
+mean?"
+
+I was silent. I knew his portrait must have been removed because he was
+considered to be living in dishonor--a stain to the house, who was
+perhaps the most chivalrous of the whole race; but this I could not tell
+Sigmund. It was beginning already, the trial, the "test" of which he had
+spoken to me, and it was harder in reality than in anticipation.
+
+"I don't want to be stuck up there where he has no place," Sigmund went
+on, sullenly. "And I should like to cut the hateful picture to pieces
+when it comes."
+
+With this he ushered me into Graefin Hildegarde's boudoir again. She was
+still there, and a tall, stately, stern-looking man of some fifty years
+was with her.
+
+His appearance gave me a strange shock. He was Eugen, older and without
+any of his artist brightness; Eugen's grace turned into pride and stony
+hauteur. He looked as if he could be savage upon occasion; a nature born
+to power and nurtured in it. Ruggedly upright, but narrow. I learned him
+by heart afterward, and found that every act of his was the direct,
+unsoftened outcome of his nature.
+
+This was Graf Bruno; this was the proud, intensely feeling man who had
+never forgiven the stain which he supposed his brother had brought upon
+their house; this was he who had proposed such hard, bald, pitiless
+terms concerning the parting of father and son--who forbade the child to
+speak of the loved one.
+
+"Ha!" said he, "you have found Sigmund, _mein Fraeulein_? Where did you
+meet, then?"
+
+His keen eyes swept me from head to foot. In that, at least, Eugen
+resembled him; my lover's glance was as hawk-like as this, and as
+impenetrable.
+
+"In the music-room," said Sigmund; and the uncle's glance left me and
+fell upon the boy.
+
+I soon read that story. The child was at once the light of his eyes and
+the bitterness of his life. As for Countess Hildegarde, she gazed at her
+nephew with all a mother's soul in her pathetic eyes, and was silent.
+
+"Come here," said the Graf, seating himself and drawing the boy to him.
+"What hast thou been doing?"
+
+There was no fear in the child's demeanor--he was too thoroughly a child
+of their own race to know fear--but there was no love, no lighting up of
+the features, no glad meeting of the eyes.
+
+"I was with Nahrath till Aunt Hildegarde sent for him, and then I went
+to practice."
+
+"Practice what? Thy riding or fencing?"
+
+"No; my violin."
+
+"Bah! What an extraordinary thing it is that this lad has no taste for
+anything but fiddling," observed the uncle, half aside.
+
+Graefin Hildegarde looked sharply and apprehensively up.
+
+Sigmund shrunk a little away from his uncle, not timidly, but with some
+distaste. Words were upon his lips; his eyes flashed, his lips parted;
+then he checked himself, and was silent.
+
+"_Nun denn!_" said the count. "What hast thou? Out with it!"
+
+"Nothing that it would please you to hear, uncle; therefore I will not
+say it," was the composed retort.
+
+The grim-looking man laughed a grim little laugh, as if satisfied with
+the audacity of the boy, and his grizzled mustache swept the soft cheek.
+
+"I ride no further this morning; but this afternoon I shall go to
+Mulhausen. Wilt thou come with me?"
+
+"Yes, uncle."
+
+Neither willing nor unwilling was the tone, and the answer appeared to
+dissatisfy the other, who said:
+
+"'Yes, uncle'--what does that mean? Dost thou not wish to go?"
+
+"Oh, yes! I would as soon go as stay at home."
+
+"But the distance, Bruno," here interposed the countess, in a low tone.
+"I am sure it is too far. He is not too strong."
+
+"Distance? Pooh! Hildegarde, I wonder at you; considering what stock you
+come of, you should be superior to such nonsense! Wert thou thinking of
+the distance, Sigmund?"
+
+"Distance--no," said he, indifferently.
+
+"Come with me," said the elder. "I want to show thee something."
+
+They went out of the room together. Yes, it was self-evident; the man
+idolized the child. Strange mixture of sternness and softness! The
+supposed sin of the father was never to be pardoned; but natural
+affection was to have its way, and be lavished upon the son; and the son
+could not return it, because the influence of the banished scapegrace
+was too strong--he had won it all for himself, as scapegraces have the
+habit of doing.
+
+Again I was left alone with the countess, sitting upright over her
+embroidery. A dull life this great lady led. She cared nothing for the
+world's gayeties, and she had neither chick nor child to be ambitious
+for. Her husband was polite enough to her; but she knew perfectly well,
+and accepted it as a matter of course, that the death of her who had
+lived with him and been his companion for twenty-five years would have
+weighed less by half with him than any catastrophe to that mournful,
+unenthusiastic child, who had not been two years under their roof, and
+who displayed no delight in the wealth of love lavished upon him.
+
+She knew that she also adored the child, but that his affection was hard
+to get. She dared not show her love openly, or in the presence of her
+husband, who seemed to look upon the boy as his exclusive property, and
+was as jealous as a tiger of the few faint testimonies of affection
+manifested by his darling. A dull journey to Berlin once a year, an
+occasional visitor, the society of her director and that of her
+husband--who showed how much at home with her he felt by going to sleep
+whenever he was more than a quarter of an hour in her presence--a little
+interest of a lofty, distant kind in her townspeople of the poorer sort,
+an occasional call upon or from some distant neighbor of a rank
+approaching her own; for the rest, embroidery in the newest patterns and
+most elegant style, some few books, chiefly religious and polemical
+works--and what can be drearier than Roman Catholic polemics, unless,
+indeed, Protestant ones eclipse them?--a large house, vast estates,
+servants who never raised their voices beyond a certain tone; the envy
+of all the middle-class women, the fear and reverential courtesies of
+the poorer ones--a cheerful existence, and one which accounted for some
+of the wrinkles which so plentifully decked her brow.
+
+"That is our nephew," said she; "my husband's heir."
+
+"I have often seen him before," said I; "but I should have thought that
+his father would be your husband's next heir."
+
+Never shall I forget the look she darted upon me--the awful glance which
+swept over me scathingly, ere she said, in icy tones:
+
+"What do you mean? Have you seen--or do you know--Graf Eugen?"
+
+There was a pause, as if the name had not passed her lips for so long
+that now she had difficulty in uttering it.
+
+"I knew him as Eugen Courvoisier," said I; but the other name was a
+revelation to me, and told me that he was also "to the manner born." "I
+saw him two days ago, and I conversed with him," I added.
+
+She was silent for a moment, and surveyed me with a haggard look. I met
+her glance fully, openly.
+
+"Do you wish to know anything about him?" I asked.
+
+"Certainly not," said she, striving to speak frigidly; but there was a
+piteous tremble in her low tones. "The man has dis--What am I saying? It
+is sufficient to say that he is not on terms with his family."
+
+"So he told me," said I, struggling on my own part to keep back the
+burning words within me.
+
+The countess looked at me--looked again. I saw now that this was one of
+the great sorrows of her sorrowful life. She felt that to be consistent
+she ought to wave aside the subject with calm contempt; but it made her
+heart bleed. I pitied her; I felt an odd kind of affection for her
+already. The promise I had given to Eugen lay hard and heavy upon me.
+
+"What did he tell you?" she asked, at last; and I paused ere I answered,
+trying to think what I could make of this opportunity. "Do you know the
+facts of the case?" she added.
+
+"No; he said he would write."
+
+"Would write!" she echoed, suspending her work, and fixing me with her
+eyes. "Would write--to whom?"
+
+"To me."
+
+"You correspond with him?" There was a tremulous eagerness in her
+manner.
+
+"I have never corresponded with him yet," said I, "but I have known him
+long, and loved him almost from the first. The other day I
+promised--to--marry him."
+
+"You?" said she; "you are going to marry Eugen! Are you"--her eyes
+said--"are you good enough for him?" but she came to an abrupt
+conclusion. "Tell me," said she; "where did you meet him, and how?"
+
+I told her in what capacity I had become acquainted with him, and she
+listened breathlessly. Every moment I felt the prohibition to speak
+heavier, for I saw that the Countess von Rothenfels would have been only
+too delighted to hail any idea, any suggestion, which should allow her
+to indulge the love that, though so strong, she rigidly repressed. I
+dare say I told my story in a halting kind of way; it was difficult for
+me on the spur of the moment to know clearly what to say and what to
+leave unsaid. As I told the countess about Eugen's and my voyage down
+the river, a sort of smile tried to struggle out upon her lips; it was
+evidently as good as a romance to her. I finished, saying:
+
+"That is the truth, _gnaedige Frau_. All I fear is that I am not good
+enough for him--shall not satisfy him."
+
+"My child," said she, and paused. "My dear child," she took both my
+hands, and her lips quivered, "you do not know how I feel for you. I can
+feel for you because I fear that with you it will be as it was with me.
+Do you know any of the circumstances under which Eugen von Rothenfels
+left his friends?"
+
+"I do not know them circumstantially. I know he was accused of
+something, and--and--did not--I mean--"
+
+"Could not deny it," she said. "I dare not take the responsibility of
+leaving you in ignorance. I must tell you all, and may Our Lady give me
+eloquence!"
+
+"I should like to hear the story, madame, but I do not think any
+eloquence will change my mind."
+
+"He always had a manner calculated to deceive and charm," said she;
+"always. Well, my husband is his half-brother. I was their cousin. They
+are the sons of different mothers, and my husband is many years older
+than Eugen--eighteen years older. He, my husband, was thirty years old
+when he succeeded to the name and estates of his father--Eugen, you see,
+was just twelve years old, a school-boy. We were just married. It is a
+very long time ago--_ach ja!_ a very long time ago! We played the part
+of parents to that boy. We were childless, and as time went on, we
+lavished upon him all the love which we should have bestowed upon our
+own children had we been happy enough to have any. I do not think any
+one was ever better loved than he. It so happened that his own
+inheritance was not a large one; that made no difference. My husband,
+with my fullest consent and approbation, had every intention of
+providing for him: we had enough and to spare: money and land and house
+room for half a dozen families, and our two selves alone to enjoy it
+all. He always seemed fond of us. I suppose it was his facile manner,
+which could take the appearance of an interest and affection which he
+did not feel--"
+
+"No, Frau Graefin! no, indeed!"
+
+"Wait till you have heard all, my poor child. Everyone loved him. How
+proud I was of him. Sometimes I think it is a chastisement, but had you
+been in my place you would have been proud too; so gallant, so
+handsome, such grace, and such a charm. He was the joy of my life," she
+said in a passionate under-tone. "He went by the name of a worthy
+descendant of all essential things: honor and loyalty and bravery, and
+so on. They used to call him _Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter_, after the
+old song. He was wild and impatient of control, but who is not? I hate
+your young men whose veins run milk, not blood. He was one of a fiery
+passionate line. At the universities he was extravagant; we heard all
+sorts of follies."
+
+"Did you ever hear of anything base--anything underhand or
+dishonorable?"
+
+"Never--oh, never. High play. He was very intimate with a set of young
+Englishmen, and the play was dreadful, it is true; he betted too. That
+is a curse. Play and horses, and general recklessness and extravagance,
+but no wine and no women. I never heard that he had the least affinity
+for either of these dissipations. There were debts--I suppose all young
+men in his position make debts," said the countess, placidly. "My
+husband made debts at college, and I am sure my brothers did. Then he
+left college and lived at home awhile, and that was the happiest time of
+my life. But it is over.
+
+"Then he entered the army--of course. His family interest procured him
+promotion. He was captain in a fine Uhlan regiment. He was with his
+regiment at Berlin and Munich, and ----. And always we heard the same
+tales--play, and wild, fast living. Music always had a hold upon him.
+
+"In the midst of his extravagance he was sometimes so simple. I remember
+we were dreadfully frightened at a rumor that he had got entangled with
+Fraeulein ----, a singer of great beauty at the Hofoper at ----. I got my
+husband to let me write about it. I soon had an answer from Eugen. How
+he laughed at me! He had paid a lot of debts for the girl, which had
+been pressing heavily upon her since her career began; now he said he
+trusted she would get along swimmingly; he was going to her benefit that
+night.
+
+"But when he was at ----, and when he was about six-and-twenty, he
+really did get engaged to be married. He wrote and told us about it.
+That was the first bitter blow: she was an Italian girl of respectable
+but by no means noble family--he was always a dreadful radical in such
+matters. She was a governess in the house of one of his friends in ----.
+
+"We did everything we could think of to divert him from it. It was
+useless. He married her, but he did not become less extravagant. She did
+not help him to become steady, I must say. She liked gayety and
+admiration, and he liked her to be worshiped. He indulged her
+frightfully. He played--he would play so dreadfully.
+
+"We had his wife over to see us, and he came with her. We were agreeably
+surprised. She quite won our hearts. She was very beautiful and very
+charming--had rather a pretty voice, though nothing much. We forgave all
+his misconduct, and my husband talked to him and implored him to amend.
+He said he would. Mere promises! It was so easy to him to make promises.
+
+"That poor young wife! Instead of pitying him for having made a
+_mesalliance_, we know now that it was she who was to be pitied for
+having fallen into the hands of such a black-hearted, false man."
+
+The lady paused. The recital evidently cost her some pain and some
+emotion. She went on:
+
+"She was expecting her confinement. They returned to ----, where we also
+had a house, and we went with them. Vittoria shortly afterward gave
+birth to a son. That was in our house. My husband would have it so. That
+son was to reconcile all and make everything straight. At that time
+Eugen must have been in some anxiety: he had been betting heavily on the
+English Derby. We did not know that, nor why he had gone to England. At
+last it came out that he was simply ruined. My husband was dreadfully
+cut up. I was very unhappy--so unhappy that I was ill and confined to my
+room.
+
+"My husband left town for a few days to come over to Rothenfels on
+business. Eugen was scarcely ever in the house. I thought it was our
+reproachful faces that he did not wish to see. Then my husband came
+back. He was more cheerful. He had been thinking things over, he said.
+He kissed me, and told me to cheer up: he had a plan for Eugen, which,
+he believed, would set all right again.
+
+"In that very moment some one had asked to see him. It was a clerk from
+the bank with a check which they had cashed the day before. Had my
+husband signed it? I saw him look at it for a moment. Then he sent the
+man away, saying that he was then busy and would communicate with him.
+Then he showed me the check. It was payable to the bearer, and across
+the back was written 'Vittoria von Rothenfels.'
+
+"You must bear in mind that Eugen was living in his own house, in
+another quarter of the town. My husband sent the check to him, with a
+brief inquiry as to whether he knew anything about it. Then he went out:
+he had an appointment, and when he returned he found a letter from
+Eugen. It was not long: it was burned into my heart, and I have never
+forgotten a syllable of it. It was:
+
+     "'I return the check. I am guilty. I relieve you of all further
+     responsibility about me. It is evident that I am not fit for my
+     position. I leave this place forever, taking the boy with me.
+     Vittoria does not seem to care about having him. Will you look
+     after her? Do not let her starve in punishment for my sin. For
+     me--I leave you forever.
+
+                    "'EUGEN.'
+
+"That was the letter. _Ei! mein Gott!_ Oh, it is hideous, child, to find
+that those in whom you believed so intensely are bad--rotten to the
+core. I had loved Eugen, he had made a sunshine in my not very cheerful
+life. His coming was a joy to me, his going away a sorrow. It made
+everything so much blacker when the truth came out. Of course the matter
+was hushed up.
+
+"My husband took immediate steps about it. Soon afterward we came here;
+Vittoria with us. Poor girl! Poor girl! She did nothing but weep and
+wring her hands, moan and lament and wonder why she had ever been born,
+and at last she died of decline--that is to say, they called it decline,
+but it was really a broken heart. That is the story--a black chronicle,
+is it not? You know about Sigmund's coming here. My husband remembered
+that he was heir to our name, and we were in a measure responsible for
+him. Eugen had taken the name of a distant family connection on his
+mother's side--she had French blood in her veins--Courvoisier. Now you
+know all, my child--he is not good. Do not trust him."
+
+I was silent. My heart burned; my tongue longed to utter ardent words,
+but I remembered his sad smile as he said, "You shrink from that," and
+I braced myself to silence. The thing seemed to me altogether so
+pitiable--and yet--and yet, I had sworn. But how had he lived out these
+five terrible years?
+
+By and by the luncheon bell rang. We all met once more. I felt every
+hour more like one in a dream or in some impossible old romance. That
+piece of outward death-like reserve, the countess, with the fire within
+which she was forever spending her energy in attempts to quench; that
+conglomeration of ice, pride, roughness and chivalry, the Herr Graf
+himself; the thin, wooden-looking priest, the director of the Graefin;
+that lovely picture of grace and bloom, with the dash of melancholy,
+Sigmund; certainly it was the strangest company in which I had ever been
+present. The countess sent me home in the afternoon, reminding me that I
+was engaged to dine there with the others to-morrow. I managed to get a
+word aside with Sigmund--to kiss him and tell him I should come to see
+him again. Then I left them; interested, inthralled, fascinated with
+them and their life, and--more in love with Eugen than ever.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIX.
+
+"WHERE IS MY FATHER?"
+
+
+We had been bidden to dine at the schloss--Frau Mittendorf, Stella, and
+I. In due time the doctor's new carriage was called out, and seated in
+it we were driven to the great castle. With a renewed joy and awe I
+looked at it by twilight, with the dusk of sunset veiling its woods and
+turning the whole mass to the color of a deep earth-stain. Eugen's home:
+there he had been born; as the child of such a race and in its
+traditions he had been nurtured by that sad lady whom we were going to
+see. I at least knew that he had acted, and was now acting, up to the
+very standard of his high calling. The place has lost much of its
+awfulness for me; it had become even friendly and lovely.
+
+The dinner was necessarily a solemn one. I was looking out for Sigmund,
+who, however, did not put in an appearance.
+
+After dinner, when we were all assembled in a vast salon which the
+numberless wax-lights did but partially and in the center illuminate, I
+determined to make an effort at release from this seclusion, and asked
+the countess (who had motioned me to a seat beside her) where Sigmund
+was.
+
+"He seemed a little languid and not inclined to come down-stairs," said
+she. "I expect he is in the music-room--he generally finds his way
+there."
+
+"Oh, I wish you would allow me to go and see him."
+
+"Certainly, my child," said she, ringing; and presently a servant guided
+me to the door of the music-rooms, and in answer to my knock I was
+bidden _herein!_
+
+I entered. The room was in shadow; but a deep glowing fire burned in a
+great cavernous, stone fire-place, and shone upon huge brass andirons on
+either side of the hearth. In an easy-chair sat Brunken, the old
+librarian, and his white hair and beard were also warmed into rosiness
+by the fire-glow. At his feet lay Sigmund, who had apparently been
+listening to some story of his old friend. His hands were clasped about
+the old man's knee, his face upturned, his hair pushed back.
+
+Both turned as I came in, and Sigmund sprung up, but ere he had advanced
+two paces, paused and stood still, as if overcome with languor or
+weariness.
+
+"Sigmund, I have come to see you," said I, coming to the fire and
+greeting the old man, who welcomed me hospitably.
+
+I took Sigmund's hand; it was hot and dry. I kissed him; lips and cheeks
+were burning and glowing crimson. I swept the hair from his brow, that
+too was burning, and his temples throbbed. His eyes met mine with a
+strange, misty look. Saying nothing, I seated myself in a low chair near
+the fire, and drew him to me. He nestled up to me, and I felt that if
+Eugen could see us he would be almost satisfied. Sigmund did not say
+anything. He merely settled his head upon my breast, gave a deep sigh as
+if of relief, and closing his eyes, said:
+
+"Now, Brunken, go on!"
+
+"As I was saying, _mein Liebling_, I hope to prove all former theorists
+and writers upon the subject to have been wrong--"
+
+"He's talking about a Magrepha," said Sigmund, still not opening his
+eyes.
+
+"A Magrepha--what may that be?" I inquired.
+
+"Yes. Some people say it was a real full-blown organ," explained
+Sigmund, in a thick, hesitating voice, "and some say it was nothing
+better than a bag-pipe--oh, dear! how my head does ache--and there are
+people who say it was a kettle-drum--nothing more nor less; and Brunken
+is going to show that not one of them knew anything about it."
+
+"I hope so, at least," said Brunken, with a modest placidity.
+
+"Oh, indeed!" said I, glancing a little timidly into the far recesses of
+the deep, ghostly room, where the fire-light kept catching the sheen of
+metal, the yellow whiteness of ivory keys or pipes, or the polished case
+of some stringed instrument.
+
+Strange, grotesque shapes loomed out in the uncertain, flickering light;
+but was it not a strange and haunted chamber? Ever it seemed to me as if
+breaths of air blew through it, which came from all imaginable kinds of
+graves, and were the breaths of those departed ones who had handled the
+strange collection, and who wished to finger, or blow into, or beat the
+dumb, unvibrating things once more.
+
+Did I say unvibrating? I was wrong then. The strings sometimes
+quivered to sounds that set them trembling; something like a whispered
+tone I have heard from the deep, upturned throats of great brazen
+trumpets--something like a distant moan floating around the gilded
+organ-pipes. In after-days, when Friedhelm Helfen knew this room, he
+made a wonderful fantasia about it, in which all the dumb instruments
+woke up, or tried to wake up to life again, for the whole place
+impressed him, he told me, as nothing that he had ever known before.
+
+Brunken went on in a droning tone, giving theories of his own as to the
+nature of the Magrepha, and I, with my arms around Sigmund, half
+listened to the sleepy monotone of the good old visionary. But what
+spoke to me with a more potent voice was the soughing and wuthering of
+the sorrowful wind without, which verily moaned around the old walls,
+and sought out the old corners, and wailed, and plained, and sobbed in a
+way that was enough to break one's heart.
+
+By degrees a silence settled upon us. Brunken, having satisfactorily
+annihilated his enemies, ceased to speak; the fire burned lower;
+Sigmund's eyes were closed; his cheeks were not less flushed than
+before, nor his brow less hot, and a frown contracted it. I know not
+how long a time had passed, but I had no wish to rise.
+
+The door was opened, and some one came into the room. I looked up. It
+was the Graefin. Brunken rose and stood to one side, bowing.
+
+I could not get up, but some movement of mine, perhaps, disturbed the
+heavy and feverish slumber of the child. He started wide awake, with a
+look of wild terror, and gazed down into the darkness, crying out:
+
+"_Mein Vater_, where art thou?"
+
+A strange, startled, frightened look crossed the face of the countess
+when she heard the words. She did not speak, and I said some soothing
+words to Sigmund.
+
+But there could be no doubt that he was very ill. It was quite unlike
+his usual silent courage and reticence to wring his small hands and with
+ever-increasing terror turn a deaf ear to my soothings, sobbing out in
+tones of pain and insistence:
+
+"Father! father! where art thou? I want thee!"
+
+Then he began to cry pitifully, and the only word that was heard was
+"Father!" It was like some recurrent wail in a piece of music, which
+warns one all through of a coming tragedy.
+
+"Oh, dear! What is to be done? Sigmund! _Was ist denn mit dir, mein
+Engel?_" said the poor countess, greatly distressed.
+
+"He is ill," said I. "I think he has taken an illness. Does thy head
+ache, Sigmund?"
+
+"Yes," said he, "it does. Where is my own father? My head never ached
+when I was with my father."
+
+"_Mein Gott! mein Gott!_" said the countess in a low tone. "I thought he
+had forgotten his father."
+
+"Forgotten!" echoed I. "Frau Graefin, he is one of yourselves. You do not
+seem to forget."
+
+"_Herrgott!_" she exclaimed, wringing her hands. "What can be the matter
+with him? What must I say to Bruno? Sigmund darling, what hast thou
+then! What ails thee?"
+
+"I want my father!" he repeated. Nor would he utter any other word. The
+one idea, long dormant, had now taken full possession of him; in fever,
+half delirious, out of the fullness of his heart his mouth spake.
+
+"Sigmund, _Liebchen_," said the countess, "control thyself. Thy uncle
+must not hear thee say that word."
+
+"I don't want my uncle. I want my father!" said Sigmund, looking
+restlessly round. "Oh, where is he? I have not seen him--it is so long,
+and I want him. I love him; I do love my father, and I want him."
+
+It was pitiful, pathetic, somewhat tragic too. The poor countess had not
+the faintest idea what to do with the boy, whose illness frightened her.
+I suggested that he should be put to bed and the doctor sent for, as he
+had probably taken some complaint which would declare itself in a few
+days, and might be merely some childish disorder.
+
+The countess seized my suggestion eagerly. Sigmund was taken away. I saw
+him no more that night. Presently we left the schloss and drove home.
+
+I found a letter waiting for me from Eugen. He was still at Elberthal,
+and appeared to have been reproaching himself for having accepted my
+"sacrifice," as he called it. He spoke of Sigmund. There was more, too,
+in the letter, which made me both glad and sad. I felt life spreading
+before me, endowed with a gravity, a largeness of aim, and a dignity of
+purpose such as I had never dreamed of before.
+
+It seemed that for me, too, there was work to do. I also had a love for
+whose sake to endure. This made me feel grave. Eugen's low spirits, and
+the increased bitterness with which he spoke of things, made me sad; but
+something else made me glad. Throughout his whole letter there breathed
+a passion, a warmth--restrained, but glowing through its bond of
+reticent words--an eagerness which he told me that at last
+
+     "As I loved, loved am I."
+
+Even after that sail down the river I had felt a half mistrust, now all
+doubts were removed. He loved me. He had learned it in all its truth and
+breadth since we last parted. He talked of renunciation, but it was with
+an anguish so keen as to make me wince for him who felt it. If he tried
+to renounce me now, it would not be the cold laying aside of a thing for
+which he did not care, it would be the wrenching himself away from his
+heart's desire. I triumphed in the knowledge, and this was what made me
+glad.
+
+Almost before we had finished breakfast in the morning, there came a
+thundering of wheels up to the door, and a shriek of excitement from
+Frau Mittendorf, who, _morgenhaube_ on her head, a shapeless old
+morning-gown clinging hideously about her ample figure, rushed to the
+window, looked out, and announced the carriage of the Frau Graefin.
+"_Aber!_ What can she want at this early hour?" she speculated, coming
+into the room again and staring at us both with wide open eyes round
+with agitation and importance. "But I dare say she wishes to consult me
+upon some matter. I wish I were dressed more becomingly. I have
+heard--that is, I know, for I am so intimate with her--that she never
+wears _neglige_. I wonder if I should have time to--"
+
+She stopped to hold out her hand for the note which a servant was
+bringing in; but her face fell when the missive was presented to me.
+
+     "LIEBE MAI"--it began--"Will you come and help me in my trouble?
+     Sigmund is very ill. Sometimes he is delirious. He calls for you
+     often. It breaks my heart to find that after all not a word is
+     uttered of us, but only of Eugen (burn this when you have read it),
+     of you, and of 'Karl,' and 'Friedhelm,' and one or two other names
+     which I do not know. I fear this petition will sound troublesome to
+     you, who were certainly not made for trouble, but you are kind. I
+     saw it in your face. I grieve too much. Truly the flesh is
+     fearfully weak. I would live as if earth had no joys for me--as
+     indeed it has none--and yet that does not prevent my suffering. May
+     God help me! Trusting to you, Your,
+
+                    "HILDEGARDE v. ROTHENFELS."
+
+I lost no time in complying with this summons. In a few moments I was in
+the carriage; ere long I was at the schloss, was met by Countess
+Hildegarde, looking like a ghost that had been keeping a strict Lent,
+and was at last by Sigmund's bedside.
+
+He was tossing feverishly from side to side, murmuring and muttering.
+But when he saw me he was still, a sweet, frank smile flitted over his
+face--a smile wonderfully like that which his father had lately bent
+upon me. He gave a little laugh, saying:
+
+"Fraeulein May! _Willkommen!_ Have you brought my father? And I should
+like to see Friedhelm, too. You and _der Vater_ and Friedel used to sit
+near together at the concert, don't you remember? I went once, and you
+sung. That tall black man beat time, and my father never stopped looking
+at you and listening--Friedel too. I will ask them if they remember."
+
+He laughed again at the reminiscence, and took my hand, and asked me if
+I remembered, so that it was with difficulty that I steadied my voice
+and kept my eyes from running over as I answered him. Graefin Hildegarde
+behind wrung her hands and turned to the window. He did not advance any
+reminiscence of what had happened since he came to the schloss.
+
+There was no doubt that our Sigmund was very ill. A visitation of
+scarlet fever, of the worst kind, was raging in Lahnburg and in the
+hamlet of Rothenfels, which lay about the gates of the schloss.
+
+Sigmund, some ten days before, had ridden with his uncle, and waited on
+his pony for some time outside a row of cottages, while the count
+visited one of his old servants, a man who had become an octogenarian in
+the service of his family, and upon whom Graf Bruno periodically shed
+the light of his countenance.
+
+It was scarcely to be doubted that the boy had taken the infection then
+and there, and the doctor did not conceal that he had the complaint in
+its worst form, and that his recovery admitted of the gravest doubts.
+
+A short time convinced me that I must not again leave the child till the
+illness was decided in one way or another. He was mine now, and I felt
+myself in the place of Eugen, as I stood beside his bed and told him the
+hard truth--that his father was not here, nor Friedhelm, nor Karl, for
+whom he also asked, but only I.
+
+The day passed on. A certain conviction was growing every hour stronger
+with me. An incident at last decided it. I had scarcely left Sigmund's
+side for eight or nine hours, but I had seen nothing of the count, nor
+heard his voice, nor had any mention been made of him, and remembering
+how he adored the boy, I was surprised.
+
+At last Graefin Hildegarde, after a brief absence, came into the room,
+and with a white face and parted lips, said to me in a half-whisper.
+
+"_Liebe_ Miss Wedderburn, will you do something for me? Will you speak
+to my husband?"
+
+"To your husband!" I ejaculated.
+
+She bowed.
+
+"He longs to see Sigmund, but dare not come. For me, I have hardly dared
+to go near him since the little one began to be ill. He believes that
+Sigmund will die, and that he will be his murderer, having taken him out
+that day. I have often spoken to him about making _der Arme_ ride too
+far, and now the sight of me reminds him of it; he can not endure to
+look at me. Heaven help me! Why was I ever born?"
+
+She turned away without tears--tears were not in her line--and I went,
+much against my will, to find the Graf.
+
+He was in his study. Was that the same man, I wondered, whom I had seen
+the very day before, so strong, and full of pride and life? He raised a
+haggard, white, and ghastly face to me, which had aged and fallen in
+unspeakably. He made an effort, and rose with politeness as I came in.
+
+"_Mein Fraeulein_, you are loading us with obligations. It is quite
+unheard of."
+
+But no thanks were implied in the tone--only bitterness. He was angry
+that I should be in the place he dared not come to.
+
+If I had not been raised by one supreme fear above all smaller ones, I
+should have been afraid of this haggard, eager-looking old man--for he
+did look very old in his anguish. I could see the rage of jealousy with
+which he regarded me, and I am not naturally fond of encountering an old
+wolf who has starved.
+
+But I used my utmost effort to prevail upon him to visit his nephew, and
+at last succeeded. I piloted him to Sigmund's room; led him to the boy's
+bedside. The sick child's eyes were closed, but he presently opened
+them. The uncle was stooping over him, his rugged face all working with
+emotion, and his voice broken as he murmured:
+
+"_Ach, mein Liebling!_ art thou then so ill?"
+
+With a kind of shuddering cry, the boy pushed him away with both hands,
+crying:
+
+"Go away! I want my father--my father, my father, I say! Where is he?
+Why do you not fetch him? You are a bad man, and you hate him."
+
+Then I was frightened. The count recoiled; his face turned deathly
+white--livid; his fist clinched. He glared down upon the now
+unrecognizing young face and stuttered forth something, paused, then
+said in a low, distinct voice, which shook me from head to foot:
+
+"So! Better he should die. The brood is worthy the nest it sprung from.
+Where is our blood, that he whines after that hound--that hound?"
+
+With which, and with a fell look around, he departed, leaving Sigmund
+oblivious of all that had passed, utterly indifferent and unconscious,
+and me shivering with fear at the outburst I had seen.
+
+But it seemed to me that my charge was worse. I left him for a few
+moments, and seeking out the countess, spoke my mind.
+
+"Frau Graefin, Eugen must be sent for. I fear that Sigmund is going to
+die, and I dare not let him die without sending for his father."
+
+"I dare not!" said the countess.
+
+She had met her husband, and was flung, unnerved, upon a couch, her hand
+over her heart.
+
+"But I dare, and I must do it!" said I, secretly wondering at myself. "I
+shall telegraph for him."
+
+"If my husband knew!" she breathed.
+
+"I can not help it," said I. "Is the poor child to die among people who
+profess to love him, with the one wish ungratified which he has been
+repeating ever since he began to be ill? I do not understand such love;
+I call it horrible inhumanity."
+
+"For Eugen to enter this house again!" she said in a whisper.
+
+"I would to God that there were any other head as noble under its roof!"
+was my magniloquent and thoroughly earnest inspiration. "Well, _gnaedige
+Frau_, will you arrange this matter, or shall I?"
+
+"I dare not," she moaned, half distracted; "I dare not--but I will do
+nothing to prevent you. Use the whole household; they are at your
+command."
+
+I lost not an instant in writing out a telegram and dispatching it by a
+man on horseback to Lahnburg. I summoned Eugen briefly:
+
+"Sigmund is ill. I am here. Come to us."
+
+I saw the man depart, and then I went and told the countess what I had
+done. She turned, if possible, a shade paler, then said:
+
+"I am not responsible for it."
+
+Then I left the poor pale lady to still her beating heart and kill her
+deadly apprehensions in the embroidery of the lily of the field and the
+modest violet.
+
+No change in the child's condition. A lethargy had fallen upon him. That
+awful stupor, with the dark, flushed cheek and heavy breath, was to me
+more ominous than the restlessness of fever.
+
+I sat down and calculated. My telegram might be in Eugen's hand in the
+course of an hour.
+
+When could he be here? Was it possible that he might arrive this night?
+I obtained the German equivalent for Bradshaw, and studied it till I
+thought I had made out that, supposing Eugen to receive the telegram in
+the shortest possible time, he might be here by half past eleven that
+night. It was now five in the afternoon. Six hours and a half--and at
+the end of that time his non-arrival might tell me he could not be here
+before the morrow.
+
+I sat still, and now that the deed was done, gave myself up, with my
+usual enlightenment and discretion, to fears and apprehensions. The
+terrible look and tone of Graf von Rothenfels returned to my mind in
+full force. Clearly it was just the most dangerous thing in the world
+for Eugen to do--to put in an appearance at the present time. But
+another glance at Sigmund somewhat reassured me. In wondering whether
+girl had ever before been placed in such a bizarre situation as mine,
+darkness overtook me.
+
+Sigmund moved restlessly and moaned, stretching out little hot hands,
+and saying "Father!" I caught those hands to my lips, and knew that I
+had done right.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XL.
+
+VINDICATED.
+
+
+It was a wild night. Driving clouds kept hiding and revealing the
+stormy-looking moon. I was out-of-doors. I could not remain in the
+house; it had felt too small for me, but now nature felt too large. I
+dimly saw the huge pile of the schloss defined against the gray light;
+sometimes when the moon unveiled herself it started out clear, and
+black, and grim. I saw a light in a corner window--that was Sigmund's
+room; and another in a room below--that was the Graf's study, and there
+the terrible man sat. I heard the wind moan among the trees, heard the
+great dogs baying from the kennels; from an open window came rich, low,
+mellow sounds. Old Brunken was in the music-room, playing to himself
+upon the violoncello. That was a movement from the "Grand Septuor"--the
+second movement, which is, if one may use such an expression, painfully
+beautiful. I bethought myself of the woods which lay hidden from me, the
+vast avenues, the lonely tanks, the grotesques statues, and that
+terrible figure with its arms cast upward, at the end of the long walk,
+and I shivered faintly.
+
+I was some short distance down the principal avenue, and dared not go
+any further. A sudden dread of the loneliness and the night-voices came
+upon me; my heart beating thickly, I turned to go back to the house. I
+would try to comfort poor Countess Hildegarde in her watching and her
+fears.
+
+But there is a step near me. Some one comes up the avenue, with foot
+that knows its windings, its turns and twists, its ups and downs.
+
+"Eugen!" I said, tremulously.
+
+A sudden pause--a stop; then he said with a kind of laugh:
+
+"Witchcraft--Zauberei!" and was going on.
+
+But now I knew his whereabouts, and coming up to him, touched his arm.
+
+"This, however, is reality!" he exclaimed, infolding me and kissing me
+as he hurried on. "May, how is he?"
+
+"Just the same," said I, clinging to him. "Oh, thank Heaven that you are
+come!"
+
+"I drove to the gates, and sent the fellow away. But what art thou doing
+alone at the Ghost's Corner on a stormy night?"
+
+We were still walking fast toward the schloss. My heart was beating
+fast, half with fear of what was impending, half with intensity of joy
+at hearing his voice again, and knowing what that last letter had told
+me.
+
+As we emerged upon the great terrace before the house Eugen made one
+(the only one) momentary pause, pressed my arm, and bit his lips. I knew
+the meaning of it all. Then we passed quickly on. We met no one in the
+great stone hall--no one on the stairway or along the passages--straight
+he held his way, and I with him.
+
+We entered the room. Eugen's eyes leaped swiftly to his child's face. I
+saw him pass his hand over his mouth. I withdrew my hand from his arm
+and stood aside, feeling a tremulous thankfulness that he was here, and
+that that restless plaining would at last be hushed in satisfaction.
+
+A delusion! The face over which my lover bent did not brighten; nor the
+eyes recognize him. The child did not know the father for whom he had
+yearned out his little heart--he did not hear the half-frantic words
+spoken by that father as he flung himself upon him, kissing him,
+beseeching him, conjuring him with every foolish word of fondness that
+he could think of, to speak, answer, look up once again.
+
+Then fear, terror overcame the man--for the first time I saw him look
+pale with apprehension.
+
+"Not this cup--not this!" muttered he. "_Gott im Himmel!_ anything short
+of this--I will give him up--leave him--anything--only let him live!"
+
+He had flung himself, unnerved, trembling, upon a chair by the
+bedside--his face buried in his hands. I saw the sweat stand upon his
+brow--I could do nothing to help--nothing but wish despairingly that
+some blessed miracle would reverse the condition of the child and
+me--lay me low in death upon that bed--place him safe and sound in his
+father's arms.
+
+Is it not hard, you father of many children, to lose one of them? Do you
+not grudge Death his prize? But this man had but the one; the love
+between them was such a love as one meets perhaps once in a life-time.
+The child's life had been a mourning to him, the father's a burden, ever
+since they had parted.
+
+I felt it strange that I should be trying to comfort him, and yet it was
+so; it was his brow that leaned on my shoulder; it was he who was faint
+with anguish, so that he could scarce see or speak--his hand that was
+cold and nerveless. It was I who said:
+
+"Do not despair, I hope still."
+
+"If he is dying," said Eugen, "he shall die in my arms."
+
+With which, as if the idea were a dreary kind of comfort, he started
+up, folded Sigmund in a shawl, and lifted him out of bed, infolding him
+in his arms, and pillowing his head upon his breast.
+
+It was a terrible moment, yet, as I clung to his arm, and with him
+looked into our darling's face, I felt that von Francius' words, spoken
+long ago to my sister, contained a deep truth. This joy, so like a
+sorrow--would I have parted with it? A thousand times, no!
+
+Whether the motion and movement roused him, or whether that were the
+crisis of some change, I knew not. Sigmund's eyes opened. He bent them
+upon the face above him, and after a pause of reflection, said, in a
+voice whose utter satisfaction passed anything I had ever heard: "My own
+father!" released a pair of little wasted arms from his covering, and
+clasped them round Eugen's neck, putting his face close to his, and
+kissing him as if no number of kisses could ever satisfy him.
+
+Upon this scene, as Eugen stood in the middle of the room, his head bent
+down, a smile upon his face which no ultimate griefs could for the
+moment quench, there entered the countess.
+
+Her greeting after six years of absence, separation, belief in his
+dishonesty, was a strange one. She came quickly forward, laid her hand
+on his arm, and said:
+
+"Eugen, it is dreadfully infectious! Don't kiss the child in that way,
+or you will take the fever and be laid up too."
+
+He looked up, and at his look a shock passed across her face; with
+pallid cheeks and parted lips she gazed at him speechless.
+
+His mind, too, seemed to bridge the gulf--it was in a strange tone that
+he answered:
+
+"Ah, Hildegarde! What does it matter what becomes of me? Leave me this!"
+
+"No, not that, Eugen," said I, going up to him, and I suppose something
+in my eyes moved him, for he gave the child into my arms in silence.
+
+The countess had stood looking at him. She strove for silence; sought
+tremulously after coldness, but in vain.
+
+"Eugen--" She came nearer, and looked more closely at him. "_Herrgott!_
+how you are altered! What a meeting! I--can it be six years ago--and
+now--oh!" Her voice broke into a very wail. "We loved you--why did you
+deceive us?"
+
+My heart stood still. Would he stand this test? It was the hardest he
+had had. Graefin Hildegarde had been--was dear to him. That he was dear
+to her, intensely dear, that love for him was intwined about her very
+heart-strings, stood confessed now. "Why did you deceive us?" It sounded
+more like, "Tell us we may trust you; make us happy again!" One word
+from him, and the poor sad lady would have banished from her heart the
+long-staying, unwelcome guest--belief in his falseness, and closed it
+away from her forever.
+
+He was spared the dreadful necessity of answering her. A timid summons
+from her maid at the door told her the count wanted to speak to her, and
+she left us quickly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Sigmund did not die; he recovered, and lives now. But with that I am not
+at present concerned.
+
+It was the afternoon following that never-to-be-forgotten night. I had
+left Eugen watching beside Sigmund, who was sleeping, his hand jealously
+holding two of his father's fingers.
+
+I intended to call at Frau Mittendorf's door to say that I could not yet
+return there, and when I came back, said Eugen, he would have something
+to tell me; he was going to speak with his brother--to tell him that we
+should be married, "and to speak about Sigmund," he added, decisively.
+"I will not risk such a thing as this again. If you had not been here he
+might have died without my knowing it. I feel myself absolved from all
+obligation to let him remain. My child's happiness shall not be further
+sacrificed."
+
+With this understanding I left him. I went toward the countess's room,
+to speak to her, and tell her of Sigmund before I went out. I heard
+voices ere I entered the room, and when I entered it I stood still, and
+a sickly apprehension clutched my very heart. There stood my evil
+genius--the _boeser Geist_ of my lover's fate--Anna Sartorius. And the
+count and countess were present, apparently waiting for her to begin to
+speak.
+
+"You are here," said the Graefin to me. "I was just about to send for
+you. This lady says she knows you."
+
+"She does," said I, hesitatingly.
+
+Anna looked at me. There was gravity in her face, and the usual cynical
+smile in her eyes.
+
+"You are surprised to see me," said she. "You will be still more
+surprised to hear that I have journeyed all the way from Elberthal to
+Lahnburg on your account, and for your benefit."
+
+I did not believe her, and composing myself as well as I could, sat
+down. After all, what could she do to harm me? She could not rob me of
+Eugen's heart, and she had already done her worst against him and his
+fair name.
+
+Anna had a strong will, she exerted it. Graf Bruno was looking in some
+surprise at the unexpected guest; the countess sat rigidly upright, with
+a puzzled look, as if at the sight of Anna she recalled some far-past
+scene. Anna compelled their attention; she turned to me, saying:
+
+"Please remain here, Miss Wedderburn. What I have to say concerns you as
+much as any one here. You wonder who I am, and what business I have to
+intrude myself upon you," she added to the others.
+
+"I confess--" began the countess, and Anna went on:
+
+"You, _gnaedige Frau_, have spoken to me before, and I to you. I see you
+remember, or feel you ought to remember me. I will recall the occasion
+of our meeting to your mind. You once called at my father's house--he
+was a music teacher--to ask about lessons for some friend or protegee of
+yours. My father was engaged at the moment, and I invited you into my
+sitting-room and endeavored to begin a conversation with you. You were
+very distant and very proud, scarcely deigning to answer me. When my
+father came into the room, I left it. But I could not help laughing at
+your treatment of me. You little knew from your shut-up, _cossue_
+existence among the lofty ones of the earth, what influence even such
+insignificant persons as I might have upon your lot. At the time I was
+the intimate friend of, and in close correspondence with, a person who
+afterward became one of your family. Her name was Vittoria Leopardi, and
+she married your brother-in-law, Graf Eugen."
+
+The plain-spoken, plain-looking woman had her way. She had the same
+power as that which shone in the "glittering eye" of the Ancient
+Mariner. Whether we liked or not we gave her our attention. All were
+listening now, and we listened to the end.
+
+"Vittoria Leopardi was the Italian governess at General von ----'s. At
+one time she had several music lessons from my father. That was how I
+became acquainted with her. She was very beautiful--almost as beautiful
+as you, Miss Wedderburn, and I, dull and plain myself, have a keen
+appreciation of beauty and of the gentleness which does not always
+accompany it. When I first knew her she was lonely and strange, and I
+tried to befriend her. I soon began to learn what a singular mixture of
+sordid worldliness and vacant weak-mindedness dwelt behind her fair
+face. She wrote to me often, for she was one of the persons who must
+have some one to whom to relate their 'triumphs' and conquests, and I
+suppose I was the only person she could get to listen to her.
+
+"At that time--the time you called at our house, _gnaedige Frau_--her
+epistles were decidedly tedious. What sense she had--there was never too
+much of it--was completely eclipsed. At last came the announcement that
+her noble and gallant Uhlan had proposed, and been accepted--naturally.
+She told me what he was, and his possessions and prospects; his chief
+merit in her eyes appeared to be that he would let her do anything she
+liked, and release her from the drudgery of teaching, for which she
+never had the least affinity. She hated children. She never on any
+occasion hinted that she loved him very much.
+
+"In due time the marriage, as you all know, came off. She almost dropped
+me then, but never completely so; I suppose she had that instinct which
+stupid people often have as to the sort of people who may be of use to
+them some time. I received no invitations to her house. She used
+awkwardly to apologize for the negligence sometimes, and say she was so
+busy, and it would be no compliment to me to ask me to meet all those
+stupid people of whom the house was always full.
+
+"That did not trouble me much, though I loved her none the better for
+it. She had become more a study to me now than anything I really cared
+for. Occasionally I used to go and see her, in the morning, before she
+had left her room; and once, and once only, I met her husband in the
+corridor. He was hastening away to his duty, and scarcely saw me as he
+hurried past. Of course I knew him by sight as well as possible. Who did
+not? Occasionally she came to me to recount her triumphs and make me
+jealous. She did not wish to reign supreme in her husband's heart; she
+wished idle men to pay her compliments. Everybody in ---- knew of the
+extravagance of that household, and the reckless, neck-or-nothing habits
+of its master. People were indignant with him that he did not reform. I
+say it would have been easier for him to find his way alone up the
+Matterhorn in the dark than to reform--after his marriage.
+
+"There had been hope for him before--there was none afterward. A pretty
+inducement to reform, she offered him! I knew that woman through and
+through, and I tell you that there never lived a more selfish, feeble,
+vain, and miserable thing. All was self--self--self. When she was mated
+to a man who never did think of self--whose one joy was to be giving,
+whose generosity was no less a by-word than his recklessness, who was
+delighted if she expressed a wish, and would move heaven and earth to
+gratify it; the more eagerly the more unreasonable it was--_mes amis_, I
+think it is easy to guess the end--the end was ruin. I watched it coming
+on, and I thought of you, Frau Graefin. Vittoria was expecting her
+confinement in the course of a few months. I never heard her express a
+hope as to the coming child, never a word of joy, never a thought as to
+the wider cares which a short time would bring to her. She did say
+often, with a sigh, that women with young children were so tied; they
+could not do this, and they could not do that. She was in great
+excitement when she was invited to come here; in great triumph when she
+returned.
+
+"Eugen, she said, was a fool not to conciliate his brother and that
+doting old saint (her words, _gnaedige Frau_, not mine) more than he did.
+It was evident that they would do anything for him if he only flattered
+them, but he was so insanely downright--she called it stupid, she said.
+The idea of missing such advantages when a few words of common
+politeness would have secured them. I may add that what she called
+'common politeness' was just the same thing that I called smooth
+hypocrisy.
+
+"Very shortly after this her child was born. I did not see her then. Her
+husband lost all his money on a race, and came to smash, as you English
+say. She wrote to me. She was in absolute need of money, she said; Eugen
+had not been able to give her any. He had said they must retrench.
+Retrench! was that what she married him for! There was a set of
+turquoises that she must have, or another woman would get them, and then
+she would die. And her milliner, a most unreasonable woman, had sent
+word that she must be paid.
+
+"So she was grumbling in a letter which I received one afternoon, and
+the next I was frightfully startled to see herself. She came in and said
+smilingly that she was going to ask a favor of me. Would I take her cab
+on to the bank and get a check cashed for her? She did not want to go
+there herself. And then she explained how her brother-in-law had given
+her a check for a thousand thalers--was it not kind of him? It really
+did not enter my head at the moment to think there was anything wrong
+about the check. She had indorsed it, and I took it, received the money
+for it, and brought it to her. She trembled so as she took it, and was
+so remarkably quiet about it, that it suddenly flashed upon my mind that
+there must be something not as it ought to be about it.
+
+"I asked her a question or two, and she said, deliberately contradicting
+herself, that the Herr Graf had not given it to her, but to her husband,
+and then she went away, and I was sure I should hear more about it. I
+did. She wrote to me in the course of a few days, saying she wished she
+were dead, since Eugen, by his wickedness, had destroyed every chance of
+happiness; she might as well be a widow. She sent me a package of
+letters--my letters--and asked me to keep them, together with some other
+things, an old desk among the rest. She had no means of destroying them
+all, and she did not choose to carry them to Rothenfels, whither she was
+going to be buried alive with those awful people.
+
+"I accepted the charge. For five--no, six years, the desk, the papers,
+everything lay with some other possessions of mine which I could not
+carry about with me on the wandering life I led after my father's
+death--stored in an old trunk in the lumber-room of a cousin's house. I
+visited that house last week.
+
+"Certain circumstances which have occurred of late years induced me to
+look over those papers. I burned the old bundle of letters from myself
+to her, and then I looked through the desk. In a pigeon-hole I found
+these."
+
+She handed some pieces of paper to Graf Bruno, who looked at them. I,
+too, have seen them since. They bore the imitations of different
+signatures; her husband's, Graf Bruno's, that of Anna Sartorius, and
+others which I did not know.
+
+The same conviction as that which had struck Anna flashed into the eyes
+of Graf von Rothenfels.
+
+"I found those," repeated Anna, "and I knew in a second who was the
+culprit. He, your brother, is no criminal. She forged the signature of
+the Herr Graf--"
+
+"Who forged the signature of the Herr Graf?" asked a voice which caused
+me to start up, which brought all our eyes from Anna's face, upon which
+they had been fastened, and showed us Eugen standing in the door-way,
+with compressed lips and eyes that looked from one to the other of us
+anxiously.
+
+"Your wife," said Anna, calmly. And before any one could speak she went
+on: "I have helped to circulate the lie about you, Herr Graf"--she spoke
+to Eugen--"for I disliked you; I disliked your family, and I disliked,
+or rather wished to punish, Miss Wedderburn for her behavior to me. But
+I firmly believed the story I circulated. The moment I knew the truth I
+determined to set you right. Perhaps I was pleased to be able to
+circumvent your plans. I considered that if I told the truth to
+Friedhelm Helfen he would be as silent as yourself, because you chose to
+be silent. The same with May Wedderburn, therefore I decided to come to
+head-quarters at once. It is useless for you to try to appear guilty any
+longer," she added, mockingly. "You can tell them all the rest, and I
+will wish you good-afternoon."
+
+She was gone. From that day to this I have never seen her nor heard of
+her again. Probably with her power over us her interest in us ceased.
+
+Meanwhile I had released myself from the spell which held me, and gone
+to the countess. Something very like fear held me from approaching
+Eugen.
+
+Count Bruno had gone to his brother, and touched his shoulder. Eugen
+looked up. Their eyes met. It just flashed into my mind that after six
+years of separation the first words were--must be--words of
+reconciliation, of forgiveness asked on the one side, eagerly extended
+on the other.
+
+"Eugen!" in a trembling voice, and then, with a positive sob, "canst
+thou forgive?"
+
+"My brother--I have not resented. I could not. Honor in thee, as honor
+in me--"
+
+"But that thou wert doubted, hated, mistak--"
+
+But another had asserted herself. The countess had come to herself
+again, and going up to him, looked him full in the face and kissed him.
+
+"Now I can die happy! What folly, Eugen! and folly like none but thine.
+I might have known--"
+
+A faint smile crossed his lips. For all the triumphant vindication, he
+looked very pallid.
+
+"I have often wondered, Hildegarde, how so proud a woman as you could so
+soon accept the worthlessness of a pupil on whom she had spent such
+pains as you upon me. I learned my best notions of honor and chivalry
+from you. You might have credited me rather with trying to carry the
+lesson out than with plucking it away and casting it from me at the
+first opportunity."
+
+"You have much to forgive," said she.
+
+"Eugen, you came to see me on business," said his brother.
+
+Eugen turned to me. I turned hot and then cold. This was a terrible
+ordeal indeed. He seemed metamorphosed into an exceedingly grand
+personage as he came to me, took my hand, and said, very proudly and
+very gravely:
+
+"The first part of my business related to Sigmund. It will not need to
+be discussed now. The rest was to tell you that this young lady--in
+spite of having heard all that could be said against me--was still not
+afraid to assert her intention to honor me by becoming my wife and
+sharing my fate. Now that she has learned the truth--May, do you still
+care for me enough to marry me?"
+
+"If so," interrupted his brother before I could speak, "let me add my
+petition and that of my wife--do you allow me, Hildegarde?"
+
+"Indeed, yes, yes!"
+
+"That she will honor us and make us happy by entering our family, which
+can only gain by the acquisition of such beauty and excellence."
+
+The idea of being entreated by Graf Bruno to marry his brother almost
+overpowered me. I looked at Eugen and stammered out something
+inaudible, confused, too, by the look he gave me.
+
+He was changed; he was more formidable now than before, and he led me
+silently up to his brother without a word, upon which Count Bruno
+crowned my confusion by uttering some more very Grandisonian words and
+gravely saluting my cheek. That was certainly a terrible moment, but
+from that day to this I have loved better and better my haughty
+brother-in-law.
+
+Half in consideration for me, I believe, the countess began:
+
+"But I want to know, Eugen, about this. I don't quite understand yet how
+you managed to shift the blame upon yourself."
+
+"Perhaps he does not want to tell," said I, hastily.
+
+"Yes; since the truth is known, I may tell the rest," said he. "It was a
+very simple matter. After all was lost, my only ray of comfort was that
+I could pay my debts by selling everything, and throwing up my
+commission. But when I thought of my wife I felt a devil. I suppose that
+is the feeling which the devils do experience in place of love--at least
+Heine says so:
+
+     "'Die Teufel nennen es Hoellenqual,
+     Die Menschen nennen es Liebe.'
+
+"I kept it from her as long as I could. It was a week after Sigmund was
+born that at last one day I had to tell her. I actually looked to her
+for advice, help. It was tolerably presumptuous in me, I must say, after
+what I had brought her to. She brought me to reason. May Heaven preserve
+men from needing such lessons! She reproached me--ay, she did reproach
+me. I thank my good genius, or whatever it is that looks after us, that
+I could set my teeth and not answer her a syllable."
+
+"The minx!" said the countess aside to me. "I would have shaken her!"
+
+"'What was she to do without a groschen?' she concluded, and I could
+only say that I had had thoughts of dropping my military career and
+taking to music in good earnest. I had never been able to neglect it,
+even in any worst time, for it was a passion with me. She said:
+
+"'A composer--a beggar!' That was hard.
+
+"I asked her, 'Will you not help me?'
+
+"'Never, to degrade yourself in that manner,' she assured me.
+
+"Considering that I had deserved my punishment, I left her. I sat up
+all night, I remember, thinking over what I had brought her to, and
+wondering what I could do for her. I wondered if you, Bruno, would help
+her and let me go away and work out my punishment, for, believe me, I
+never thought of shirking it. I had been most effectually brought to
+reason, and your example, and yours, Hildegarde, had taught me a
+different kind of moral fiber to that.
+
+"I brought your note about the check to Vittoria, and asked her if she
+knew anything about it. She looked at me, and in that instant I knew the
+truth. She did not once attempt to deny it. I do not know what, in my
+horrible despair and shame, I may have said or done.
+
+"I was brought to my senses by seeing her cowering before me, with her
+hands before her face, and begging me not to kill her. I felt what a
+brute I must have been, but that kind of brutality has been knocked out
+of me long ago. I raised her, and asked her to forgive me, and bade her
+keep silence and see no one, and I would see that she did not suffer for
+it.
+
+"Everything seemed to stand clearly before me. If I had kept straight,
+the poor ignorant thing would never have been tempted to such a thing. I
+settled my whole course in half an hour, and have never departed from it
+since.
+
+"I wrote that letter to you, and went and read it to my wife. I told
+her that I could never forgive myself for having caused her such
+unhappiness, and that I was going to release her from me. I only dropped
+a vague hint about the boy at first; I was stooping over his crib to say
+good-bye to him. She said, 'What am I to do with him?' I caught at the
+idea, and she easily let me take him. I asked Hugo von Meilingen to
+settle affairs for me, and left that night. Thanks to you, Bruno, the
+story never got abroad. The rest you know."
+
+"What did you tell Hugo von Meilingen?"
+
+"Only that I had made a mess of everything and broken my wife's heart,
+which he did not seem to believe. He was stanch. He settled up
+everything. Some day I will thank him for it. For two years I traveled
+about a good deal. Sigmund has been more a citizen of the world than he
+knows. I had so much facility of execution--"
+
+"So much genius, you mean," I interposed.
+
+"That I never had any difficulty in getting an engagement. I saw a
+wonderful amount of life of a certain kind, and learned most thoroughly
+to despise my own past, and to entertain a thorough contempt for those
+who are still leading such lives. I have learned German history in my
+banishment. I have lived with our trues heroes--the lower
+middle-classes."
+
+"Well, well! You were always a radical, Eugen," said the count,
+indulgently.
+
+"At last, at Koeln I obtained the situation of first violinist in the
+Elberthal Kapelle, and I went over there one wet October afternoon and
+saw the director, von Francius. He was busy, and referred me to the man
+who was next below me, Friedhelm Helfen."
+
+Eugen paused, and choked down some little emotion ere he added:
+
+"You must know him. I trust to have his friendship till death separates
+us. He is a nobleman of nature's most careful making--a knight _sans
+peur et sans reproche_. When Sigmund came here it was he who saved me
+from doing something desperate or driveling--there is not much of a step
+between the two. Fraeulein Sartorius, who seems to have a peculiar
+disposition, took it into her head to confront me with a charge of my
+guilt at a public place. Friedhelm never wavered, despite my shame and
+my inability to deny the charge."
+
+"Oh, dear, how beautiful!" said the countess, in tears.
+
+"We must have him over here and see a great deal of him."
+
+"We must certainly know him, and that soon," said Count Bruno.
+
+At this juncture I, from mingled motives, stole from the room, and found
+my way to Sigmund's bedside, where also joy awaited me. The stupor and
+the restlessness had alike vanished; he was in a deep sleep. I knelt
+down by the bedside and remained there long.
+
+Nothing, then, was to be as I had planned it. There would be no poverty,
+no shame to contend against--no struggle to make, except the struggle up
+to the standard--so fearfully severe and unapproachable, set up by my
+own husband. Set up and acted upon by him. How could I ever attain it or
+anything near it? Should I not be constantly shocking him by coarse,
+gross notions as to the needlessness of this or that fine point of
+conduct? by my ill-defined ideas as to a code of honor--my slovenly ways
+of looking at questions?
+
+It was such a fearful height, this to which he had carried his notions
+and behavior in the matter of chivalry and loyalty. How was I ever to
+help him to carry it out, and moreover, to bring up this child before
+me, and perhaps children of my own in the same rules?
+
+It was no doubt a much more brilliant destiny which actually awaited me
+than any which I had anticipated--the wife of a nobleman, with the
+traditions of a long line of noblemen and noblewomen to support, and a
+husband with the most impossible ideas upon the subject.
+
+I felt afraid. I thought of that poor, vain, selfish first wife, and I
+wondered if ever the time might come when I might fall in his eyes as
+she had fallen, for scrupulous though he was to cast no reproach upon
+her, I felt keenly that he despised her, that had she lived, after that
+dreadful discovery he would never have loved her again. It was awful to
+think of. True, I should never commit forgery; but I might, without
+knowing it, fail in some other way, and then--woe to me!
+
+Thus dismally cogitating I was roused by a touch on my shoulder and a
+kiss on the top of my head. Eugen was leaning over me, laughing.
+
+"You have been saying your prayers so long that I was sure you must be
+asking too much."
+
+I confided some of my doubts and fears to him, for with his actual
+presence that dreadful height of morality seemed to dwindle down. He was
+human too--quick, impulsive, a very mortal. And he said:
+
+"I would ask thee one thing, May. Thou dost not seem to see what makes
+all the difference. I loved Vittoria: I longed to make some sacrifice
+for her, would she but have let me. But she could not; poor girl! She
+did not love me."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well! _Mein Engel_--you do," said he, laughing.
+
+"Oh, I see!" said I, feeling myself blushing violently. Yes, it was
+true. Our union should be different from that former one. After all it
+was pleasant to find that the high tragedy which we had so wisely
+planned for ourselves had made a _faux pas_ and come ignominiously to
+ground.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XLI.
+
+ "And surely, when all this is past
+ They shall not want their rest at last."
+
+
+On the 23d of December--I will not say how few or how many years after
+those doings and that violent agitation which my friend Graefin May has
+striven to make coherent in the last chapter--I, with my great-coat on
+my arm, stood waiting for the train which was to bear me ten miles away
+from the sleepy old musical ducal Hauptstadt, in which I am Herzoglicher
+Kapellmeister, to Rothenfels, where I was bidden to spend Christmas. I
+had not long to wait. Having ascertained that my bag was safe, in which
+reposed divers humble proofs of my affection for the friends of the
+past, I looked leisurely out as the train came in for a second-class
+carriage, and very soon found what I wanted. I shook hands with an
+acquaintance, and leaned out of the window, talking to him till the
+train started. Then for the first time I began to look at my
+fellow-traveler; a lady, and most distinctly not one of my own
+countrywomen, who, whatever else they may excel in, emphatically do not
+know how to clothe themselves for traveling. Her veil was down, but her
+face was turned toward me, and I thought I knew something of the grand
+sweep of the splendid shoulders and majestic bearing of the stately
+form. She soon raised her veil, and looking at me, said, with a grave
+bow:
+
+"Herr Helfen, how do you do?"
+
+"Ah, pardon me, _gnaedige Frau_; for the moment I did not recognize you.
+I hope you are well."
+
+"Quite well, thank you," said she, with grave courtesy; but I saw that
+her beautiful face was thin and worn, her pallor greater than ever.
+
+She had never been a person much given to mirthfulness; but now she
+looked as if all smiles had passed forever from her lips--a certain
+secret sat upon them, and closed them in an outline, sweet, but utterly
+impenetrable.
+
+"You are going to Rothenfels, I presume?" she said.
+
+"Yes. And you also?"
+
+"I also--somewhat against my will; but I did not want to hurt my
+sister's feelings. It is the first time I have left home since my
+husband's death."
+
+I bowed. Her face did not alter. Calm, sad, and staid--whatever storms
+had once shaken that proud heart, they were lulled forever now.
+
+Two years ago Adelaide von Francius had buried keen grief and sharp
+anguish, together with vivid hope or great joy, with her noble husband,
+whom we had mourned bitterly then, whom we yet mourn in our hearts, and
+whom we shall continue to mourn as long as we live.
+
+May's passionate conviction that he and she should meet again had been
+fulfilled. They had met, and each had found the other unchanged; and
+Adelaide had begun to yield to the conviction that her sister's love was
+love, pure and simple, and not pity. Since his death she had continued
+to live in the town in which their married life had been passed--a life
+which for her was just beginning to be happy--that is to say, she was
+just learning to allow herself to be happy, in the firm assurance of his
+unalterable love and devotion, when the summons came; a sharp attack, a
+short illness, all over--eyes closed, lips, too--silent before her for
+evermore.
+
+It has often been my fate to hear criticisms both on von Francius and
+his wife, and upon their conduct. This I know, that she never forgave
+herself the step she had taken in her despair. Her pride never recovered
+from the burden laid upon it--that she had taken the initiative, had
+followed the man who had said farewell to her. Bad her lot was to be,
+sad, and joyless, whether in its gilded cage, or linked with the man
+whom she loved, but to be with whom she had had to pay so terrible a
+price. I have never heard her complain of life and the world; yet she
+can find neither very sweet, for she is an extremely proud woman, who
+has made two terrible failures in her affairs.
+
+Von Francius, before he died, had made a mark not to be erased in the
+hearts of his musical compatriots. Had he lived--but that is vain!
+Still, one feels--one can now but feel--that, as his widow said to me,
+with matter-of-fact composure:
+
+"He was much more hardly to be spared than such a person as I, Herr
+Helfen. If I might have died and left him to enrich and gladden the
+world, I should have felt that I had not made such a mess of everything
+after all."
+
+Yet she never referred to him as "my poor husband," or by any of those
+softening terms by which some people approach the name of a dead dear
+one; all the same we knew quite well that with him life had died for
+her.
+
+Since his death, she and I had been in frequent communication; she was
+editing a new edition of his works, for which, after his death, there
+had been an instant call. It had lately been completed; and the music of
+our former friend shall, if I mistake not, become, in the best and
+highest sense of the word, popular music--the people's music. I had been
+her eager and, she was pleased to say, able assistant in the work.
+
+We journeyed on together through the winter country, and I glanced at
+her now and then--at the still, pale face which rose above her
+English-fashioned sealskin, and wondered how it was that some faces,
+though never so young and beautiful, have written upon them in
+unmistakable characters, "The End," as one saw upon her face. Still, we
+talked about all kinds of matters--musical, private, and public. I asked
+if she went out at all.
+
+"Only to concerts with the von ----s, who have been friends of mine ever
+since I went to ----," she replied; and then the train rolled into the
+station of Lahnburg.
+
+There was a group of faces I knew waiting to meet us.
+
+"Ah! there is my sister Stella," said Adelaide, in a low voice. "How she
+is altered! And that is May's husband, I suppose. I remember his face
+now that I see it."
+
+We had been caught sight of. Four people came crowding round us.
+Eugen--my eyes fell upon him first--we grasped hands silently. His wife,
+looking lovelier than ever in her winter furs and feathers. A tall boy
+in a sealskin cap--my Sigmund--who had been hanging on his father's arm,
+and whose eyes welcomed me more volubly than his tongue, which was never
+given to excessive wagging.
+
+May and Frau von Francius went home in a carriage which Sigmund, under
+the direction of an awful-looking Kutscher, drove.
+
+Stella, Eugen, and I walked to Rothenfels, and they quarreled, as they
+always did, while I listened and gave an encouraging word to each in
+turn. Stella Wedderburn was very beautiful; and after spending Christmas
+at Rothenfels, she was going home to be married. Eugen, May, and Sigmund
+were going too, for the first time since May's marriage.
+
+Graf Bruno that year had temporarily abdicated his throne, and Eugen
+had been constituted host for the season. The guests were his and his
+wife's; the arrangements were his, and the entertainment fell to his
+share.
+
+Graefin Hildegarde looked a little amazed at such of her guests, for
+instance, as Karl Linders. She had got over the first shock of seeing me
+a regular visitor in the house, and was pleased to draw me aside on this
+occasion, and inform me that really that young man, Herr Linders, was
+presentable--quite presentable--and never forgot himself; he had handed
+her into her carriage yesterday really quite creditably. No doubt it was
+long friendship with Eugen which had given him that extra polish.
+
+"Indeed, Frau Graefin, he was always like that. It is natural."
+
+"He is very presentable, really--very. But as a friend of Eugen's," and
+she smiled condescendingly upon me, "he would naturally be so."
+
+In truth, Karl was Karl. "Time had not thinned his flowing locks;" he
+was as handsome, as impulsive, and as true as ever; had added two babies
+to his responsibilities, who, with his beloved Frau Gemahlin, had
+likewise been bidden to this festivity, but had declined to quit the
+stove and private Christmas-tree of home life. He wore no more short
+jackets now; his sister Gretchen was engaged to a young doctor, and
+Karl's head was growing higher--as it deserved--for it had no mean or
+shady deeds to bow it.
+
+The company then consisted _in toto_ of Graf and Graefin von Rothenfels,
+who, I must record it, both looked full ten years younger and better
+since their prodigal was returned to them, of Stella Wedderburn, Frau
+von Francius, Karl Linders, and Friedhelm Helfen. May, as I said, looked
+lovelier than ever. It was easy to see that she was the darling of the
+elder brother and his wife. She was a radiant, bright creature, yet her
+deepest affections were given to sad people--to her husband, to her
+sister Adelaide, to Countess Hildegarde.
+
+She and Eugen are well mated. It is true he is not a very cheerful
+man--his face is melancholy. In his eyes is a shadow which never
+wholly disappears--lines upon his broad and tranquil brow which are
+indelible. He has honor and titles, and a name clean and high before
+men, but it was not always so. That terrible bringing to reason--that
+six years' grinding lesson of suffering, self-suppression--ay,
+self-effacement--have left their marks, a "shadow plain to see," and
+will never leave him. He is a different man from the outcast who stepped
+forth into the night with a weird upon him, nor ever looked back till it
+was dreed out in darkness to its utmost term.
+
+He has tasted of the sorrows--the self-brought sorrows which make merry
+men into sober ones, the sorrows which test a man and prove his
+character to be of gold or of dross, and therefore he is grave. Grave
+too is the son who is more worshiped by both him and his wife than any
+of their other children. Sigmund von Rothenfels is what outsiders call
+"a strange, incomprehensible child;" seldom smiles, and has no child
+friends. His friends are his father and "Mother May"--Muetterchen he
+calls her; and it is quaint sometimes to see how on an equality the
+three meet and associate. His notions of what is fit for a man to be and
+do he takes from his father; his ideal woman--I am sure he has
+one--would, I believe, turn out to be a subtle and impossible compound
+of May and his aunt Hildegarde.
+
+We sometimes speculate as to what he will turn out. Perhaps the musical
+genius which his father will not bring before the world in himself may
+one day astonish that world in Sigmund. It is certain that his very life
+seems bound up in the art, and in that house and that circle it must be
+a very Caliban, or something yet lower, which could resist the
+influence.
+
+One day May, Eugen, Karl, and I, repaired to the music-room and played
+together the Fourth Symphonie and some of Schumann's "Kinderscenen," but
+May began to cry before it was over, and the rest of us had thoughts
+that did lie too deep for tears--thoughts of that far-back afternoon of
+Carnival Monday, and how we "made a sunshine in a shady place"--of all
+that came before--and after.
+
+Between me and Eugen there has never come a cloud, nor the faintest
+shadow of one. Built upon days passed together in storm and sunshine,
+weal and woe, good report and evil report, our union stands upon a firm
+foundation of that nether rock of friendship, perfect trust, perfect
+faith, love stronger than death, which makes a peace in our hearts, a
+mighty influence in our lives which very truly "passeth understanding."
+
+                         THE END.
+
+
+
+
+THE CRIMINAL WITNESS.
+
+
+In the spring of '48, I was called to Jackson to attend court, having
+been engaged to defend a young man who had been accused of robbing the
+mail. I had a long conference with my client, and he acknowledged to me
+that on the night when the mail was robbed he had been with a party of
+dissipated companions over to Topham, and that on returning, they met
+the mail-carrier on horseback coming from Jackson. Some of his
+companions were very drunk, and they proposed to stop the carrier and
+overhaul his bag. The roads were very muddy at the time, and the coach
+could not run. My client assured me that he not only had no hand in
+robbing the mail, but that he tried to dissuade his companions from
+doing so. But they would not listen to him. One of them slipped up
+behind the carrier, and knocked him from his horse. Then they bound and
+blindfolded him, and having tied him to a tree, they took his mail-bag,
+and made off into a neighboring field, where they overhauled it, finding
+some five hundred dollars in money in the various letters. He went with
+them, but in no way did he have any hand in the crime. Those who did do
+it had fled, and, as the carrier had recognized him as in the party, he
+had been arrested.
+
+The mail-bag had been found, as well as the letters. Those letters from
+which money had been taken, were kept, by order of the officers, and
+duplicates sent to the various persons, to whom they were directed,
+announcing the particulars. These letters had been given me for
+examination, and I had then returned them to the prosecuting attorney.
+
+I got through with my private preliminaries about noon, and as the case
+would not come up before the next day, I went into the court in the
+afternoon, to see what was going on. The first case which came up was
+one of theft, and the prisoner was a young girl, not more than seventeen
+years of age, named Elizabeth Madworth. She was very pretty, and bore
+that mild, innocent look, which we seldom find in a culprit.
+
+The complaint against her set forth that she had stolen one hundred
+dollars from a Mrs. Naseby; and as the case went on, I found that this
+Mrs. Naseby was her mistress, she (Mrs. N.) being a wealthy widow,
+living in the town. The poor girl declared her innocence in the wildest
+terms, and called on God to witness that she would rather die than
+steal. But circumstances were hard against her. A hundred dollars, in
+bank notes had been stolen from her mistress's room, and she was the
+only one who had access there.
+
+At this juncture, while the mistress was upon the witness stand, a young
+man came and caught me by the arm.
+
+"They tell me you are a good lawyer?" he whispered.
+
+"I am a lawyer," I answered.
+
+"Then--oh!--save her! You can certainly do it, for she is innocent."
+
+"Has she no counsel?" I asked.
+
+"None that's good for anything--nobody that'll do anything for her. Oh,
+save her, and I'll pay you all I've got. I can't pay you much, but I can
+raise something."
+
+I reflected for a moment. I cast my eyes toward the prisoner, and she
+was at that moment looking at me. She caught my eye, and the volume of
+humble, prayerful entreaty I read in those large, tearful orbs, resolved
+me in a moment. I arose and went to the girl, and asked her if she
+wished me to defend her. She said yes. Then I informed the court that I
+was ready to enter into the case, and I was admitted at once.
+
+I asked for a moment's cessation, that I might speak with my client. I
+went and sat down by her side, and asked her to state candidly the whole
+case. She told me she had lived with Mrs. Naseby nearly two years, and
+that during all that time she had never had any trouble before. About
+two weeks ago, she said, her mistress lost a hundred dollars.
+
+"She missed it from her drawer," the girl told me, "and she asked me
+about it, but I knew nothing of it. The next thing I knew, Nancy Luther
+told Mrs. Naseby that she saw me take the money from her drawer--that
+she watched me through the keyhole. Then they went to my trunk, and they
+found twenty-five dollars of the missing money there. But, oh, sir, I
+never took it--and somebody else put that money there!"
+
+I then asked her if she suspected any one.
+
+"I don't know," she said, "who could have done it but Nancy. She has
+never liked me, because she thought I was treated better than she was.
+She is the cook, and I was the chamber-maid."
+
+She pointed Nancy Luther out to me. She was a stout, bold-faced girl,
+somewhere about five-and-twenty years old, with a low forehead, small
+gray eyes, a pug nose and thick lips.
+
+"Oh, sir, can you help me?" my client asked, in a fearful whisper.
+
+"Nancy Luther, did you say that girl's name was?" I asked, for a new
+light had broken in upon me.
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Is there any other girl of that name about here?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Then rest easy. I'll try hard to save you."
+
+I left the courtroom, and went to the prosecuting attorney and asked him
+for the letters I had handed him--the ones that had been stolen from the
+mail-bag. He gave them to me, and, having selected one, I returned the
+rest, and told him I would see that he had the one I kept before night.
+I then returned to the courtroom, and the case went on.
+
+Mrs. Naseby resumed her testimony. She said she entrusted her room to
+the prisoner's care, and that no one else had access there save herself.
+Then she described about missing the money, and closed by telling how
+she found twenty-five dollars of it in the prisoner's trunk. She could
+swear it was the identical money she had lost, it being in two tens and
+one five-dollar bill.
+
+"Mrs. Naseby," said I, "when you first missed your money, had you any
+reason to believe that the prisoner had it?"
+
+"No, sir," she answered.
+
+"Had you ever before detected her in any dishonesty?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"Should you have thought of searching her trunk, had not Nancy Luther
+advised you and informed you?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+Mrs. Naseby then left the stand, and Nancy Luther took her place. She
+came up with a bold look, and upon me she cast a defiant glance, as much
+as to say "Trap me, if you can." She gave her evidence as follows:
+
+She said that on the night when the money was stolen she saw the
+prisoner going upstairs, and from the sly manner in which she went up,
+she suspected all was not right. So she followed her up. "Elizabeth went
+into Mrs. Naseby's room, and shut the door after her. I stooped down and
+looked through the keyhole, and saw her at the mistress's drawer. I saw
+her take out the money and put it in her pocket. Then she stooped down
+and picked up the lamp, and as I saw that she was coming out, I hurried
+away." Then she went on and told how she had informed her mistress of
+this, and how she proposed to search the girl's trunk.
+
+I called Mrs. Naseby back to the stand.
+
+"You say that no one save yourself and the prisoner had access to your
+room," I said. "Now, could Nancy Luther have entered that room, if she
+wished?"
+
+"Certainly, sir. I meant no one else had any right there."
+
+I saw that Mrs. N., though naturally a hard woman, was somewhat moved by
+poor Elizabeth's misery.
+
+"Could your cook have known, by any means in your knowledge, where your
+money was?"
+
+"Yes, sir; for she has often come up to my room when I was there, and I
+have given her money with which to buy provisions of marketmen who
+happened along with their wagons."
+
+"One more question: Have you known of the prisoner's having used any
+money since this was stolen?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+I now called Nancy Luther back, and she began to tremble a little,
+though her look was as bold and defiant.
+
+"Miss Luther," I said, "why did you not inform your mistress at once of
+what you had seen without waiting for her to ask you about the lost
+money?"
+
+"Because I could not make up my mind at once to expose the poor young
+girl," she answered, promptly.
+
+"You say you looked through the keyhole and saw her take the money?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Where did she place the lamp, while she did so?"
+
+"On the bureau."
+
+"In your testimony, you said she stooped down when she picked it up.
+What did you mean by that?"
+
+The girl hesitated, and finally said she didn't mean anything, only that
+she picked up the lamp.
+
+"Very well," said I. "How long have you been with Mrs. Naseby?"
+
+"Not quite a year, sir."
+
+"How much does she pay you a week?"
+
+"A dollar and three-quarters."
+
+"Have you taken up any of your pay since you have been there?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"How much?"
+
+"I don't know, sir."
+
+"Why don't you know?"
+
+"How should I? I've taken it at different times, just as I wanted it,
+and have kept no account."
+
+"Now, if you had had any wish to harm the prisoner, couldn't you have
+raised twenty-five dollars to put in her trunk?"
+
+"No, sir," she replied, with virtuous indignation.
+
+"Then you have not laid up any money since you have been there?"
+
+"No, sir--only what Mrs. Naseby may owe me."
+
+"Then you didn't have twenty-five dollars when you came there?"
+
+"No, sir; and what's more, the money found in the girl's trunk was the
+very money that Mrs. Naseby lost. You might have known that, if you'd
+only remember what you hear."
+
+"Will you tell me if you belong to this State?" I asked next.
+
+"I do, sir."
+
+"In what town?"
+
+She hesitated, and for an instant the bold look forsook her. But she
+finally answered:
+
+"I belong in Somers, Montgomery County."
+
+I next turned to Mrs. Naseby.
+
+"Do you ever take a receipt from your girls when you pay them?" I asked.
+
+"Always," she answered.
+
+"Can you send and get one of them for me?"
+
+She said she would willingly go, if the court said so. The court did say
+so, and she went. Her dwelling was not far off, and she soon returned,
+and handed me four receipts, which I took and examined. They were all
+signed in a strange, straggling hand, by the witness.
+
+"Now, Nancy Luther," said I, turning to the witness, "please tell the
+court, and the jury, and tell me, too, where you got the seventy-five
+dollars you sent in a letter to your sister in Somers?"
+
+The witness started as though a volcano had burst at her feet. She
+turned pale as death, and every limb shook violently. I waited until the
+people could have an opportunity to see her emotion, and then I repeated
+the question.
+
+"I--never--sent--any," she fairly gasped.
+
+"You did!" I thundered, for I was excited now.
+
+"I--I--didn't," she faintly uttered, grasping the rail by her side for
+support.
+
+"May it please your honor, and gentlemen of the jury," I said, as soon
+as I had looked the witness out of countenance, "I came here to defend a
+youth who had been arrested for helping to rob the mail, and in the
+course of my preliminary examinations, I had access to the letters which
+had been torn open and rifled of money. When I entered upon this case,
+and I heard the name of this witness pronounced, I went out and got the
+letter which I now hold, for I remembered to have seen one bearing the
+signature of Nancy Luther. This letter was taken from the mail-bag, and
+it contained seventy-five dollars, and by looking at the post-mark, you
+will observe that it was mailed on the very next day after the hundred
+dollars were taken from Mrs. Naseby's drawer. I will read it to you, if
+you please."
+
+The court nodded assent, and I read the following, which was without
+date, save that made by the post-master upon the outside. I give it here
+verbatim:
+
+     "SISTER DORCAS: I cend yu heer sevente fiv dolers, which i want yu
+     to kepe for me till i cum hum. I can't kepe it heer coz ime afrade
+     it will git stole. don't speke wun word tu a livin sole bout this
+     coz I don't want nobodi tu kno i hav got enny mony. yu wont now wil
+     yu. i am first rate heer, only that gude fur nuthin snipe of liz
+     madwurth is heer yit--but i hop tu git red ov her now. yu no i rote
+     yu bout her. give my luv to awl inquiren friends. this is from your
+     sister til deth. NANCY LUTHER."
+
+"Now, your honor," I said, as I handed him the letter, and also the
+receipts, "you will see that the letter is directed to 'Dorcas Luther,
+Somers, Montgomery County.' And you will also observe that one hand
+wrote that letter and signed those receipts. The jury will also observe.
+And now I will only add: It is plain to see how the hundred dollars were
+disposed of. Seventy-five were put into that letter and sent off for
+safe-keeping, while the remaining twenty-five were placed in the
+prisoner's trunk for the purpose of covering the real criminal."
+
+The case was given to the jury immediately following their examination
+of the letter. Without leaving their seats, they returned a verdict
+of--"Not Guilty."
+
+The youth, who had first asked me to defend the prisoner, caught me by
+the hand, but he could not speak plainly. He simply looked at me through
+his tears for a moment, and then rushed to the fair prisoner. He seemed
+to forget where he was, for he flung his arms about her, and as she laid
+her head upon his bosom, she wept aloud.
+
+I will not attempt to describe the scene that followed; but if Nancy
+Luther had not been immediately arrested for theft, she would have been
+obliged to seek the protection of the officers, or the excited people
+would surely have maimed her, if they had done no more. On the next
+morning, I received a note, very handsomely written, in which I was told
+that "the within" was but a slight token of the gratitude due me for my
+effort in behalf of a poor, defenseless, but much loved, maiden. It was
+signed "Several Citizens," and contained one hundred dollars. Shortly
+afterward, the youth came to pay me all the money he could raise. I
+simply showed him the note I had received, and asked him if he would
+keep his hard earnings for his wife, when he got one. He owned that he
+intended to make Lizzie Madworth his wife very soon.
+
+I will only add that on the following day I succeeded in clearing my
+next client from conviction of robbing the mail; and I will not deny
+that I made a considerable handle of the fortunate discovery of the
+letter which had saved an innocent girl, on the day before, in my appeal
+to the jury; and if I made them feel that the finger of Omnipotence was
+in the work, I did it because I sincerely believe my client was innocent
+of all crime; and I am sure they thought so too.
+
+
+
+
+TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
+
+1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors;
+otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author's
+words and intent.
+
+3. German readers may find it unusual that German nouns have not been
+capitalized; the book did not follow the German convention, and the
+transcriber has not changed that in this e-text.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The First Violin, by Jessie Fothergill
+
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author	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-15 02:47:06 -0700
committer	Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org>	2025-10-15 02:47:06 -0700
commit	bb0559dc428a07f59be926ffa610c91e2f8f7907 (patch)
tree	c8de54561447cc2ff12c7e19eea5a34442395257