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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/29219-8.txt b/29219-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d3a07a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/29219-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,17261 @@ +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 méchante 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 Alléestrasse. + Dr. Mittendorf, the oculist, lives not far from here, and the + Städtische 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 väterlich Haus! + Es treibt in die Ferne mich mächtig 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 kühn." + + +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. + +_Gepäck-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, +fräuleinchen!_" + +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, Fräulein_," 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 Fräulein_, 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, Fräulein, 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 Fräulein!_" + +"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, Fräulein. 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 Köln 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, Fräulein?" + +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 "Kölnische 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, behüte!_ 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 Fräulein_. 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 _Kölner 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 +_schöne 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 für dummes Zeug!_ Excuse me, _mein Fräulein_." + +"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 Fräulein_, 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, behüte!_ 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, Fräulein, 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. + +"Alléestrasse, 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 Fräulein_," 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 +_Dienstmädchen_ 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 Köln 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 _Unglück_; 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 _Brödchen_ +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, Fräulein_," she said, as she marched up to the darkly +mysterious theemaschine and began deftly to prepare coffee for me, and +to push the Brödchen 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 Köln +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, "Städtische 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 Fräulein 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 +Fräulein Sartorius immediately opened a conversation with me. + +"_Sprechen Sie Deutsch, Fräulein?_" 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 Fräulein 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 Fräulein 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. "Fräulein 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, Fräulein 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 _carrière_--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 Fräulein 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--königlicher +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 +"Städtische 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 Fräulein_," 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 Fräulein_?" 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 Köln--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, _gnädiges Fräulein_?" + +"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 Fräulein, my +_gnädigen 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 Höllenqual, + 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 Fräulein_--yes. Please come this way +with me. Pardon, Fräulein 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 Fräulein_, 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 _Künstler_--artist--I was not +thinking of anything else. I do not think the _gnädiges Fräulein_ 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 Fräulein_?" + +"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. Fräulein Sartorius has one; she will lend it to us for half +an hour. If you were at liberty, _mein Fräulein_, 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, Fräulein!_ 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, Müllers, 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 Köln. + +"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 _städtische 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 Köln, 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 _blasé_ +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 Glück! + 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 Köln 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 _soirée_," 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 Lindenallée. 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 _städtische +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 Fräulein their daughters, the +_gnädigen 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. + +"Fräulein, 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 coûte_," 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, _natürlich_," 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 +Fräulein 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 _étage_, 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 _étage_. 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 _étage_ 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 Köln, to an icy +coldness of ceremony: + +"_Mein Fräulein_, 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 Köln, 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 Fräulein_. 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 Fräulein_," 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 _ermüdet_," 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 Köln. + +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." + +Fräulein Sartorius laughed loud and long. + +"The men! _Du meine Güte!_ 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, Fräulein, +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! Fräulein Wedderburn does not know Lieutenant Pieper, +and does not think it right to _schwärm_ 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 Fräulein_! 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_, _hübsch_, 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 +Königsallée--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 Alléestrasse, 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, Fräulein_," 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, Fräulein," 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 Fräulein_?" + +"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, Fräulein 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: + +"Fräulein, 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, Fräulein 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, Fräulein?" + +"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, Fräulein. The room was on the third _étage_." 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, Fräulein. 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, Fräulein, 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, Fräulein_, +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_, Fräulein, 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 +Fräulein 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 _étage_, 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 _Mädchen_ 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_, Fräulein!" 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 Fräulein Luise of the first soprans, slipped from his +grasp and took my way homeward. Fräulein 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 _confrères_ 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 _städtisches 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 _Vögelein_ 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 Städtische 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 Köln 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 +_Brödchen_, 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 _Kindermädchen_; 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--_natürlich!_ 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, _königlicher +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. + +"_Natürlich!_" + +"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 _Schwäramerei_ 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 Fräulein, 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 Qualität_," 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, Fräulein?" + +"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. + +Fräulein 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 Fräulein 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 +Fräulein 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 Köln. + +"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 naïve, 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 Kölner 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 _Mädchen_--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 Fräulein +Sartorius. By the bye, Eugen, do you know, or have you ever known her?" + +"Who?" + +"Fräulein Sartorius." + +"Who is she?" + +"Oh, bother! The young lady I mean sat exactly opposite to you and me--a +beautiful young girl; an _Engländerin_--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 +Fräulein, 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 protégée 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 Fräulein 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 'Märchen,' 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 _Schwärmerei_? 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 Freischütz," 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 + + "Mädele, ruck, ruck, ruck + An meine grüne 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 Königsallée, 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 Jägerhofstrasse, 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_, Fräulein!" 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 Fräulein_, 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, Fräulein_," 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 _Schnäppschen_, Fräulein." + +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 +Fräulein_--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 Fräulein_," 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, Fräulein, 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'imprévu_--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, Fräulein 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 _Maiblümchen_." + +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, _blasé_; 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 Fräulein_"--(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: + +"Fräulein 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 Fräulein_; 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 Schöne 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 Königsallée, 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-cochère_ 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 Königsallée 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-cochère_ 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 Köln 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 _Engländer_ 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. _Hè!_" + +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'âme_," 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'âme_," 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." + + +"Königsallée, 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 Königsallée, 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." + + +Königsallée, 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 _manqué_, 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, +Fräulein 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 levée 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 _blasé_-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 _schöne Engländerin_. + +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 schönster 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 _fiancés_. + +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: "Fräulein 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, Clärchens, 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, hoveredää +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 Fräulein_. 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 Fräulein_," 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_, Fräulein! 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, +Fräulein--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 Fräulein._" + +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 Fräulein_--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 Köln 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. +Fräulein 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 Fräulein_," 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 Fräulein 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 Königsallée, 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 Fräulein_. 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 protégée 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, schöner 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 Brüsten 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 Mädel_ 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 _Mädchen_ 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 Alléestrasse, 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 Fräulein 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 _Mädchen_, 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 Fräulein Clara (he got +sentimental and called her Clärchen sometimes). He had now the _entrée_ +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 Fräulein 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 Mädchen_. 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 Fräulein 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 _Mädchen_," +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 Fräulein 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." + +"Fräulein 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 Fräulein 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 naturæ_. 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 Königlicher 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 Fräulein 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 _succès 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 Fräulein 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 Fräulein Steinmann +and Sartorius. They will confer the reward of merit upon you." + +"_Gott behüte!_" + +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 +versâ_." + +"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 Jäger 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, länger kann ich diesen Kampf nicht kämpfen, + Den Riesenkampf der Pflicht. + Kannst du des Herzens Flammentrieb nicht dämpfen, + So fordre, Tugend, dieses Opfer nicht. + + Geschworen hab' ich 's, ja, ich hab's geschworen, + Mich selbst zu bändigen. + Hier ist dein Kranz, er sei auf ewig mir verloren; + Nimm ihn zurück und lass mich sündigen. + 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. + +"Fräulein 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 Künstlerin_, +you must give everything else up--love and marriage and all that +interferes with your art, for, _liebes Fräulein_, 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, Fräulein +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 +Schülerin_, 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, Fräulein!_ 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, Fräulein; 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, Fräulein_, 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, Fräulein, +_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_, Fräulein--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_, Fräulein! 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 Köln, 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 Brüsten der Natur; + Alle Guten, alle Bösen + 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 Güte!_" "_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 dürre 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. + +"_Natürlich, mein Fräulein._ Where else should I have been?" + +"And you fought?" + +"Also _natürlich_." + +"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 Holländer'--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, Fräulein 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 Köln? 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. + +"Fräulein 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 Köln. 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 Kölner 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. +Fräulein 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 + glücklicher 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 Gräfin 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 Gräfin 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 Gräfin 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 _gené, 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 Gräfin in the dark-green clarence, +with the grand coachman and the lady's own jäger 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 Gräfin 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-cochère_ 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 Fräulein_, 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 Fräulein_, 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 mediæval +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 Pæan!" + +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 Fräulein_; 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 Fräulein_, _das Fräulein_, 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 Gräfin 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 Fräulein_? 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. + +Gräfin 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, _gnädige 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 Gräfin! 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 +Fräulein ----, 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 +_mésalliance_, 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 Gräfin; +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 Gräfin. 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 Gräfin, 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 Gräfin. +"_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 _négligé_. 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: + +"Fräulein 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. Gräfin 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 Gräfin 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 Fräulein_, 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 Gräfin, 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, _gnädige +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. Gräfin 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 _böser 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 Gräfin 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, _gnädige 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 protégée 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, _gnädige 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 Gräfin. 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, _gnädige 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 Höllenqual, + 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 Köln 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. Fräulein 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 Gräfin 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, _gnädige 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. + +Gräfin 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 Gräfin, 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 Gräfin 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"--Mütterchen 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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIRST VIOLIN *** + +***** This file should be named 29219-8.txt or 29219-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/2/1/29219/ + +Produced by Alicia Williams, D. Alexander and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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"> </p> + +<h3><i>A NOVEL.</i></h3> + +<p class="gap"> </p> + +<h2><span class="smcap">By</span> JESSIE FOTHERGILL,</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Author of “A March in the Ranks,” Etc.</i></p> + +<p class="gap"> </p> + +<hr class="small" /> + +<p class="gap"> </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"> </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>“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.</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—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.</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—“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.</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. “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!”</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—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—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>“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.</p> + +<p>“Yes; I am sorry,” 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—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 <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’s pause.</p> + +<p>“Is your mother well?” she inquired.</p> + +<p>“Yes, thank you, very well. She has gone with my sister to Darton.”</p> + +<p>“Your father?”</p> + +<p>“He is well too, thank you. He has a funeral this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“I think you have two sisters, have you not?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; Adelaide and Stella.”</p> + +<p>“And which are you?”</p> + +<p>“May; I am the second one.”</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—I liked her. Yes, I felt most distinctly that I liked her.</p> + +<p>“May,” she remarked, meditatively; “May Wedderburn. Are you aware that +you have a very pretty north-country sounding name?”</p> + +<p>“I have not thought about it.”</p> + +<p>“How old are you?”</p> + +<p>“I am a little over seventeen.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! And what do you do all day?”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” I began, doubtfully, “not much, I am afraid, that is useful or +valuable.”</p> + +<p>“You are young enough yet. Don’t begin to do things with a purpose for +some time to come. Be happy while you can.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“What makes you unhappy? Are your sisters disagreeable?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p><p>“Oh, no!”</p> + +<p>“Are your parents unkind?”</p> + +<p>“Unkind!” 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>“Then I can not imagine what cause for unhappiness you can have,” she +said, composedly.</p> + +<p>I made no answer. I repented me of having uttered the words, and Miss +Hallam went on:</p> + +<p>“I should advise you to forget that there is such a thing as +unhappiness. You will soon succeed.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Are you fair in complexion?” she inquired.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I. “I am very fair—fairer than either of my sisters. But +are you near-sighted?”</p> + +<p>“Near sight<i>less</i>,” 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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“But are you quite alone?” I continued. “Have you no one to—”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“No, I live quite alone,” said she, abruptly. “Did you think of offering +to relieve my solitude?”</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>“I am sure I never thought of anything so impertinent, but—but—if +there was anything I could do—read or—”</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>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, thank you. Yes, I will.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. I shall expect you between four and five. Good-afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“Let me come with you to your carriage,” said I, hastily. “Jane—our +servant is so clumsy.”</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—who could say how long?</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>“Traversons gravement ce méchant mascarade qu’on appelle le monde”</h3> + +<p>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.</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—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.</p> + +<p>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 <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’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.</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, “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 <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’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.</p> + +<p>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 <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—I overheard +it—that “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.” 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.</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’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.</p> + +<p>“Come and sit down, May,” she apostrophized me. “Do listen to this about +Bingley and Wickham.”</p> + +<p>“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, <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—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’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">“I nothing had, and yet enough;”</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>“Good-evening, Miss Wedderburn. Are you enjoying a little stroll?”</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>“I thank you,” 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. “I thank you for the honor you +offer me, and beg to decline it.”</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—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.</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—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>“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.”</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>“I speak without reference to my parents. In such a matter I judge for +myself.”</p> + +<p>“Always the same answer?”</p> + +<p>“Always the same, Sir Peter.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Surprised at the blunt straightforwardness of the question, as coming +from him, I replied thoughtlessly, “Oh, my sister Adelaide.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</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>“Good-evening, Miss Wedderburn.”</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>“Lucifer, Star of the Morning! How art thou fallen!”</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—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.</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>“You are there, May,” she remarked.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” was my subdued response.</p> + +<p>“Where have you been all evening?”</p> + +<p>“It does not matter to any one.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed it does. You were talking to Sir Peter Le Marchant. I saw you +meet him from my bedroom window.”</p> + +<p>“Did you?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“He did.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I suppose it would be a little difficult to accept him.”</p> + +<p>“I did not accept him.”</p> + +<p>“What?” she inquired, as if she had not quite caught what I said.</p> + +<p>“I refused him,” said I, slightly raising my voice.</p> + +<p>“What are you telling me?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p><p>“The truth.”</p> + +<p>“Sir Peter has fif—”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“We can work.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure you can do anything, Adelaide, and I will teach singing. I +can sing.”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“What would you have done?” 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>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Adelaide, nothing could have made up for being tied to that man,” +said I, in a small voice; “and I am not ambitious.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“And who would think any the worse of you? And what if they did? With +fifteen thousand a year you may defy public opinion.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t! don’t!” I cried, covering my face with my hands. “Adelaide, +you will break my heart!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>She loosed my arm, remarking, with bitter vexation:</p> + +<p>“I feel as if I could shake you!”</p> + +<p>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.</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">“Zu Rathe gehen, und vom Rath zur That.”<br /></p> +<p class="right"><i>Briefe</i> <span class="smcap">Beethoven’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’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:</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” I admitted.</p> + +<p>“And you dread and shrink from the idea of a repetition of this +business?”</p> + +<p>“I feel as if it would kill me.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</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—the current number of +a magazine—and read a page to her.</p> + +<p>“That will do,” said she. “Now, will you read this letter, also aloud?”</p> + +<p>She put a letter into my hand, and I read:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Madame</span>,—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 Alléestrasse. +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 +Städtische 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.</p></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">“With all highest esteem,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 19em;">“Your devoted,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 23em;">“‘<span class="smcap">Clara Steinmann</span>.</span>’”</p> + +<p>“You don’t understand it all, I suppose?” said she, when I had finished.</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“That lady writes from Elberthal. You have heard of Elberthal on the +Rhine, I presume?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes! A large town. There used to be a fine picture-gallery there; +but in the war between the—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I can sing—not very well, but I can sing.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I opened the piano and sung, as well as I could, an English version of +“Die Lotus-blume.”</p> + +<p>My performance was greeted with silence, which Miss Hallam at length +broke, remarking:</p> + +<p>“I suppose you have not had much training?”</p> + +<p>“Scarcely any.”</p> + +<p>“Humph! Well, it is to be had, even if not in Skernford. Would you like +some lessons?”</p> + +<p>“I should like a good many things that I am not likely ever to have.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</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>“But I shall expect you to make yourself useful to me in many ways,” +proceeded Miss Hallam.</p> + +<p>At this touch of reality I began to waken up again.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Miss Hallam, is it really true? Do you think they will let me go?”</p> + +<p>“You haven’t answered me yet.”</p> + +<p>“About being useful? I would do anything you like—anything in the +world.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“They call you clumsy at home, do they?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“Ade nun ihr Berge, ihr väterlich Haus!<br /> +Es treibt in die Ferne mich mächtig hinans.”<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—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.</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>“So you are going to Germany?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Adelaide.”</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do there?”</p> + +<p>“My duty, I hope.”</p> + +<p>“Charity, my dear, and duty too, begins at home. I should say you were +going away leaving your duty undone.”</p> + +<p>I was silent, and she went on:</p> + +<p>“I suppose you wish to go abroad, May?”</p> + +<p>“You know I have always wished to go.”</p> + +<p>“So do I.”</p> + +<p>“I wish you were going too,” said I, timidly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” 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—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.</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>“Proud—yes, I am proud, I suppose. Too proud, at least, to—”</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—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>“Ein Held aus der Fremde, gar kühn.”</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’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’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 “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 <i>terra incognito</i> back to my +friends.</p> + +<p><i>Gepäck-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 “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 <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—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!”</p> + +<p>“Elberthal?” said he in a guttural bass; “<i>Wollt ihr nach Elberthal, +fräuleinchen!</i>”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“<i>Schon fort, Fräulein</i>,” he continued, with a grin.</p> + +<p>“But where—what—Elberthal!”</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—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.</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—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:</p> + +<p>“<i>Mein Fräulein</i>, in what can I assist you?”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Have come to destruction, <i>nicht wahr</i>?” He looked at his watch, raised +his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. “The Elberthal train is already +away.”</p> + +<p>“Gone!” I dropped my rugs and began a tremulous search for my +pocket-handkerchief. “What shall I do?”</p> + +<p>“There is another—let me see—in one hour—two—<i>will</i> <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>’<i>mal nachsehen.</i> +Will you come with me, Fräulein, and we will see about the trains.”</p> + +<p>“If you would show me the platform,” said I. “Perhaps some of them may +still be there. Oh, what will they think of me?”</p> + +<p>“We must go to the wartesaal,” said he. “Then you can look out and see +if you see any of them.”</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>“You see them not?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“I will go and see at what time the trains go to Elberthal. Suppose you +sit down—yes?”</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>“It is now half past three, and there is a train to Elberthal at seven.”</p> + +<p>“Seven!”</p> + +<p>“Seven: a very pleasant time to travel, <i>nicht wahr</i>? Then it is still +quite light.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Bitte, mein Fräulein!</i>”</p> + +<p>“If you could show me exactly where the train starts from, and—could I +get a ticket now, do you think?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p><p>“I’m afraid not, so long before,” he answered, twisting his mustache, as +I could not help seeing, to hide a smile.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“German is sometimes not unlike English.”</p> + +<p>“It is like nothing to me, except a great mystery.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Billet</i>, is ‘ticket,’” said he persuasively.</p> + +<p>“Oh, is it?” said I, with a gleam of hope. “Perhaps I could remember +that. <i>Billet</i>,” I repeated reflectively.</p> + +<p>“Bil<i>let</i>,” he amended; “not <i>Bil</i>lit.”</p> + +<p>“Bill-yet—Bill-<i>yet</i>,” I repeated.</p> + +<p>“And ‘to Elberthal’ may be said in one word, ‘Elberthal.’ ‘<i>Ein +Billet—Elberthal—erster Classe.</i>’”</p> + +<p>“<i>Ein Bill-yet</i>,” 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: “<i>Ein Bill-yet, +firste—erste</i>—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.”</p> + +<p>“A very interesting idea, but a <i>vivâ voce</i> interview is so much +better.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder how long it takes to walk to Elberthal!” I suggested darkly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, a mere trifle of a walk. You might do it in four or five hours, I +dare say.”</p> + +<p>I bit my lips, trying not to cry.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps we might make some other arrangement,” he remarked. “I am going +to Elberthal too.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p><p>“You! Thank Heaven!” was my first remark. Then as a doubt came over me: +“Then why—why—”</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You—you are very kind.”</p> + +<p>“Then you are not afraid?”</p> + +<p>“I—oh, no! I should like it very much. I mean I am sure it would be +very nice.”</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>“I hope your friends will not be very uneasy?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear no!” I assured him, with a pious conviction that I was +speaking the truth.</p> + +<p>“We shall arrive at Elberthal about half past eight.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The idea had evidently come to him as a species of inspiration, and he +openly rejoiced in it.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p><p>“Perhaps you think not; but you are, all the same,” he said. “Come with +me, Fräulein. You have put yourself into my hands; you must do what I +tell you.”</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 Köln 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.</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>“Suppose we sit here,” said he, going to a table in a comparatively +secluded window recess, partially overhung with curtains.</p> + +<p>“How very kind and considerate of him!” thought I.</p> + +<p>“Would you rather have wine or coffee, Fräulein?”</p> + +<p>Pulled up from the impulse to satisfy my really keen hunger by the +recollection of my “lack of gold,” I answered hastily.</p> + +<p>“Nothing, thank you—really nothing.”</p> + +<p>“<i>O doch!</i> You must have something,” said he, smiling. “I will order +something. Don’t trouble about it.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t order anything for me,” said I, my cheeks burning. “I shall not +eat anything.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p><p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>With a laugh, in which, infectious though it was, I was too wretched to +join:</p> + +<p>“Is that all? Kellner!” 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>“He will bring something at once,” 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 “Kölnische 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.</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, “master in +his own house.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p><p>“<i>Nun</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>“I—oh, I beg your pardon!”</p> + +<p>“You do not want to,” he answered, in imperfect idiom. “But have you +decided?”</p> + +<p>“Decided what?”</p> + +<p>“Whether I am to be trusted?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 <i>Mittagessen</i>, +and too early for the <i>Abendbrod</i>. Can you suggest a name?”</p> + +<p>“At home it would be just the time for afternoon tea.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes! Your English afternoon tea is very—” He stopped suddenly.</p> + +<p>“Have you been in England?”</p> + +<p>“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—<i>O, behüte!</i> 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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, if you like.”</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. “It is not Hochheimer—not Rheinwein at all—he—no, it, you +say—it is Moselle wine—‘Doctor.’”</p> + +<p>“Doctor?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—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>“I am afraid I am taking up your time. Perhaps you had some business +which you were going to when you met me.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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:</p> + +<p>“The pleasure is certainly not all on your side, <i>mein Fräulein</i>. I +suppose from that you have decided that I am to be trusted?”</p> + +<p>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 <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—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.</p> + +<p>“Have you seen the Dom?” was all he said; but it seemed somehow to give +a point to what had passed.</p> + +<p>“The Dom—what is the Dom?”</p> + +<p>“The <i>Kölner Dom</i>; the cathedral.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! Oh, should we have time to see it?” I exclaimed. “How I should +like it!”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. It is close at hand. Suppose we go now.”</p> + +<p>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.</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>“Eugen Courvoisier! <i>Also hatte ich doch Recht!</i>”</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>schöne 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—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.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said I, at last, “if one could stay here forever, what would one +grow to?”</p> + +<p>He smiled a little.</p> + +<p>“You find it beautiful?”</p> + +<p>“It is the first I have seen. It is much more than beautiful.”</p> + +<p>“The first you have seen? Ah, well, I might have guessed that.”</p> + +<p>“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 <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—if he would.</p> + +<p>“Countrified—what is that?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, we say it when people are like me—have never seen anything but +their own little village, and never had any adventures, and—”</p> + +<p>“Get lost at railway stations, <i>und so weiter</i>. 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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I shall not be stupid long,” said I, comfortably. “I am not going +back home again.”</p> + +<p>“So!” He did not ask more, but I saw that he listened, and proceeded +communicatively:</p> + +<p>“Never. I have—not quarreled with them exactly, but had a disagreement, +because—because—”</p> + +<p>“Because?”</p> + +<p>“They wanted me to—I mean, an old gentleman—no, I mean—”</p> + +<p>“An old gentleman wanted you to marry him, and you would not,” said he, +with an odd twinkle in his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Why, how can you know?”</p> + +<p>“I think, because you told me. But I will forget it if you wish.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! It is quite true. Perhaps I ought to have married him.”</p> + +<p>“Ought!” He looked startled.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Singing lessons?”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Du lieber Himmel!</i>” he ejaculated, half to himself. “Are you very +musical, then?”</p> + +<p>“I can sing,” said I. “Only I want some more training.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p><p>“And you will go back all alone and try to give lessons?”</p> + +<p>“I shall not only try, I shall do it,” I corrected him.</p> + +<p>“And do you like the prospect?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“What? If you could tell me anything.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</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>“<i>Ach, was rede ich für dummes Zeug!</i> Excuse me, <i>mein Fräulein</i>.”</p> + +<p>“But,” I interrupted, earnestly, “what do you mean? Do you think my +appearance will be a disadvantage to me?”</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—that of crediting me with right motives:</p> + +<p>“<i>Mein Fräulein</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.”</p> + +<p>“Tell it me,” I besought.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I wonder if it would be nice to be a great operatic singer,” I +speculated.</p> + +<p>“<i>O, behüte!</i> don’t think of it!” he exclaimed, starting <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>up and moving +restlessly. “You do not know—you an opera singer—”</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—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.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">“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.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>“What is it?” 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>“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 <i>Passions-musik</i>—that is music.”</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’ 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. <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—every person but the +one at my side. It was he who roused first, looking at his watch and +exclaiming.</p> + +<p>“<i>Herrgott!</i> We must go to the station, Fräulein, if we wish to catch +the train.”</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 “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.</p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>“Are you very tired?” he asked, gently, after a long pause. “I think the +train will not be very long now.”</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>“Mr. Courvoisier—your name is Courvoisier, is it not?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Will you please tell me how much money you have spent for me to-day?”</p> + +<p>“How much money?” 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>“Why do you want to know how much?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>He looked at me, seemed about to laugh off the question, and then said:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear!” said I.</p> + +<p>“Suppose I let you know how much it was,” he went on, with a gravity +which forced conviction upon me.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps that would be the best,” I agreed. “But I hope you will make +out your accounts soon.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, very soon. And where shall I send my bill to?”</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>“And you will not forget,” said I, “to give me your address when you let +me know what I owe you.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly—when I let you know what you owe me,” he replied, putting +the little book into his pocket again.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Possibly,” said he, with an ambiguous half smile, which I did not +understand.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“It must have been a very strong reason, at any rate,” 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>“Now I will put you into a drosky,” said he, leading the way to where +they stood outside the station.</p> + +<p>“Alléestrasse, thirty-nine,” he said to the man.</p> + +<p>“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 anoying +me.</p> + +<p>“Please let me thank you,” I continued. “You have been so kind, so very +kind—”</p> + +<p>“<i>O, bitte sehr!</i> It was so kind in you to get lost exactly when and +where you did,” said he, smiling. “<i>Adieu, mein Fräulein</i>,” he added, +making a sign to the coachman, who drove off.</p> + +<p>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.</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, “39.”</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>Dienstmädchen</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>“Ho, Miss Wedderburn, at last you are here! How Miss Hallam has +worried, to be sure.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 Köln to +look after you.”</p> + +<p>“By this train!” I repeated, blankly. “Miss Hallam—what—do you mean? +There has been no other train.”</p> + +<p>“Two; there was one at four and one at six. I can not tell you how +uneasy I have been at your non-appearance.”</p> + +<p>“Then—then—” I stammered, growing hot all over. “Oh, how horrible!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I told her everything, concealing nothing.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, I remember. We will say no more about it.”</p> + +<p>“And the gray shawl,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Merrick had it.”</p> + +<p>I lifted my hands and shrugged my shoulders. “Just my luck,” 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>“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.”</p> + +<p>Merrick shook her head with an inexpressibly bitter smile.</p> + +<p>“I’d defy any one to learn this ’ere language, ma’am. They call an +accident a <i>Unglück</i>; if any one could tell me what that means, I’d +thank them, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“Don’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—or rather everything that can be got—in her room. +She is tired, and shall go to bed.”</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—seeing the face beside me, and hearing the words, +“Then you have decided that I am to be trusted?”</p> + +<p>“And he was deceiving me all the time!” 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’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>Brödchen</i> +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.</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>“<i>Guten morgen, Fräulein</i>,” she said, as she marched up to the darkly +mysterious theemaschine and began deftly to prepare coffee for me, and +to push the Brödchen 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 Köln +yesterday. She liked my dress, and was it <i>echt Englisch</i>—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—<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, “Städtische Augenklinik.”</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—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>“Herr Helfen—Herr Friedhelm Helfen!”</p> + +<p>“<i>Ja—hier!</i>” 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.</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’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’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.</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 Fräulein 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—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.</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 +Fräulein Sartorius immediately opened a conversation with me.</p> + +<p>“<i>Sprechen Sie Deutsch, Fräulein?</i>” 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>“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 <i>wer</i> when she meant +where, and <i>wo</i> when she meant who. She said the sounds confused her.”</p> + +<p>The boys giggled at this, but the joke was lost upon me.</p> + +<p>“What is your name?” she continued; “I didn’t catch what Frau Steinmann +said.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“May—<i>das heisst Mai</i>,” 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>“You haf one zong in your language what calls itself, ‘Not always Mai,’ +haf you not?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Will you let me paint you?” said Fräulein Sartorius, whose big eyes had +been surveying me in a manner that made me nervous.</p> + +<p>“Paint me?”</p> + +<p>“Your likeness, I mean. You are very pretty, and we never see that color +of hair here.”</p> + +<p>“Are you a painter?”</p> + +<p>“No, I’m only a <i>Studentin</i> yet; but I paint from models. Well, will you +sit to me?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know. If I have time, perhaps.”</p> + +<p>“What will you do to make you not have time?”</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>“Do you like town or country best?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. I have never lived in a town.”</p> + +<p>“Do you like amusements—concerts, and theater, and opera?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“You don’t know,” repeated Fräulein 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>“No; because I have never been to any.”</p> + +<p>“Haven’t you? How odd! How very odd! Isn’t it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>strange?” she added, +appealing to the boys. “Fräulein has never been to a theater or a +concert.”</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>“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.”</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>“Oh,” said he, “it’s always pleasant to me, but that’s owing to myself. +I make it so.”</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 +“Gesegnete Mahlzeit!” as they went out.</p> + +<p>“Why are they going, and what do they say?” I inquired of Miss +Sartorius, who replied, quite amiably:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Do they? How nice!” I could not help saying.</p> + +<p>“Would you like to go for a walk this afternoon?” said she.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—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, <i>Mea culpa!</i></p> + +<p>“It seems a dull kind of a place,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, indeed.”</p> + +<p>“You have a home, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Of course.”</p> + +<p>“Brothers and sisters?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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, <i>nicht wahr</i>?”</p> + +<p>“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 <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>“<i>Doch!</i>” she said, smiling. “But I did not know what a child you were, +or I should have let you alone.”</p> + +<p>More offended than ever, I maintained silence. If I were certainly +touchy and ill to please, Fräulein 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 <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—a woman with a will of her own.</p> + +<p>“What do they do here?” I inquired, indifferently.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“And you are a student?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. One must have something to do—some <i>carrière</i>—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 +Rubenstein.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes!” said I, politely, but without interest. I had never heard of +Rubenstein and the “Verlorenes Paradies.” Before the furor of 1876, how +many scores of provincial English had?</p> + +<p>“There is very much music here,” she continued. “Are you fond of it?”</p> + +<p>“Ye-es. I can’t play much, but I can sing. I have come here partly to +take singing lessons.”</p> + +<p>“So!”</p> + +<p>“Who is the best teacher?” was my next ingenuous question.</p> + +<p>She laughed.</p> + +<p>“That depends upon what you want to learn. There are so many: violin, +<i>Clavier</i>, that is piano, flute, ’cello, everything.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” I replied, and asked no more questions about music; but inquired +if it were pleasant at Frau Steinmann’s.</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“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 <i>Kaufleute</i>—merchants, I mean, +so you see there is variety, though it is a small place.”</p> + +<p>“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? <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—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—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.</p> + +<p>“<i>Hauptmann.</i>”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“It is as much as three shillings in your money.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>As I took off my things, I wondered when Herr Courvoisier would “make +out his accounts.” 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>“Probe zum verlorenen Paradiese.”</h3> + +<p>Miss Hallam fulfilled her promise with regard to my singing lessons. She +had a conversation with Fräulein 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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Who is he?”</p> + +<p>“The head of anything belonging to music in the town—königlicher +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.”</p> + +<p>“And what are these vereins?”</p> + +<p>“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—<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—the <i>Proben</i>.”</p> + +<p>“What is a <i>Probe</i>?” I demanded, hastily, remembering that Courvoisier +had used the word.</p> + +<p>“What you call a rehearsal.”</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—But Anna went on:</p> + +<p>“It is a very good thing for any one, particularly with such a teacher +as von Francius.”</p> + +<p>“You must join,” said Miss Hallam to me.</p> + +<p>“There is a probe to-night to Rubinstein’s ‘Paradise Lost,’” said Anna. +“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.”</p> + +<p>“Very nice! very much obliged to you. Certainly,” 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>“We shall be much too early,” said she. “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.”</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>“What is the haupt-probe?” I inquired.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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 +“Städtische Tonhalle,” the concert-hall of the good town of Elberthal.</p> + +<p>“This way,” said she. “It is in the rittersaal. We don’t go to the large +saal till the haupt-probe.”</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 “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 <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>“Herr Direktor!”</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>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, <i>mein Fräulein</i>,” 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.</p> + +<p>“Your voice is what, <i>mein Fräulein</i>?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Soprano.”</p> + +<p>“Sopran? We will see. The soprani sit over there, if you will have the +goodness.”</p> + +<p>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!”</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—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 <i>do</i>, <i>re</i>, <i>mi</i>, 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:</p> + +<p>“You have not sung in a chorus before?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p><p>“So! I should like to hear you sing something <i>sola</i>.” 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.”</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 “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.</p> + +<p>“I will try this,” said I, showing it to him.</p> + +<p>He smiled. “’<i>S ist gut!</i>” 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—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 Köln—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.</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—upon +von Francius. He was pulling his mustache and at first made no remark.</p> + +<p>You have sung that song before, <i>gnädiges Fräulein</i>?”</p> + +<p>“No. I have heard it once. I have not seen the music before.”</p> + +<p>“So!” He bowed slightly, and turning once more to the others, said:</p> + +<p>“We will begin the next chorus. ‘Chorus of the Damned,’ Now, <i>meine +Herrschaften</i>, I would wish to impress upon you one thing, if I can, +that is—Silence, <i>meine Herren</i>!” 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.”</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—with its crowning “<span class="smcap">Weh!</span>” thundering +down from highest soprano to deepest bass.</p> + +<p>“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, <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>“I never heard anything worse, even from you. My honored Fräulein, my +<i>gnädigen Herren</i>, 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?”</p> + +<p>Looking at him, I thought they must indeed be an unimaginative set! In +that dark face before them was Mephistopheles at least—<i>der Geist der +stets verneint</i>—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” <i>con +amore</i>.</p> + +<p>“<i>Ach, um Gotteswillen!</i>” 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—”</p> + +<p>(“Don’t they see how he is laughing at them?” I wondered.)</p> + +<p>“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:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">“‘Bei ihm, bei ihm ist Seligkeit,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Und ohne Wilhelm Holle!’<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>“If so, think of him; think of her—only sing it, whatever it is. +Remember the strongest of feelings:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">“‘Die Engel nennen es Himmelsfreude<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Die Teufel nennen es Höllenqual,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Die Menschen nennen es—<span class="smcap">Liebe</span>!’<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>“And sing it!”</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>“Do you think I may join? Will my voice do?”</p> + +<p>An odd expression crossed his face; he answered, dryly:</p> + +<p>“You may join the verein, <i>mein Fräulein</i>—yes. Please come this way +with me. Pardon, Fräulein Stockhausen—another time. I am sorry to say I +have business at present.”</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—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>“Your name, if you will be good enough?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p><p>“Wedderburn.”</p> + +<p>“Your <i>Vorname</i>, though—your first name.”</p> + +<p>“My Christian name—oh, May.”</p> + +<p>“M—a—<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.”</p> + +<p>I complied.</p> + +<p>“Have you been here long?”</p> + +<p>“Not quite a week.”</p> + +<p>“Do you intend to make any stay?”</p> + +<p>“Some months, probably.”</p> + +<p>“Humph! If you wish to make any progress in music, you must stay much +longer.”</p> + +<p>“It—I—it depends upon other people how long I remain.”</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>“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>.”</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>“I have not learned properly. I can’t help singing.”</p> + +<p>“I did not know you had a voice like that,” said she again.</p> + +<p>“Like what?”</p> + +<p>“Herr von Francius will tell you all about it to-morrow,” said she, +abruptly.</p> + +<p>“What a strange man Herr von Francius is!” said I. “Is he clever?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, very clever.”</p> + +<p>“At first I did not like him. Now I think I do, though.”</p> + +<p>She made no answer for a few minutes; then said:</p> + +<p>“He is an excellent teacher.”</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—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>“Miss Hallam, this is Herr von Francius,” said I. “He speaks English,” 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>“Can you give me any opinion upon Miss Wedderburn’s voice?”</p> + +<p>“Scarcely, until I have given it another trial. She seems to have had no +training.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>For my part, I was deeply moved. Miss Hallam’s generosity to one so +stupid and ignorant touched me nearly.</p> + +<p>Von Francius, pausing a short time, at last said:</p> + +<p>“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, <i>mein Fräulein</i>, that +with care and study you might take a place on the stage.”</p> + +<p>“The stage!” I repeated, startled, and thinking of Courvoisier’s words.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“The stage!” said she, with a slight shiver. “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—not an actress.”</p> + +<p>“So! Then it is impossible to be both in your country?” said he, with +polite sarcasm. “I spoke as simple <i>Künstler</i>—artist—I was not +thinking of anything else. I do not think the <i>gnädiges Fräulein</i> 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.”</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Then she may teach?” said he, inquiringly.</p> + +<p>“Certainly. I believe that is what she wishes to do, in case—if +necessary.”</p> + +<p>“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 <i>prima donna</i>—”</p> + +<p>Miss Hallam smiled with calm disdain.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Von Francius, with a sarcastic, ambiguous smile, turned to me:</p> + +<p>“And you, <i>mein Fräulein</i>?”</p> + +<p>“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, <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 “stage.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know whether I shall have time for it,” I murmured, looking +doubtfully toward Miss Hallam.</p> + +<p>“Yes, May; you will have time for it,” was all she said.</p> + +<p>“Is there a piano in the house?” said von Francius. “But, yes, +certainly. Fräulein Sartorius has one; she will lend it to us for half +an hour. If you were at liberty, <i>mein Fräulein</i>, just now—”</p> + +<p>“Certainly,” 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’s sitting-room she came out, dressed +for walking.</p> + +<p>“<i>Ach, Fräulein!</i> will you allow us the use of your piano for a few +minutes?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Bitte!</i>” said she, motioning us into the room. “I am sorry I have an +engagement, and must leave you.”</p> + +<p>“Do not let us keep you on any account,” said he, with touching +politeness; and she went out.</p> + +<p>“<i>Desto besser!</i>” 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>“Who is that old lady?” he inquired, looking up at me. “Any relation of +yours?”</p> + +<p>“No—oh, no! I am her companion.”</p> + +<p>“So! And you mean to let her prevent you from following the career you +have a talent for?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I know it; that is why I said it. I wish I could persuade that old lady +to my way of thinking!” he added. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>“I wish you were out of her hands and +in mine. <i>Na!</i> we shall see!”</p> + +<p>It was not a very long “trial” that he gave me; we soon rose from the +piano.</p> + +<p>“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, <i>nicht wahr</i>!”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said I in a subdued tone.</p> + +<p>“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 <i>unter vier Augen</i>.”</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—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>“LOHENGRIN.”</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—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’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—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, Müllers, Piepers, Schmidts, and the like, as owners of +the same—never the name Courvoisier. He had disappeared—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—civil, that is, in her +way—and my unreasoning aversion to her was as great as ever.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But I am not going.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you are. Miss Hallam has a ticket for you. I am going to chaperon +you.”</p> + +<p>“I must go and see about that,” 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 “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.</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—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>“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.</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>—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—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, “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 Köln.</p> + +<p>“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—”</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’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 <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—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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 <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—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’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, +<i>et id omne genus</i>, 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.</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>städtische Kapelle</i>—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.</p> + +<p>“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 Köln, 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?’”</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>blasé</i> +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 <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">“Dahin, woher mich trug dein Kahn<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Kehr wieder mir zu unserm Glück!<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Drum sei getreu dein Dienst gethan,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Leb wohl, leb wohl, mein lieber Schwan.”<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 “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, +“<i>Elsa, ich liebe Dich!</i>” 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:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p><p>“Good-evening: <i>wie geht’s Ihnen?</i>”</p> + +<p>Vincent held out his hand. “Very well, thanks. And you? I haven’t seen +you lately.”</p> + +<p>“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:</p> + +<p>“Last Thursday week, Courvoisier—why didn’t you come? We were waiting +for you?”</p> + +<p>“I missed the train.”</p> + +<p>Until now he had been speaking German, but he said this distinctly in +English and I heard every word.</p> + +<p>“Missed the train?” cried Vincent in his cracked voice.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense, man! Helfen, here, and Alekotte were in time and they had +been at the probe as much as you.”</p> + +<p>“I was detained in Köln and couldn’t get back till evening,” said he. +“Come along, Friedel; there’s the call-bell.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p><p>“You were very quiet,” said Vincent, as we walked home. “Did you not +enjoy it?”</p> + +<p>“Very much, thank you. It was very beautiful,” said I, faintly.</p> + +<p>“So Herr Courvoisier was not at the <i>soirée</i>,” said the loud, rough +voice of Anna Sartorius.</p> + +<p>“No,” was all Vincent said.</p> + +<p>“Did you have anything new? Was Herr von Francius there too?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; he was there too.”</p> + +<p>I pondered. Brinks whistled loudly the air of Elsa’s “Brautzug,” as we +paced across the Lindenallée. 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.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>“Will you sing?”</h3> + +<p>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 <i>städtische +Kapelle</i> 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 <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—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 Fräulein their daughters, the +<i>gnädigen 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—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 <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—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.</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’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 “not having the honor,” bowed +slightly, and stepping forward, walked into Vincent’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 “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:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">“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!”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Fräulein, 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.”</p> + +<p>“I—I,” stammered I, crimsoning, and ashamed for myself too.</p> + +<p>“You were thinking of something else,” he said, his brow clearing a +little. “<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.”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well. ’<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—I must go, and leave the +lesson till you are in the right voice again.”</p> + +<p>“I am all right—try me,” said I, my pride rising in arms as I thought +of Courvoisier’s behavior a short time ago.</p> + +<p>“Very well. Now. You are Eva, please remember, the first woman, and you +have gone wrong. Think of who is questioning you, and—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, yes, I know. Please begin.”</p> + +<p>He began the accompaniment, and I sung for the fifth time Eva’s +scattered notes of shame and excuse.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“At last you know what it means,” said he. “I always told you your forte +was dramatic singing.”</p> + +<p>“Dramatic! But this is an oratorio.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“Will you sing the ‘Eva’ music at the concert?”</p> + +<p>“I?”</p> + +<p>He bowed silently, and still kept his eyes fixed upon my face, as if to +say, “Refuse if you dare.”</p> + +<p>“I—I’m afraid I should make such a mess of it,” I murmured at last.</p> + +<p>“Why any more than to-day?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! but all the people!” said I, expostulating; “it is so different.”</p> + +<p>He gave a little laugh of some amusement.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Cabbages? I wish I could think they were.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p><p>“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?”</p> + +<p>I murmured something.</p> + +<p>“Well, will you do it?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“If you did,” he replied, with a friendly smile, “I should never teach +you another note.”</p> + +<p>“Why not?”</p> + +<p>“Because you would be a coward, and not worth teaching.”</p> + +<p>“But Miss Hallam?”</p> + +<p>“Leave her to me.”</p> + +<p>I still hesitated.</p> + +<p>“It is the <i>premier pas qui coûte</i>,” said he, keeping a friendly but +determined gaze upon my undecided face.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I was not thinking of that; but that it is impossible that I can sing +well enough—”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“But I am not going on the stage.”</p> + +<p>“I think you are. At least, if you do otherwise you will do wrong. You +have gifts which are in themselves a responsibility.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Then you will take the soprano solos?”</p> + +<p>“Do you think I can?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think you can; I say you must. I will call upon Miss Hallam +this afternoon. And the <i>gage</i>—fee—what you call it?—is fifty +thalers.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p><p>“What!” I cried, my whole attitude changing to one of greedy +expectation. “Shall I be paid?”</p> + +<p>“Why, <i>natürlich</i>,” said he, turning over sheets of music, and averting +his face to hide a smile.</p> + +<p>“Oh! then I will sing.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I can think about both,” 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>“Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter.”</h3> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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’s friend sings, too—”</p> + +<p>“What friend of yours is going to sing?” I inquired, coldly.</p> + +<p>“Why, you, you <i>allerliebster kleiner Engel</i>,” 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>“You are going to sing well to-night,” said von Francius, as he handed +me up the steps—“for my sake and your own, <i>nicht wahr</i>?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></p><p>“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.</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—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>“Herr Courvoisier,” said von Francius—and I, being near, heard the +whole dialogue—“you always allow yourself to be waited for.”</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>“I beg your pardon; I was detained,” answered Courvoisier, composedly.</p> + +<p>“It is unfortunate that you should be so often detained at the time when +your work should be beginning.”</p> + +<p>Unmoved and unchanging, Courvoisier heard and submitted to the words, +and to the tone in which they were spoken—sarcastic, sneering, and +unbelieving.</p> + +<p>“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.</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’s will upon those he had to do with—upon women +in particular.</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>It was in vain that she looked haughty and handsome. Addressing her as +Fräulein 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—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.</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—“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.”—“<i>Nicht wahr</i>?”—“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—“<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,” +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—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>“Does Herr Courvoisier, a musiker, live here?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Ja wohl!</i>” answered the young woman, with a look of still greater +surprise. “On the third <i>étage</i>, straight upstairs. The name is on the +door.”</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—a rough, fuzzy head, with a pale, eager-looking +face under the bush of hair.</p> + +<p>“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 <i>étage</i>. 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 <i>étage</i> 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!</p> + +<p>“<i>Herein!</i>”</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—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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“I have come to pay my debt. I did not know where you lived, or I should +have done it long before.”</p> + +<p>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 Köln, to an icy +coldness of ceremony:</p> + +<p>“<i>Mein Fräulein</i>, I do not understand.”</p> + +<p>“You—you—the things you paid for. Do you not remember me?”</p> + +<p>“Remember a lady who has intimated that she wishes me to forget her? No, +I do not.”</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>“I think you must remember. You helped me at Köln, 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.”</p> + +<p>I again tendered the money; again he made no effort to receive it, but +said:</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“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.</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You must let us part on equal terms,” I reiterated. “It is unjust—”</p> + +<p>“Yourself closed all possibility of the faintest attempt at further +acquaintance, <i>mein Fräulein</i>. The matter is at an end.”</p> + +<p>“Herr Courvoisier, I—”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“I wish to apologize—”</p> + +<p>“For what?” he inquired, with the faintest possible look of indifferent +surprise.</p> + +<p>“For my rudeness—my surprise—I—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—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>“Will you not take it, please?” I asked, in a quivering voice and with +trembling lips.</p> + +<p>“Impossible, <i>mein Fräulein</i>,” 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’s voice, “<i>Mein vater</i>,” and the soft, deep murmur +of Eugen’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—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>“I thought you had left the probe?” said I, staring at her.</p> + +<p>“So I had, <i>Herzchen</i>,” 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?”</p> + +<p>“Good-night,” said I, too weary and too indifferent even to answer her.</p> + +<p>“It must have been a tiring walk; you seem weary, quite <i>ermüdet</i>,” said +she, mockingly, and I made no answer.</p> + +<p>“A haupt-probe is a dismal thing after all,” 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;">“<i>Phillis.</i> I want none o’ thy friendship!</span></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Lesbia.</i> Then take my enmity!”</span></p></div> + +<p>“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 Köln.</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 “coffee” 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>“Bring some work,” said Anna Sartorius to me, “or you will find it +<i>langweilig</i>—slow, I mean.”</p> + +<p>“Shall we not have some music?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But,” said I, arranging the ruffles of my very best frock, which I had +been told it was <i>de rigueur</i> to wear, “I thought women never gossiped +so much among men.”</p> + +<p>Fräulein Sartorius laughed loud and long.</p> + +<p>“The men! <i>Du meine Güte!</i> 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—<i>mag Gott es +bewahren!</i>”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I’m sorry there are no gentlemen,” 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>“We are a contrast, aren’t we? Beauty and the Beast, one might almost +say. <i>Na!</i> ’<i>s schad</i>’<i>t nix.</i>”</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>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Do you always hate it?” said she from the window, whither she had +turned. “<i>Ach!</i> there goes Herr Courvoisier!”</p> + +<p>The name startled me like a sudden report. I made an eager step forward +before I had time to recollect myself—then stopped.</p> + +<p>“He is not out of sight yet,” said she, with a curious look, “if you +wish to see him.”</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>“He is a handsome fellow, <i>nicht wahr</i>?” 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 <i>Taugenichts</i> all the same,” pursued +Anna as I did not speak. “Don’t you think so?” she added.</p> + +<p>“A <i>Taugenichts</i>—I don’t know what that is.”</p> + +<p>“What you call a good-for-nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Oh.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Nicht wahr?</i>” she persisted.</p> + +<p>“I know nothing about it.”</p> + +<p>“I do. I will tell you all about him some time.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t wish to know anything about him.”</p> + +<p>“So!” 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, “<i>Bitte, Fräulein, +nehmen sie platz auf dem sofa</i>,” 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>“Sit down directly, unless you want to be thought an utter barbarian. +The place has been kept for you.”</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>“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? <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—you are all <i>pietistisch</i>. 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? <i>Ach, so!</i>” (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! <i>Du lieber Himmel!</i> What +do you think of Herr von Francius? Is he not nice?” (<i>Nett</i>, 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? <i>Schade!</i> No officers? not Hauptmann Sachse?” (with voice +growing gradually shriller), “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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“They ought to be ashamed of themselves.”</p> + +<p>“But he is so handsome, so delightful. He dances divinely, and knows +such good riddles, and acts—<i>ach, himmlisch!</i>”</p> + +<p>“But how absurd to make such a fuss of him!” I cried, hot and indignant. +“The idea of going on so about a man!”</p> + +<p>A chorus, a shriek, a Babel of expostulations.</p> + +<p>“Listen, Thekla! Fräulein Wedderburn does not know Lieutenant Pieper, +and does not think it right to <i>schwärm</i> for him.”</p> + +<p>“The darling! No one can help it who knows him!” said another.</p> + +<p>“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:</p> + +<p>“There he goes! There is the Herr Lieutenant riding by. Just come here, +<i>mein Fräulein</i>! See him! Judge for yourself!”</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>“Oh, the dear, handsome, delightful follow!” 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>“Look how he salutes—divine, isn’t it?”</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—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.</p> + +<p>“See! she is quite charmed with the Herr Lieutenant! Is he not +delightful?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, very; so is a Dresden china shepherd, but if you let him fall he +breaks.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Wie komisch!</i> how odd!” was the universal comment upon my +eccentricity. The conversation had wandered off to other military stars, +all of whom were <i>reizend</i>, <i>hübsch</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 +Königsallée—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:</p> + +<p>“So you don’t admire Lieutenant Pieper so much as Herr Courvoisier?”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” I cried, astonished, alarmed, and wondering what +unlucky chance led her to talk to me of Eugen.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Do not say you know nothing of either of the gentlemen. Herr +Courvoisier was your first acquaintance in Elberthal.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p><p>“I wish you would mind your own business,” said I, heartily wishing that +Anna Sartorius were at the antipodes.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said I, hastily, “I beg you will do no such thing.”</p> + +<p>“I know his story. I can tell you the truth about him.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>Anna looked surprised; then a look of anger crossed her face.</p> + +<p>“You can not be in earnest,” said she.</p> + +<p>“I assure you I am. I wish you would leave me alone,” I said, +exasperated beyond endurance.</p> + +<p>“You don’t wish to know what I can tell you about him?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>With that I turned down a side street leading into the Alléestrasse, 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;">“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.”</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’s:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear May</span>,—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>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">“Thine, speculatively,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 19em;">“<span class="smcap">Stella Wedderburn</span>.</span>”</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>“May,” she presently remarked, “yesterday, when you were out, I saw +Doctor Mittendorf.”</p> + +<p>“Did you, Miss Hallam?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. He says it is useless my remaining here any longer. I shall never +see, and an operation might cost me my life!”</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>“I knew it would be so when I came. I don’t intend to try any more +experiments. I shall go home next week.”</p> + +<p>Now I grasped the truth.</p> + +<p>“Go home, Miss Hallam!” I repeated, faintly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course. There is no reason why I should stay, is there?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“<i>Guten Tag, Fräulein</i>,” 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?”</p> + +<p>“Good-morning, Fräulein,” 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—what was going to happen. There +rang in my head nothing but the words, “I am going home next week.”</p> + +<p>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.</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>“Good-morning!” said I, with a vast effort, partially collecting my +scattered thoughts.</p> + +<p>“Are you ready for your lesson, <i>mein Fräulein</i>?”</p> + +<p>“N—no. I think, Herr Direktor, I will not take any lesson to-day, if +you will excuse it.”</p> + +<p>“But why? Are you ill?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said I. “At least—perhaps I want to accustom myself to do without +music lessons.”</p> + +<p>“So?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and without many other pleasant things,” said I, wryly and +decidedly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p><p>“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.</p> + +<p>“I am going home,” said I.</p> + +<p>A quick look of feeling—whether astonishment, regret, or dismay, I +should not like to have said—flashed across his face.</p> + +<p>“Have you had bad news?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, very. Miss Hallam returns to England next week.”</p> + +<p>“But why do you go? Why not remain here?”</p> + +<p>“Gladly, if I had any money,” I said, with a dry smile. “But I have +none, and can not get any.”</p> + +<p>“You will return to England now? Do you know what you are giving up?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>He did not interrupt my tears for some time. When he did speak, it was +in a very gentle voice.</p> + +<p>“Miss Wedderburn, will you try to compose yourself, and listen to +something I have to say?”</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—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.</p> + +<p>“See,” said he, “I take an interest in you, Fräulein 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.”</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>“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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p><p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“Fräulein, 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?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But if Miss Hallam consented, you would remain?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Herr von Francius! You should soon see whether I would remain!”</p> + +<p>“Also! Miss Hallam shall consent. Now to our singing!”</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—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.</p> + +<p>“Now I am going to have a private interview with Miss Hallam,” said he, +smiling. “I am always having private interviews with her, <i>nicht wahr</i>? +Nay, Fräulein May, do not let your eyes fill with tears. Have confidence +in yourself and your destiny, as I have.”</p> + +<p>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 <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’ 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—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>“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.”</p> + +<p>Much wondering what could have passed between them, I left von Francius +silently and sought Miss Hallam.</p> + +<p>“Are you there, May?” said she. “What have you been doing all the +morning?”</p> + +<p>“Practicing—and having my lesson.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Hallam—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Wondering, I held my tongue.</p> + +<p>“Herr von Francius has showed me my duty.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“You may trust me never to abuse your kindness, Miss Hallam.”</p> + +<p>“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.</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’s busy house.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Where? In which part of the town?”</p> + +<p>“Wehrhahn, 39, is the address,” 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—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 <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>“Not here!” said I, putting my head out of the window when I saw the +window of the curiosity shop exactly opposite. “Not here!”</p> + +<p>“Wehrhahn, 39, Fräulein?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“This is it.”</p> + +<p>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? <i>Schon</i>! Please to come this +way, Fräulein. The room was on the third <i>étage</i>.” 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.</p> + +<p>“So! I hope the room will suit, Fräulein. It is truly not to be called +richly furnished, but one doesn’t need that when one is a +<i>Sing-student</i>. I have had many in my time—ladies and gentlemen +too—pupils of Herr von Francius often. <i>Na!</i> 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.</p> + +<p>“You might have worse prospects than this, Fräulein, 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—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 <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>Courvoisier, the musiker—but perhaps you know who he is.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” I assented.</p> + +<p>“And his little son!” Here she threw up her hands. “<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, Fräulein</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’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. <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’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. <i>Entschuldigen</i>, Fräulein, 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. <i>Nun!</i> I will send +Fräulein her box up, and then I hope she will feel comfortable and at +home, and send for whatever she wants.”</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>étage</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—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>“Kismet!” 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;">“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.”<br /></span></p></div> + +<p>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.</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>“Proper theater weather,” observed one of my fellow-musicians; “but it +doesn’t seem to suit you, Friedhelm. What makes you look so down?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p><p>“So!” said I, lending but an indifferent attention; “what is his name?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“So! Then he will have a roughish time of it!” agreed one or two others.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“<i>Alle Wetter!</i>” 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.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Weiss</i> ’<i>s nit</i>,” said another, shrugging his shoulders, “I’ve only +heard that von Francius had a row with the Direction, and was outvoted.”</p> + +<p>“What a sweet temper he will be in at the probe to-morrow!” laughed +Karl. “Won’t he give it to the <i>Mädchen</i> right and left!”</p> + +<p>“What time is he coming?” proceeded one of the oboists.</p> + +<p>“Don’t know; know nothing about it; perhaps he’ll appear in ‘Tannhauser’ +to-night. Look out, Friedhelm.”</p> + +<p>“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 <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>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. <i>Tag</i>, Fräulein!” he added, +advancing to the young lady who had so struck him.</p> + +<p>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 Fräulein Luise of the first soprans, slipped from his +grasp and took my way homeward. Fräulein 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—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, <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—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?”</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—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.</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>“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.”</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, “The world is weary, and you are not +wanted in it.”</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>confrères</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—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 “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 <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—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’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.</p> + +<p>The door was opened. A dreadful, dirty-looking young woman, a servant of +the house, stood in the door-way.</p> + +<p>“What do you want?” I inquired.</p> + +<p>A gentleman wished to speak to me.</p> + +<p>“Bring him in then,” 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>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 <i>städtisches Orchester</i>.”</p> + +<p>“<i>O, was!</i>” said I, within myself. “That our new first violin!”</p> + +<p>“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 <i>Vögelein</i> as soon as I possibly can.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Yes?” he said.</p> + +<p>“At seven—yes. It is ‘Tannhauser’ to-night. And the rooms—I believe +they have rooms in the house.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, then I will inquire about it,” said he, with an exceedingly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>open +and delightful smile. “I thank you for telling me. Adieu, <i>mein Herr</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Is he asleep?” I asked, abruptly, and pointing to the bundle.</p> + +<p>“Yes; <i>armes Kerlchen</i>! just now he is,” 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>“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.</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—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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“He is very beautiful,” said I.</p> + +<p>“<i>Nicht wahr?</i>” said the other, softly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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 <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>“Put him here, do put him here!” I besought, earnestly. “He will sleep +for a time here, won’t he?”</p> + +<p>“You are very good,” said my visitor, hesitating a moment.</p> + +<p>“Put him there!” 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>“How clever he must be,” I thought, looking at him with awe, and with +little less awe contemplating the motionless child.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Let him alone,” said he; “he’s all right.”</p> + +<p>“He won’t fall off, will he?” I asked, anxiously.</p> + +<p>“No; don’t be alarmed. Now, if you will be so good, we will see about +the rooms.”</p> + +<p>“Dare you leave him?” I asked, still with anxiety, and looking back as +we went toward the door.</p> + +<p>“I dare because I must,” 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>“The child will never trouble you, madame,” said he, quietly, but rather +as if the patience of his look were forced.</p> + +<p>“No, never!” I added, fervently. “I will answer for that, Frau Schmidt.”</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But your wife—” she began.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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:</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“I do not want two rooms,” said he, “or rather, I don’t think I can +afford them. What do you charge?”</p> + +<p>She told him.</p> + +<p>“If it were so much,” said he, naming a smaller sum, “I could do it.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Nie!</i>” said the woman, curtly, “for that I can’t do it. <i>Um +Gotteswillen!</i> One must live.”</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Yes, that lets itself be heard. If Herr Helfen agreed to that, she +would like it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but I can’t think of putting you to the extra expense,” said +Courvoisier.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p><p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He still seemed to hesitate.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“So!”</p> + +<p>“Why not at home too? I think it an excellent plan. Let us decide it +so.”</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>“If I did not think it would inconvenience you,” he began.</p> + +<p>“Then it is settled?” said I. “Now let us go and see what kind of +furniture there is in that big room.”</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. “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.</p> + +<p>“There,” said I, drawing Courvoisier to the window, and pointing across: +“there is one scene of your future exertions, the Städtische Tonhalle.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“We’ll soon make it different,” said I, rubbing my hands and gazing +round the room with avidity. “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’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, <i>nicht wahr?</i> Oh, +we’ll make a place of it, I can tell you.”</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>“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.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! He’s been awake for some time,” said Courvoisier. The child saw +him, and stretched out its arms toward him.</p> + +<p>“<i>Na! junger Taugenichts!</i>” he said, taking it up and kissing it. “Thou +must stay here till I come back. Wilt be happy till I come?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“You are not compelled to go to the theater to-night, you know, unless +you like,” I suggested, as we went down-stairs.</p> + +<p>“Thanks, it is as well to begin at once.”</p> + +<p>On the lowest landing we met Frau Schmidt.</p> + +<p>“Where are you going, <i>mein Herren</i>?” she demanded.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p><p>“To work, madame,” he replied, lifting his cap with a courtesy which +seemed to disarm her.</p> + +<p>“But the child?” she demanded.</p> + +<p>“Do not trouble yourself about him.”</p> + +<p>“Is he asleep?”</p> + +<p>“Not just now. He is all right, though.”</p> + +<p>She gave us a look which meant volumes. I pulled Courvoisier out.</p> + +<p>“Come along, do!” cried I. “She will keep you there for half an hour, +and it is time now.”</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’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.</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>“<i>Hundewetter!</i>” said one of the men, shivering. “Have you traveled far +to-day?” he inquired of Courvoisier, by way of opening the conversation.</p> + +<p>“From Köln only.”</p> + +<p>“Live there?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>The man continued his catechism, but in another direction.</p> + +<p>“Are you a friend of Helfen’s?”</p> + +<p>“I rather think Helfen has been a friend to me,” said Courvoisier, +smiling.</p> + +<p>“Have you found lodgings already?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“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 <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’clock, on a cup of coffee and dry +<i>Brödchen</i>, and it was now twelve hours later.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid you feel ill,” 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—of the +audience going away. I myself could not move.</p> + +<p>“<i>Was ist denn mit ihm?</i>” I heard Courvoisier say as he stooped over me.</p> + +<p>“Is that Friedhelm Helfen?” asked Karl Linders, surveying me. “<i>Potz +blitz!</i> he looks like a corpse! he’s been at his old tricks again, +starving himself. I expect he has touched nothing the whole day.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Together they hauled me down to the retiring-room.</p> + +<p>“<i>Ei!</i> he wants a schnapps, or something of the kind,” said Karl, who +seemed to think the whole affair an excellent joke. “Look here, <i>alter +Narr!</i>” he added; “you’ve been going without anything to eat, <i>nicht</i>?”</p> + +<p>“I believe I have,” I assented, feebly. “But I’m all right; I’ll go +home.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p><p>“<i>Verschwunden!</i>” 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>“That’s Frau Schmidt, who can’t do with children and nurse-maids,” said +I, laughing.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</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—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—<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: +“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.</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 +“friend” that “sticketh closer than a brother.” Our union has grown and +remained not merely “<i>fest und treu</i>,” but immovable, unshakable.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <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>“<i>Mein liebling!</i>” 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, “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 <i>der +Kleine</i>. His leisure was—I can not say “given up” to the boy—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—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. “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.”</p> + +<p>I laughed, despite myself, at this tirade of Karl. So that was how +Eugen’s behavior struck outsiders!</p> + +<p>“And you are every bit as bad as he is, and as soft—he has made you +so,” went on Linders, vehemently. “It <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>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.”</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>“What do you do at home?” he asked, irately.</p> + +<p>“That’s our concern, <i>mein lieber</i>,” said I, composedly, thinking of +young Sigmund, whose existence was unknown except to our two selves, and +laughing.</p> + +<p>“Are you composing a symphony? or an opera buffa? You might tell a +fellow.”</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, +“You might do worse than follow our example, old fellow.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</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—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 <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’s +eyes. He was sobbing quietly, his head against my breast.</p> + +<p>“I say, Eugen! Look here!”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“What was that? I never heard it before.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“But never on a violin before?” said I, significantly.</p> + +<p>“No, never.”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you print some of those impromptus that you are always +making?” 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>“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.”</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—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:</p> + +<p>“<i>Donnerwetter!</i> A child!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t use bad language before the little innocent,” said I, enjoying +his confusion.</p> + +<p>“Which of you does it belong to? Is it he or she?” 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>“His name is Sigmund Courvoisier,” said I, with difficulty preserving my +gravity.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon.” he said, at last, “I won’t intrude any longer. +Good—”</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>“Sit down, man,” said he, stifling his laughter. “Sit down, man; do you +think the poor little chap will hurt you?”</p> + +<p>Karl cast a distrustful glance sideways at my nursling and spoke not.</p> + +<p>“I’m glad to see you,” pursued Eugen. “Why didn’t you come before?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 <i>Kindermädchen</i>; 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.</p> + +<p>Half an hour passed thus, and a second knock was followed by the +entrance of Frau Schmidt.</p> + +<p>“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. <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—<i>natürlich!</i> 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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“He looks so very—very—” he began.</p> + +<p>“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,” said +she, standing with grenadier-like stiffness beside him.</p> + +<p>“He won’t bite you, Karl,” I said, reassuringly. “He’s quite harmless.”</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>“<i>Lieber Himmel!</i> how soft! Like satin, or rose leaves!” he murmured, as +the woman carried the child away, shut the door and disappeared.</p> + +<p>“Does she tackle you in that way every night?” he inquired next.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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 “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:</p> + +<p>“How old is he—<i>der kleine Bengel</i>?”</p> + +<p>“Two—a little more.”</p> + +<p>“Handsome little fellow!”</p> + +<p>“Glad you think so.”</p> + +<p>“Sure of it. But I didn’t know, Courvoisier—so sure as I live, I knew +nothing about it!”</p> + +<p>“I dare say not. Did I ever say you did?”</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—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?”</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—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 <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—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, <i>königlicher +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 “carlesse contente.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I think von Francius would be a fiend if he could,” <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>said Karl, +comfortably. “I wouldn’t stand it if he spoke to me as he speaks to some +people.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Girls!” ejaculated Karl.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I see!” said Karl, accepting the rebuff.</p> + +<p>He had not referred to the young ladies of the chorus.</p> + +<p>“Have you heard von Francius play?” he began next.</p> + +<p>“<i>Natürlich!</i>”</p> + +<p>“What do you think of it?”</p> + +<p>“I think it is superb!” said Courvoisier.</p> + +<p>Baffled again, Karl was silent.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“He’s not liked, though he is such a popular fellow.”</p> + +<p>“The public is often a great fool.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>Courvoisier laughed.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” 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>“I really wouldn’t have intruded if I had known—”</p> + +<p>“Known what?” inquired Eugen, with well-assumed surprise.</p> + +<p>“I thought you were just by yourselves, you know, and—”</p> + +<p>“So we are; but we can do with other society. Friedel here gets very +tedious sometimes—in fact, <i>langweilig</i>. Come again, <i>nicht wahr</i>?”</p> + +<p>“If I sha’n’t be in your way,” 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>“He will return; I know he will!” 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>“Perhaps he’s got one already?” said Karl, seeing that the child did not +display any violent enthusiasm about the treasure.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no!” said Eugen, promptly.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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. “<i>Sieh!</i> Sigmund! Look at the pretty lamb!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, come, Karl! Are you a lamb? Call it an eagle at once,” said I, +skeptically.</p> + +<p>“It is a lamb, ain’t it?” said he, turning it over. “They called it a +lamb at the shop.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p><p>“A very queer lamb; not a German breed, anyhow.”</p> + +<p>“Now I think of it, my little sister has one, but she calls it a rabbit, +I believe.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely. You might call that anything, and no one could contradict +you.”</p> + +<p>“Well, <i>der Kleine</i> doesn’t know the difference; it’s a toy,” said Karl, +desperately.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“He doesn’t like the look of it,” said he, plaintively.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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 “a pretty toy.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll pray for you after that, Eugen—often and earnestly,” 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—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.</p> + +<p>“Pretty plaything, <i>nicht wahr</i>?” 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>“You mustn’t <i>make</i> 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.”</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’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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Why? An unlucky love?”</p> + +<p>“<i>I, bewahre!</i> I never knew what it was to be in love in my life,” said +I, with perfect truth.</p> + +<p>“Is that true, Friedel?” he asked, apparently surprised.</p> + +<p>“As true as possible. I think a timely love affair, however unlucky, +would have roused me and brought me to my senses again.”</p> + +<p>“General melancholy?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p><p>He nodded. “<i>Ei!</i> I know it.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Were you going to starve yourself to death? That is rather a tedious +process, <i>nicht wahr</i>?”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“Von Francius,” said Eugen, tranquilly. “I had seen him, and he was very +busy and referred me to you—that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“Well—let us call it von Francius.”</p> + +<p>“But what’s the end of it? Is that the whole story?”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“After that?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>Courvoisier’s brow clouded a little.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” was all he said. Later, I learned the reason of that +“don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“So it was no love affair,” said Eugen again. “Then I have been wrong +all the time. I quite fancied it was some girl—”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p><p>“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 <i>Schwäramerei</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’t understand it. I wish I could, for they seem to enjoy it so much.”</p> + +<p>“You heathen!” said he, but not in a very bantering tone.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Never impertinently, I assure you, Eugen,” said I, earnestly.</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, and wondered what your story was; but I do not need to know +it to—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“So I can suppose.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>As I could not cordially assent to this proposition, I remained silent.</p> + +<p>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 <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—” +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.”</p> + +<p>A pause, while I turned this information over in my mind, and then said, +composedly:</p> + +<p>“I don’t quite believe in your being a spoiled man. Granted that you +have made some <i>fiasco</i>—even a very bad one—what is to prevent your +making a life again?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Again he laughed.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But look here! If it is merely a question of name or money,” I began.</p> + +<p>“It is not merely that; but suppose it were, what then?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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 <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.”</p> + +<p>“But there’s the boy,” I suggested. “Let him have the advantage.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t, don’t!” 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. “No; my one hope for him is that he may never be +known as my son.”</p> + +<p>“But—but—”</p> + +<p>“Poor little beggar! I wonder what will become of him,” 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>“I suppose some time I must leave the boy.”</p> + +<p>“Leave him!” I echoed, intelligently.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“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?”</p> + +<p>I nodded.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>For a moment I did not speak. Then I said:</p> + +<p>“You are quite sure the parting must take place?”</p> + +<p>He assented.</p> + +<p>“When it does, will you give him to me—to my charge altogether?”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“If he must lose one father, let me grow as like another to him as I +can.”</p> + +<p>“Friedhelm—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Eugen had covered his face with his hands, but spoke not.</p> + +<p>“I will have him with me altogether, or not at all,” I finished, with a +kind of jerk.</p> + +<p>“Impossible!” 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—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—”</p> + +<p>“Yes, there is; there is the reason that I won’t have it otherwise,” +said I, doggedly.</p> + +<p>“It is fantastic, like your insane self,” he said, with a forced smile, +which cut me, somehow, more than if he had groaned.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>“Like me? <i>Nie, mein lieber</i>; he shall be something rather better than I +am, let us hope,” said I; “but there is time enough to talk about it.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I could make no answer to this, and he added, “Give me thy hand upon it, +Friedel.”</p> + +<p>I held out my hand. We had risen, and stood looking steadfastly into +each other’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</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;">“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’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’s dominion.”</span></p></div> + +<p>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.</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—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.</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“How clean it looks!” I observed, innocently.</p> + +<p>“So it ought, seeing that I have just paid for it.”</p> + +<p>“Paid for it!” I almost shouted. “Paid for it! You don’t mean that you +have bought the book!”</p> + +<p>“Calm thy troubled spirit! You don’t surely mean that you thought me +capable of stealing the book?”</p> + +<p>“You are hopeless. You have paid at least eighteen marks for it.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the figure to a pfennig.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, with conscious superiority, “you might have had the +whole three volumes from the library for five or six groschen.”</p> + +<p>“I know. But their copy looked so disgustingly greasy I couldn’t have +touched it; so I ordered a new one.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. Your accounts will look well when you come to balance and +take stock,” I retorted.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“<i>Aber, ich bitte Dich!</i>” he implored, though laughing; and I was +silent.</p> + +<p>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.</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—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.</p> + +<p>Once when I asked him if it were so, he laid down his pen and said, +“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Then why do you do it?”</p> + +<p>“Because—for no reason that I know; but because I am an unreasonable +fool.”</p> + +<p>“An unreasonable fool to work hard?”</p> + +<p>“No; but to go on as if hard work now can ever undo what years of +idleness have done.”</p> + +<p>“Do you believe in work?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—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—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 <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’ 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 “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. +<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—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 +<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 Fräulein, 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’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.</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>“For yourself, <i>mein Herr</i>?” she inquired, with a fascinating smile.</p> + +<p>“No, thank you; for my little boy,” says Eugen, politely, glancing +deferentially round at the piles of wool and packets of hosen around.</p> + +<p>“Ah, so! For the young gentleman? <i>Bitte, meine Herren</i>, be seated.” 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>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I should like legs like a little boy, please,” is Sigmund’s modest +expression of a reasonable desire.</p> + +<p>Eugen surveys them.</p> + +<p>“<i>Von der besten Qualität</i>,” repeats the young woman, impressively.</p> + +<p>“Have you no blue ones?” demands Eugen. “All blue, you know. He wears +blue clothes.”</p> + +<p>“Assuredly, <i>mein Herr</i>, but of a much dearer description; real English, +magnificent.”</p> + +<p>She retires to find them, and a young lady who has been standing near us +turns and observes:</p> + +<p>“Excuse me—you want stockings for your little boy?”</p> + +<p>We both assent. It is a joint affair, of equal importance to both of us.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t have those,” says she, and I remark her face.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“<i>Ja wohl!</i> 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, <i>nicht wahr</i>? I’ll take—”</p> + +<p>I dug him violently in the ribs.</p> + +<p>“Hold on, Eugen! How much do they cost the pair, Fräulein?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p><p>“Two thalers twenty-five; the very best quality,” she says, with a +ravishing smile.</p> + +<p>“There! eight shillings a pair!” say I. “It is ridiculous.”</p> + +<p>“Eight shillings!” he repeats, ruefully. “That is too much.”</p> + +<p>“They are real English, <i>mein Herr</i>,” she says, feelingly.</p> + +<p>“But, <i>um Gotteswillen</i>! don’t we make any like them in Germany?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, sir!” she says, reproachfully.</p> + +<p>“Those others are such brutes,” 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—naturally inferior, but you can not have the best +article for nothing.</p> + +<p>Fräulein Sartorius, about to go, says to Eugen:</p> + +<p>“<i>Mein Herr</i>, ask for such and such an article. I know they keep them, +and you will find it what you want.”</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 Fräulein 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 +Fräulein 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>“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.</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—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:</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—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.</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>“What wilt thou be, Sigmund, when thou art a man?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Ja, lieber Vater</i>, I will be just like thee.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p><p>“How just like me?”</p> + +<p>“I will do what thou dost.”</p> + +<p>“So! Thou wilt be a musiker like me and Friedel?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Ja wohl!</i>” 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>“How?” inquired his father.</p> + +<p>“I should like to be a musician,” said Sigmund, who had a fine +confidence in his sire, and confided his every thought to him.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Friedhelm is a musician, but he is not like thee,” he pursued. Eugen +reddened; I laughed.</p> + +<p>“True as can be, Sigmund,” I said.</p> + +<p>“‘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.</p> + +<p>“I like Friedel,” went on Sigmund. “I love him; he is good. But thou, +<i>mein Vater</i>—”</p> + +<p>“Well?” asked Eugen again.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Why, my child?”</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>“That child’s life is one strife after the beautiful in art, and nature, +and life—how will he succeed in the search?”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Thou art so beautiful—so beautiful! I must be like thee.”</p> + +<p>Eugen bit his lip momentarily, saying to me in English:</p> + +<p>“I am his God, you see, Friedel. What will he do when he finds out what +a common clay figure it was he worshiped?”</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>“It must come before he thinks less of me than he does now, Friedel.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—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—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—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’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>“Make yourself quite easy, Herr Concertmeister. No child that was left +to my charge was ever known to come to harm.”</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>“You are very kind, Frau Schmidt, I hope he will not trouble you.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“That is uncertain. It just depends upon the length of the probe.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>We just caught our train, seeing one or two faces of comrades we knew, +and in an hour were in Köln.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>The probe lasted a long time; it was three o’clock when we left the +concert-hall, after five hours’ hard work.</p> + +<p>“Come along, Eugen,” cried I, “we have just time to catch the three-ten, +but only just.”</p> + +<p>“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 <i>auf wiedersehen</i>!”</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’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 “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.</p> + +<p>“Is that you, Friedhelm?” asked Eugen’s voice.</p> + +<p>“<i>Lieber Himmel!</i> Are you there? What are you doing in the dark?”</p> + +<p>“Light the lamp, my Friedel! Dreams belong to darkness, and facts to +light. Sometimes I wish light and facts had never been invented.”</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>“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?”</p> + +<p>He roused himself, sat up, and looked at me with an ambiguous half +smile.</p> + +<p>“Most punctual of men! most worthy, honest, fidgety old friend,” said +he, with still the same suppressed smile, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>“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.”</p> + +<p>“So! I should like to know what you have been doing. Give an account of +yourself.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Are you raving?”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Are you mad?” was my varied comment.</p> + +<p>“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 naïve, 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 <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>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 Kölner 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 <i>sturmschritt</i> 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 <i>ade</i>!”</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">“Ade, ade, ade!<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Ja, Scheiden und Meiden thut Weh!”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Eugen! Stop that string of fantastic rubbish! Where have you been, and +what have you been doing?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But where have you been, and what have you done?”</p> + +<p>“Another time, <i>mein lieber</i>—another time!”</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—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.</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—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>Mädchen</i>—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.</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>“Wishes are pilgrims to the vale of tears.”</h3> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Eugen and I walked home together, arm in arm, and I felt provoked with +him.</p> + +<p>“I say, Eugen, did you see the young lady with Vincent and the others in +the first row of the parquet?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be so maddening. I said the young lady with Vincent and Fräulein +Sartorius. By the bye, Eugen, do you know, or have you ever known her?”</p> + +<p>“Who?”</p> + +<p>“Fräulein Sartorius.”</p> + +<p>“Who is she?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, bother! The young lady I mean sat exactly opposite to you and me—a +beautiful young girl; an <i>Engländerin</i>—fair, with that hair that we +never see here, and—”</p> + +<p>“In a brown hat—sitting next to Vincent. I saw her—yes.”</p> + +<p>“She saw you too.”</p> + +<p>“She must have been blind if she hadn’t.”</p> + +<p>“Have you seen her before?”</p> + +<p>“I have seen her before—yes.”</p> + +<p>“And spoken to her?”</p> + +<p>“Even spoken to her.”</p> + +<p>“Do tell me what it all means.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing.”</p> + +<p>“But, Eugen—”</p> + +<p>“Are you so struck with her, Friedel? Don’t lose your heart to her, I +warn you.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p><p>“Why?” I inquired, wilily, hoping the answer would give me some clew to +his acquaintance with her.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—generally she was with a stout, good-natured-looking German +Fräulein, 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—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—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:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span></p><p>“But in the next lesson, you know—”</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>“It’s time to go in, Friedel; come along!” With which he turned into the +theater, and I followed thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>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.</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 +“Verlorenes Paradies.”</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—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, “<i>Das +weib ist der teufel.</i>” 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.</p> + +<p>Von Francius was a clever man, but he made a grand mistake that night, +unless he were desirous of making his protégée 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 Fräulein 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—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.</p> + +<p>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.”</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—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—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>“<i>Mein Vater</i>, who is the beautiful lady, and why did you speak so +harshly to her? Why did you make her cry?”</p> + +<p>The answer, though ostensibly spoken to Sigmund, was a revelation to me.</p> + +<p>“That I may not have to cry myself,” said Eugen, kissing him.</p> + +<p>“Could the lady make thee cry?” 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—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 <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>“Friedel!”</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>“Forgive me!”</p> + +<p>“Forgive thee what?”</p> + +<p>“This playing with thy confidence.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You will not shake hands? Well, perhaps I have no right to ask it; but +I should like to tell you all about it.”</p> + +<p>I put my hand into his.</p> + +<p>“I was wounded,” said I, “it is true. But it is over.”</p> + +<p>“Then listen, Friedel.”</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>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>He hesitated, looked as nearly awkward as he could, and said, a little +constrainedly:</p> + +<p>“Because I think it will be for the best.”</p> + +<p>“For you or for her?” I inquired, not very fairly, but I could not +resist it.</p> + +<p>Eugen flushed all over his face.</p> + +<p>“What a question!” was all he said.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>I fired up.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Pre—pos—ter—ous!”</p> + +<p>“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:</p> + +<p>“Well—well—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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">“With sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged,”</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’s, but sadder. There was utter stillness and utter calm all round.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>A light leaped into the father’s eyes; a look of pain followed it +quickly.</p> + +<p>“And I shall never leave thee,” said Sigmund.</p> + +<p>Eugen parried the necessity of speaking by a kiss.</p> + +<p>“I love thee too, Friedel,” continued he, taking my hand. “We are very +happy together, aren’t we?” 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’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—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>“Also!” said Eugen, after a pause. “A new neighbor; it reminds me of one +of Andersen’s ‘Märchen,’ but I don’t know which.”</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;">“For though he lived aloof from ken,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The world’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.”</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>“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.</p> + +<p>“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—<i>nous verrons</i>. 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.</p></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 19em;">“A.”<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 “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.</p> + +<p>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 <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—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.</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>Schwärmerei</i>? 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.</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 “Waldstein” or “Appassionata” 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’s self.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Adelaide’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—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 Freischütz,” or +“Tannhauser.”</p> + +<p>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 <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 “Volkslieder,” from</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">“Du, du, liegst mir im Herzen;<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Du, du, liegst mir im Sinn,”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>up to</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">“Mädele, ruck, ruck, ruck<br /></span> +<span class="i10">An meine gürne Seite.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>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 <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>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 Crœsus 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’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’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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</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—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—that was all.</p> + +<p>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.</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—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>“And nearer still shall further be,<br /> +And words shall plague and vex and buffet thee.”</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 Königsallée, and blew fine black dust into one’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—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 “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.</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—one accomplishment upon which I +prided myself, it was this very one—skating.</p> + +<p>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.</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—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’clock before I could set out.</p> + +<p>A long, bleak way. First up the merry Jägerhofstrasse, 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.</p> + +<p>I quickly put on my skates—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—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—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>—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,</p> + +<p class="center">“A joy has taken flight.”</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—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.</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—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 “Lenore March” 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>“I did hear some one,” he muttered, and then in the moonlight he came +skating past, saw me, and stopped.</p> + +<p>“<i>Sie</i>, Fräulein!” he began, quickly, and then altering his tone. “The +ice has broken. Let me help you.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“You are cold?” he asked, and smiled. I felt the smile cruel; and +realized that I probably looked rather ludicrous.</p> + +<p>“Cold!” I repeated, with an irrepressible short sob.</p> + +<p>He knelt down upon the ice at about a yard’s distance from me.</p> + +<p>“Here it is strong,” said he, holding out his arms. “Lean this way, +<i>mein Fräulein</i>, and I will lift you out.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! You will certainly fall in yourself.”</p> + +<p>“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.</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 +“happily accomplished,” I sunk upon my knees at his feet. My strength +had deserted me; I could no longer support myself.</p> + +<p>“Frozen!” he remarked to himself, as he stooped and half raised me. “I +see what must be done. Let me take off your skates—<i>sonst geht’s +nicht</i>.”</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>“So!” said he, with a little laugh. “We are all alone here! A fine time +for a moonlight skating.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! yes,” said I, wearily, “but I can’t move.”</p> + +<p>“You need not,” said he. “I am going to carry you away in spite of +yourself, like a popular preacher.”</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’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.</p> + +<p>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.</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>“Oh, dear!” cried I, starting up. “What is the matter? I must go home.”</p> + +<p>“You shall—when you can,” 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>“<i>Trinken sie</i> ’<i>mal, Fräulein</i>,” said the woman, holding a glass to my +lips; it held hot spirits and water, which smoked.</p> + +<p>“Bah!” replied I, gratefully, and turning away. “<i>Nie, nie!</i>” she +repeated. “You must drink just a <i>Schnäppschen</i>, Fräulein.”</p> + +<p>I pushed it away with some disgust. Courvoisier took it from her hand +and held it to me.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I will walk. I am sure it would be the best—if—do you think it +would?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I. “And they say that people who have been nearly drowned +should always walk; it does them good.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I will be as quick as ever I can.”</p> + +<p>“Now hurry,” he replied, sitting down, and pulling one of the woman’s +children toward him. “Come, <i>mein Junge</i>, tell me how old you are?”</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—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.</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>“Come here, Miss Wedderburn; this is Hans, there is Fritz, and here is +Franz—a jolly trio; aren’t they?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Ready?” he asked, surveying me and my costume and laughing. “Don’t you +feel a stranger in these garments?”</p> + +<p>“No! Why?”</p> + +<p>“I should have said silk and lace and velvet, or fine muslins and +embroideries, were more in your style.”</p> + +<p>“You are quite mistaken. I was just thinking how admirably this costume +suits me, and that I should do well to adopt it permanently.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p><p>“Perhaps there was a mirror in the inner room,” he suggested.</p> + +<p>“A mirror! Why?”</p> + +<p>“Then your idea would quite be accounted for. Young ladies must of +course wish to wear that which becomes them.”</p> + +<p>“Very becoming!” I sneered, grandly.</p> + +<p>“Very,” he replied, emphatically. “It makes me wish to be an orphan.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, <i>mein Herr</i>,” said the woman, reproachfully, for he had spoken +German. “Don’t jest about that. If you have parents—”</p> + +<p>“No, I haven’t,” he interposed, hastily.</p> + +<p>“Or children either?”</p> + +<p>“I should not else have understood yours so well,” he laughed. “Come, +my—Miss Wedderburn, if you are ready.”</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>“Where is your shawl?” he asked, suddenly.</p> + +<p>“I left it; it was wet through.”</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>“Oh, don’t!” I cried, in great distress, as I strove to remove it again, +and looked imploringly into his face.</p> + +<p>“Don’t do that. You will get cold; you will—”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose I must.”</p> + +<p>“I call that gratitude. Take my arm—so. You are weak yet.”</p> + +<p>We walked on in silence for some time. I was happy; for the first time +since the night I had heard “Lohengrin” <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>“Am I not going too fast?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“N—no.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am, I see. We will moderate the pace a little.”</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—“the glory and the dream.”</p> + +<p>“I think we are exactly on the way to your house, <i>nicht wahr</i>?” said +he.</p> + +<p>“Yes; and to yours since we are opposite neighbors.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“You are not as lonely as I am, though; you have companions.”</p> + +<p>“I—oh—Friedhelm; yes.”</p> + +<p>“And—your little boy.”</p> + +<p>“Sigmund also,” was all he said.</p> + +<p>But “<i>auch</i> Sigmund” may express much more in German than in English. It +did so then.</p> + +<p>“And you?” he added.</p> + +<p>“I am alone,” said I.</p> + +<p>I did not mean to be foolishly sentimental. The sigh that followed my +words was involuntary.</p> + +<p>“So you are. But I suppose you like it?”</p> + +<p>“Like it? What can make you think so?”</p> + +<p>“Well, at least you have good friends.”</p> + +<p>“Have I? Oh, yes, of course!” said I, thinking of von Francius.</p> + +<p>“Do you get on with your music?” he next inquired.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p><p>“I have not thought about it at all; it is not my business.”</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>“It is curious that you and I should not only live near to each other, +but actually have the same profession at last.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>Snub number two. But I persevered.</p> + +<p>“Music. Your profession is music, and mine will be.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I in training for a prima-donna! How can you say so?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Will you tell me that you are not studying for the stage?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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,” 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>“<i>O, bewahre!</i>” said he, with a little laugh, that chilled me still +further. “I think no such thing. The beauty is there, <i>mein +Fräulein</i>—pardon me for saying so—”</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>“The beauty is there. The rest, as I said, when one has friends, these +things are arranged for one.”</p> + +<p>“But I have no friends.”</p> + +<p>“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 <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 ‘I told you so,’ on +my part.”</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>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p><p>“A capacity to love those who are kind to you,” he said, hastily. “And +do you love all who are kind to you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I, stoutly, though I felt my face burning.</p> + +<p>“And hate them that despitefully use you?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“Ah, then I will be disagreeable to you.”</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>“Why?” I asked, mechanically, and asked nothing more.</p> + +<p>“Because then you will hate me, unless you have the good sense to do so +already.”</p> + +<p>“Why? What effect will my hatred have upon you?”</p> + +<p>“None. Not a jot. <i>Gar keine.</i> But I wish you to hate me, nevertheless.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>As we came within the town, I said:</p> + +<p>“I am very sorry, Herr Courvoisier, to have given you so much trouble.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p><p>“That means that I am to put you into a cab and relieve you of my +company.”</p> + +<p>“It does not,” I ejaculated, passionately, jerking my hand from his arm. +“How can you say so? How dare you say so?”</p> + +<p>“You might meet some of your friends, you know.”</p> + +<p>“And I tell you I have no friends except Herr von Francius, and I am not +accountable to him for my actions.”</p> + +<p>“We shall soon be at your house now.”</p> + +<p>“Herr Courvoisier, have you forgiven me?”</p> + +<p>“Forgiven you what?”</p> + +<p>“My rudeness to you once.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, <i>mein Fräulein</i>,” 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?”</p> + +<p>This was putting the matter in a new, and, for me, an humbling light.</p> + +<p>“Never resented!” I murmured, confusedly.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</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>“<i>Gott im Himmel!</i>” he exclaimed. “Seven o’clock! The opera—<i>da geht</i>’<i>s +schon an!</i> Excuse me, Fräulein, I must go. Ah, here is your house.”</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—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>“So much the better!” 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—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—more so, for to me everything was <i>sur +l</i>’<i>imprévu</i>—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—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’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.</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—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.</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—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.</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—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’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.</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—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’s “Through Bass and Harmony” 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>“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?</p></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 19em;">“<span class="smcap">Adelaide</span>.”<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 “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.</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—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.</p> + +<p>“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—</p> + +<p>“Well, what should I like? What do I wish for?” 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—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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</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—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 <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—yet a whispered +force—“I shall not lose sight of him—of Eugen Courvoisier.” 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">“Entbehren sollst du; sollst entbehren.”</p> + +<p>And that read both ways, it comes to the same thing.</p> + +<p class="center">“Entbehren sollst du; sollst entbehren.”</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 “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.</p> + +<p>“In tears, Fräulein May! <i>Aber</i>—what does that mean?”</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>“It is only because it is Christmas,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Are you quite alone?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p><p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“So am I.”</p> + +<p>“You! But you have so many friends.”</p> + +<p>“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 <i>Maiblümchen</i>.”</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Ei!</i> 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.’ <i>Lieber +Himmel!</i> Fancy waltzing to the memory of old times. A requiem or a +funeral march would have been intelligible.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you must not sit here and let these old times say what they like +to you. Will you come out with me?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“I don’t want to go out, Herr von Francius.”</p> + +<p>“That is foolish. Quick! before the daylight fades and it grows too dark +for the pictures.”</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>“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.”</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 “found myself +again,” but again not “happily.”</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>“Why?” I inquired when I had contemplated it, and failed to find it +lovely.</p> + +<p>“The drawing, the grouping, are admirable, as you must see. The art +displayed is wonderful. I find the picture excellent.”</p> + +<p>“But the subject?” said I.</p> + +<p>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, <i>blasé</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—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.<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></p> + +<p>“The subject?” he echoed, after a pause. “It is only a scrap of +artist-life.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Do you really admire the picture, Herr von Francius?” I inquired.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—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?</p> + +<p>“Were you not happy when you were young?” I asked, on a quick impulse.</p> + +<p>“Happy! Who expects to be happy? If I had been simply not miserable, I +should have counted my childhood a good one; but—”</p> + +<p>He paused a moment, then went on:</p> + +<p>“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, <i>mein Fräulein</i>”—(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 <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>to +evaporate from me—to exhaust itself in one brief, resolute, effective +attempt at self-cleansing, self-government.”</p> + +<p>He paused.</p> + +<p>“Tell me more, Herr von Francius,” I besought. “Do not leave off there. +Afterward?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well?” I asked, with some eagerness; for I, after all my unfulfilled +strivings, had asked myself <i>Cui bono?</i> “And what is the end of it? Are +you satisfied?”</p> + +<p>“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?—</p> + +<p class="center">“‘I nothing had, and yet enough’—</p> + +<p>all that is unknown to me. For I ask myself, <i>Cui bono?</i>”</p> + +<p>“Like me,” I could not help saying.</p> + +<p>He added:</p> + +<p>“Fräulein 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?”</p> + +<p>“No, indeed I did not.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</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>“Good-evening, <i>liebes Fräulein</i>; and thank you for your company this +afternoon.”</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;">“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.”</span></p></div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Father, here is a letter,” he said, giving it into Eugen’s hand.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</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>“Let me open it!” cried Sigmund. “Let me open thy letter!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span></p><p>“No, no, child!” said Eugen, in a sharp, pained tone. “Let it alone.”</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—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—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.</p> + +<p>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.</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—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 <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>“Sigmund!” I cried, in a loud whisper. “Come here, my child! Stay here, +with me.”</p> + +<p>“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.</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—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 Schöne 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 Königsallée, 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-cochère</i> 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 Königsallée 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-cochère</i> into the back premises; a couple of trim-looking +English grooms with four horses followed.</p> + +<p>“Is some one coming to live here?” I demanded of a workman, who made +answer:</p> + +<p>“<i>Ja wohl!</i> A rich English milord has taken the house furnished for six +months—Sir Le Marchant, <i>oder so etwas</i>. I do not know the name quite +correctly. He comes in a few days.”</p> + +<p>“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 Köln 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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“When does the <i>Engländer</i> come?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span></p><p>“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. <i>Hè!</i>”</p> + +<p>He laughed, and began to sing lustily, “In Berlin, sagt’ er.”</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—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.</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>“Eugen, what hast thou?”</p> + +<p>“<i>La mort dans l</i>’<i>âme</i>,” he answered, quoting from a poem which we had +both been reading.</p> + +<p>“And what has caused it?”</p> + +<p>“Must you know, friend?” he asked. “If I did not need to tell it, I +should be very glad.”</p> + +<p>“I must know it, or—or leave you to it!” said I, choking back some +emotion. “I can not pass another day like this.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said I, “let us have the worst, Eugen. It is something about—”</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—“<i>Ja!</i>”</p> + +<p>I breathed again. It was so then.</p> + +<p>“I told you, Friedel, that I should have to leave him?”</p> + +<p>The words dropped out one by one from his lips, distinct, short, steady.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“That was bad, very bad. The worst, I thought, that could befall; but it +seems that my imagination was limited.”</p> + +<p>“Eugen, what is it?”</p> + +<p>“I shall not have to leave him. I shall have to send him away from me.”</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—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.</p> + +<p>“<i>La mort dans l</i>’<i>âme</i>,” indeed! He could have chosen no fitter +expression.</p> + +<p>“Send him away!” I echoed, beneath my breath.</p> + +<p>“Send my child away from me—as if I—did not—want him,” 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’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.</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>“Friedel,” said he at last, “you do not ask why must this be.”</p> + +<p>“I do not need to ask why. I know that it must be, or you would not do +it.”</p> + +<p>“I would tell you if I could—if I might.”</p> + +<p>“For Heaven’s sake, don’t suppose that I wish to pry—” I began. He +interrupted me.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I assented.</p> + +<p>“Then you consent to take my word that it must be so, without more.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, Eugen, I wish for no more.”</p> + +<p>He looked at me. “If I were to tell you,” 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—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 <i>niedergeschlagen</i>.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Eugen! Impossible! <i>Herrgott!</i> Impossible!” cried I, coming to a stop, +and looking incredulously at him. That I did not believe. “Impossible!” +I repeated, beneath my breath.</p> + +<p>“By faith men can move mountains,” he retorted.</p> + +<p>This, then, was the flavoring which made the cup so intolerable.</p> + +<p>“You say that that is and must be wrong under all circumstances,” said +Eugen, eying me steadily.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“No. I am sure you have sufficient reasons.”</p> + +<p>“I have. God knows I have.”</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, “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.</p> + +<p>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 <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—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.</p> + +<p>“One more question, Eugen. When?”</p> + +<p>“Soon.”</p> + +<p>“A year would seem soon to any of us three.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“My Lady’s Glory.”</h3> + +<p>“Königsallée, No. 3,” wrote Adelaide to me, “is the house which has been +taken for us. We shall be there on Tuesday evening.”</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—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 Königsallée, 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 <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>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 <i>grande dame</i>, in the +midst of which stood my lady herself, having slowly risen as I came in.</p> + +<p>“At last you have condescended to come,” said the old proud, curt voice.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</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—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 <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>“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.”</p> + +<p>Her words struck me as a kind of satire upon herself.</p> + +<p>“I might say the same to you,” said I, constrainedly. “I think you are +very much altered.”</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense!”</p> + +<p>“It does—And I am glad of it,” she added, closing her lips as if she +closed in some bitter joy.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—if in +earnest, she chose a disagreeably flippant manner of expressing herself.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“But Adelaide—if you wished to leave Rome—”</p> + +<p>“But I did not wish to leave Rome. I wished to stay—so we came away, +you know.”</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I am glad you are here,” she pursued. “It is a relief to have some one +else than Arkwright to speak to.”</p> + +<p>“Who is Arkwright?”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>A hand on the door-handle outside. A pause ere the persons came in, for +Sir Peter’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’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>“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?”</p> + +<p>I had no answer ready for this winning greeting.</p> + +<p>“Rather like my lady before she was my lady,” he continued, pleasantly, +as his eyes roved over the room, over its furniture, over us.</p> + +<p>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 <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—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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Sir Peter, pleasantly exhilarated by my confusion and my lady’s sullen +silence, proceeded with an agreeable smile:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I am engaged, as you may see,” she answered in a low voice of +opposition.</p> + +<p>“Then the engagement must be deferred. There is a great deal of reading +to do. There is the ‘Times’ for a week.”</p> + +<p>“I hate the ‘Times,’ and I don’t understand it.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Absurd! I can not be ready in quarter of an hour. Where is Mr. +Arkwright?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He was leaving the room, but paused at the door, with a suspicious look.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>With that he finally departed. Adelaide’s face was white, but she did +not address me. She rang for her maid.</p> + +<p>“Dress my hair, Toinette, and do it as quickly as possible. Is my dress +ready?” was all she said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p><p>“<i>Mais oui, madame.</i>”</p> + +<p>“Quick!” she repeated. “You have only quarter of an hour.”</p> + +<p>Despite the suppressed cries, expostulations, and announcements that it +was impossible, Adelaide was dressed in quarter of an hour.</p> + +<p>“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.</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’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—I know not what—that cowed her.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<div class="centerbox bbox"> +<p>“Wenn Menschen aus einander gehen,<br /> +So sagen sie, Auf Wiedersehen!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Auf Wiedersehen!”</span></p></div> + +<p>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 +<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’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—<i>versteht sich</i>, 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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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, <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—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:</p> + +<p>“I will tell him. You can not. <i>Nicht wahr?</i>”</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>“<i>Ja, ich wache</i>,” he replied, in a patient, resigned kind of small +voice.</p> + +<p>“Why dost thou not sleep, Sigmund? Art thou not well?”</p> + +<p>“No, I am not well,” he answered; but with an expression of double +meaning. “<i>Mir ist</i>’<i>s nicht wohl.</i>”</p> + +<p>“What ails thee?”</p> + +<p>“If you know what ails him, you know what ails me.”</p> + +<p>“Do you not know yourself?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Sigmund, with a short sob. “He says he can not tell me.”</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—perhaps to the “Freude” which Schiller sung +and Beethoven composed to—for help in the hardest task of my life.</p> + +<p>“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?</p> + +<p>As I knelt in the darkness by Sigmund’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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Friedel?”</p> + +<p>“Thou art a very little boy, but thou art not like other boys; thy +father is not just like other fathers.”</p> + +<p>“I know it.”</p> + +<p>“He is very sad.”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And his life which he has to live will be a sad one.”</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—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.</p> + +<p>“Life is very sad sometimes, <i>mein</i> Sigmund.”</p> + +<p>“Is it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Some people, too, are much sadder than others. I think thy father +is one of those people. Perhaps thou art to be another.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Couldst thou give up something very dear for his sake?”</p> + +<p>“What a queer question!” said Sigmund. “I want nothing when I am with +him.”</p> + +<p>“<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>”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” 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>“That is it. He would never let me leave him, and he would never leave +me.”</p> + +<p>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!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Nein, nein, nein!</i>” said he. “Who can make him do anything he does not +wish? Who can take me away from him?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“The world must be a very cruel place,” he said, as if first struck with +that fact.</p> + +<p>“Now dost thou understand, Sigmund, why he did not speak? Couldst thou +have told him such a thing?”</p> + +<p>“Where is he?”</p> + +<p>“There, in the next room, and very sad for thee.”</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>“<i>Mein Vater</i>, 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.</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’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>“But never, never?” asked Sigmund, in a voice of terror and pain +mingled.</p> + +<p>“When thou art a man that will depend upon thyself,” said Eugen. “Thou +wilt have to choose.”</p> + +<p>“Choose what?”</p> + +<p>“Whether thou wilt see me again.”</p> + +<p>“When I am a man may I choose?” he asked, raising his head with sudden +animation.</p> + +<p>“Yes; I shall see to that.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, very well. I have chosen now,” 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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Thirteen years, Eugen,” said I.</p> + +<p>“Yes; in thirteen years I shall be forty-three.”</p> + +<p>“You will let me know what the answer to that is,” I went on.</p> + +<p>He nodded. By return of post the answer came.</p> + +<p>“It is ‘yes,’” said he, and paused. “The day after to-morrow he is to +go.”</p> + +<p>“Not alone, surely?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p><p>“No; some one will come for him.”</p> + +<p>I heard some of the instructions he gave his boy.</p> + +<p>“There is one man where you are going, whom I wish you to obey as you +would me, Sigmund,” he told him.</p> + +<p>“Is he like thee?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Is it far from here?”</p> + +<p>“Not exceedingly far.”</p> + +<p>“Hast thou been there?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” said Eugen, in a peculiar tone, “often.”</p> + +<p>“What must I call this man?” inquired Sigmund.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“And when I am a man I can choose to see thee again. But where wilt thou +be?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Beethoven,” was the prompt reply.</p> + +<p>“Just so. And hold fast to the service of the goddess Music, the most +beautiful thing in the world.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>I hurry over that short time before the parting came. Eugen said to me:</p> + +<p>“They are sending for him—an old servant. I am not afraid to trust him +with him.”</p> + +<p>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 <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>“Sit still, Friedhelm.” And turning to the man, he added: “How were all +when you left, Heinrich?”</p> + +<p>“Well, Herr Gr—”</p> + +<p>“Courvoisier.”</p> + +<p>“All were well, <i>mein Herr</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Wait a short time,” 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’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>“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.</p> + +<p>“<i>Lieber</i> Friedhelm!” he said, returning my embrace, “Love my father +when I—am gone. And—<i>auf—auf—wiedersehen</i>!”</p> + +<p>He loosed his arms from round my neck and went up to the man, saying:</p> + +<p>“I am ready.”</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—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’ elendes Hulfsmittel! und doch bleibt es mir das +einzig Uebrige—<i>Briefe</i> <span class="smcap">Beethoven’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 “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.</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>“What is it, Friedel?” he asked, when I came in.</p> + +<p>I suggested in a subdued tone that the concert began in half an hour.</p> + +<p>“Ah, true!” said he, rising; “I must get ready. Let me see, what is it?”</p> + +<p>“The ‘Passions-musik.’”</p> + +<p>“To be sure! Most appropriate music! I feel as if I could write a +Passion Music myself just now.”</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>“Adelaide, may I introduce Herr von Francius—Lady Le Marchant.”</p> + +<p>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.</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’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 “get on.”</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, “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.” +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—”</p> + +<p>“<i>Doch!</i>” from half a dozen around.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—we had a probe +to Liszt’s “Prometheus,” 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’s +answer puzzled me.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You are putting rather a remote contingency to the front,” said von +Francius.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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’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.”</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: “If I had all the wealth in Germany, it +would divide us further still.”</p> + +<p>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 <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>“So runs the world away.”</h3> + +<p>Königsallée, 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 <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’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.</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—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.</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—Berlin, +Dresden, Hamburg, Frankfurt, and others.</p> + +<p>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 <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’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.</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—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>“Looking over costumes,” said I, as Adelaide made no answer, and I +raised my eyes from some colored illustrations.</p> + +<p>“Costumes—what kind of costumes?”</p> + +<p>“Costumes for the maskenball,” I answered, taking refuge in brevity of +reply.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” He paused. Then, turning suddenly to Adelaide:</p> + +<p>“And what is this entertainment, my lady?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“And you think you would like to go to the Carnival Ball, hey?”</p> + +<p>“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 <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>“I thought I heard some noise when I came in. Don’t let me interrupt the +conversation.”</p> + +<p>But the conversation was more than interrupted; it was dead—the life +frozen out of it by his very appearance.</p> + +<p>“When is the carnival, and when does this piece of tomfoolery come off?” +he inquired, with winning grace of diction.</p> + +<p>“The carnival begins this year on the 26th of February. The ball is on +the 27th,” said I, confining myself to facts and figures.</p> + +<p>“And how do you get there? By paying?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“H’m! Ha! And as what do you think of going, Adelaide?” he inquired, +turning with suddenness toward her.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I, as no one else spoke.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Do you intend me to understand that you wish us to go to the ball?” +inquired Adelaide, in an icy kind of voice.</p> + +<p>“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 <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. “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.”</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>“Those two ladies are puzzled to know what they shall wear at the +Carnival Ball. Perhaps you can give them your assistance.”</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’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’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.</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>manqué</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 “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.</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>“Stop!” said he this morning, when I had been weakly endeavoring to +render a <i>ciacconna</i> from a suite of Lachner’s, which had moved me to +thoughts too deep for tears at the last symphonie concert. “Stop, +Fräulein May! Duty first; your voice before your fingers.”</p> + +<p>“Let me try once again!” I implored.</p> + +<p>He shut up the music and took it from the desk.</p> + +<p>“<i>Entbehren sollst du; sollst entbehren!</i>” 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—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.</p> + +<p>There were ladies there too—gay young women, who rallied round Lady Le +Marchant as around a master spirit in the art of <i>Zeitvertreib</i>.</p> + +<p>This levée 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.”</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’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 “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?</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’s looks.</p> + +<p>“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. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>“What are you blushing so for, my pretty +May? Isn’t there a song something about my pretty May, my dearest May, +eh?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“The month—not a person.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, Sir Peter, if you like.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Everything, and more than everything,” replies my lady, laconically.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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’s smiles, sneers, +and facial movements in general, gleamed.</p> + +<p>Adelaide’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 +“‘My Pretty Jane’—or May, or whatever it was.”</p> + +<p>“We are going out,” said my lady. “You can have it another time. May can +not sing the moment she has finished lunch.”</p> + +<p>“Hold your tongue, my dear,” 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’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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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.</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—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.</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—or, +as Frau Lutzler gracefully expressed it, <i>was wichtiges</i>—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’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.</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—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.”</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—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—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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>blasé</i>-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.</p> + +<p>“Do you know him?” 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>“A little,” I said.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>—which he +did, after a moment’s hesitation.</p> + +<p>After tea he left for an orchestra probe to the next Saturday’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>schöne Engländerin</i>.</p> + +<p>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.</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>“Have you seen this opera before, Lady Le Marchant?”</p> + +<p>“No; never.”</p> + +<p>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 +<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 +“Mein schönster 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.</p> + +<p>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 <i>fiancés</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—it is becoming tragic, sad, pathetic. He says +hastily to me and in an under-tone: “Fräulein May, this is a thought of +one of your own poets:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">“‘How sad, and mad, and bad it was,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">And yet how it was sweet.’”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>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.</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, “a pair of words” passes between them.</p> + +<p>“Milady is tired?” from him, in a courteous tone, as his dark eyes dwell +upon her face.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Milady, adieu.”</p> + +<p>“Adieu, Herr von Francius.”</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>“Aren’t you coming to the ball, Eugen?”</p> + +<p>“I? No.”</p> + +<p>“I would if I were you.”</p> + +<p>“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? <i>Ich bin ich, und +setze mich selbst.</i> Ditto me, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“It is no end of a lark,” I pursued.</p> + +<p>“My larking days are over.”</p> + +<p>“And you can talk to any one you like.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Wedderburn will be there.”</p> + +<p>“I hope she may enjoy it.”</p> + +<p>“At least she will look so lovely that she will make others enjoy it.”</p> + +<p>He made no answer.</p> + +<p>“You won’t go—quite certain?”</p> + +<p>“Quite certain, <i>mein lieber</i>. Go yourself, and may you have much +pleasure.”</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’ 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—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.</p> + +<p>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.</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’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—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.</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’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.</p> + +<p>“Who in all that motley crowd would I wish to be?” 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 “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 +<i>vielle cour</i> beside her, nuns and corpses; Christy Minstrels (English, +these last, whose motives were constantly misunderstood), fools and +astrologers, Gretchens, Clärchens, 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.</p> + +<p>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.”</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>“Do not remain with me, Mr. Arkwright,” I heard Miss Wedderburn say. +“You want to dance. Go and enjoy yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I could not think of leaving you alone, Miss Wedderburn.”</p> + +<p>“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—not to dance. You will find me here when you return.”</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>“You are Herr Helfen, <i>nicht wahr</i>?” said she, inquiringly.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I, and removed my mask. “How did you know it?”</p> + +<p>“Something in your figure and attitude. Are you not dancing?”</p> + +<p>“I—oh, no!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Eugen would not come.”</p> + +<p>“He will not be here at all?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all?”</p> + +<p>“I am surprised.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“So!” She turned to me with a mounting color, which I saw flush to her +brow above her mask, and with parted lips.</p> + +<p>“He has never cared for anything since Sigmund left us,” I continued.</p> + +<p>“Sigmund—was that the dear little boy?”</p> + +<p>“You say very truly.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me about him. Was not his father very fond of him?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span></p><p>“Fond! I never saw a man idolize his child so much. It was only +need—the hardest need that made them part.”</p> + +<p>“How—need? You do not mean poverty?” said she, somewhat awe-struck.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! Moral necessity. I do not know the reason. I have never asked. +But I know it was like a death-blow.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Who could oblige him to part with his own child?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“That I do not know, <i>mein Fräulein</i>. 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.”</p> + +<p>She looked at me with eagerness for some moments; then said, quickly:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Dislikes you!” I echoed. “Oh, no!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“He is not ungenerous; the very reverse; he is too generous.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Mein Fräulein</i>,” 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; <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—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—”</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>“He is what we Germans call a <i>ganzer kerl</i>—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.”</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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.”</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’s face was blanched—she stared at me with large dilated +eyes, and at last in a low voice of anguish and apprehension said:</p> + +<p>“Oh, what does it mean?”</p> + +<p>Her voice recalled me to myself.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p><p>“Do you not?” said she, tremulously. “But—but—Anna Sartorius does know +something of him.”</p> + +<p>“Who is Anna Sartorius?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“You surely would not believe her if she said the same thing fifty times +over,” said I, not very reasonably, certainly.</p> + +<p>“I do not know,” she replied, hesitatingly. “It is very difficult to +know.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I would not. If the whole world accused him I would believe +nothing except from his own lips.”</p> + +<p>“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.</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>“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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>“But where can Adelaide be?” she said, at last. “I have not seen them +since they left us.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>They drew up to the foot of the orchestra, and then Mr. Arkwright came +up to seek us.</p> + +<p>“Miss Wedderburn, Lady Le Marchant is tired and thinks it is time to be +going.”</p> + +<p>“So am I tired,” she replied. I stepped back, but before she went away +she turned to me, holding out her hand:</p> + +<p>“Good-night, Herr Helfen. I, too, will not believe without proof.”</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>“Eugen, art thou asleep?”</p> + +<p>“I asleep, my dear boy! Well, how was it?”</p> + +<p>“Eugen, I wish you had been there.”</p> + +<p>“Why?” He roused himself with an effort and looked at me. His brow was +clouded, his eyes too.</p> + +<p>“Because you would have enjoyed it. I did. I saw Miss Wedderburn, and +spoke to her. She looked lovely.”</p> + +<p>“In that case it would have been odd indeed if you had not enjoyed +yourself.”</p> + +<p>“You are inexplicable.”</p> + +<p>“It is bed-time,” 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’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>“Adelaide,” I expostulated, “why did you remain so long?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I did not know it was so late. Come!”</p> + +<p>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 <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>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.</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’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>“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.”</p> + +<p>The carriage stopped. A sleepy servant let us in. Adelaide, as we went +upstairs, drew me into her dressing-room.</p> + +<p>“A moment, May. Have you enjoyed yourself?”</p> + +<p>“H’m—well—yes and no. And you, Adelaide?”</p> + +<p>“I never enjoy myself now,” she replied, very gently. “I am getting used +to that, I think.”</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—a terror, a shrinking as from a strong menacing hand—shook +me.</p> + +<p>“Are you ill, Adelaide?” I cried.</p> + +<p>“No. Good-night, dear May. <i>Schlaf</i>’ <i>wohl</i>, as they say here.”</p> + +<p>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?”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes.”</p> + +<p>“What do you say?”</p> + +<p>“Oh! the same that I always used to say; they are better than any I can +invent.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I never do say mine now. I rather think I am afraid to begin +again.”</p> + +<p>“Good-night, Adelaide,” 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—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—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.</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, “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!” <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>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—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">“Duftet und weinet und zittert<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Vor Liebe und Liebesweh,”<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—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—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’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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You are going to England?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Sir Peter was smiling, ever smiling, with the smile which was my horror.</p> + +<p>“A brilliant ball, last night, was it not?” 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>“Very, but—but—you were not there?”</p> + +<p>“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>!”</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>“Oh, May! I wish I had been going to England, too! I wish I could leave +this place, and never see it again.”</p> + +<p>“Was Sir Peter at the ball, Adelaide?” I asked.</p> + +<p>She turned suddenly pale; her lip trembled; her eye wavered, as she said +in a low, uneasy voice:</p> + +<p>“I believe he was—yes; in domino.”</p> + +<p>“What a sneaking thing to do!” I remarked, candidly. “He had told us +particularly that he was not coming.”</p> + +<p>“That very statement should have put us on our guard,” she remarked.</p> + +<p>“On our guard? Against what?” I asked, unsuspectingly.</p> + +<p>“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.</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>“<i>Na</i>, <i>na</i>, Fräulein! 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.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, Frau Lutzler, I wish I had never been in any larger ones,” I +answered her, earnestly.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it was all very new to me. I never was at one before.”</p> + +<p>“<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, +Fräulein—I heard that you looked very beautiful.”</p> + +<p>“So! It must have been a mistake.”</p> + +<p>“<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—if you are not too near +the foot-lights, that is, and don’t go behind the scenes.”</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—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.</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—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—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—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.</p> + +<p>“<i>Guten Tag, mein Fräulein.</i>”</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>“Are you busy, Miss Wedderburn?”</p> + +<p>“N—no.”</p> + +<p>“Would it be asking too much of you to play the pianoforte +accompaniment?”</p> + +<p>“I will try,” said I, speaking briefly, and slowly drawing off my +gloves.</p> + +<p>“If it is disagreeable to you, don’t do it,” said he, pausing.</p> + +<p>“Not in the very least,” said I, avoiding looking at him.</p> + +<p>He opened the music. It was one of Jensen’s “Wanderbilder” for piano and +violin—the “Kreuz am Wege.”</p> + +<p>“I have only tried it once before,” I remarked, “and I am a dreadful +bungler.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Bitte sehr!</i>” said he, smiling, arranging his own music on one of the +stands and adding, “Now I am ready.”</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>“Das Kreuz am Wege” turned out rather lame. I said so when it was over.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“That is dismal,” said he.</p> + +<p>“It is a dismal subject, is it not?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“No; not very early.”</p> + +<p>“Did you enjoy it?”</p> + +<p>“It was all new to me—very interesting—but I don’t think I quite +enjoyed it.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, you should see the balls at Florence, or Venice, or Vienna!”</p> + +<p>He smiled as he leaned back, as if thinking over past scenes.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“Were you going to practice?” he asked. “I fear I disturb you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! It does not matter in the least. I shall not practice now.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“But I am afraid to ask you to accompany me.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“You seem unwilling.”</p> + +<p>“I am not: but I should have supposed that my unwillingness—if <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>I had +been unwilling—would have been an inducement to you to ask me.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Herrgott!</i> Why?”</p> + +<p>“Since you took a vow to be disagreeable to me, and to make me hate +you.”</p> + +<p>A slight flush passed rapidly over his face, as he paused for a moment +and bit his lips.</p> + +<p>“<i>Mein Fräulein</i>—that night I was in bitterness of spirit—I hardly +knew what I was saying—”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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 Köln 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>“Ah, there is Friedhelm,” said he, “now he will take seconds.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will not disturb you any longer.”</p> + +<p>“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. +Fräulein Wedderburn will be good enough to accompany us, and we can try +the Fourth Symphony.”</p> + +<p>“What you call ‘Spring’?” inquired Helfen, coming up smilingly. “With +all my heart. Where is the score?”</p> + +<p>“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 <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—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>“Excuse that we kept you waiting, <i>mein Fräulein</i>,” said Courvoisier, +placing some music before me. “This fellow is so slow, and will put +everything into order as he uses it.”</p> + +<p>“Well for you that I am, <i>mein lieber</i>,” 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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“<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.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Aber! aber!</i>” cried Eugen. “That is too much! I call Frau Schmidt to +witness that all my music is put in one place.”</p> + +<p>“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 <i>partitur</i> when you can’t find the old one; so you have +three or four of each.”</p> + +<p>“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, <i>mein bester</i>, for the ‘Fruhling.’”</p> + +<p>“But the Fräulein ought to have it explained,” expostulated Helfen, +laughing. “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,” 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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</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>“Come and help! Your ’cello will give just the mellowness that is +wanted,” said Eugen.</p> + +<p>“I must go and get it then,” 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’s violoncello, and we were +left alone again.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I ought not to have introduced him. I forgot ‘Lohengrin,’” said +Eugen.</p> + +<p>“You know that you did not,” said I, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“A sign of what?”</p> + +<p>“That I feel myself to have been in the wrong throughout—and forgive.”</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’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.</p> + +<p>As the last strong, melodious modulations ceased, Courvoisier pointed to +one of the windows.</p> + +<p>“Friedhelm, you wretched unbeliever, behold the refutation of your +theories. The symphony has brought the sun out.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Miss Wedderburn’s co-operation must have secured its success then on +this occasion,” said Eugen, gravely, glancing at me for a moment.</p> + +<p>“Hear! hear!” murmured Karl, screwing up his violoncello and smiling +furtively.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I am afraid I hindered rather than helped,” said I, “but it is very +beautiful.”</p> + +<p>“But not like spring, is it?” asked Friedhelm.</p> + +<p>“Well, I think it is.”</p> + +<p>“There! I knew she would declare for me,” said Courvoisier, calmly, at +which Karl Linders looked up in some astonishment.</p> + +<p>“Shall we try this ‘Traumerei,’ Miss Wedderburn, if you are not too +tired?”</p> + +<p>I turned willingly to the piano, and we played Schumann’s little +“Dreams.”</p> + +<p>“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,’ <i>nicht wahr?</i>”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p><p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Miss Wedderburn, thank you a thousand times!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, <i>bitte sehr</i>!” 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 Königsallée, 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.</p> + +<p>“Herr Courvoisier, have you heard from your little boy?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“No?”</p> + +<p>“I do not expect to hear from him, <i>mein Fräulein</i>. When he left me we +parted altogether.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, how dreadful!”</p> + +<p>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?</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’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>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“When will he return?”</p> + +<p>“He doesn’t know. Meanwhile we are to stay where we are.”</p> + +<p>Adelaide, when we spoke of this circumstance, said, bitterly:</p> + +<p>“Everything is against me!”</p> + +<p>“Against you, Adelaide?” said I, looking apprehensively at her.</p> + +<p>“Yes, everything!” 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 “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.</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>“I have not seen you often lately,” said she; “but I assure you, you +will hear more of me some time—and before long.”</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 protégée 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.</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’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—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.</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’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?</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 +“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.</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 “joy” could not bring joy to her +heart—</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">“Diesen Kuss der ganzen Welt”<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 “Ode to Joy,” 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">“Freude, schöner Gotterfunken!<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Tochter aus Elysium!”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>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.</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">“Freude trinken alle Wesen<br /></span> +<span class="i10">An den Brüsten der Natur—”</span></div></div> + +<p>“May!” 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>“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.”</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>“Have you read it?” she asked, and she stretched her arms above her +head, as if panting for breath.</p> + +<p>“Adelaide!” I whispered, going up to her; “Adelaide—oh!”</p> + +<p>She fell upon my neck. She did not speak, and I, speechless, held her to +my breast.</p> + +<p>“You love him, Adelaide?” I said, at last.</p> + +<p>“With my whole soul!” she answered, in a low, very low, but vehement +voice. “With my whole soul.”</p> + +<p>“And you have owned it to him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Tell me,” said I, “how it was.”</p> + +<p>“I think I have loved him since almost the first time I saw him—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—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.”</p> + +<p>A pause.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“Von Francius is good, Adelaide; he is good.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Then you have decided?” I stammered.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“Oh, I love him, I love him! It is dreadful! How shall I go through with +it?”</p> + +<p>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.</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—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>“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.’”</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—<i>Taugenichts</i>—<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—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.</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—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—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.</p> + +<p>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.</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>“Samson had a Delilah, <i>mein lieber</i>,” said I, eying him. “She shore his +locks for him. Tell us frankly who has acted the part by you.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—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 “the ’cello was a +horribly ungraceful instrument.”</p> + +<p>“Not as you use it,” 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>“What ails thee, then, Karl?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“I’ve something on my mind,” he replied, uneasily.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Have you got into debt? How much? I dare say we can manage it between +us.”</p> + +<p>“No—oh, no! I am five thalers to the good.”</p> + +<p>Our countenances grow more serious. Not debt? Then what was it, what +could it be?</p> + +<p>“I hope nothing has happened to Gretchen,” suggested Eugen, for +Gretchen, his sister, was the one permanently strong love of Karl’s +heart.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p><p>“Oh, no! <i>Das Mädel</i> is very well, and getting on in her classes.”</p> + +<p>“Then what is it?”</p> + +<p>“I’m—engaged—to be married.”</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—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>“That’s blind jealousy. You both know that there isn’t a <i>Mädchen</i> in +the place who would look at you, so you try to laugh at people who are +better off than yourselves.”</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>“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.”</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—not any disrespect, and begged his pardon again. By degrees he +relented. We still urgently demanded the name of the lady.</p> + +<p>“<i>Als verlobte empfehlen sich</i> Karl Linders and—who else?” asked Eugen.</p> + +<p>“<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,” +said Karl, with much dignity.</p> + +<p>“Clara Steinmann,” we repeated, in tones of respectful gravity, “I never +heard of her.”</p> + +<p>“No, she keeps herself rather reserved and select,” said Karl, +impressively. “She lives with her aunt in the Alléestrasse, at number +39.”</p> + +<p>“Number 39!” we both ejaculated.</p> + +<p>“Exactly so! What have you to say against it?” 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>“Nothing—oh, less than nothing. But I know now where you mean. It is a +boarding-house, <i>nicht wahr?</i>”</p> + +<p>He nodded sedately.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Right!” said Karl, graciously. “She did. Clara liked Miss Wedderburn +very much.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said he.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>A smile of the Miss Squeers description—“Tilda, I pities your ignorance +and despises you”—crossed Karl’s lips as he said:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</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 Fräulein 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!</p> + +<p>He had fallen in love with a little stout dumpy <i>Mädchen</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>“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?”</p> + +<p>“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,” 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 Fräulein Clara (he got +sentimental and called her Clärchen sometimes). He had now the <i>entrée</i> +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.</p> + +<p>He took Fräulein 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 <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—or as he +called her, a <i>gescheidtes Mädchen</i>. 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.</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>“She must have seen Courvoisier before somewhere. She asks a good many +questions about him, and when I said I knew him she laughed.”</p> + +<p>“Look here, Karl, don’t go talking to outsiders about Eugen—or any of +us. His affairs are no business of Fräulein Sartorius, or any other +busybody.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p><p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“She is a fool. So are you if you let her talk to you about him.”</p> + +<p>“She is no fool, and I want to talk to no one but my own <i>Mädchen</i>,” +said he, easily; “but when a woman is talking one can’t stop one’s +ears.”</p> + +<p>Time passed. The concert with the Choral Symphony followed. Karl had had +the happiness of presenting tickets to Fräulein 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>“Friedel,” he remarked abruptly one day to me, as we paced down the +Casernenstrasse, “I wonder who Courvoisier is!”</p> + +<p>“You have managed to exist very comfortably for three or four years +without knowing.”</p> + +<p>“There is something behind all his secrecy about himself.”</p> + +<p>“Fräulein Sartorius says so, I suppose,” I remarked, dryly.</p> + +<p>“N—no; she never said so; but I think she knows it is so.”</p> + +<p>“And what if it be so?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nothing! But I wonder what can have driven him here.”</p> + +<p>“Driven him here? His own choice, of course.”</p> + +<p>Karl laughed.</p> + +<p>“<i>Nee</i>, <i>nee</i>, Friedel, not quite.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Asking him—<i>lieber Himmel!</i> no; but one may wonder—It was a very +queer thing his sending poor Sigmund off in that style. I wonder where +he is.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“Did he never tell you?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p><p>“Queer!” said Karl, reflectively. “I think there is something odd behind +it all.”</p> + +<p>“Now listen, Karl. Do you want to have a row with Eugen? Are you anxious +for him never to speak to you again?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Herrgott</i>, no!”</p> + +<p>“Then take my advice, and just keep your mouth shut. Don’t listen to +tales, and don’t repeat them.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear fellow, when there is a mystery about a man—”</p> + +<p>“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 Fräulein 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.”</p> + +<p>“For all that, there is something queer,” 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>“I say, Friedel, do you think Courvoisier’s being here is all square?”</p> + +<p>“All square?” I repeated, scornfully.</p> + +<p>He nodded.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Of course all has been right since he came here; but don’t you +think there may be something shady in the background?”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by ‘shady’?” I asked, more annoyed than I cared to +confess at his repeated returning to the subject.</p> + +<p>“Well, you know, there must be a reason for his being here—”</p> + +<p>I burst into a fit of laughter, which was not so mirthful as it might +seem.</p> + +<p>“I should rather think there must. Isn’t there a reason for every one +being somewhere? Why am I here? Why are you here?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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,” said I, witheringly, and then, after a moment’s +reflection, I said:</p> + +<p>“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—<i>verstehst +du?</i>”</p> + +<p>“I meant no harm, and I can see no harm in it,” said he.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“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—most assuredly never spoken to her.”</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 naturæ</i>. 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.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + +<div class="centerbox4 bbox"> +<p>“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—<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—a rock to crush—<br /> +Thy word—thy simple downright ‘No, I did not.’<br /> + + * * * * + * * *<br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Why! How!<br /></span> +What’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?”<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’s “Prometheus,” and a great violinist had been announced as +coming to enrapture the audience with the performance of a Concerto of +Beethoven’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 Königlicher 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.</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 Fräulein 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—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 ——, the +celebrated, who was to perform it. Von Francius advanced and made a +short enough announcement.</p> + +<p>“<i>Meine Herrschaften</i>, 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.”</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’s Concerto; but Eugen, +lifting his voice, addressed them in his turn:</p> + +<p>“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>—one of the compositions of Herr von Francius.”</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—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.</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—applause renewed again and +again—it was a veritable <i>succès 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 Fräulein 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, “<i>Ich gratuliere</i>,” 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—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.</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>“Eugen,” said he, “a foul lie has been told about you.”</p> + +<p>“So!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well?” said Eugen, whose face was white, and whose voice was low.</p> + +<p>“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?”</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>“<i>Um Gotteswillen</i>, Eugen! Speak!”</p> + +<p>He looked up—so may look a dog that is being tortured—and my very +heart sickened; but he did not speak.</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>Karl, the wretched beginner of the wretched scene, came nearer, took the +other’s hand, and, in a hoarse whisper, said:</p> + +<p>“For God’s sake, Eugen, speak! Deny it! You can deny it—you must deny +it!”</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>“Say it is a lie, Eugen!” Karl conjured him.</p> + +<p>At last came speech; at last an answer; slow, low, tremulous, impossible +to mistake or explain away.</p> + +<p>“No; I can not say so.”</p> + +<p>His head—that proud, high head—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>“Herr Direktor, Helfen will take my place, <i>nicht wahr?</i>”</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—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:</p> + +<p>“Friedel, I am a damned fool.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry not to be able to contradict you.”</p> + +<p>“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 <i>die Clara</i> 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—<i>ein lauter Spitzbube</i>—a forger, +and worse. I told her I believed it was a lie. I did not believe it.</p> + +<p>“‘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.”</p> + +<p>He went on in distress for some time.</p> + +<p>“Oh, drop it!” said I, impatiently. “You have done the mischief. I don’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 Fräulein Steinmann +and Sartorius. They will confer the reward of merit upon you.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Gott behüte!</i>”</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>“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.”</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>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Whom I know, and ever have known, to be an honest man.”</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>A momentary expression of pleasure unutterable flashed across his face +and into his eyes; then was repressed, as he said:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span></p><p>“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!’”</p> + +<p>He looked at me; his eyes were dim with anguish. He said:</p> + +<p>“Friedel, I—can not tell you that I am innocent.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“It is incredible. Such loyalty, such—Friedel, you are a fool!”</p> + +<p>His voice broke.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Miss Wedderburn! How delightful she is.”</p> + +<p>“If it is any comfort to you to know, I can assure you that she thinks +as I do. I am certain of it.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>The tone sufficiently told me that he was much in love with her already.</p> + +<p>“She is bewitching,” he added.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I shall not see much more of her. I shall not remain here.”</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>“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!”</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—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 “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.</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>“Friedel, do you believe in a future state?”</p> + +<p>“I do, and I don’t. I mean to say that I don’t know anything about it.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know what my idea of heaven would be?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“No; but a place where there are no mistakes.”</p> + +<p>“No mistakes?”</p> + +<p>“<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—not a large punishment for a little sin, and <i>vice +versâ</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I should think that if there is any heaven there would be some +arrangement of that kind.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You think this world a hell, Eugen?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Once and only once was Sigmund mentioned between us, and Eugen said:</p> + +<p>“Nine years, were you speaking of? No—not in nineteen, nor in +ninety-nine shall I ever see him again.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—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 Jäger 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, länger kann ich diesen Kampf nicht kämpfen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Den Riesenkampf der Pflicht.<br /></span> +Kannst du des Herzens Flammentrieb nicht dämpfen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So fordre, Tugend, dieses Opfer nicht.<br /></span></p> + +<p>Geschworen hab’ ich ’s, ja, ich hab’s geschworen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mich selbst zu bändigen.<br /></span> +Hier ist dein Kranz, er sei auf ewig mir verloren;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nimm ihn zurück und lass mich sündigen.<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—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.</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, “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.</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—and it tortured me to have +to own it, but I had to do so—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—very much to me. My sympathy or pity or +thought—as I felt all too keenly—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—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.</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—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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span></p><p>“Indeed I will, if you care to hear from me,” 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>“Fräulein 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, <i>eine vollkommene Künstlerin</i>, +you must give everything else up—love and marriage and all that +interferes with your art, for, <i>liebes Fräulein</i>, you can not pursue two +things at once.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Wait till the time of probation comes; you are but eighteen yet,” said +he, kindly, but skeptically.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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, Fräulein +May?”</p> + +<p>I bowed.</p> + +<p>“My first violinist, <i>nicht wahr?</i>”</p> + +<p>Again I assented silently. He went on:</p> + +<p>“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—<i>ja</i>?”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>I could say no more.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“If I am alive, and you send for me, I will.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I will—indeed I will!”</p> + +<p>“We will not say good-bye, but only <i>auf wiedersehen</i>!” said he. “You +and I shall meet again. I am sure of that. <i>Meine liebe, gute +Schülerin</i>, adieu!”</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—half concert, half +theatricals, wholly <i>dilettante</i>—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.</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—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.</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“All right, my lady,” 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 “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.</p> + +<p>Then there came a voice. Some one—a complaisant <i>dilettantin</i>—was +singing Thekla’s song. We heard the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>refrain—distance lent enchantment; +it sounded what it really was, deep as eternity:</p> + +<p class="center">“Ich habe gelebt und geliebet.”</p> + +<p>Adelaide moved uneasily; her hand started nervously, and a sigh broke +from her lips.</p> + +<p>“Schiller wrote from his heart,” said she, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“Indeed, yes, Adelaide.”</p> + +<p>“Did you say good-bye to von Francius, May, yesterday?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—at least, we said <i>au revoir</i>. He wants me to sing for him next +winter.”</p> + +<p>“Was he very down?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—very. He—”</p> + +<p>A footstep close at hand. A figure passed in the uncertain light, dimly +discerned us, paused, and glanced at us.</p> + +<p>“Max!” exclaimed Adelaide, in a low voice, full of surprise and emotion, +and she half started up.</p> + +<p>“It is you! That is too wonderful!” said he, pausing.</p> + +<p>“You are not yet gone?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“We—May and I—thought it so pleasant that we would not go in again to +listen to the play.”</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>“Since this accidental meeting has taken place, I may have the privilege +of saying adieu to your ladyship.”</p> + +<p>“Yes—” 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 ——, +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>“It is more happiness than I expected,” 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 “Farewell,” and go!</p> + +<p>“Happiness!” echoed Adelaide, in a tone whose wretchedness was too deep +for tears.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“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!”</p> + +<p>“You are right,” said von Francius to me, before Adelaide had time to +speak; “you are quite right.”</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>“My lady, adieu! Heaven send you peace, or death, which brings it, +or—whatever is best.”</p> + +<p>Loosing her hands he turned to me, saying distinctly:</p> + +<p>“As you are a woman, and her sister, do not forsake her now.”</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’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>“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.”</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, “I am ready,” and moved. He offered her his arm; +she took it, turning to me and saying, “Come, May!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I can not leave my sister, Sir Peter; she is not fit to be left,” I +found voice to say.</p> + +<p>“She is not ‘left,’ as you say, my dear. She has her husband. She has +me,” said he.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</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>“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.”</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—and yet, how otherwise could the whole story have ended?</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear May</span>,—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.</p> + +<p>“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—not to what people say. Good-bye again!</p></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 19em;">“<span class="smcap">Adelaide</span>.”</span></p> + +<p>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?</p> + +<p>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!</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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 <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>upon the good pleasure of a man—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>“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!”</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’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’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.</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—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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Ach, ich bitte sie, Fräulein!</i> Don’t mention the trouble. We have +managed to keep you alive.”</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>“You are very kind,” I said, “and I want you to tell me something, Frau +Lutzler: how long have I been ill?”</p> + +<p>“Fourteen days, Fräulein; little as you may think it.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed! I have heard nothing about any one in that time. Who has been +made musik-direktor in place of Herr von Francius?”</p> + +<p>Frau Lutzler folded her arms and composed herself to tell me a history.</p> + +<p>“<i>Ja, Fräulein</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?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Of course, considering all that, the Direktion could not offer it to +him, so they proposed it to Herr Helfen—you know Herr Helfen, Fräulein, +<i>nicht</i>?”</p> + +<p>I nodded.</p> + +<p>“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—in fact, he was quite angry +about it. The gentleman who was chosen at last was a stranger, from +Hanover.”</p> + +<p>“Herr Helfen refused it—why, do you know?”</p> + +<p>“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>, Fräulein—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>”</p> + +<p>Adelaide and Courvoisier, it seemed, might almost be pelted with the +same stones.</p> + +<p>“His wife, they say, died of grief at the disgrace—”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Herr Helfen must indeed have loved his friend, for when Herr +Courvoisier went away he went with him.”</p> + +<p>“Herr Courvoisier is gone?” I inquired, in a voice so like my usual one +that I was surprised.</p> + +<p>“Yes, certainly he is gone. I don’t know where, I am sure.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps they will return?”</p> + +<p>Frau Lutzler shook her head, and smiled slightly.</p> + +<p>“<i>Nee</i>, Fräulein! Their places were filled immediately. They are +gone—<i>ganz und gar</i>.”</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. “We have managed to save you,” 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—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—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—desolate to live in, and shorn of its sweetest pleasures. He had +influenced me, he influenced me yet—I still felt the words true:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">“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!”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 Köln, 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’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 “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!”</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—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.</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: “Would I return to +Germany if I could?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said I, “I would.”</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 “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.</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’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 “Tante” both worked hard. There was much +work—dreadful work to do—such poor groaning fellows to nurse! +“<i>Herrgott!</i>” 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.</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’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: “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 (<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.”</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—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.”</p> + +<p>At last the answer came. On the part of Adelaide it was short:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear May</span>,—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.”</p></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 15em;">“Yours,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 19em;">“A. <span class="smcap">von</span> F.”</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—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.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Liebe Mai</span>”—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 <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;">“Your old music-master,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 19em;">“<span class="smcap">M. v. F.</span>”<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—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 “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.</p> + +<p>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.”</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—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.</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“That is much more praise than I deserve, Miss Hallam.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Utterly astounded, I stammered out some incoherent words.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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——. +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.</p> + +<p>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.</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—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>“Freude trinken alle Wesen<br /> +An den Brüsten der Natur;<br /> +Alle Guten, alle Bösen<br /> +Folgen ihrer Rosenspur.”</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—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 “Schloss,” as he ambitiously called it, at +Lahnburg, a four-hours’ 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’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.</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’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’s shrill +scream.</p> + +<p>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.</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’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—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—<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’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.</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—a very hurricane of a roar. The preacher’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—a very “darkness which +might be felt.” Amid the roar of the wind came disjointed, broken +exclamations of terrified women and angry, impatient men. “<i>Ach Gott!</i>” +“<i>Du meine Zeit!</i>” “<i>Herr du meine Güte!</i>” “<i>Oh je!</i>” 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—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.</p> + +<p>“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.</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—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!</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—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.</p> + +<p>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.</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—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—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.</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—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—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:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">“Und das Gesindel, husch, husch, husch<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Kam hinten nachgeprasselt—<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Wie Wirbelwind am Haselbusch<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Durch dürre Blatter rasselt.”<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And <i>wirbelwind</i>—the whirlwind—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—he was living—he was safe!</p> + +<p>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 <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>knew not till now how it had grown—how fast and +all-denominating it had become.</p> + +<p>A sob broke from my lips, and his voice was silenced.</p> + +<p>“Herr Courvoisier!” I stammered.</p> + +<p>“Who spoke?” he asked in a clear voice.</p> + +<p>“It is you!” I murmured.</p> + +<p>“May!” he uttered, and paused abruptly.</p> + +<p>A hand touched mine—warm, firm, strong—his very hand. In its lightest +touch there seemed safety, shelter, comfort.</p> + +<p>“Oh, how glad I am! how glad I am!” I sobbed.</p> + +<p>He murmured “Sonderbar!” as if arguing with himself, and I held his hand +fast.</p> + +<p>“Don’t leave me! Stay here!” I implored.</p> + +<p>“I suppose there is not much choice about that for either of us,” 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>“You are exhausted with standing?” said he. “Sit down upon this ledge.”</p> + +<p>“If you will too.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, of course. I think our voyage will be a long one, and—”</p> + +<p>“Speak German,” said I. “Let me hear you speaking it again.”</p> + +<p>“And I have no mind to stand all the time,” he concluded in his own +tongue.</p> + +<p>“Is there no one else here but ourselves?”</p> + +<p>“No one.”</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>“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.</p> + +<p>“I think we are about passing Kaiserswerth,” said he. “I wonder where we +shall land at last.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think we shall go very far?”</p> + +<p>“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, <i>warum +nicht</i>?”</p> + +<p>“How long does that take?”</p> + +<p>“Twelve or fourteen hours, I dare say.”</p> + +<p>I was silent.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“No, no!” cried I. “Keep it! I won’t have it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes you will, because you can’t help it if I make you,” he answered as +he wrapped it round me.</p> + +<p>“Well, please take part of it. At least wrap half of it round you,” I +implored, “or I shall be miserable.”</p> + +<p>“Pray don’t. No, keep it! It is not like charity—it has not room for +many sins at once.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean you or me?” I could not help asking.</p> + +<p>“Are we not all sinners?”</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>“You have quite a thin coat,” I remonstrated, “and I have a winter +dress, a thick jacket, and a shawl.”</p> + +<p>“And my coat, <i>und doch bist du</i>—oh, pardon! and you are shivering in +spite of it,” said he, conclusively.</p> + +<p>“It is an awful storm, is it not?” I suggested next.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I had been to church.”</p> + +<p>“So! I had not.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p><p>“How did you come here?” I ventured to ask.</p> + +<p>“Yes—you may well ask; but first—you have been in England, have you +not?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and am going back again.”</p> + +<p>“Well—I came here yesterday from Berlin. When the war was over—”</p> + +<p>“Ah, you were in the war?” I gasped.</p> + +<p>“<i>Natürlich, mein Fräulein.</i> Where else should I have been?”</p> + +<p>“And you fought?”</p> + +<p>“Also <i>natürlich</i>.”</p> + +<p>“Where did you fight? At Sedan?”</p> + +<p>“At Sedan—yes.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my God!” I whispered to myself. “And were you wounded?” I added +aloud.</p> + +<p>“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>’ <i>einen +guten Cameraden</i>.”</p> + +<p>“You were wounded!” I repeated, unheeding all that discursiveness. +“Where? How? Were you in the hospital?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Thank God! Thank God! How I have wondered! How I have thought—well, +how did you come here?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t.”</p> + +<p>“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 Holländer’—very +appropriate, wasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Very.”</p> + +<p>“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’s stormy music while I looked on like a gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“But when you came out of the theater?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Are you going to stay long in Elberthal?”</p> + +<p>“It seems I may not. I am driven away by storms and tempests.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“There’s the moon,” said he; “how brilliant, is she not?”</p> + +<p>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.</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—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—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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p><p>“Your fate is a perverse one,” he remarked, as I did not speak.</p> + +<p>“So! Why?”</p> + +<p>“It throws you so provokingly into society which must be so unpleasant +to you.”</p> + +<p>“Whose society?”</p> + +<p>“Mine, naturally.”</p> + +<p>“You are much mistaken,” said I, composedly.</p> + +<p>“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—”</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—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—a strange, sudden light came into his eyes.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Then I will leave you,” he went on, resuming the old manner, but with +evident effort, “and not interfere with you any more.”</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—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>“And you, Miss Wedderburn—have you deserted Germany?”</p> + +<p>“I have been obliged to live in England, if that is what you mean—I am +living in Germany at present.”</p> + +<p>“And art—<i>die Kunst</i>—that is cruel!”</p> + +<p>“You are amusing yourself at my expense, as you have always delighted in +doing,” said I, sharply, cut to the quick.</p> + +<p>“<i>Aber, Fräulein May!</i> What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“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 Köln? 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.”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Not quite everything,” thought I, uncomfortably, as the said eyes sunk +beneath his look.</p> + +<p>“Fräulein May, will you have the patience to listen while I tell you a +little story?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” I responded, readily, as I hailed the prospect of learning +something more about him.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“She was young—and very beautiful,” said he. “You will forgive my +introducing the subject?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Herr Courvoisier!”</p> + +<p>“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—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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Go on!” said I, breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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—<i>der +Mensch</i>—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—”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p><p>“That is why you never would take the lead in anything.”</p> + +<p>“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>—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.</p> + +<p>“One year the Lower Rhenish Musikfest was to be held at Köln. 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>“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 Kölner 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. +Fräulein May, I have lived that afternoon over again many and many a +time. Have you ever given a thought to it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I have,” said I, dryly.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“Stop. Did you never throughout all this give a thought to the +possibility that I might fall in love with you?”</p> + +<p>I did not look at him, but he said, after a pause:</p> + +<p>“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—or even with much asking on my part—<i>bewahre!</i>”</p> + +<p>I was silent, still concealing my face. He went on:</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t speak so harshly!” 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>“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—”</p> + +<p>“And you renounced me?” said I in a low voice.</p> + +<p>“I renounced you.”</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—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>“They say you have committed a crime,” said I.</p> + +<p>“And I have not denied, can not deny it,” he answered, as if waiting for +something further.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“Yours and my honor’s. What then?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>Ignoring this hint, I laid my hands upon his arm, and eying him +steadily, went on:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“It is impossible, May,” he said, quietly, after a pause. “I wish you +had never seen me.”</p> + +<p>“It is only impossible if you make it so.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You shall not live it out alone,” I said.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“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 <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>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.”</p> + +<p>I could command myself no longer, but sobbed aloud.</p> + +<p>“You will have to answer for it,” I repeated; “but you will not send me +away.”</p> + +<p>“What, in Heaven’s name, makes you love me so?” he asked, as if lost in +wonder.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Silence!</p> + +<p>“Look at me and say that you did,” I continued.</p> + +<p>Silence still.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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, +“It is a lie; he is as honest as you.” It was a solemn prospect. It +overpowered me.</p> + +<p>“You quail before that?” said he, gently, after a pause.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“It was a matter of the clearest duty—and honor,” 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>“Of duty!” I cried, strangely moved. “If you did not do it, who did? Why +are you silent?”</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—to come.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He was silent.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“Do you know what is ringing in my ears and will not leave my mind?” I +asked.</p> + +<p>“Indeed, no! You are a riddle and a mystery to me.”</p> + +<p>I hummed the splendid air from the Choral Symphony, the <i>motif</i> of the +music to the choruses to “Joy” which follow.</p> + +<p>“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.’”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p><p>“I wonder what that town is?” I said, after a pause.</p> + +<p>“I am not sure, but I fancy it is Emmerich. I am sure I hope so.”</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>“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.”</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>“What for a lark! as they say in your country.”</p> + +<p>“You are quite mistaken. I never heard such an expression. But what is +such a lark?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Hurrah! At last you will be compelled to take back that three thalers +ten.”</p> + +<p>We both laughed at this <i>jeu d</i>’<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—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.</p> + +<p>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.</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>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Anything, now that I am sure of yours for me.”</p> + +<p>“In short, you are firmly decided to be my wife some time?”</p> + +<p>“When you tell me you are ready for me,” said I, putting my hand in his.</p> + +<p>“And if I find it best to leave my Fatherland, and begin life quite +anew?”</p> + +<p>“Thy God is my God, and thy people are my people, Eugen.”</p> + +<p>“One other thing. How do you know that you can marry? Your friends—”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>He smiled, and it was a new smile—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>“What’s failure or success to me?<br /> +I have subdued my life to the one purpose.”<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>“Lahnburg!—I—when you are there—<i>nein, das ist</i>—You are going to +Lahnburg?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Why not?”</p> + +<p>“You will know why I ask if you go to Schloss Rothenfels.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“The question is—will you still be at Elberthal when I return?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, a year is not much out of our lives. How old are you, Eugen?”</p> + +<p>“Thirty-two. And you?”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“A regular little brute, I should suppose, as they all are.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“I thought you had given up art.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I shall see Adelaide,” I added; “or, rather, I will see her.” I +looked at him rather inquiringly. To my relief he said:</p> + +<p>“Have you not seen her since her marriage?”</p> + +<p>“No; have you?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Adelaide—your nurse—the Iron Cross?” I ejaculated. “Then you have +seen her?”</p> + +<p>“Seen her shadow to bless it.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know where she is now?”</p> + +<p>“With her husband at ——. She told me that you were in England, and she +gave me this.”</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>“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—”</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’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.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + +<div class="centerbox6 bbox"><p>“Oftmals hab’ ich geirrt, und habe mich wiedergefunden,<br /> +Aber glücklicher nie.”</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’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.</p> + +<p>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 <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 Gräfin 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 Gräfin 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,—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.</p> + +<p>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.</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—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—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 Gräfin 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—I am not ashamed to own it—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>“I have my carriage here. Would you like to come with me to see our +woods and house? They are sometimes interesting to strangers.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, very much!” I said, eagerly.</p> + +<p>“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 <i>gené, nicht +wahr?</i>”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>Very soon I was seated beside the Gräfin in the dark-green clarence, +with the grand coachman and the lady’s own jäger 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.</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—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.</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—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.</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—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 Gräfin 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-cochère</i> in which more servants were +standing about.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“This is the rittersaal, one of the oldest rooms in the house.”</p> + +<p>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.</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>“If you find it not too intolerably stupid,” she added. “It is a dull +place.”</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>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Very!” said I, emphatically.</p> + +<p>“Then you will be interested in the music-rooms here. How old are you?”</p> + +<p>I told her. She bowed gravely. “You are young, and, I suppose, happy?” +she remarked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am—very happy—perfectly,” said I, smiling, because I could not +help it.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“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.</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—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—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 <i>Musik-kammern</i> (the +music-rooms).</p> + +<p>“If you wish to see the music, <i>mein Fräulein</i>, I must leave you in the +hands of Herr Brunken, who will tolerate no cicerone but himself.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I wish to see it certainly,” 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>“Pray, <i>mein Fräulein</i>, 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 mediæval +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—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. <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—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.</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—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</p> + +<p class="center">“Dusky youth with painted plumage gay”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <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 & 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, +’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 Pæan!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>I stood and gazed in wonder and amazement.</p> + +<p>“Surely the present Graf has not collected all these instruments!” said +I.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, <i>mein Fräulein</i>; they have been accumulating for centuries. +They tell strange tales of what the Sturms will do for music.”</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 “Max der Tolle,” 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—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’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.</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—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.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“<i>Das Fräulein</i>, <i>das Fräulein</i>, from home!” 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—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>“Have you seen my father?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span></p><p>“Sigmund, I saw him the day before yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“You saw him—you spoke to him, perhaps?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I spoke long with him.”</p> + +<p>“What did he look like?”</p> + +<p>“As he always does—brave, and true, and noble.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Nicht wahr?</i>” 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.”</p> + +<p>“Do you like me, Sigmund?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; very much.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think you could love me? Would you trust me to love those you +love?”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean him?” he asked point-blank, and looked at me somewhat +startled.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“I—don’t—know.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>He looked doubtful still.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—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:</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“If he has decided it so it must be right, you know; but—but—you won’t +let him forget me, will you?”</p> + +<p>The child’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>“Forget you, Sigmund? Your father never forgets, he can not!”</p> + +<p>“I wish I was grown up,” 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>“Do you live here, Sigmund?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“What relation are you to the Herr Graf?”</p> + +<p>“Graf von Rothenfels is my uncle.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes!” said he. “Yes, very.”</p> + +<p>“What do you do all day?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“And have you no friends?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Did he? Oh, I did not know that.”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“Be sure it is for nothing wrong. He does nothing wrong. He does nothing +but what is good and right,” said I.</p> + +<p>“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.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>“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.”</p> + +<p>“They do not live there now, dear, Friedhelm and your father,” said I, +gently.</p> + +<p>“Not? Then where are they?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“Will you show me the way back to the countess’s room?” 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>“Sigmund,” said I, “are you not proud to belong to these?” and I pointed +to the dim portraits hanging around.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p><p>With this he ushered me into Gräfin Hildegarde’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’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—who forbade the child to +speak of the loved one.</p> + +<p>“Ha!” said he, “you have found Sigmund, <i>mein Fräulein</i>? Where did you +meet, then?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“In the music-room,” said Sigmund; and the uncle’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’s soul in her pathetic eyes, and was silent.</p> + +<p>“Come here,” said the Graf, seating himself and drawing the boy to him. +“What hast thou been doing?”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“I was with Nahrath till Aunt Hildegarde sent for him, and then I went +to practice.”</p> + +<p>“Practice what? Thy riding or fencing?”</p> + +<p>“No; my violin.”</p> + +<p>“Bah! What an extraordinary thing it is that this lad has no taste for +anything but fiddling,” observed the uncle, half aside.</p> + +<p>Gräfin 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>“<i>Nun denn!</i>” said the count. “What hast thou? Out with it!”</p> + +<p>“Nothing that it would please you to hear, uncle; therefore I will not +say it,” 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>“I ride no further this morning; but this afternoon I shall go to +Mulhausen. Wilt thou come with me?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, uncle.”</p> + +<p>Neither willing nor unwilling was the tone, and the answer appeared to +dissatisfy the other, who said:</p> + +<p>“‘Yes, uncle’—what does that mean? Dost thou not wish to go?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes! I would as soon go as stay at home.”</p> + +<p>“But the distance, Bruno,” here interposed the countess, in a low tone. +“I am sure it is too far. He is not too strong.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Distance—no,” said he, indifferently.</p> + +<p>“Come with me,” said the elder. “I want to show thee something.”</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—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’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—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.</p> + +<p>“That is our nephew,” said she; “my husband’s heir.”</p> + +<p>“I have often seen him before,” said I; “but I should have thought that +his father would be your husband’s next heir.”</p> + +<p>Never shall I forget the look she darted upon me—the awful glance which +swept over me scathingly, ere she said, in icy tones:</p> + +<p>“What do you mean? Have you seen—or do you know—Graf Eugen?”</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>“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.</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>“Do you wish to know anything about him?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“So he told me,” said I, struggling on my own part to keep back the +burning words within me.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“No; he said he would write.”</p> + +<p>“Would write!” she echoed, suspending her work, and fixing me with her +eyes. “Would write—to whom?”</p> + +<p>“To me.”</p> + +<p>“You correspond with him?” There was a tremulous eagerness in her +manner.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</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’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>“That is the truth, <i>gnädige Frau</i>. All I fear is that I am not good +enough for him—shall not satisfy him.”</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know them circumstantially. I know he was accused of +something, and—and—did not—I mean—”</p> + +<p>“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!”</p> + +<p>“I should like to hear the story, madame, but I do not think any +eloquence will change my mind.”</p> + +<p>“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—<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—”</p> + +<p>“No, Frau Gräfin! no, indeed!”</p> + +<p>“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,” 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 <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.”</p> + +<p>“Did you ever hear of anything base—anything underhand or +dishonorable?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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 +Fräulein ——, 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.</p> + +<p>“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 <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span>family—he was always a dreadful radical in such +matters. She was a governess in the house of one of his friends in ——.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“That poor young wife! Instead of pitying him for having made a +<i>mésalliance</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.”</p> + +<p>The lady paused. The recital evidently cost her some pain and some +emotion. She went on:</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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>“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 ‘Vittoria von Rothenfels.’</p> + +<p>“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>“‘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.</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 19em;">‘<span class="smcap">Eugen</span>.’</span></p></div> + +<p>“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—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>“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.”</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, “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?</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 Gräfin; +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.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + +<h3>“WHERE IS MY FATHER?”</h3> + +<p>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.</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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I wish you would allow me to go and see him.”</p> + +<p>“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 <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’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>“Sigmund, I have come to see you,” said I, coming to the fire and +greeting the old man, who welcomed me hospitably.</p> + +<p>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:</p> + +<p>“Now, Brunken, go on!”</p> + +<p>“As I was saying, <i>mein Liebling</i>, I hope to prove all former theorists +and writers upon the subject to have been wrong—”</p> + +<p>“He’s talking about a Magrepha,” said Sigmund, still not opening his +eyes.</p> + +<p>“A Magrepha—what may that be?” I inquired.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Some people say it was a real full-blown organ,” <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span>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.”</p> + +<p>“I hope so, at least,” said Brunken, with a modest placidity.</p> + +<p>“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.</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—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’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’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 Gräfin. 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>“<i>Mein Vater</i>, where art thou?”</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>“Father! father! where art thou? I want thee!”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear! What is to be done? Sigmund! <i>Was ist denn mit dir, mein +Engel?</i>” said the poor countess, greatly distressed.</p> + +<p>“He is ill,” said I. “I think he has taken an illness. Does thy head +ache, Sigmund?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said he, “it does. Where is my own father? My head never ached +when I was with my father.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Mein Gott! mein Gott!</i>” said the countess in a low tone. “I thought he +had forgotten his father.”</p> + +<p>“Forgotten!” echoed I. “Frau Gräfin, he is one of yourselves. You do not +seem to forget.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Herrgott!</i>” 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?”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span></p><p>“Sigmund, <i>Liebchen</i>,” said the countess, “control thyself. Thy uncle +must not hear thee say that word.”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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 +“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.</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’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</p> + +<p class="center">“As I loved, loved am I.”</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’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 Gräfin. +“<i>Aber!</i> 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 <i>négligé</i>. I wonder if I should have time to—”</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>“<span class="smcap">Liebe Mai</span>”—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,</p></div> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 19em;">“<span class="smcap">Hildegarde v. Rothenfels</span>.”</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’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—a smile wonderfully like that which his father had lately bent +upon me. He gave a little laugh, saying:</p> + +<p>“Fräulein 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’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.”</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. Gräfin 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—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’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 Gräfin 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>“<i>Liebe</i> Miss Wedderburn, will you do something for me? Will you speak +to my husband?”</p> + +<p>“To your husband!” I ejaculated.</p> + +<p>She bowed.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>She turned away without tears—tears were not in her line—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>“<i>Mein Fräulein</i>, you are loading us with obligations. It is quite +unheard of.”</p> + +<p>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.</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—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’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:</p> + +<p>“<i>Ach, mein Liebling!</i> art thou then so ill?”</p> + +<p>With a kind of shuddering cry, the boy pushed him away with both hands, +crying:</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—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>“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?”</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>“Frau Gräfin, 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.”</p> + +<p>“I dare not!” said the countess.</p> + +<p>She had met her husband, and was flung, unnerved, upon a couch, her hand +over her heart.</p> + +<p>“But I dare, and I must do it!” said I, secretly wondering at myself. “I +shall telegraph for him.”</p> + +<p>“If my husband knew!” she breathed.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“For Eugen to enter this house again!” she said in a whisper.</p> + +<p>“I would to God that there were any other head as noble under its roof!” +was my magniloquent and thoroughly earnest inspiration. “Well, <i>gnädige +Frau</i>, will you arrange this matter, or shall I?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“Sigmund is ill. I am here. Come to us.”</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>“I am not responsible for it.”</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’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’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—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—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 “Father!” 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—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.</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>“Eugen!” I said, tremulously.</p> + +<p>A sudden pause—a stop; then he said with a kind of laugh:</p> + +<p>“Witchcraft—Zauberei!” and was going on.</p> + +<p>But now I knew his whereabouts, and coming up to him, touched his arm.</p> + +<p>“This, however, is reality!” he exclaimed, infolding me and kissing me +as he hurried on. “May, how is he?”</p> + +<p>“Just the same,” said I, clinging to him. “Oh, thank Heaven that you are +come!”</p> + +<p>“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?”</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—no one on the stairway or along the passages—straight +he held his way, and I with him.</p> + +<p>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.</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—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—for the first time I saw him look +pale with apprehension.</p> + +<p>“Not this cup—not this!” muttered he. <i>“Gott im Himmel!</i> anything short +of this—I will give him up—leave him—anything—only let him live!”</p> + +<p>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.</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’s life had been a mourning to him, the father’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—his hand that was +cold and nerveless. It was I who said:</p> + +<p>“Do not despair, I hope still.”</p> + +<p>“If he is dying,” said Eugen, “he shall die in my arms.”</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’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!</p> + +<p>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.</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>“Eugen, it is dreadfully infectious! Don’t kiss the child in that way, +or you will take the fever and be laid up too.”</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—it was in a strange tone that +he answered:</p> + +<p>“Ah, Hildegarde! What does it matter what becomes of me? Leave me this!”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>The countess had stood looking at him. She strove for silence; sought +tremulously after coldness, but in vain.</p> + +<p>“Eugen—” She came nearer, and looked more closely at him. “<i>Herrgott!</i> +how you are altered! What a meeting! I—can it be six years ago—and +now—oh!” Her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span>voice broke into a very wail. “We loved you—why did you +deceive us?”</p> + +<p>My heart stood still. Would he stand this test? It was the hardest he +had had. Gräfin 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.</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’s fingers.</p> + +<p>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.”</p> + +<p>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 <i>böser Geist</i> of my lover’s fate—Anna Sartorius. And the +count and countess were present, apparently waiting for her to begin to +speak.</p> + +<p>“You are here,” said the Gräfin to me. “I was just about to send for +you. This lady says she knows you.”</p> + +<p>“She does,” 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>“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.”</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’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>“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.</p> + +<p>“I confess—” began the countess, and Anna went on:</p> + +<p>“You, <i>gnädige 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’s house—he +was a music teacher—to ask about lessons for some friend or protégée 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.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span></p><p>“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.</p> + +<p>“At that time—the time you called at our house, <i>gnädige Frau</i>—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.</p> + +<p>“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>“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’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.</p> + +<p>“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—<i>mes amis</i>, I +think it is easy to guess the end—the end was ruin. I watched it coming +on, and I thought of you, Frau Gräfin. 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>“Eugen, she said, was a fool not to conciliate his brother and that +doting old saint (her words, <i>gnädige 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—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.</p> + +<p>“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>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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’s, Graf Bruno’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>“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—”</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—must be—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>“Eugen!” in a trembling voice, and then, with a positive sob, “canst +thou forgive?”</p> + +<p>“My brother—I have not resented. I could not. Honor in thee, as honor +in me—”</p> + +<p>“But that thou wert doubted, hated, mistak—”</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>“Now I can die happy! What folly, Eugen! and folly like none but thine. +I might have known—”</p> + +<p>A faint smile crossed his lips. For all the triumphant vindication, he +looked very pallid.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“You have much to forgive,” said she.</p> + +<p>“Eugen, you came to see me on business,” 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>“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?”</p> + +<p>“If so,” interrupted his brother before I could speak, “let me add my +petition and that of my wife—do you allow me, Hildegarde?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, yes, yes!”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“But I want to know, Eugen, about this. I don’t quite understand yet how +you managed to shift the blame upon yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he does not want to tell,” said I, hastily.</p> + +<p>“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:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">“‘Die Teufel nennen es Höllenqual,<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Die Menschen nennen es Liebe.’<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“The minx!” said the countess aside to me. “I would have shaken her!”</p> + +<p>“‘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:</p> + +<p>“‘A composer—a beggar!’ That was hard.</p> + +<p>“I asked her, ‘Will you not help me?’</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span></p><p>“‘Never, to degrade yourself in that manner,’ she assured me.</p> + +<p>“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>“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>“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>“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>“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.”</p> + +<p>“What did you tell Hugo von Meilingen?”</p> + +<p>“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—”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span></p><p>“So much genius, you mean,” I interposed.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well! You were always a radical, Eugen,” said the count, +indulgently.</p> + +<p>“At last, at Köln 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.”</p> + +<p>Eugen paused, and choked down some little emotion ere he added:</p> + +<p>“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 <i>sans +peur et sans reproche</i>. 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. Fräulein 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.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear, how beautiful!” said the countess, in tears.</p> + +<p>“We must have him over here and see a great deal of him.”</p> + +<p>“We must certainly know him, and that soon,” said Count Bruno.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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 <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—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—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—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>“You have been saying your prayers so long that I was sure you must be +asking too much.”</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—quick, impulsive, a very mortal. And he said:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“Well! <i>Mein Engel</i>—you do,” said he, laughing.</p> + +<p>“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 <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;">“And surely, when all this is past<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They shall not want their rest at last.”</span></p></div> + +<p>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 Gräfin 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:</p> + +<p>“Herr Helfen, how do you do?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, pardon me, <i>gnädige Frau</i>; for the moment I did not recognize you. +I hope you are well.”</p> + +<p>“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.</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—a certain +secret sat upon them, and closed them in an outline, sweet, but utterly +impenetrable.</p> + +<p>“You are going to Rothenfels, I presume?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Yes. And you also?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</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—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’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.</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—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—but that is vain! +Still, one feels—one can now but feel—that, as his widow said to me, +with matter-of-fact composure:</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>Yet she never referred to him as “my poor husband,” 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—the people’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—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.</p> + +<p>“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.</p> + +<p>There was a group of faces I knew waiting to meet us.</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>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.</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’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’s; the arrangements were his, and the entertainment fell to his +share.</p> + +<p>Gräfin 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.</p> + +<p>“Indeed, Frau Gräfin, he was always like that. It is natural.”</p> + +<p>“He is very presentable, really—very. But as a friend of Eugen’s,” and +she smiled condescendingly upon me, “he would naturally be so.”</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The company then consisted <i>in toto</i> of Graf and Gräfin 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.</p> + +<p>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, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span>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.</p> + +<p>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”—Mütterchen 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.</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’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.</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 “passeth understanding.”</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 ’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’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>“They tell me you are a good lawyer?” he whispered.</p> + +<p>“I am a lawyer,” I answered.</p> + +<p>“Then—oh!—save her! You can certainly do it, for she is innocent.”</p> + +<p>“Has she no counsel?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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’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>“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!”</p> + +<p>I then asked her if she suspected any one.</p> + +<p>“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.”</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>“Oh, sir, can you help me?” my client asked, in a fearful whisper.</p> + +<p>“Nancy Luther, did you say that girl’s name was?” I asked, for a new +light had broken in upon me.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Is there any other girl of that name about here?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Then rest easy. I’ll try hard to save you.”</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—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’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.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Naseby,” said I, “when you first missed your money, had you any +reason to believe that the prisoner had it?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Had you ever before detected her in any dishonesty?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Should you have thought of searching her trunk, had not Nancy Luther +advised you and informed you?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</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 “Trap me, if you can.” 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. “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 +<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.” Then she went on and told how she had informed her mistress of +this, and how she proposed to search the girl’s trunk.</p> + +<p>I called Mrs. Naseby back to the stand.</p> + +<p>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly, sir. I meant no one else had any right there.”</p> + +<p>I saw that Mrs. N., though naturally a hard woman, was somewhat moved by +poor Elizabeth’s misery.</p> + +<p>“Could your cook have known, by any means in your knowledge, where your +money was?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“One more question: Have you known of the prisoner’s having used any +money since this was stolen?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir.”</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>“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?”</p> + +<p>“Because I could not make up my mind at once to expose the poor young +girl,” she answered, promptly.</p> + +<p>“You say you looked through the keyhole and saw her take the money?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Where did she place the lamp, while she did so?”</p> + +<p>“On the bureau.”</p> + +<p>“In your testimony, you said she stooped down when she picked it up. +What did you mean by that?”</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’t mean anything, only that +she picked up the lamp.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said I. “How long have you been with Mrs. Naseby?”</p> + +<p>“Not quite a year, sir.”</p> + +<p>“How much does she pay you a week?”</p> + +<p>“A dollar and three-quarters.”</p> + +<p>“Have you taken up any of your pay since you have been there?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> + +<p>“How much?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you know?”</p> + +<p>“How should I? I’ve taken it at different times, just as I wanted it, +and have kept no account.”</p> + +<p>“Now, if you had had any wish to harm the prisoner, couldn’t you have +raised twenty-five dollars to put in her trunk?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir,” she replied, with virtuous indignation.</p> + +<p>“Then you have not laid up any money since you have been there?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir—only what Mrs. Naseby may owe me.”</p> + +<p>“Then you didn’t have twenty-five dollars when you came there?”</p> + +<p>“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.”</p> + +<p>“Will you tell me if you belong to this State?” I asked next.</p> + +<p>“I do, sir.”</p> + +<p>“In what town?”</p> + +<p>She hesitated, and for an instant the bold look forsook her. But she +finally answered:</p> + +<p>“I belong in Somers, Montgomery County.”</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>“Do you ever take a receipt from your girls when you pay them?” I asked.</p> + +<p>“Always,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Can you send and get one of them for me?”</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>“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?”</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>“I—never—sent—any,” she fairly gasped.</p> + +<p>“You did!” I thundered, for I was excited now.</p> + +<p>“I—I—didn’t,” she faintly uttered, grasping the rail by her side for +support.</p> + +<p>“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 <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’s drawer. I will read it to you, if +you please.”</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>“<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’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. <span class="smcap">Nancy Luther</span>.”</p></div> + +<p>“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.”</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—“Not Guilty.”</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 “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.</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>—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.</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>—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 “M. and N. announce +(recommend) themselves as betrothed.” This appears in the newspaper—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’ errors; otherwise, +every effort has been made to remain true to the author’s words and intent.</p> + +<p>2. The original book did not have a Table of Contents; one has been added for the reader’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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIRST VIOLIN *** + +***** This file should be named 29219-h.htm or 29219-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/2/1/29219/ + +Produced by Alicia Williams, D. 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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 + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FIRST VIOLIN *** + +***** This file should be named 29219.txt or 29219.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/2/1/29219/ + +Produced by Alicia Williams, D. Alexander and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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