1 files changed, 4662 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/30562.txt b/30562.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1e7f15a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/30562.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,4662 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Unfinished Portraits, by Jennette Lee
+
+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: Unfinished Portraits
+       Stories of Musicians and Artists
+
+Author: Jennette Lee
+
+Release Date: November 29, 2009 [EBook #30562]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNFINISHED PORTRAITS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Rob Reid and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+UNFINISHED PORTRAITS
+
+
+
+
+BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR
+
+  KATE WETHERILL
+  A PILLAR OF SALT
+  THE SON OF A FIDDLER
+  UNCLE WILLIAM
+  SIMEON TETLOW'S SHADOW
+  HAPPY ISLAND
+  MR. ACHILLES
+  THE TASTE OF APPLES
+  THE WOMAN IN THE ALCOVE
+  AUNT JANE
+  THE IBSEN SECRET
+  THE SYMPHONY PLAY
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: _The great picture gathered to itself shape, and glowed._
+  Page 253]
+
+
+
+
+       UNFINISHED PORTRAITS
+
+  STORIES OF MUSICIANS AND ARTISTS
+
+
+               _BY_
+
+          _JENNETTE LEE_
+
+
+      _Schubert_    _Titian_
+      _Chopin_      _Giorgione_
+      _Bach_        _Leonardo_
+          _Albrecht Duerer_
+
+
+  _NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS_
+                1916
+
+
+
+
+  _Copyright, 1916, by Charles Scribner's Sons
+         Published September, 1916_
+
+
+
+
+               TO
+
+       GERALD STANLEY LEE
+
+               AND
+
+    "THE GREAT ROAD THAT LEADS
+    FROM THE SEEN TO THE UNSEEN"
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+                                                       PAGE
+
+    _There Was in Florence a Lady_                        1
+
+    _Thumbs and Fugues_                                  29
+
+    _A Window of Music_                                  79
+
+    _Frederic Chopin--A Record_                         135
+
+    _The Man With the Glove_                            151
+
+    _The Lost Monogram_                                 207
+
+
+
+
+THERE WAS IN FLORENCE A LADY
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+The soft wind of an Italian spring stirred among the leaves outside. The
+windows of the studio, left open to the morning air, were carefully
+shaded. The scent of mulberry blossoms drifted in. The chair on the
+model-stand, adjusted to catch the light, was screened from the glare;
+and the light falling on the rich drapery flung across its back brought
+out a dull carmine in the slender, bell-shaped flowers near by, and dark
+gleams of old oak in the carved chair. The chair was empty; but the two
+men in the studio were facing it, as if a presence were still there.
+
+The painter, sketching idly on the edge of his drawing-board, leaned
+back to survey the child's head that developed under his pencil. "She
+will not come this morning, then?" he asked almost indifferently.
+
+The older man shook his head. "She said not. She may change her mind."
+
+The painter glanced up quickly. He could see nothing in the face of the
+other, and he devoted himself anew to the child's head. "It does not
+matter," he said. "I can work on the background--if I feel like working
+at all," he added, after a moment's pause.
+
+The older man stared moodily at the floor. He flicked a pair of long
+riding-gloves lightly through his fingers. He glanced toward the easel
+standing in front of the painter, a little to the left. "It is barbarous
+that you have had to waste so much time!" he broke out. "How long is
+it? Two--no, three years last Christmas time since you began. And there
+it stands." The figure on the easel, erect, tranquil, in the old chair,
+seemed to half shrug its shapely shoulders in defense of the unfinished
+face. He looked at it severely. The severity changed to something else.
+"And it is so perfect--damnably perfect," he said irritably.
+
+The artist raised his eyebrows the least trifle. A movement so slight
+might have indicated scrutiny of his own work. "You are off for the
+day?" he asked, glancing at the riding-whip and hat on a table by the
+door.
+
+"Yes; I shall run up, perhaps, as far as Pistoia. Going to see the new
+altarpiece." He took up the hat and whip. He waited, fingering them
+indecisively. "She seems to me more fickle than ever, this last month or
+two."
+
+"I see that she is restless." The painter spoke in a low tone, half
+hesitating. "I have wondered whether--I had hoped that the Bambino"--he
+touched the figure lightly with his foot--"might not be needed."
+
+The other started. He stared at him a full minute. His eyes fell. "No,
+no such good luck," he said brusquely. "It is only caprice."
+
+The draperies near him parted. A boyish figure appeared in the opening.
+"Castino wishes me to say that the musicians wait," said the youth.
+
+The painter rose and came toward him, a smile of pleasure on his face.
+"Tell them that there will be no sitting to-day, Salai," he said, laying
+his hand, half in greeting, half in caress, on the youth's shoulder.
+
+"Yes, Signor." Salai saluted and withdrew.
+
+The painter turned again to the older man. "It was a happy thought of
+yours, Zano--the music. She delights in it. I almost caught, one day
+last week, while they were playing, that curve about the lips."
+
+They stood for a moment in silence, looking toward the portrait. The
+memory of a haunting smile seemed to flicker across the shaded light.
+
+"Well, I am off." The man held out his hand.
+
+The artist hesitated a second. Then he raised the hand in his supple
+fingers and placed it to his lips. "A safe journey to you, Signor," he
+said, in playful formality.
+
+"And a safe return, to find our Lady Lisa in better temper," laughed the
+other. The laugh passed behind the draperies.
+
+The artist remained standing, his eyes resting absently on the rich
+colors of the Venetian tapestry through which his friend had
+disappeared. His face was clouded with thought. He had the look of a man
+absorbed in a problem, who has come upon an unexpected complication.
+
+When the chess-board is a Florentine palace, and the pieces are
+fifteenth-century human beings, such complications are likely to occur.
+The Lady Lisa had more than once given evidence that she was not carved
+of wood or ivory. But for three years the situation had remained the
+same--the husband unobservant, the lady capricious and wilful. She had
+shown the artist more kindness than he cared to recall. That was months
+ago. Of late he had found scant favor in her sight.... It was better so.
+
+He crossed to the easel, and stood looking down at it. The quiet figure
+on the canvas sent back a thrill of pride and dissatisfaction. He gazed
+at it bitterly. Three years--but an eternal woman. Some day he should
+catch the secret of her smile and fix it there. The world would not
+forget her--or him. He should not go down to posterity as the builder of
+a canal! The great picture at the Dominicans already showed signs of
+fading. The equestrian statue of the Duke was crumbling in its clay--no
+one to pay for the casting. But this picture----For months--with its
+rippling light of under sea, its soft dreamy background, and in the
+foreground the mysterious figure.... All was finished but the Child upon
+her arm, the smile of light in her eyes.
+
+The lady had flouted the idea. It was a fancy of her husband's, to paint
+her as Madonna. She had refused to touch the Bambino--sometimes
+petulantly, sometimes in silent scorn. The tiny figure lay always on the
+studio floor, dusty and disarranged. The artist picked it up. It was an
+absurd little wooden face in the lace cap. He straightened the velvet
+mantle and smoothed the crumpled dress. He stepped to the model-stand
+and placed the tiny figure in the draped chair. It rested stiffly
+against the arm.
+
+A light laugh caused him to turn his head. He was kneeling in front of
+the Bambino.
+
+"I see that you have supplied my place, Sir Painter," said a mocking
+voice.
+
+He turned quickly and faced the little doorway. She stood there,
+smiling, scornful, her hands full of some delicate flimsy stuff, a gold
+thimble-cap on her finger. "It would not make a bad picture," she said
+tranquilly, "you and the Bambino."
+
+His face lighted up. "You have come!" He hastened toward her with
+outstretched hand.
+
+With a pretty gesture of the fragile sewing she ignored the hand. "Yes,
+I dared not trust you. You might paint in the Bambino face instead of
+mine, by mistake."
+
+She approached the chair and seated herself carelessly. The Bambino
+slipped meekly through the arm to the floor.
+
+"Zano told me"--he began.
+
+"Yes, I know. He was very tiresome. I thought he would never go. I
+really feared that we might quarrel. It is too warm." She glanced about
+the shaded room. "You manage it well," she said approvingly. "It is by
+far the coolest place in the palace."
+
+"You will be going to the mountains soon?" He saw that she was talking
+lightly to cover herself, and fell in with her mood. He watched her as
+he arranged the easel and prepared his colors. Once he stopped and
+sketched rapidly for a minute on the small drawing-board.
+
+She looked inquiry.
+
+"Only an eyebrow," he explained.
+
+She smiled serenely. "You should make a collection of those eyebrows.
+They must mount into the hundreds by this time. You could label them
+'Characters of the Lady Lisa.'"
+
+"The Souls of Lady Lisa."
+
+The lady turned her head aside. "Your distinctions are too subtle," she
+said. Her eye fell on the Bambino, resting disgracefully on its wooden
+head. "Poor little figurine," she murmured, reaching a slender hand to
+draw it up. She straightened the tumbled finery absently. It slipped to
+her lap, and lay there. Her hands were idle, her eyes looking far into
+space.
+
+The painter worked rapidly. She stirred slightly. "Sit still," he said,
+almost harshly.
+
+She gave a quick, startled look. She glanced at the rigid little figure.
+She raised it for a minute. Her face grew inscrutable. Would she laugh
+or cry? He worked with hasty, snatched glances. Such a moment would not
+come again. A flitting crash startled him from the canvas. He looked up.
+The Bambino lay in a pathetic heap on the floor, scattered with
+fragments of a rare Venetian glass. She sat erect and imperious, looking
+with scorn at the wreck. Two great tears welled. They overflowed. The
+floods pressed behind them. She dropped her face in her hands. Before he
+could reach her she had darted from the chair. The mask of scorn was
+gone. She fled from him, from herself, blindly, stopping only when the
+wall of the studio intervened. She stood with her face buried in the
+drapery, her shoulders wrenched with sobs.
+
+He approached her. He waited. The Bambino lay with its wooden face
+staring at the ceiling. It was a crisis for them all. The next move
+would determine everything. He must not risk too much, again. The
+picture--art--hung on her sobs. Lover--artist? He paused a second too
+long.
+
+She turned toward him slowly, serenely. Her glance fell across him,
+level and tranquil. The traces of ignored tears lay in smiling drops on
+her face. The softened scorn played across it. "Shall we finish the
+sitting?" she asked, in a conventional voice.
+
+He took up his brush uncertainly. She seated herself, gathering up the
+scattered work. For a few moments she sewed rapidly. Then the soft
+fabric fell to her lap. She sat looking before her, unconscious, except
+that her glance seemed to rest now and then on the fallen figure in its
+fragments of glass.
+
+For two hours he worked feverishly, painting with swiftest skill and
+power. At times he caught his breath at the revelation in the face. He
+was too alert to be human. The artist forgot the woman. Faithfully, line
+by line, he laid bare her heart. She sat unmoved. When at last, from
+sheer weariness, the brush dropped from his hand, she stepped from the
+model-stand, and stood at his side. She looked at the canvas
+attentively. The inscrutable look of the painted face seemed but a faint
+reflex of the living one.
+
+"You have succeeded well," she said at last. "We will omit the Bambino."
+
+She moved slowly, graciously, toward the door, gathering the fragile
+sewing as she went. He started toward her--suddenly conscious of her
+power--a man again. A parting of the draperies arrested them. It was
+Salai, his face agitated, looking from the lady to the painter,
+inarticulate.
+
+"The Signor"--he gasped--"his horse--they bring him--dead."
+
+She stirred slightly where she stood. Her eyelids fell. "Go, Salai.
+Await your master's commands in the hall below."
+
+She turned to the painter as the draperies closed. "I trust that you
+will make all use of our service, Signor Leonardo, in removing from the
+palace. The apartments will, I fear, be needed for relatives. They will
+come to honor the dead."
+
+He stood for a moment stupefied, aghast at her control of practical,
+feminine detail; then moved toward her. "Lisa----"
+
+She motioned toward the easel. "Payment for the picture will be sent you
+soon."
+
+"The picture goes with me. It is not finished."
+
+"It is well." She bowed mockingly. The little door swung noiselessly
+behind her. He was left alone with the portrait. It was looking sideways
+at the fallen Bambino amid the shattered fragments on the floor.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+It was the French monarch. He fluttered restlessly about the studio,
+urbane, enthusiastic. He paused to finger some ingenious toy, to praise
+some drawing or bit of sunlit color that caught his fancy. The painter,
+smiling at the frank enthusiasm, followed leisurely from room to room.
+The wandering Milanese villa was a treasure house. Bits of marble and
+clay, curious mechanical contrivances, winged creatures, bats and
+creeping things mingled with the canvases. Color and line ran riot on
+the walls. A few finished pieces had been placed on easels, in
+convenient light, for the royal inspection. Each of these, in turn, the
+volatile monarch had exalted. He had declared that everything in the
+villa, including the gifted owner, must return with him to France.
+
+"That is the place for men like you!" he exclaimed, standing before a
+small, exquisitely finished Madonna. "What do these Milanese know of
+art? Or the Florentines, for that matter? Your 'Last Supper'--I saw it
+last week. It is a blur. Would that the sainted Louis might have taken
+it bodily, stone by stone, to our France, as he longed to do. You will
+see; the mere copy has more honor with us than the original here. Come
+with us," he added persuasively, laying his hand on the painter's shabby
+sleeve.
+
+The painter looked down from his height on the royal suitor. "You do me
+too much honor, sire. I am an old man."
+
+"You are Leonardo da Vinci," said the other stoutly, "the painter of
+these pictures. I shall carry them all away, and you will have to
+follow," laughed the monarch. "I will not leave one." He rummaged gayly
+in the unfinished debris, bringing out with each turn some new theme of
+delight.
+
+The painter stood by, waiting, alert, a trifle uneasy, it might seem.
+"And now, sire, shall we see the view from the little western turret?"
+
+"One moment. Ah, what have we here?" He turned the canvas to the light.
+The figure against the quaint landscape looked out with level, smiling
+glance. He fell upon his knees before it. "Ah, marvellous, marvellous!"
+he murmured in naive delight. He remained long before it, absorbed,
+forgetful. At last he rose. He lifted the picture and placed it on an
+easel. "Is she yet alive?" he demanded, turning to the painter.
+
+"She lives in Florence, sire."
+
+"And her name?"
+
+"Signora Lisa della Gioconda."
+
+"Her husband? It matters not."
+
+"Dead these ten years."
+
+"And children?"
+
+"A boy. Born shortly after the husband's death," he added, after a
+slight pause. "Shall we proceed to the turret? The light changes fast at
+sunset."
+
+"Presently, presently. The portrait must be mine. The original--We shall
+see--we shall see."
+
+"Nay, your Majesty, the portrait is unfinished."
+
+"Unfinished?" He stared at it anew. "Impossible. It is perfect."
+
+"There was to be a child."
+
+"Ah!" The monarch gazed at it intently for many minutes. The portrait
+returned the royal look in kind. He broke into a light laugh. "You did
+well to omit the child," he said. "Come, we will see the famous sunset
+now." He turned to the regal figure on the easel. "Adieu, Mona Lisa. I
+come for you again." He kissed his fingers with airy grace. He fluttered
+out. The mocking, sidelong glance followed him.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+The western sun filled the room. On a couch drawn near the low French
+window lay the painter. His eyes looked across the valley to a long line
+of poplars, silver in the wind. Like a strange processional, up the
+hill, they held him. They came from Lombardy. In the brasier, across the
+room, burned a flickering fire. Even on the warmest days he shivered for
+sunnier skies. Above the fire hung a picture--a woman seated in a
+rock-bound circle, looking tranquilly out upon the world of life.
+
+The painter touched a silver bell that stood on a table at hand. A
+figure entered. It crossed to the window. The face was turned in shadow.
+It waited.
+
+"Has our good physician gone, Francesco?" asked the painter.
+
+Francesco bowed. There was silence in the room except for the fire.
+
+"What does he say of us to-day?"
+
+The youth brushed his hand across his eyes impatiently. "He always
+croaks. He is never hopeful." He approached the couch and knelt by it,
+his face in the shadow still.
+
+The painter lay tranquil, watching the poplars. "Why grieve? An exile
+has not so many joys that he need fear to lose them, Francesco."
+
+The younger man made no reply. He was adjusting the pillows. He slipped
+a fresh one beneath the long white hair. The locks strayed in a dull
+silvery glimmer over it.
+
+"Ah, that is good," murmured the old man. "Your hand is like a woman's.
+I have not known many women," he said, after a pause.... "But I have not
+been lonely. Friends are faithful"--he pressed the youth's warm hand.
+"His Majesty?"--the voice ended with a question.
+
+"No, master. But there is yet time. He often comes at sunset. See how
+bright it grows."
+
+The painter turned his head. He looked long. "Tell us what the wise
+physician said, Francesco. Will it be soon?"
+
+"Nay, master, I know not. He said if you have any wishes----"
+
+"Ah, yes." He lay musing, his eyes looking across the room. "There will
+be few bequests. My pictures--they are mine no longer. Should a painter
+barter the sons and daughters of his soul?... Gold cannot buy.... They
+are mine.... Four thousand shining gold pieces Francis put into my hand.
+He took away the Lisa. He would not be refused. But I followed. I could
+not live without her. When a man is old, Francesco, his hand trembles.
+He must see something he has done, something perfect...." He lay looking
+long at the portrait. "And yet it is not finished.... There was to be
+the child." He smiled dreamily. "Poor Bambino." His eyes rested again on
+the portrait.... He smiled back upon it. "Yes, you will live," he said
+softly. "Francis will have you. You scorned him. But he was generous. He
+gave you back to me. You will be his--his and his children's. I have no
+child----At least.... Ah, well--Francis will have you. Leda and Pomona
+will pass. The Dominican picture ... all but gone. The hand of time has
+rested on my work. Crumbling--fading--nothing finished. I planned so
+much. Life runs, Francesco, while one sits and thinks. Nothing finished.
+My manuscripts--do with them what you will. I could not even write like
+other men--this poor left hand." He lifted the filmy lace ruffle falling
+across his hand. He smiled ironically at the costly folds, as they
+fluttered from his fingers. "A man is poor who has few wants. Then I
+have not been poor. But there is nothing left. It will be an empty
+name."
+
+Silence fell between them.
+
+"There is in Florence a lady. You must seek for her, Francesco. She is
+rich and beautiful. She did me once a kindness. I should like her--this
+ring--" He slipped it from his finger--a heavy stone, deep green, with
+translucent lights. "It was my father's crest. He gave it to my
+mother--not his wife--a woman--faithful. She put it on my finger when
+she died--a peasant woman. Tell the lady when you give it her ... she
+has a son.... Tell her...." The voice fell hushed.
+
+The young man waited, with bowed head. He looked up. He started quickly,
+and leaned his ear to listen. Then he folded the hands across the quiet
+breast. He passed swiftly from the silent chamber, down to the
+courtyard, out on the King's highway, mounted and fleet.
+
+The French King was riding merrily. He carolled a gay chanson. His
+retinue followed at a distance. Francesco Melzi saluted and drew rein.
+He spoke a word in the monarch's ear. The two men stood with uncovered
+heads. They looked toward the western windows. The gay cavalcade halted
+in the glow of light. A hush fell on their chatter. The windows flamed
+in the crimson flood. Within the room, above the gleaming coals, a woman
+of eternal youth looked down with tranquil gaze upon an old man's face.
+
+
+
+
+THUMBS AND FUGUES
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+"Ready, father--ready!" shouted the small boy. He was standing on the
+top step of a flight of stairs leading to the organ-loft of the
+Hofchapel, peering in. His round, stolid face and short, square legs
+gave no hint of the excitement that piped in his shrill voice.
+
+The man at the organ looked leisurely around, nodding his big head and
+smiling. "Ja, ja, S'bastian--ja," he said placidly. His fingers played
+slowly on.
+
+The boy mounted the steps to the organ and rubbed his cheek softly
+against the coat sleeve that reached out to the keys. The man smiled
+again a big, floating smile, and his hands came to rest.
+
+The boy looked up wistfully. "They'll all get there before we do," he
+said quickly. "Come!"
+
+The man looked down absently and kindly. "Nein, S'bastian." He patted
+the round head beside him. "There is no need that we should hurry."
+
+They passed out of the chapel, across the courtyard and into the open
+road. For half an hour they trudged on in silence, their broad backs
+swinging from side to side in the morning light. Across the man's back
+was slung a large violin, in its bag; and across the back of the boy
+hung a violin like that of the father, only shorter and fatter and
+squarer, and on his head was a huge woollen cap. He took it off and
+wiped the perspiration from his white forehead.
+
+The man looked down at him once more and halted. "Now, but we will rest
+here," he said gently. He removed the violin-bag carefully from his back
+and threw himself on the ground and took from his pocket a great pipe.
+
+With a little sigh the boy sat down beside him.
+
+The man nodded good-naturedly. "Ja, that is right." He blew a puff of
+smoke toward the morning clouds; "the Bachs do not hurry, my child--no
+more does the sun."
+
+The boy smiled proudly. He looked up toward the ball of fire sailing
+above them and a change came over his face. "We might miss the choral,"
+he said wistfully. "They won't wait, will they?"
+
+The big man shook his head. "We shall not be late. There is my clock."
+He nodded toward the golden sun. "And I have yet another here," he
+added, placing a comfortable hand on his big stomach.
+
+The boy laughed softly and lay quiet.
+
+The man opened his lips and blew a wreath of smoke.
+
+"There will be more than a hundred Bachs," he said slowly, "and you must
+play what I have taught you--not too slow and not too fast." He looked
+down at the boy's fat fingers. "Play like a true Bach and no other," he
+added.
+
+The boy nodded. "Will Uncle Christoph be there?" he asked after a pause.
+
+"Ja."
+
+"And Uncle Heinrich?"
+
+"Ja, ja!"
+
+The boy gave a quick sigh of contentment.
+
+His father was looking at him shrewdly. "But it is not Uncle Heinrich
+that will be making a player of you, and it is not Uncle Christoph. It
+is only Johann Sebastian Bach that can make himself a player," he said
+sternly.
+
+"Yes, father," replied the boy absently. His eyes were following the
+clouds.
+
+The man blew great puffs of smoke toward them. "It is more than a
+hundred and twenty years ago that we came from Hungary," he said
+proudly.
+
+The boy nestled toward him. "Tell me about it." He had heard the story
+many times.
+
+"Ja, ja," said the man musingly.... "He was my great-grandfather, that
+man--Veit Bach--and your great-great-grandfather."
+
+The boy nodded.
+
+"And he was a miller----"
+
+He dropped into silence, and a little brook that ran over the stones
+near by babbled as it went.
+
+The boy raised his eyes. "And he had a lute," he prompted softly.
+
+"Ja, he had a lute--and while the mill-wheel turned, he played the
+lute--sweet, true notes and tunes he played--in that old mill."
+
+The boy smiled contentedly.
+
+"And now we be a hundred Bachs. We make music for all Germany. Come!" He
+sprang to his feet. "We will go to the festival, the great Bach
+festival. You, my little son, shall play like a true Bach."
+
+As they walked along the road he hummed contentedly to himself, speaking
+now and then a word to the boy. "What makes one Bach great, makes all.
+Remember, my child, Reinken is great--but he is only one; and Bohm and
+Buxtehude, Pachelbel. But we are many--all Bachs--all great." He hummed
+gayly a few bars of the choral and stopped, listening.
+
+The boy turned his face back over the road. "They are coming," he said
+softly.
+
+"Ja, they are coming."
+
+The next moment a heavy cart came in sight. It was laden to the brim
+with Bachs and music; some laughing and some singing and some
+playing--on fiddles or flutes or horns--beaming with broad faces.
+
+The man caught up Sebastian by the arm and jumped on to the tail-board
+of the cart. And thus--enveloped in a cloud of dust, surrounded by the
+laughter of fun-loving men and youths--the boy came into Erfurt, to the
+great festival of all the Bachs.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+"Sh-h! It is Heinrich! Listen to him--to Heinrich!" There were nods and
+smiles and soft thudding of mugs, and turning of broad faces toward the
+other end of the enclosure, as a small figure mounted the platform.
+
+He was a tiny man, unlike the others; but he carried himself with a
+gentle pomposity, and he faced the gathering with a proud gesture,
+holding up his hand to enjoin silence. After a few muttering rumbles
+they subsided.
+
+Sebastian, sitting between his father and a fat Bach, gulped with joy.
+It was the great Heinrich--who composed chorals and fugues and gavottes
+and--hush! Could it be that he was rebuking the Bachs--the great
+Bachs!... Sebastian's ears cracked with the strain. He looked
+helplessly at his father, who sat smiling into his empty beer-mug, and
+at the fat Bach on the other side, who was gaping with open mouth at the
+great Heinrich.
+
+Sebastian looked back to the platform.
+
+Heinrich's finger was uplifted at them sternly.... "It was Reinken who
+said it. He of the Katherinenkirche has said it, in open festival, that
+there is not a Bach in Germany that can play as he can play. Do you hear
+that!" The little man stamped impatiently with his foot on the platform.
+"He has called us flutists and lutists and 'cellists--" He stopped and
+held up a small instrument that he carried in his hand--"Do you know
+what this is?"
+
+A response of grunts and cheers came from the crowd.
+
+Sebastian stretched his neck to see. It was a kind of viol, small and
+battered and torn. Worn ribbons fluttered from the handle.
+
+The small man on the platform lifted it reverently to his chin. He ran
+his fingers lightly along the broken strings. "You know the man who
+played it," he said significantly, "old Veit Bach--" Cheers broke from
+the crowd. He stopped them sternly. "Do you think if he were alive--if
+Veit Bach were alive, would Reinken, of Hamburg, dare challenge him in
+open festival?"
+
+Cries of "Nein, nein!" and "Ja, ja!" came back from the benches.
+
+"Ja, ja! Nein, nein!" snarled back the little man. "You know that he
+would not. He had only this--" He held up the lute again. "Only this and
+his mill. But he made the greatest music of his time. While you--thirty
+of you this day at the best organs in Germany.... And Reinken defies
+you.... Reinken!" His lighted eye ran along the crowd. "Before the next
+festival, shall there be one who will meet him?" There was no response.
+The Bachs looked into their beer-mugs. The great Heinrich swept them
+with his eagle glance. "Is there not one," he went on slowly, "who dares
+promise, in the presence of the Bachs that before Reinken dies he will
+meet him and outplay him?"
+
+The Bachs were silent. They knew Reinken.
+
+Sebastian, wedged between his father and the fat Bach, gulped mightily.
+He struggled to get to his feet. But a hand at his coat-tails held him
+fast. He looked up imploringly into his father's face--but the hand at
+his coat-tails restrained him. "I will promise," he whispered, "I want
+to promise."
+
+"Ja, ja, little son," whispered the father; and he and the fat Bach
+exchanged smiles across the round head.
+
+Heinrich's glance swept the crowd once more.... "You will not promise?
+Then let me tell you--" He raised his small hand impressively.
+
+"There shall come of the Bachs one so great that all others shall fade.
+He only shall be known as Bach--he and his sons; and before him the name
+of Reinken shall be as dust!" With a hiss upon the last word, he threw
+open his arms. "Come!" he said, "take your instrument and play."
+
+Then fell upon the assembly a series of squeaks and gruntings and
+tunings and twinges and groans and wails such as was never heard outside
+a Bach festival. And little Sebastian, tugging at his violin, tuned and
+squeaked and grunted with the rest, oblivious to the taps that fell on
+his small head from surrounding bows. And when at last the tuning was
+done and there burst forth the wonderful new melody of the choral,
+Sebastian's heart went dizzy with the joy of it. And Uncle Heinrich on
+the platform, strutting proudly back and forth, conducting the
+choral--his own choral--forgot his anger and forgot Reinken, and forgot
+everything except the Bachs playing there before him--playing as only
+the Bachs, the united Bachs, could play--in all Germany or in all the
+world.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+The two boys had come to a turn in the road, and stood looking back over
+the way they had come. The younger of the two looked up wistfully to the
+cherry-blossomed trees overhead. "It is hot, Sebastian!--Let us rest."
+
+With a smile the other boy threw himself on the grass. The large, flat
+book that he carried under his arm fell to the ground beside him, and
+his hand stole out and touched it. He had a wide, quiet face, with blue
+eyes and a short nose, and lips that smiled dreamily to themselves. As
+he lay looking up into the white blossoms that swayed and waited against
+the clear blue of the sky, the lips curved in gentle content.
+
+His companion, who had thrown himself on the cool grass beside him,
+watched him admiringly. His glance shifted and rested on the book that
+lay on the grass. "What is it?--What is it, Sebastian?" he asked
+timidly. He put out an inquisitive finger toward the book.
+
+Sebastian turned it quietly aside. "Let be," he said.
+
+The boy flushed. "I was not going to touch it."
+
+The other smiled, with his slow, generous eyes fixed on the boy's face.
+"Thou art a good boy, Erdman!" ... "It is only thy fingers that itch to
+know things." He patted them gently, where they lay on the grass beside
+him.
+
+Erdman was still looking at the book. "Was it your brother's?" he asked
+in a half whisper.
+
+"Christoph's?" Sebastian shook his head. "No, it is mine--my own."
+
+The soft wind was among the blossoms overhead--they fell in petals, one
+by one, upon the quiet figures.
+
+"Want to know 'bout it?" asked Sebastian, half turning to meet his
+companion's eye.
+
+The boy nodded.
+
+"It's mine. I copied it, every note--six months it took me--from
+Christoph's book."
+
+"Did he let you?"
+
+Sebastian shook his head, a grim, sweet smile curving the big mouth.
+"Let me?--Christoph!"
+
+The boy crept nearer to him. "How did you do it?"
+
+"I stole it--carried it up to my room while the others were asleep--and
+did it by the moon."
+
+"The moon?"
+
+The boy nodded, laughing. "Didst never hear of the moon, brave boy!"
+
+Erdman smiled pettishly. "There isn't a moon--always," he said, after a
+moment.
+
+"And that also is true," quoth the boy gravely. "But some time, late or
+early, one gets a glimpse of her--if one lies awake to see," he added
+softly.
+
+The other glanced again at the book. "Let me look at it," he pleaded.
+
+Sebastian smiled and reached over a hand to the book. "Don't touch. I'll
+show it thee." He untied the strings and spread it on the ground,
+throwing himself in front of it and resting his chin in his hands.
+"Come," he said, "I'll show it thee."
+
+Erdman threw off his heavy cap and bent toward the book, with a little
+gesture of wonder. "I heard about Christoph's book--a good many times,"
+he said softly.... "I didn't ever think I'd see it." He reached out his
+hand and touched the open page.
+
+"Nobody ever saw it," said Sebastian absently. He was humming to
+himself. "Listen to this!" he said eagerly. He hummed a few bars.
+"That's Buxtehude's--isn't it great!" His face went tumpty-tumpty with
+the notes, and the blue eyes shone. "But this is the one I like
+best--listen!" He turned over the pages rapidly. "Here it is. This is
+Reinken's. 'By the waters of Babylon, by the waters, by the waters of
+Babylon.'" He hummed the tune below his breath--and then louder and
+fuller.... The clear, sweet soprano of the notes died away softly. "Some
+day I shall play it," said Sebastian lingeringly. "Some day. See--here
+is the place for the harps! And here are the great horns. Listen!" His
+voice droned away at the bass and ran into the swift high notes of the
+treble. "Some day I shall play it," he repeated wistfully.
+
+Erdman's slow gaze was following the page. "I can't read so fast," he
+said enviously.
+
+Sebastian smiled back. "I know it by heart--almost. When the moon was
+behind the clouds I waited. I sang them over and over."
+
+"Very softly," said Erdman, as if seeing the picture of the boy and the
+darkened room.
+
+"Very softly," assented Sebastian, "so that no one should hear. And now
+I have them all!" He spoke exultingly. "And next month I shall see
+Reinken.... I shall hear him play!"
+
+The other stared at him. "But Reinken is at Hamburg," he said at last.
+
+"And that, too, is so," said Sebastian smiling.
+
+"And we go to Lueneburg----"
+
+"And we go to Lueneburg!" repeated the boy, with a mocking lilt in his
+voice. "And Lueneburg is twenty miles from Hamburg. Hadst thought of
+that!" He laughed exultingly.
+
+The other shook his head. "I don't know what you mean," he said.
+
+Sebastian was fastening the big violin in place on his back. He looked
+up under smiling brows, as he bent to draw the last strap. Then he
+touched his sturdy legs with his hand and laughed. "I mean that these
+are the horses to carry me to Hamburg and back many times. I shall hear
+the great Reinken play!--And I, too, shall play!" he added proudly.
+
+"Do you never doubt, Sebastian?" asked the other thoughtfully, as they
+moved on.
+
+"Doubt?"
+
+"Whether you will be a great musician?... Sometimes I see myself going
+back--" He paused as if ashamed to have said so much.
+
+Sebastian shook his head. His blue eyes were following the clouds in the
+spring day. "Sometimes I doubt whether I am among the elect," he said
+slowly. "But never that I am to be a musician." His full lips puckered
+dreamily, and his golden head nodded, keeping slow time. "By the
+waters--" he broke out into singing. "Is it not wunderschoen!" The blue
+eyes turned with a smile. "It is wunderschoen! Ach--wunderschoen! Is it
+not, Erdman?" He seemed to awake and laid his hand affectionately on the
+boy's shoulder.
+
+The other nodded. "Yes, it is schoen," he said wistfully.
+
+"Come, I will teach it to thee!"
+
+And the notes of Reinken's choral, "An den Wasserfluessen Babylon,"
+floated with a clear, fresh sound on the spring morning air, two hundred
+years ago, and more, as two charity pupils walked along the road to
+Lueneburg.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+A tall man with keen eyes and a round stomach stood in the shadow of the
+Johanneskirche, lost in thought and humming to himself. Now and then he
+took off his glasses and rubbed them vigorously, and put them on again
+to peer absently down the street.
+
+A heavy figure, clad in the faded blue uniform of the Michaelsschule,
+rounded the corner, puffing heavily.
+
+"Ach, Kerlman!" The tall man started forward with a stride. "You are
+late."
+
+The other nodded imperturbably.
+
+"Ja, I am late. Those boys--I cannot make to hurry." He spoke as if
+assigning sufficient reason and wiped his brow.
+
+A twinkle came into the keen eyes. "And one of them you have lost
+to-day," he said dryly. He cocked his eye a trifle toward the heavy
+church that rose behind them.
+
+The other looked quickly around.
+
+"That S'bastian--was he here?" he demanded.
+
+"In there," replied the tall man, smiling. "No, no!" he laid his hand on
+his companion's arm as he started forward. "Let be--let be!... We must
+help him--that boy. You have not heard him play my organ. Wait!" He held
+up his hand.... Music was stealing from the gloomy shadows of the
+church.
+
+"Come in," said the master. He pushed open a low door and they entered
+the great church. Far up in the loft, struck by a shaft of light from a
+gable in the roof, the boy was sitting, absorbed in sound. His face was
+bent to the keys as his hands hovered and paused over them and drew
+forth the strangely sweet sounds that filled the great building.
+
+The two musicians below stood looking up, their big heads nodding
+time.... Suddenly they paused and looked at each other with questioning
+glance. The music was quickening and broadening with a clear, glad reach
+of sound, and underneath it ran a swiftly echoing touch that bound the
+notes together and vibrated through them.
+
+"How was he doing that?" whispered the small man excitedly. "You have
+taught him that?"
+
+The other shook his head.
+
+"Come, we will see."
+
+Together they tiptoed through the dark church, softly--up to the
+organ-loft and peered in. The boy, oblivious to sight and sound, played
+on.
+
+Kerlman leaned far forward, craning his neck. He drew back, a look of
+stupefaction in his face. He held up his large thumb and looked at it
+soberly.
+
+"What is it?" whispered the other.
+
+"You see, Johannes Bohm?" He shook the fat thumb in his companion's
+face. "He does it with that!"
+
+The master peered forward, incredulous. Slowly he crept up behind the
+boy, his eyes fastened on the moving hands. His shadow fell on the keys
+and the boy looked up. His face lighted with a smile.
+
+"Go on," said the master sternly. His eyes still watched the hands.
+Slowly his big fingers reached over and grasped the thumb as it pressed
+lightly on a key. "Who told you that?" he demanded.
+
+The boy looked down at it, puzzled. Then his face grew a little ashamed
+and doubtful. "It is wrong, I know," he admitted. "Yes, it is wrong."
+
+"Who taught you?"
+
+"Nay, no one would teach it. I just happened--one day. It makes it so
+easy."
+
+"Yes, I see." The master's voice was curt.
+
+"I will never do it again," said the boy humbly.
+
+"No--you might play it for me once--just once, for me," said the master.
+
+The boy's hands ran lovingly to the keys. They crept along the maze of
+sound and rose and fell in the changing rhythm. Shyly the small thumb
+darted out and found its key, and filled the great church with the
+tremulous, haunting call of note answering note.
+
+The master bending over the keys wiped his brow and looked at the boy
+proudly, with a little wonder in his face. "Good.... Ach--but good,
+good!" he murmured softly.
+
+The boy looked up quickly. His clear skin flushed. "May I use
+it--sometimes?" he asked, doubting.
+
+Bohm gave a sharp, generous laugh. "You may use it." He laughed again.
+"All the world will use it!" he said, patting him on the back. "It is a
+great discovery. Play more."
+
+The boy turned obediently to the keys, and while he played, the master
+slipped away. "Come down," he whispered to Kerlman, whose fat bulk
+filled the doorway. "Let us come down and get some beer. I am very dry
+this day."
+
+Over their mugs, in the garden across the way, they looked at each other
+solemnly. Then they threw back their big heads and laughed till their
+sides shook and their wigs stood askew. Kerlman laid his fat thumb on
+the table and regarded it respectfully. "Gott im Himmel!" he said.
+
+Bohm nodded, his eyes twinkling.
+
+The fat man raised his thumb from the table and twiddled it in the air.
+It fell with a stiff thud. "Ja, ja," he said, half impatient, half
+laughing. "How is one to do it--such fool tricks! Ja, ja!"
+
+The keen eyes watching him had a proud look. "You know what he will
+be--that boy," he said exultingly. "He will be a great musician!"
+
+"He will be a great bother," grumbled Kerlman. "First," he checked off
+the vices on his fingers--"first, he comes to us three weeks late--three
+weeks late--because his brother promises, and takes it back and waits to
+die--Bah!" He took a sip of beer and laid out another fat finger.
+"Second, he sings two octaves at the same time--two octaves! Did one
+ever hear such nonsense! Third, he loses his voice, his beautiful voice,
+and sings no more at all." He shook his head heavily. "Fourth, he is
+running away to Hamburg to listen--always to Hamburg, to listen to
+Reinken, and coming back to be forgiven. Ja, ja! Seven times I have
+forgiven him. I think he is making ready now to go once more!" He glared
+at his companion.
+
+Bohm nodded slowly. "I was to ask you for that to-day," he said,
+smiling.
+
+"Ja! ja--I have thought so." He looked sadly at the four short fingers
+resting on the table. "And fifth--fifth--now what is that fifth? Ach, it
+is that! That thumb!" He scowled at it. "That crawling, snivelling,
+stiff-necked one!" He brought it down with a thump on the table. "To
+make me all my days ashamed!" He held up the thumb and shook it
+scornfully.
+
+High up in the Johanneskirche, in front of the big organ, the boy was
+playing--with head and hands and heart and feet and thumb--swaying to
+the music, lifting it from the great organ till it pealed forth, a
+mighty sound, and, breaking from the gloomy church, floated on the still
+air.... In the garden across the way, above their mugs, two old,
+white-wigged heads nodded and chuckled in the sun.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+The Katherinenkirche was dark, and very still--except for a faint noise
+that came from a far corner of the upper left-hand gallery. The old
+verger, moving about in felt slippers below, paused now and then, and
+looked up as the sound grew louder or died away. It was like a mouse
+nibbling--and yet it was not a mouse.
+
+The verger lighted a taper and prepared to ascend the stairs.
+
+He heaved a sigh as he climbed the steep step, throwing the candle rays
+ahead of him into the gloom of the gallery. Not a sound. The silence of
+death was in the big church.... Muttering to himself, he traversed the
+long aisle at the top of the gallery, peering down into the vacant seats
+that edged the blackness below.
+
+Suddenly he stopped. His eye had caught a gleam of something to the left
+of the last pillar. He snuffed the wavering taper with his fingers and
+leaned forward. A face grew out of the darkness and stood up.
+
+"What are you doing?" demanded the old man, falling back a step.
+
+"Eating my supper," said the youth. He held up a handkerchief. In the
+dim light two pieces of crisp, dry bread shaped themselves, and a
+generous odor of cheese floated out.
+
+"In the church!" said the verger, with an accent of horror.
+
+The youth's face regarded him pleadingly.
+
+"Come away!" said the old man sternly.
+
+He led the way down the steep stair, into a high, small room, lighted by
+a narrow window over which cobwebs ran. "Here you may eat," he said
+laconically.
+
+With a grateful glance the youth seated himself on the edge of a chair
+and opening his handkerchief took out a piece of the dry bread. His
+teeth broke it crisply, and crunched sharply upon it as he ate.
+
+The old man nodded with satisfaction. "That is the mouse," he said.
+
+The youth smiled faintly.
+
+"Where do you come from?" asked the verger.
+
+"From Lueneburg."
+
+"You walked?"
+
+The youth nodded.
+
+"I have seen you before, here."
+
+"Yes."
+
+The old man watched him a minute. "You ought to have some beer with
+that bread and cheese," he said. "Have you no coppers?"
+
+The youth shook his head. "Reinken is my beer," he said, after a little.
+His face was lighted with a sweet smile.
+
+The old man chuckled. "Ja, ja!" He limped from the room. Presently he
+returned with a pewter mug. It was foaming at the top. "Drink that," he
+commanded.
+
+The youth drank it with hearty quaffs and laughed when it was done. "Ja,
+that is good!" he said simply.
+
+The old man eyed him shrewdly. "In half an hour Reinken comes to play,"
+he suggested craftily.
+
+The youth started and flushed. "To-night?"
+
+"Ja."
+
+"I did not think he came at night," he said softly.
+
+"Not often, but to-night. He wants to practise something for the
+festival--with no one to hear," he added significantly.
+
+The boy looked at him pleadingly. His hand strayed to his pockets. They
+brought back two coppers, the only wealth he possessed.
+
+The old man looked at him kindly and shook his head. "Nein," he said.
+"It is not for the money I shall do it. It is because I have seen you
+before--when he played. You shall hear him and see him. Come." He put
+aside the youth's impulsive hand, and led the way up a winding, dark
+stairway, through a little door in the organ-loft. Groping along the
+wall he slipped back a panel.
+
+The boy peered out. Below him, a little to the left, lay the great
+organ, and far below in the darkness stretched the church. When he
+turned, the old man was gone. Down below in the loft he watched his
+twinkling path as the taper flashed from candle to candle.
+
+The great Reinken was a little late. He came in hurriedly, pushing back
+the sleeves of his scholar's gown as they fell forward on his hands. The
+hands were wrinkled, the boy noted, and old. He had forgotten that the
+master was old. Sixty years--seventy--ah, more than seventy. Nine years
+ago he was that--at the Bach festival. The boy's heart gave a leap.
+Seventy-nine--an old man! ... he should never meet him in open festival
+and challenge him. There would not be time.... The music stole about him
+and quieted his pulse. He stood watching the face as it bent above the
+keys. It was a noble face. There was a touch of petulance in it, perhaps
+of pride and impatience in the quick glance that lifted now and then.
+But it was a grand face, with goodness in it, and strength and power.
+The boy's heart went from him.... If he might but touch a fold of the
+faded gown--seek a blessing from the wrinkled hands on the keys. Spring
+was about him--white clouds and blossoms and the smell of fresh earth.
+"By the waters, the waters of Babylon; by the waters." The slender,
+delicate hands called out the notes one by one. Tears ran down the boy's
+face. Gropingly he felt for the door--only to seek a blessing of the
+hands....
+
+The old verger waited at the foot of the stairs, nodding in the dim
+light. He sprang up, startled and rubbing his eyes.
+
+"I want to speak to him," said the youth humbly. "Only a word!"
+
+The old man hesitated. The music had ceased and a slow step was coming
+down the church--an old man's step.
+
+"Ja. Stand there," he whispered. "It shall be as you wish. Stand there!"
+He pushed the youth behind a pillar and stepped forward, his taper held
+aloft.
+
+"Mein Herr," he said softly.
+
+The organist paused and looked at him inquiringly. His face was very
+tired. "What wouldst thou, Wilhelm?" he said gently.
+
+"It is a young man--" he stammered and paused.
+
+"A young man?"
+
+"He would speak with you, Mein Herr--but a word." The old man's voice
+waited.
+
+"Speak with me? Does he bring credentials?"
+
+"Nay, your honor----"
+
+The great organist drew his gown about him. "I have not time, Wilhelm.
+Many seek me and life runs fast. I have not time." He bowed courteously
+and moved on. As he passed the pillar a fold of his robe floated out and
+touched the hand of the youth, kneeling there, hidden in the dim light.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+The choirmaster smiled deprecatingly. He had small, obsequious eyes and
+narrow shoulders. "If the gracious Herr would be so good," he said,
+shrugging them a little. "The people have assembled." He glanced back
+over the fast-filling church and raised his eyebrows a trifle to
+indicate the honor.
+
+Bach smiled gravely. A humorous look came into his eyes. "Let the
+service go on as usual," he said quietly. "When it is done, I will
+play--if time allows."
+
+The choirmaster squeezed his moist palms and wiped an anxious brow. "And
+that, too--will be well," he murmured gratefully. "It will please the
+old organist," he added apologetically.
+
+Bach nodded his head. "I had thought of that."
+
+The other stared. "You know Reinken?" he asked.
+
+The great organist shook his head. "I have seen him." The humorous smile
+played about his lips. "I have never spoken with him."
+
+"He has been a great player--in his day," said the choirmaster. The note
+of apology in his voice had deepened.
+
+"That I know," said Bach shortly.
+
+"And now it is the people--they will not let him go," murmured the
+choirmaster despairingly. "Each Sunday he must play--every motet and
+aria and choral--and he is ninety-nine. Mein Gott!" The choirmaster
+wiped his brow.
+
+"It is a long life," said Bach musingly. A sweet look had come into his
+face, like the sunlight on an autumn field. He raised his hand with a
+courteous gesture. "Let me be summoned later--at the right time."
+
+The choirmaster bowed himself away.
+
+Already the notes of the great organ filled the church. It was Reinken's
+touch upon the keys--feeble and tremulous here and there--but still the
+touch of the master.
+
+With bent head Bach moved to a place a little apart and sat down.
+Curious glances followed him and whispers ran through the church, coming
+back to gaze at the severe, quiet face, with its look of sweetness and
+power.
+
+He was unconscious of the crowd. His thoughts were with the old man
+playing aloft--the thin, serene face--the wrinkled hands upon the
+keys--twenty years.... The time had come--at last.... The music stole
+through his musings and touched him. He lifted his face as the sound
+swept through the church. The fire and strength of youth had gone from
+the touch, but something remained--something inevitable and gentle that
+soothed the spirit and lifted the heart--like the ghost of a soul
+calling to itself from the past.
+
+Bach started. A hand had fallen on his shoulder. It was the choirmaster,
+small-eyed and eager. Bach followed him blindly.
+
+At the top of the stairs the choirmaster turned and waited for him. "At
+last we have the honor. Welcome to the greatest master in Germany!" he
+said smoothly, throwing open the door.
+
+Without a word Bach brushed past him. His eye sought the great organ.
+The master had left the bench and sat a few steps below, leaning
+forward, his hands clasped on his cane, his white head nodding
+tremblingly above it. Far below the words of the preacher droned to a
+close, and the crowd stirred and craned discreet necks.
+
+Quietly the organist slipped into the vacant place. The Bach festival
+danced before him.... Uncle Heinrich on the platform--"The great
+Reinken--will no one of you promise?" His father's face smiling, his
+father's hand on his head.... Slowly his hands dropped to the keys.
+
+The audience settled back with a sigh. At last they should hear him--the
+great Bach.
+
+The silence waited, deep and patient and unerring, as it had waited a
+decade--the touch of this man. A sound crossed it and the audience
+turned bewildered faces. Question and dissent and wonder were in
+them.... Not some mighty fugue, as they had hoped--not even an aria, but
+a simple air from a quaint, old-fashioned choral,--"By the waters, the
+waters of Babylon." They looked at one another with lifted brows.
+Reinken's choral!--and played with Reinken's very touch--a gentle,
+hurrying rhythm ... as Reinken used to play it--when he was young.... In
+a moment they understood. Tears stood in bewildered eyes and a look of
+sweet good-will swept the church. He had given back to them their own.
+Their thought ran tenderly to the old man above, hearkening to his own
+soul coming to him, strong and swift and eternal, out of the years.
+Underneath the choral and above it and around, went the soul of Bach,
+steadfast and true, wishing only to serve, and through service making
+beautiful. He filled with wonder and majesty and tenderness the simple
+old choral.
+
+A murmur ran through the church, a sound of love and admiration. And
+above, with streaming eyes, an old man groped his way to the organ, his
+hands held out to touch the younger ones that reached to him. "I thought
+my work had died," he said slowly, "Now that it lives, I can die in
+peace."
+
+
+
+
+A WINDOW OF MUSIC
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+"About so high, I should think," said the girl, with a swift twinkle.
+She measured off a diminutive man on the huge blue-and-white porcelain
+stove and stood back to survey it. "And about as big," she added
+reflectively.
+
+Her sister laughed. The girl nodded again.
+
+"And _terribly_ homely," she said, making a little mouth. Her eyes
+laughed. She leaned forward with a mysterious air. "And, Marie, his coat
+is green, and his trousers are--white!"
+
+The two girls giggled in helpless amusement. They had a stolid German
+air of family resemblance, but the laughing eyes of the younger danced
+in their round setting, while the sleepy blue ones of the older girl
+followed the twinkling pantomime with a look of half protest.
+
+"They were in the big reception-room," went on the girl, "and I bounced
+in on them. Mamma Rosine was giving him the family history--you and me."
+
+They giggled again.
+
+The younger one drew down her face and folded her hands in matronly
+dignity, gazing pensively at the blue-and-white stove, her head a little
+to one side.
+
+"My own voice is alto, Herr Schubert, and my daughter Caroline's; but my
+daughter Marie has a _beautiful_ soprano." She rolled her eyes, with an
+air of resigned sentiment, and shook the bobbing black curls gently from
+side to side. "And he just twiddled his thumbs like this, and grunted."
+She seized her sister around her plump waist and shook her vigorously.
+"Don't you _see_ it?" she demanded.
+
+The older girl laughed hysterically, with disturbed eyes.
+
+"Don't, Cara!" she protested.
+
+The dark eyes bubbled again.
+
+"And his hair curls as tight--" She ran a hand along her rumpled curls,
+then a look of dismay crossed the laughing face. She subsided into a
+chair and folded her hands meekly. The little feet, in their stout
+ankle-ties, swung back and forth beneath the chair, and the round,
+German face assumed an air of wholesome stupidity.
+
+Her sister, whose slow glance had followed hers, gave a little gasp, and
+sank into a chair on the opposite side of the stove, in duplicate
+meekness.
+
+The door at the other end of the room had swung open, and a tall woman
+swept in, followed by a diminutive figure in green coat and white
+trousers. A pair of huge spectacles, mounted on a somewhat stumpy nose,
+peered absently from side to side as he approached.
+
+"My daughters, Herr Schubert," said the tall lady, with a circumflex
+wave of her white hand that included the waxlike figures on each side
+the stove.
+
+They regarded him fixedly and primly.
+
+His glance darted from one to the other, and he smiled broadly.
+
+"I haf seen the young _Fraeulein_ before," he said, indicating the
+younger with his fat hand.
+
+The dark, round eyes gazed at him expressionless. His spectacles
+returned the gaze and twinkled.
+
+"She has come into the reception-room while you were explaining about
+the voice of Fraeulein Marie," he said, with a glance at the other
+sister.
+
+The waxlike faces shook a little.
+
+The lady regarded them severely.
+
+"She is only eleven," she murmured apologetically to the little man.
+
+"Ja! So?" he muttered. His glance flashed again at the immovable face.
+
+"Caroline, my child, come here," said her mother.
+
+The child slipped down from the stiff chair and crossed to her mother's
+side. Her little hands were folded, and her small toes pointed primly
+ahead.
+
+"My youngest daughter, Herr Schubert," said the lady, slipping an arm
+around the stiff waist. "Caroline, this is your new music tutor, Herr
+Schubert."
+
+The child bobbed primly, and lifted a pair of dark, reflective eyes to
+his face.
+
+His own smiled shrewdly.
+
+"She will be a good pupil," he said; "it is the musical type." The green
+coat and white trousers bowed circumspectly to the small figure.
+
+"Now, Marie"--the tall lady shook out her skirts--"Herr Schubert will
+try your voice. But first, Herr Schubert, will you not give us the
+pleasure?" She motioned politely toward the piano, and sank back with an
+air of fatigued sentiment.
+
+He sat down on the stool and ran his white, fat fingers through his
+curling hair. It bristled a little. The fingers fell to his knees, and
+his big head nodded indecisively. Then it was thrown back, and the
+fingers dropped on the keys: the music of a Beethoven sonata filled the
+room.
+
+The grand lady forgot her sentiment, and the little waxlike figures gave
+way. Their eager, tremulous eyes rested wonderingly on the broad back
+of the player.
+
+The white fingers had dropped on the keys with the lightness of a
+feather. They rose and flashed and twinkled, and ran along the keyboard
+with swift, steel-like touch. The door at the end of the room opened
+softly. A tall man entered. He looked inquiringly at the grotesque
+green-and-white figure seated before the piano, then his glance met his
+wife's, and he sank into a big chair by the door, a pleased look on his
+dark face. The younger child glanced at him shyly. He returned the look
+and smiled. The child's face brightened.
+
+The door opened again, and a slight figure stood in the doorway. He
+looked approvingly toward the piano, and dropped into a chair at the
+other side of the door, twirling his long, light mustaches.
+
+The player, wrapped in sound, was oblivious to the world outside. The
+music enveloped him and rose about him, transfiguring the plain, squat
+figure, floating above the spectacled face and crisp, curling locks. His
+hearers glanced approvingly at one another now and then, but no one
+spoke or moved. Suddenly they were aware that a new mood had crept into
+the notes. Quick, sharp flashes of fear alternated with passages of
+clear, sunlit strength, and underneath the changing melody galloping
+hoof-beats rose and fell.
+
+The dark-eyed child sat poised forward, her hands clasped about her
+knees, her tremulous gaze fixed on the flying fingers. She started and
+caught her breath sharply. Faster and faster thudded the hoofs; the note
+of questioning fear beat louder, and into the sweet, answering melody
+crept a note of doubt, undefined and terrible, a spirit echo of the
+flying hoofs. It caught up question and answer, and turned them to
+sharp, swift flight. The pursuing hoofs struck the sound and broke it;
+with a cry the child leaped to her feet. Her hands were outstretched,
+and her face worked. The man by the door turned slightly. He held out a
+quiet, imperious hand, and the child fled across the room, clasping the
+hand in both her own, and burying her face in his shoulder. The swift
+sound was upon them, around them, over them, sweeping past, whirling
+them in its leaping, gigantic grasp. It hesitated a second, grew
+strangely sweet and hushed, and dropped through a full, clear octave on
+a low note. It ceased. The air quivered. The player sat motionless,
+gazing before him.
+
+The dark man sprang to his feet, his face illumined, the child clinging
+to his hand. He patted the dark curls carelessly as he flashed a smile
+to the young man at the other side of the room.
+
+"That's mine, Schoenstein," he said exultantly; "your tenor voice won't
+carry that."
+
+The other nodded half grudgingly.
+
+They were both looking toward the player. He swayed a little on the
+stool, stared at the ceiling a moment, and swung slowly about, blinking
+uncertainly.
+
+The older man stepped forward, holding out a quick hand.
+
+"Wunderschoen!" he said warmly. "What is it? Are there words to it? Can
+you get it for me?"
+
+The tiny man seemed to shrink a little. He put out his fat hand and
+waited a moment before he spoke. The full, thick lips groped at the
+words.
+
+"It is--it is something--of my own," he said at last.
+
+They crowded about him, questioning and delighted.
+
+"Have you published it? What is it?"
+
+"'Der Erlkoenig,'" said Schubert shortly. The child's face quivered.
+
+"I know," she said.
+
+Her father glanced down at her, smiling.
+
+"What do you know?" he said gently.
+
+"I read it," said the child, simply. She shivered a little. "The Erlking
+carried him off," she said. She covered her face, suddenly in tears. She
+was quivering from head to foot.
+
+The count glanced significantly at his wife. She came forward and laid
+her hand on the child's shoulder.
+
+"Come, Caroline. Come, Marie," she said. "Later, Herr Schubert, I shall
+have the pleasure of thanking you." She swept from the room.
+
+The three men remained, looking a little uncomfortably toward the closed
+door.
+
+The count shrugged his shoulders and glanced at the musician.
+
+"A very impressionable child," he said lightly.
+
+"A very unusual child," returned the small man gravely. He was blinking
+absently at the count's dark face. "She has the temperament," he
+murmured softly; "she will learn."
+
+The count beamed on him.
+
+"We depend on you to teach her," he said suavely. "You will go with us
+next week to Zelitz?"
+
+The young man bowed uncertainly. His full lips smiled doubtfully. "It is
+an honor," he said, "but I must work. There is not time to lose. I must
+work." He moved his big head from side to side and twirled his fingers.
+
+The count smiled genially.
+
+"It shall be arranged--a little house by yourself, apart from the
+castle--a piano, absolute quiet, lessons only by your own arrangement."
+He spoke quietly, in the tone of a superior granting terms.
+
+The thick lips opposite him were puckering a little, and the eyes behind
+the great spectacles blinked mistily.
+
+"I must have time," repeated the little man--"time to think of it."
+
+The count's face clouded a shade.
+
+"We depend on you," he said. The tone had changed subtly. It was less
+assertive. "With the Baron von Schoenstein--" he motioned toward his
+companion; the two young men bowed slightly--"with the baron we have a
+fine quartet, and with you to train us--oh, you _must_ come!" His face
+broke into a winning smile.
+
+The young man smiled in return.
+
+"I will come," he said; "but--free," he added.
+
+"Free as the wind," assented the count easily. The note of patronage was
+gone.
+
+A big sunny smile broke over the musician's face. It radiated from the
+spectacles and broadened the wide mouth.
+
+"_Ach!_ We shall do great things!" he announced proudly.
+
+"Great things," assented the count. "And 'Der Erlkoenig'--I must have
+'Der Erlkoenig.' Bring it with you."
+
+"'Der Erlkoenig' shall be yours," said Schubert grandly. There was the
+air of granting a royal favor in the round, green-and-white little
+figure as it bowed itself from the room.
+
+In the hall he stumbled a little, looking uncertainly about. A small
+figure glided from a curtained window and approached him timidly.
+
+"Your hat is on the next landing, Herr Schubert," she said.
+
+He looked down at her. His big face flushed with pleasure. "You like my
+music," he said bluntly.
+
+She shook her head gravely.
+
+"It is terrible," she replied.
+
+The spectacles glared at her.
+
+"It hurts me here." She raised a small, dark hand to her chest.
+
+The musician's eyes lighted.
+
+"That is right," he said simply; "ja, that is right--it hurts."
+
+They stood looking at each other in the dim light. The child's eyes
+studied the big face wistfully.
+
+"I wish you would never play it again."
+
+"Not play my 'Erlkoenig!'" He glared at her.
+
+She nodded slowly.
+
+"Never," she said.
+
+He waited a moment, looking at her sternly. He pushed his spectacles far
+up on the short curls and rubbed his nose vigorously.
+
+The child's eyes waited on the queer, perturbed face. She gave a quick
+little sigh. Her lips had parted.
+
+He looked down with a sudden big smile.
+
+"I will never play it for you again," he said grandly. The spectacles
+descended swiftly, the door banged behind him, and the child was left
+alone in the great dim hall.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+The heat of the day was nearly spent, but the leaves of the oaks hung
+motionless. The two young men walking beneath them had bared their
+heads. One of them glanced up now and then, as if looking for coolness
+in the green canopy.
+
+"It will rain before night," said the baron, casually, noting the
+glance. His lithe figure, in its white suit and blue tie, showed no sign
+of heat or fatigue.
+
+The musician, puffing beside him, wiped a handkerchief across his warm
+face.
+
+"Ja, it will rain," he assented hopefully.
+
+The baron glanced at him, smiling.
+
+"You find ten miles a good stretch," he remarked. "We went too far,
+perhaps."
+
+"Nein, not too far. We have had great talk," responded Schubert. His
+face under its mask of perspiration shone gloriously. He glanced down a
+little ruefully at his short, fat legs in their white casings. "But my
+legs they do not talk," he announced naively. "Ja, they are very weary,
+perhaps; but my soul is not weary." He struck his breast a resounding
+blow with the palm of his hand and straightened his short body.
+
+The baron laughed musically.
+
+A low, sweet sound, stealing among the oaks, answered the laugh. They
+stopped short, looking at each other. The sound came again, a far-off,
+haunting peal, with a little catch and sob in its breath.
+
+They stole swiftly forward on tiptoe. Among the trees a roof and the
+outline of a small building glimmered. It was covered with dark ivy.
+Smoke came from the chimney, and through the open window drifted the
+strange, alluring sound.
+
+"The house of the little folk of the wood," whispered Schubert, pressing
+forward.
+
+"The wash-house," returned the baron, with a laugh.
+
+The sound had ceased. The wood, in the soft heat, was very still.
+
+"It is Marka," said the baron, glancing toward the house. "Marka has
+charge of the linen. I heard her the other day, in one of the corridors,
+singing; but Fritz hushed her up before she'd begun. She's a
+Hungarian----"
+
+"Hush!" Schubert lifted a finger.
+
+The music had begun again. The sadness was gone from it. It laughed and
+smiled to itself, and grew merry in a sweet, shy fashion that set the
+air about them astir in little rippling runs.
+
+Schubert had started forward.
+
+"I must have it!" he said impetuously.
+
+"Take care!" warned Schoenstein; "she is a witch."
+
+The musician laughed, stealing away among the tree-trunks. He moved
+softly forward, his short fingers fumbling at his pockets. A torn
+envelope and the stub of a pencil rewarded the search. His face lighted
+as he grasped the pencil more firmly in his fingers, moistening it at
+his thick lips; he approached the open window.
+
+He peered uncertainly into the dim room. By the fireplace stood a lithe,
+quick figure, sorting the pile of linen at her side. As she lifted each
+delicate piece she examined it for holes or rents. Careless little
+snatches of song played about her lips as she worked.
+
+The torn envelope rested on the sill, and the stubby pencil flew across
+its surface. The big face of the musician, bent above it, was alight
+with joy. The sound ceased, and he straightened himself, pushing back
+the hat from his brow, and gazing fondly at the little dots on the torn
+bit of paper.
+
+The girl looked up with a start. The shadow had fallen on her linen. She
+gazed with open, incredulous lips at the uncouth figure framed in the
+window.
+
+A broad smile wreathed the big face.
+
+"Go on, Marka," he said. He nodded encouragement.
+
+She looked down at the pillow-slip in her hands, and back again to the
+face in the window. The linen slip was plaited uncertainly in her
+fingers.
+
+"Go on," said Schubert peremptorily. "You were singing. What was it,
+that tune? Go on."
+
+She looked up again with bold shyness, and shook her head.
+
+The face glared at her.
+
+She smiled saucily, and, putting two plump hands into her apron pockets,
+advanced toward the window. Her steps danced a little.
+
+Franz stared at the vision. He took off his spectacles and rubbed them,
+blinking a little.
+
+"Waugh!" he said.
+
+She laughed musically.
+
+He replaced the spectacles, and looked at her more kindly.
+
+She was leaning on the other side of the casing, her arms folded on the
+sill. Her saucy face was tilted to his.
+
+He bent suddenly, and kissed it full on the mouth.
+
+She started back, fetching him a ringing slap on the cheek.
+
+"You ugly thing!" she said. She laughed.
+
+Franz gazed serenely at the sky, a pleased smile on his lips.
+
+"You're too ugly to look at," said the girl promptly.
+
+He looked down at her and smiled.
+
+"That tasted good," he said.
+
+She pouted a little and glanced at the door.
+
+His glance followed hers.
+
+"Sing me some more," he suggested craftily.
+
+She threw back her head, and her lips broke into a strange, sweet sound.
+The dark eyes were half veiled, and her full throat swelled.
+
+The wood about them darkened as she sang. Swift birds flashed by to
+their nests, and the green leaves quivered a little. A clash broke among
+the tree-tops; they swayed and beat heavily, and big drops fell. The
+girl's eyes flashed wide. The song ceased on her lips. She glanced at
+the big drops on the sill and then at the open door.
+
+"Come in," she said shyly.
+
+He opened the door and went in.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+"We feared that you were not coming, Herr Schubert," said the countess
+suavely.
+
+The group had gathered in the music-room.... The storm had ceased, and a
+cool breeze came through the window. Outside in the castle grounds dim
+lights glimmered.
+
+The young man advanced into the group a little awkwardly, rubbing his
+eyes as if waking from a dream.
+
+The baron, standing by the piano, glanced at him sharply under lowered
+lids. His lips took on a little smile, not unkind, but full of secret
+amusement.
+
+The musician passed him without a glance, and, seating himself at the
+piano, threw back his head with an impatient gesture. He turned swiftly
+the leaves of music that stood on the rack before him.
+
+"Sing this," he said briefly.
+
+He struck a few chords, and they gathered about him, taking up their
+parts with a careless familiarity and skill. It was Haydn's "Creation."
+They had sung it many times, but a new power was in it to-night. The
+music lifted them. The touch on the keys held the sound, and shaped it,
+and filled it with light.
+
+When it was finished they glanced at one another. They smiled; then they
+looked at the player. He sat wrapped in thought, his head bowed, his
+fingers touching the keys with questioning touch. They moved back
+noiselessly and waited. When he was like this, they did not disturb him.
+
+The melody crept out at last, the strange, haunting Hungarian air, with
+unrest and sadness and passion and sweetness trembling through it.
+
+The baron started as he heard it. He moved carelessly to the window and
+stood with his back to the room, looking out.
+
+The countess looked up with a startled air. She glanced inquiringly
+toward her husband. He was leaning forward, a look of interest on his
+dark face. The child at his knee shrank a little. Her eyes were full of
+a strange light. On the opposite side of the room her sister Marie sat
+unmoved, her placid doll eyes resting on the player with a look of
+gentle content.
+
+The passionate note quickened. Something uncanny and impure had crept
+into it. It raised its head and hissed a little and was gone, gliding
+away among the low notes and losing itself in a rustling wave of
+sound.... The music trembled a moment and was still; then the passion
+burst in a flood upon them. Dark chasms opened; strange, wild fastnesses
+shut them in; storm and license and evil held them. Blinding flashes
+fell on them. Slowly the player emerged into a wide sunlit place. The
+music filled it. Winds blew from the four quarters to meet it, and the
+air was full of melody.
+
+The count stirred a little as the last notes fell.
+
+"A strange composition," he said briefly.
+
+The child at his knee lifted her head. She raised a tiny hand and
+brought it down sharply, her small face aglow with suppressed anger.
+
+"It was not good!" she said.
+
+The player turned to look at her. His big face worked strangely.
+
+"No, it was not good," he said. "I shall not play that again. But it is
+great music," he added, with a little laugh.
+
+The count looked at him shrewdly. He patted the child's trembling hand.
+
+"Now," he said soothingly, "something to clear away the mists! 'Der
+Erlkoenig,' We have never had it; bring it out."
+
+Schubert hesitated an instant. He glanced at the child.
+
+"That music--I have it not, Herr Count--I left it in Vienna."
+
+The count moved impatiently.
+
+"Play it from memory," he said.
+
+The musician turned slowly to the piano.
+
+The child's eyes followed him. She shivered a little.
+
+He swung back with a swift gesture, feeling absently in his pockets.
+
+"A piece of tissue-paper," he murmured. He had extracted a small comb
+from one of his pockets. He regarded it thoughtfully. "If I had one
+little piece of paper--" He looked about him helplessly.
+
+"There is some in the music-rack, Marie. Find it for him," said the
+count.
+
+The girl found it and laid it in his hand.
+
+He turned back to the piano, adjusting and smoothing it. His broad back
+was an effective screen. The group waited, a look of interest on their
+faces.
+
+Suddenly he wheeled about, his hands raised to his mouth, the comb,
+thinly covered with tissue-paper, at his lips, and his fat cheeks
+distended. His eyes behind the big spectacles glowed portentously.
+
+They gazed at him in astonishment.
+
+He drew a full breath and drove it forth, a lugubrious note. With
+scowling brows and set face he darted the instrument back and forth
+across his puckered lips. It wailed and shrieked, and out of the noise
+and discord emerged, at a galloping trot, "Der Erlkoenig!"
+
+The child, who had been regarding him intently, threw back her head, and
+a little laugh broke from her lips. Her face danced. She came and stood
+by the player, her hand resting on his knee.
+
+Herr Schubert puffed and blew, and "The Erlking" pranced and thumped.
+Now and then he stumbled and fell, and the fugitives flew fast ahead.
+
+The player's face was grave beyond belief, filled with a kind of fat
+melancholy, and tinged with tragic intent.
+
+The faces watching it passed from question to amusement, and from
+amusement to protest.
+
+"Nein, nein, mein Herr!" said the countess, as she wiped her mild blue
+eyes and shook her blond curls. "Nicht mehr! nicht mehr!"
+
+With a deep, snorting sob the sound ceased. The comb dropped from his
+lips, and the player sat regarding them solemnly. A smile curved his big
+lips.
+
+"Ja," he said simply, "that was great music. I have made it myself, that
+music."
+
+With laughter and light words the party broke up. At a touch from the
+count the musician lingered. The others had left the room.
+
+The count walked to the open window and stood for a moment staring into
+the darkness. Then he wheeled about.
+
+"What was it you played?" he said swiftly.
+
+"A Hungarian air," replied Schubert briefly.
+
+The count looked incredulous.
+
+"It was your own," he said.
+
+"Partly," admitted the musician.
+
+The count nodded.
+
+"I thought so." He glanced toward the piano. "It is not too late----"
+
+Schubert shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I told the child--you heard--I cannot play it again, that music."
+
+The count laughed lightly.
+
+"As you like." He held out a hand. "Good night, my friend," he said
+cordially. "You are a strange man."
+
+The grotesque, sensitive face opposite him quivered. The big lips
+trembled a little as they opened.
+
+"I am _not_ a strange man," said Schubert vehemently. "That music--it
+was--the devil!"
+
+The count laughed again lightly. He held out his hand.
+
+"Good night," he said.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+A soft haze hung over Zelitz. The moonlight, filtering through it,
+touched the paths and shrubs with shifting radiance and lifted them out
+of shadow. Under the big trees the darkness lay black, but in the open
+spaces it had given way to a gray, elusive whiteness that came and went
+like a still breathing of the quiet night.
+
+A young girl, coming down one of the winding paths, paused a moment in
+the open space to listen. The hand that held her trailing, shimmering
+skirts away from the gravel was strong and supple, and the face thrown
+back to the moonlight wore a tense, earnest look; but the dark eyes in
+their curving lids were like a child's eyes. They seemed to laugh
+subtly. It may have been that the moonlight shifted across them.
+
+A young man, standing in the shadow of the trees, smiled to himself as
+he watched her. He stepped from beneath the trees and crossed the open
+space between them.
+
+The girl watched him come without surprise.
+
+"It is a beautiful night, Herr Schubert," she said quietly as he stood
+beside her.
+
+"A wonderful night, my lady," he answered softly.
+
+She looked down at him.
+
+"Why are you not in the castle, playing?" she demanded archly.
+
+"The night called me," he said.
+
+She half turned away.
+
+He started forward.
+
+"Do not go," he breathed.
+
+She paused, looking at him doubtfully.
+
+"I came to walk," she said. She moved away a few steps and paused again,
+looking back over her shoulder. "You can come----"
+
+He sprang to her side, and they paced on in silence.
+
+She glanced at him from under her lids.
+
+His big face wore a radiant, absent-minded look. The full lips moved
+softly.
+
+"What are you thinking of?" she said swiftly.
+
+He flushed and came back to her.
+
+"Only a little song; it runs in my head."
+
+"Hum it to me," she commanded.
+
+He flushed again and stammered:
+
+"Nein, nein; it is not yet born."
+
+Her eyes were on the shifting light.
+
+"Will you play it to me when it is done?" she asked softly.
+
+"You know that I will."
+
+She waited a moment.
+
+"You have never dedicated a song to me," she said slowly. "There are
+the four to my father--but he is the count; and the one last year for
+Marie--why to Marie?--and one for them all. But not one least little
+song for me!" The words had dropped under her breath. Her dark eyes were
+veiled. No one could say whether they laughed now.
+
+He looked up with a swift, brusque gesture.
+
+"They are all yours; you know it." The low voice rebuked her gently.
+"For six years they are yours--all that I have done." The face was
+turned toward her. It was filled with pleading and a kind of gentle
+beauty, clumsy and sweet.
+
+She did not look at it.
+
+"There is one that I should like to hear," she said musingly. "You
+played it once, years ago, on a comb. I have not heard it since." She
+laughed sweetly.
+
+Schubert smiled. The hurt look stole from his eyes.
+
+"You will hear it--my 'Erlkoenig'?" he demanded.
+
+She nodded.
+
+"I will play it to you when I come back," he said contentedly.
+
+She stopped short in the path.
+
+"When you come back!" The subtle eyes were wide. They were not laughing.
+
+"Ja, I shall----"
+
+"Where are you going?"
+
+He rubbed his great nose in the moonlight.
+
+"Nein, I know not. I know I must go----"
+
+She stopped him impatiently.
+
+"You will not go!" she said. He turned his eyes and looked at her. After
+a moment her own fell. "Why will you go?" she asked.
+
+The face with its dumb look was turned toward her.
+
+"That little song--it calls me," he said softly. "When it is done I will
+come back again--to you."
+
+She smiled under the lids.
+
+"That little song--is it for me?" she asked sweetly.
+
+"Ja, for you." He looked pleadingly at the downcast face. "The song--it
+is very sweet; it teases me."
+
+The lids quivered.
+
+"It comes to me so close, so close!" He was silent, a rapt look of
+listening in his face. It broke with a swift sigh. "Ach! it is gone!"
+
+She glanced at him swiftly.
+
+"I thought the songs came quickly."
+
+He shook his head.
+
+"The others, yes; but not this one. It is not like the others. It is so
+sweet and gentle--far away--and pure like the snow.... It calls me--"
+He broke off, gazing earnestly at the beautiful, high-bred face, with
+its downcast eyes.
+
+"Nein! I cannot speak it," he said softly. "But the song it will speak
+it for me--when I come."
+
+She lifted her head, and held out her hand with a gesture half shy and
+very sweet.
+
+The moonlight veiled her. "I shall wait," she said gently--"for the
+song."
+
+He held the slender hand for a moment in his own; then it was laid
+lightly against his lips, and turning, he had disappeared among the
+shadows.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+"Hallo, Franz! Hallo--there!"
+
+Two young men, walking rapidly along the low hedge that shuts in the Zum
+Biersack from the highway, lifted heated faces and glanced toward the
+enclosure, where a youth seated at one of the tables had half risen from
+his place, and was gesticulating with the open book in his hand to
+vacant seats beside him.
+
+"It is Tieze," said Schubert, with a smile. "Come in."
+
+His companion nodded. The next instant a swift waiter had served them,
+and three round, smiling faces surveyed one another above the foaming
+mugs.
+
+"Ach!" said Tieze, looking more critically at the shorter man, "but you
+have grown thin, my friend. You are not so great."
+
+Schubert smiled complacently. He glanced down at his rotund figure.
+
+"Nein, I am little," he assented affably.
+
+His companions broke into a roar of laughter.
+
+"Drink her down, Franz! drink her down!" said Tieze, lifting the heavy
+stein.
+
+Schubert wiped the foam from his lips.
+
+"Ja, that is good!" He drew a deep sigh.
+
+He reached out his hand for the open volume that lay by his companion's
+hand. It was given over in silence, and he dipped into it as he sipped
+the beer, smiling and scowling and humming softly. Now and then he
+lifted his head and listened. His eyes looked across the noisy garden
+into space.
+
+His companions ignored him. They laughed and chatted and sang. Other
+young men joined the group, and the talk grew loud. It was the Sunday
+festival of Warseck.
+
+Schubert smiled absently across the babel.
+
+"A pencil--quick!" he said in a low tone to Tieze. His hand holding the
+open book trembled, and the big eyes glowed with fire.
+
+Tieze fumbled in his pockets and shook his head.
+
+Schubert glared at the careless group.
+
+"A pencil, I tell you!" he said fiercely.
+
+There was a moment's lull. Nobody laughed. Some one thrust a stub of
+pencil across the table. A fat young man sitting at Schubert's side
+seized it and, drawing a few music-bars on the back of a programme,
+pushed it on to him.
+
+"Ach!" said Schubert, with a grateful sigh, "Goot--goot!" In another
+moment he was lost.
+
+The talk grew louder. Hurried waiters rushed back and forth behind his
+chair with foaming mugs and slices of black bread, and gray and brown.
+Fiddles squeaked, and skittle-players shouted. Now and then the noise
+broke off and changed to the national air, which the band across the
+garden played loudly. But through it all Schubert's big head wagged
+absently, and his short-sighted eyes glared at the barred lines and
+flying pencil.
+
+Suddenly he raised his head with a snort. His spectacles flew to his
+forehead, and his round face smiled genially at the laughing group.
+
+"Done?" asked the fat young man with a smile. He reached out his hand
+for the scrawled page.
+
+Schubert drew it jealously back.
+
+"Nein," he said quickly.
+
+Tieze, who had come around the table, stood behind them, scanning the
+barred lines and the scattered shower of notes. He raised a quick hand
+to the group about the table.
+
+"Gott im Himmel!" he said excitedly. "Listen, you dunderheads!"
+
+Silence fell on the group. Every glance was turned to him. He hummed
+softly a few bars of sweetest melody--under the garden's din.... The
+notes stopped in a choking gasp, Schubert's hand on his throat.
+
+"Stop that!" he said hoarsely. The paper had been thrust loosely into
+his coat pocket. His face worked fiercely.
+
+Tieze drew back, half laughing, half alarmed.
+
+"Franz! Franz!" he said.
+
+The other brushed his hand across his forehead and drew a deep breath.
+
+"Ja," he said slowly, "I might have killed you."
+
+Tieze nodded. A look of curiosity held his face.
+
+"It is schoen!" he said softly. "Schoen!"
+
+Schubert turned abruptly.
+
+"It is not for you.... For years I search that song, over mountains, in
+the storm, in the sunshine; but it has never come--till here." His eye
+swept the crowded place. "Now I have it"--he patted the rough coat
+pocket--"now I have it, I go away."
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+The girl sitting on a rough bench by the low building stirred slightly.
+She glanced behind her. Deep blackness in the wood, shifting moonshine
+about her. She breathed a quick sigh. It was like that other night. Ah,
+he would not come!
+
+Her face fell forward into her slender fingers. She sat immovable. The
+shadow trembled a little, but the girl by the low house was blind and
+deaf. Melodies of the past were about her. The shadow moved, but she had
+no eyes to see; slowly it travelled across the short-cropped grass,
+mystically green and white in the waning moon. Noiselessly it came; it
+sank noiselessly into the shadow of the low house. A sound clicked and
+was still. But the girl had not moved--memory music held her. It moved
+upon her spirit, low and sweet, and stirred the pulse, and breathed
+itself away.
+
+She stirred a little, and laid her cheek upon her palm. Her opened eyes
+rested carelessly on the ground; her look flashed wide and leaped to the
+lattice window beside her, and back again to the ground. A block of
+light lay there, clear and defined. It was not moonlight or dream-light.
+She sprang to her feet and moved a step nearer the window. Then she
+stopped, her hand at her side, her breath coming quickly. The high,
+sweet notes were calling from the night. Swiftly she moved. The door
+gave lightly beneath her touch. She crossed the smooth floor. She was by
+his side. The music was around them, above them, shimmering. It held
+them close. Slowly he turned his big, homely face and looked at her, but
+the music did not cease. It hovered in the air above, high and pure and
+sweet. The face of the young countess bent lower; a look of tenderness
+waited in her subtle eyes.
+
+He sprang to his feet, his hands outstretched to ward it off.
+
+"Nein. It is not I. It is the music. You shall not be bewitched!" His
+hands made swift passes, as if he would banish a spell.
+
+She caught them to her and waited.
+
+"Am I bewitched--Franz?" she said at last. The voice was very low. The
+laughing eyes were looking into his.
+
+"Ja, you are bewitched," he returned stoutly.
+
+"And you?"
+
+"I have only love for you."
+
+"And I have only love for you," she repeated softly. She hummed a bit of
+the melody and stopped, looking at him sweetly. "It is my song," she
+questioned--"the song you went to seek for me?"
+
+He lifted his head proudly.
+
+"It came for you."
+
+She nodded with brimming eyes. Her hands stole softly up to the big
+face. They framed it in, with its look of pride, and touched it gently.
+"Dear face!" she breathed, "dear ugly face--my music face!"
+
+They moved swiftly apart. The figure of the count was in the open
+doorway.
+
+She moved forward serenely and slipped her hand in his.
+
+"I am here, Father Johann," she said quietly.
+
+His fingers closed about the white ones.
+
+"Go outside, Cara. Wait there till I come."
+
+Her dark, troubled eyes looked into his. They were not laughing now.
+
+"Nay, father," she said gently, "it is you who will wait outside--while
+we say farewell."
+
+The count regarded her for a long moment, then he turned toward the
+young musician, his face full of compassion and a kind of envy.
+
+"My friend," he said slowly, "for five minutes I shall leave her with
+you. You will go away--forever."
+
+Schubert bowed proudly. His eyes were on the girl's face.
+
+As the door closed, she turned to him, holding out her hands.
+
+He took them in his, and they stood silent, looking into each other's
+eyes.
+
+She drew a long breath.
+
+"What do people say when they are dying?" she asked.
+
+"Nein, I know not." His voice trembled.
+
+"There is so much, and it is nothing," said the girl dreamily. She moved
+a step toward the piano, his hands locked fast in hers. "Tell me again
+you love me!" she whispered.
+
+He took off the great spectacles, and laid them beside the scrawled
+page.
+
+"Look in my eyes," he said gently. A kind of grandeur had touched the
+homely features. The soul behind them looked out.
+
+She bent toward him. A little sob broke from her lips. She lifted the
+hands and moved them swiftly toward the keys.
+
+"Tell me!" she said.
+
+With a smile of sadness, he obeyed the gesture.
+
+Melody filled the room. It flooded the moonlight. The count, pacing back
+and forth, halted, a look of bewilderment in his face. He stepped
+swiftly toward the door.
+
+The lights on the piano flared uncertainly. They fell on the figure at
+the piano. It loomed grotesque and grim, and melted away in flickering
+shadow. Music played about it. Strains of sadness swept over it in the
+gloom and drifted by, and the sweet, high notes rose clear. A little
+distance away the figure of the young countess stood in the shifting
+light. Her clasped hands hung before her. She swayed and lifted them,
+groping, and turned. Her father sprang to her. Side by side they passed
+into the night. The music sounded about them far and sweet.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Franz Schubert, with his youth and his wreaths of fame, his homely face
+and soul of fire, is dead these many years; but the soul of fire is not
+dead.... The Countess Esterhazy, framed for love, is dust and ashes in
+her marble house. The night music plays over her tomb.
+
+The night music plays wherever night is.
+
+
+
+
+FREDERIC CHOPIN--A RECORD
+
+
+    PARIS, October 6, 1837.
+
+It has rained all day. No one has been in. No fantasies have crept to my
+soul. Nothing to break the ceaseless, monotonous drip, drip, drip on my
+heart. No one but a _garcon_ from the florist's bringing violets--the
+great swelling bunch of English violets--Jane Stirling's violets!
+Heavens, what a woman! I am like her now, in the little mirror on my
+desk. Merely thinking of her has made me so! The great aquiline
+nose--the shrewd, canny Scotch look--and the big mouth--alas, that
+mouth! When it smiles I am enraged. Oh, Jane! Why dost thou haunt me,
+night and day, with thy devotion and thy violets--and thy nose! Let
+women be gentle, with soft glances that thrill--soft, dark flames.
+Constantia's glance? Constantia? Nay, fickle. Fickle moon of yesternight
+that drips--drips--drips. Will it never cease! I cannot play the pain
+away. It eats into my heart. Yet life was made for joy and
+love--love--love--sweet as dream-light--sweet as music--sad and sweet
+and gay--love! The weariness rests upon me. The silver clock ticks. It
+chimes the pain. One--two--three--nine--ten. The night wears slowly. I
+must break the burden. I will look into a woman's face, and rest.
+
+
+    PARIS, October 10, 1837.
+
+It was a thought of inspiration. I threw off the ugly loose coat and my
+_ennui_ together. I plunged into the fragrant bath. Little tunes hummed
+to me as I rose from it. I put on clean, fresh linen--fine as silk--and
+evening dress. My blood coursed freely, and the scent of violets came to
+me sweetly. It followed through the wet, dripping streets, and clung to
+me as I ascended the softly carpeted stair to the salon of the Countess
+Czosnowska. I was merry in my soul. Then a shadow crossed me. It fell
+upon my shoulder, and I turned in fear to look. No one--except a naked
+Venus on the wall. My good angel drew me on. I have seen her thrice
+since then. It seems a day. She came and looked into my eyes, while I
+played. It was fairy-music, witching and sweet--a little sad--the
+fairies of the Danube. My heart danced with them in the fatherland. Her
+eyes looked into mine. Sombre eyes--strange eyes. What did they say? She
+leaned forward on the piano, gazing at me passionately. My soul leaped
+back and stood at bay. The strange eyes smiled. It was a man's
+face--breadth and depth and coarseness--and the strange, sad eyes. I
+longed for them and shrank upon myself. She moved away. Later we spoke
+together--commonplaces. Liszt brought her to me, where I was sitting
+alone. Camellias framed us in. A sweet shadow rested on my heart. She
+praised my playing--gently. She understood. But the strong, sad, ugly
+face! I have seen her twice since then. In her own _salon_, with the
+noblest minds of France about her--and once alone. Beautiful
+face--haunting sadness! Aurora--sweetest name! She loves me!
+Day-spring--loved-one! The night lags----
+
+
+    PARIS, November 5, 1838.
+
+We are to go away together--to the South. There is a strange pain at my
+chest, a haunting cough. It will not let me go. I shall escape it--in
+the South. She cares for me, day and night. Her sweet breath! My
+mother's face is sad in my dreams. I shall not dream when the sun shines
+warm upon me--in the South----
+
+
+    MAJORCA, November 16, 1838.
+
+We are alone--two souls--in this island of the sea. The surf beats at
+night. I lie and listen. Jane Stirling came to see us off. She brought
+violets--great, swelling English violets. I smell them in the mouldy
+cloister cells, night and day. This monks' home is cold and bleak. The
+wind rattles through it, and at night it moans. A chill is on me. When I
+cough it echoes through my heart. I love the light. Sweet music waits
+the light. I will not die. The shadow haunts. But life is strong.
+Jane's violets on my grave! I will not die.
+
+
+    PARIS, March 14, 1839.
+
+Paris--gay, live Paris! The cabs rattle sweetly on the stones. I can
+breathe now. The funeral dirge will wait. In Marseilles we came upon
+Nourrit--dead. Poor Adolphe! He could not bear the weight. A crash into
+eternity! I knew it all. The solemn mass ascended for his soul--and high
+above it all, I spoke in swelling chords--mystery--pain--justice--the
+fatherland. A requiem for his soul--for Chopin's soul? And Heine smiles.
+Brave Heine! With death upon his heart--inch by inch he fights it--with
+laughs. I saw him yestermorn. His great eyes winked. They made a bet at
+me. He will outlast us yet, he swore, ten years. Brave fight! Shall I
+live to see it stop--gasp--the last quip fail on sunny lips? I peer
+into the years between. They hang among the mists. Aurora comes. It is a
+week. Sweet day-spring!
+
+
+    NOHANT, October 11, 1839.
+
+They tell me I am well. The cough has ceased and the pain. But deep
+below, it beats. Aurora's eyes are veiled. Only when I play will they
+glow. They fill the world with light. I sit and play softly--her pen
+moves fast. She can write with music--music--over her--around--Chopin's
+music, whispered low--but clear as love. They said once George Sand was
+clever. It is Chopin's touch that makes her great. It eats the soul. For
+thee, Aurora, I could crawl upon the earth. I would not mind. I give
+thee all. I ask a glance--a touch--a smile when thou art weary--leave to
+love thee and to make sweet music. Thou wilt not be too cruel,
+love--with thy veiled eyes?
+
+
+    NOHANT, May 3, 1847.
+
+I must have money. I am a burden--sick--a cough that racks the soul.
+Aurora comes but seldom. The cough hurts her. She is busy. I do not look
+into her eyes. I lie and gaze across the field. It stretches from my
+window--sunny, French field! Miles away, beneath a Polish sky, I see my
+mother's eyes. Unshed tears are heavy. "Fritz, little Fritz," she calls
+to me, "thou wilt be a great musician. Poland will be proud of thee!"
+Poland--dear land--proud of Frederic Chopin! My heart is empty. It
+aches.
+
+
+    NOHANT, June 1, 1847.
+
+It is over. Life has stopped. A few years more or less, perhaps. But
+never life again. I do not write the words. They hammer at my brain.
+She spoke so sharply--and my soul was sick. I did not think she could.
+If she had waited--I would not have tarried long, not too long, Aurora.
+Hadst thou waited--weary of the burden, the sick burden of my complaint!
+Money--I shall work--Waltzes that the public loves--and pays for.
+Mazurkas from a torn heart! I shall work--a little while--20,000 francs
+to set me free! I will die free!
+
+
+    PARIS, June 10, 1847.
+
+Strange fortune that besets a man! The 20,000 franc paper is in my hand.
+I turn it. I look at it. Jane Stirling and her goodness haunt my gloom.
+She only asks to give. Strange, uncouth, Scotch lady! With thy heart of
+gold, thy face of iron, and thy foot of lead! Thy francs lie heavy in
+my hand. "Master," she writes my name. She only asks to give. But women
+should be gentle, with soft, dark eyes that thrill. The day has closed.
+I shall die free!
+
+
+    STIRLING CASTLE, SCOTLAND, June 16, 1848.
+
+I am lying in a great chamber of the castle. The house is still. The
+guests have creaked to their rooms. The last hoarse voice is hushed.
+When I played for them below, my fingers twitched and my heart ached
+with the numbness. I could have cried with weariness and pain. The
+faithful Daniel lifted me like a child. He has undressed me and laid me
+here among the swelling pillows. The light burns fitfully. It dances
+among the shadows. Outside the bleak Scotch mist draws near. It peers
+into my window. It is Jane's soul--soft and floating wool--and clammy.
+My heart is ice--ingratitude and ice. She sits beside me all the day. We
+talk of music! Strange, disjointed talk--with gaps of common
+sense--hero-worship--and always the flame that burns for me--slow and
+still. She has one thought, one wish--to guard my days with sweet
+content. And in my soul the quenchless fire burns. It eats its way to
+the last citadel. I have not long to wait. I shall not cry out with the
+pain. Its touch is sweet--like death. "I'll beat you yet," brave Heine
+writes. His soul is emptied. But the lips laugh. Jane's slow Scotch eyes
+keep guard at death. My lightest wish grows law. The treasures of my
+_salon_--shall they be hawked about the town? "Chopin's
+wash-basin--going!--for ten sous--going!" My pictures, caskets,
+tapestries, each rug and chair that I have loved, and the great piano
+with its voice and soul of love. She will guard them. Faithful lady!
+Cruel one--my soul curses thee, crushes thee forever--false dawn that
+could not stand the sun's deep kiss--Aurora. Unrest--unrest--will it
+never cease? Shall I lie quiet? There will be Polish earth upon me. The
+silver goblet holds it. It is here beside me now. I reach and touch it
+with my hand. Dear land of music and the soul! The silver cupful from
+thy teeming fields is always near. It shall spill upon my breast--upon
+this racked and breathless burden! But the heart within that beats and
+burns--it shall be severed, chord by chord--it shall return to the land
+that gave it. Dear Poland! I see thee in the mists--with my mother's
+brow and mouth and chin. Poland that sings and weeps--sad land. My
+heart is thine! Cleanse it in sweet-smelling earth! In thy bosom it
+shall rest--at last--rest!
+
+
+
+
+THE MAN WITH THE GLOVE
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+"Ho, _Tiziano_! Ala-ala-_ho_! _Tizi-ah-no_!"
+
+The group in the gondola raised a merry call. The gondola rocked at the
+foot of a narrow flight of steps leading to a tall, sombre dwelling. The
+moonlight that flooded the gondola and steps revealed no sign of life in
+the dark front.
+
+The young man sitting with his back to the gondolier raised the call
+again: "What, ho!--Tiziano!" The clear, tenor voice carried far, and
+occupants of passing gondolas turned to look and smile at the dark,
+handsome youth as they drifted past.
+
+The door at the top of the steps opened and Titian ran lightly down. He
+carried in his hand a small lute with trailing purple ribbons, and the
+cap that rested on his thick curls was of purple velvet. He lifted it
+with gentle grace as he stepped into the gondola and took the vacant
+seat beside a young woman facing the bow of the boat.
+
+Her smiling face was turned to him mockingly. "Late again, Signor
+Cevelli, and yet again!" She plucked at the strings of a small
+instrument lying on her lap, and the notes tinkled the music of her
+words.
+
+"Pardon, Signora, a thousand pardons to you and to your gracious lord!"
+He bowed to the man opposite him.
+
+"Giorgio? Oh--Giorgio doesn't mind." Her soft lips smiled. "He's too big
+and lazy. He never minds." Her laugh rose light and sweet. The three men
+joined in.
+
+The boat shot into midstream. It threaded its way among the brilliant
+craft that floated in the moonlight, or shot by them under vigorous
+strokes. Many glances were turned toward the boat as it passed. The face
+of Titian was well known and that of the woman beside him was the face
+of many pictures; while the big man opposite--her husband--the famous
+Giorgione, was the favorite of art-loving Venice. It was a group to
+attract attention at any time. But it was the fourth member of the group
+that drew the eyes and held them to-night.
+
+He was a stranger to Venice, newly come from Rome--known in Venice years
+ago, it was whispered--a mere stripling. Now the face and figure had the
+beauty and the strength of manhood.... A famous courtesan touched her
+red-gold locks and laughed sweetly as she drifted by. But the sombre,
+dark face with the inscrutable eyes and the look of power did not turn.
+He sat, for the most part, a little turned away, looking at the waves
+dancing with leaden lights under the moon and running in ripples from
+the boat. Now and then his lips curved in a smile at some jest of his
+companions, or his eyes rested on the face of the woman opposite--and
+filled with gentle, wondering light.
+
+Titian, watching him from beside the young woman, marvelled at the look
+of mystery and the strength. He leaned forward, about to speak--but
+Giorgione stayed him with a gesture.
+
+"The Fondaco," he said, raising his hand to the gondolier. "Ho, there!
+Halt for the Fondaco!"
+
+The boat came slowly to rest at the foot of the great building that rose
+white and gray and new in the half light. Giorgione's eye ran lovingly
+along the front. "To-morrow," he said, "we begin the last frescos. You,
+Titian, on the big facade to the south, and Zarato and I--" He laid his
+hand affectionately on the arm of the young man at his side, "Zarato and
+I on the inner court."
+
+The youth started and looked up. His eyes studied the massive walls,
+with the low, arching porticos and long unbroken lines. "A noble piece
+of work," he said.
+
+Giorgione nodded. "German and Venetian mixed." He laughed softly. "With
+three Venetians at the frescos--we shall see, ah--we shall see!" He
+laughed again good-humoredly.
+
+The boat shot under the Rialto and came out again in the clear
+moonlight.
+
+"To-morrow," said Giorgione, looking back, "to-morrow we begin."
+
+"To-morrow Zarato comes to me--for his portrait." Titian spoke quickly,
+almost harshly. His eyes were on the young man's face.
+
+The gondola stirred slightly. Every one looked at the young man. He sat
+staring at Titian, a look half amused and half perplexed in his dark
+eyes. The look broke and ran. "Is it so!" he said almost gayly.
+
+Titian nodded grimly. "You come to me."
+
+Giorgione leaned forward. "But I can't spare him," he pleaded. "I can't
+spare you. The work is late, and the Council hammer at a man! You must
+wait."
+
+"Just one day," said Titian briefly. "I block in the outlines. It can
+wait then--a year, six months--I care not."
+
+Giorgione's face regained its look of good-humor. "But you are foolish,
+Titian, foolish! Paint doges, if you will, paint popes and dukes--paint
+gold. But never paint an artist--an artist and a gentleman!"
+
+They laughed merrily and the boat glided on--out into the lagoon and the
+broad, flooding moonlight.
+
+"Sing something," said Giorgione. He raised the flute to his lips,
+breathing into it a gay, gentle air. The lute and cithara, from the
+opposite side, took it up. Presently the tenor voice joined in, carrying
+the air with sweet, high notes. They fell softly on the ear.
+
+The slender fingers plucking at the cithara faltered. The bosom beneath
+its white tunic, where a single pansy glowed, trembled with swift
+breathing, and the red lips parted in a quick sigh.
+
+Titian looked up, smiling reproachfully: "Violante! ah, Violante!" he
+murmured softly.
+
+She shook her head smilingly. A tear rested on her cheek. "I cannot help
+it," she said; "it is the music."
+
+"Yes, it is the music," said Titian. His tone was dry--half cynical.
+
+Her husband looked over with faithful eyes and smiled at her.
+
+Only Zarato had not looked up. His eyes followed the dancing leaden
+water. A flush had come into his sallow cheek. But the moonlight did not
+reveal it.
+
+Violante glanced at him timidly.
+
+"Come, we will try again," she said. She swept her cithara, and the
+tenor voice took up the notes. "Faster!" she said. The time quickened.
+Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone.
+
+"_Chi boit et ne reboit, ne cais qua boir soit_," rang out the voice.
+
+"_Qua boir soit--qua boir soit_," repeated Violante softly.
+
+The duet rose, full and sweet and clear, with passionate undertones.
+Slowly it died away, calling to itself across the lighted water.
+
+The two men applauded eagerly. "Bella!" murmured Giorgione. "Once
+more!--Bella!" He clapped his hands.
+
+Again the music rose. Once the eyes of the singers met--a long, slow
+look. The time quickened a little, and the music deepened.
+
+Titian sat watching them, his head in its velvet cap, thrown back
+against the cushions, his lips smiling dreamily. His eye strayed over
+the voluptuous figure at his side--the snowy tunic and the ruby-red
+bodice and skirt. He knew the figure well, the red-gold hair and
+wondrous eyes. But a new look had come into them--something tender,
+almost sweet.
+
+He leaned forward as the music ceased. "You shall pose for me," he said
+under his breath. "I want you for the Duke's picture."
+
+She nodded slightly, her bosom rising and falling.
+
+Giorgione leaned forward, smiling.
+
+"What is that?" he asked. His eyes rested tenderly on the flushed face
+and the full lips of his wife. "What is it you say?"
+
+"I want her for Bacchante," said Titian, "for the Duke's picture." He
+had not removed his eyes from her face.
+
+Giorgione smiled. Then his face darkened. "My frescos! Oh, my frescos!"
+he murmured tragically. "But _you_ will help, Zarato. You will not go
+paint for dukes and popes?" The tone was half laughing and half
+querulous.
+
+The young man roused himself and looked at him questioningly. He drew
+his hand across his eyes. "What is it?" he said dreamily. "What is it?"
+His face flushed. "Help you? Yes, I will help you--if--I can."
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+"A little more to the right, please."
+
+Titian's eyes studied the figure before him thoughtfully. His voice
+murmured half-articulate words, and his glance ran swiftly from the
+sitter to his canvas.
+
+"That is good." He gave a sigh of satisfaction. "Can you hold that--ten
+minutes, say!" He had taken up his brush and was painting with swift
+strokes.
+
+The young man before him smiled a little. The dark, handsome face
+lighted under it and glowed. "I will do my best." The quiet irony in the
+tone laughed gently.
+
+Titian smiled back. "I forget that you are of the craft. You have too
+much of the grand air, Zarato, to belong to us."
+
+"I am indebted to you!" said the young man politely. He lifted his hand
+with a courtly gesture, half mocking and half sincere. It dropped easily
+to the console beside him.
+
+With rapid touches Titian sketched it as it lay. His face glowed with
+satisfaction, and he worked with eager haste. "Good!--Good!" he murmured
+under his breath. "It will be great. You will see.... You will see." He
+hummed softly to himself, his glance flashing up and down the tall
+figure before him, inserting a touch here and a line there, with swift
+decision.
+
+The warm air of the studio was very quiet. Voices drifted up from the
+Grand Canal, and now and then the sound of bells.
+
+The young man's eyes looked dreamily before him. He had forgotten the
+studio and its occupant. He might have been listening to pleasant
+words--to the sound of a voice.
+
+"There!" Titian dropped the brush and stepped back. "We have done for
+to-day." He surveyed the canvas critically.
+
+The young man stepped to his side. He looked earnestly at the daubs and
+lines of paint that streaked it. A smile crept over his dark face. "You
+paint like no other," he said quietly.
+
+Titian nodded. "Like no other," he repeated the words with satisfaction.
+"They will not call it like Palma, this time--nor like Giorgione, nor
+Signor Somebody Else." He spoke with mild irritation. His eyes travelled
+over the lines of glowing canvas that covered the walls.
+
+The young man's glance followed them. "No," he assented, "you have
+outstepped them all.... You used them but to climb on." He moved toward
+a canvas across the room.
+
+"But this--" he laid his hand lightly on the frame--"this was after
+Palma?" He turned his eyes with a look of inquiry.
+
+Titian nodded curtly.
+
+"It was the model--partly," he said half grudgingly.
+
+"I know--Violante." Zarato spoke the name softly. He hesitated a moment.
+"Would she pose for any one--for me, do you think?"
+
+Titian laughed harshly. "Better not, my boy--Better not! When she gets
+into a brush, it is a lost brush, Zarato--bewitched forever! Look
+there--and there--and there!" His rapid hand flashed at the canvases.
+
+The young man's eyes followed the gesture. "The result is not so bad,"
+he said gravely.
+
+Titian laughed back. "Not so bad!..." He studied them a minute. "You've
+no idea how I had to fight to keep her out--And, oh, that hair!" He
+groaned thoughtfully, looking at the canvases--"Palma's worse!" he
+chuckled.
+
+The young man started. A thought crossed his face and he looked up. "And
+Giorgione?" he asked doubtingly.
+
+Titian shook his head grimly. "He married her."
+
+The young man moved a little away. He picked up a small book and
+mechanically turned the leaves.
+
+The older man eyed him keenly.
+
+"Don't mind me, Zarato." He said it kindly, and laid a hand on the young
+man's shoulder. "I have no right to say anything against her--except
+that she's a somewhat fickle woman," he added dryly.
+
+The young man's eyes were fixed on the page before him. He held it out,
+pointing to a name scrawled on the margin.
+
+Titian took it in his hands, holding it gently, and turning it so that
+the light fell on the rich binding. "A treasure!" he said
+enthusiastically.
+
+The young man nodded. "An Aldine--I saw that. What does the marking
+mean?" He asked the question almost rudely.
+
+His companion turned the leaves. "It's a bacchanal for the Duke," he
+said slowly.... "I've been looking up Violante's pose.--Here it is." He
+read the lines in a musical voice.
+
+A heavy frown had come between the handsome eyes watching him. "You'll
+not paint her like that?"
+
+"I rather think I shall," responded Titian slowly. "She has promised."
+
+"And Giorgione?"
+
+"Giorgione lets her do as she likes. He trusts her--as I do." He laid
+his hand again on the shoulder near him. "I tell you, man, you're wrong.
+Believe in her and--leave her," he said significantly.
+
+The shoulder shrugged itself slightly away. The young man picked up his
+hat from the table near by. He raised it courteously before he dropped
+it with a little laugh on the dark curls.
+
+"I go to an appointment," he said.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+A face looked over the balcony railing as the gondola halted at the foot
+of the steps. It smiled with a look of satisfaction, and the owner,
+reaching for a rose at her belt, dropped it with a quick touch over the
+balcony edge.
+
+It fell at the feet of the young man stepping from the gondola, and
+caused him to bend with a deep flush. It touched his lips lightly as he
+raised himself and lifted his velvet cap to the face above.
+
+She smiled mockingly. "You are late," she said--"two minutes late!"
+
+"I come!" he replied, springing up the steps. In another minute he was
+beside her, smiling and flushed, looking down at her with deep, intent
+gaze.
+
+She made a place for him on the divan. "Sit down," she said.
+
+He seated himself humbly, his eyes studying hers.
+
+She smiled lazily and unfurled her fan, covering her face except the
+eyes. They regarded him over the fringe of feathers.
+
+"Where have you been?" she demanded.
+
+"With Titian."
+
+"Giorgione wanted you. He did scold so--!" She laughed musically.
+
+Zarato nodded. "I go to him to-morrow."
+
+"Has Titian finished?"
+
+"For the present--He will lay it away."
+
+"I know," she laughed, "--to mellow!... How did you like it?"
+
+He hesitated a second. "It was a little rough," he confessed.
+
+"Always!" The laugh rippled sweetly. "Like a log of wood--or a heap of
+stones--or a large loaf of bread."
+
+He stirred uneasily. "Do you sit to him often?" he asked.
+
+Her eyes dwelt for a moment on his face. "Not now," she replied.
+
+He returned the look searchingly. "You are going to?"
+
+"Yes," she assented.
+
+He still held her eyes. "I don't like it," he said slowly.
+
+The ghost of a smile came into her face. Her eyes danced in the shadow
+of it. "No?" she said quietly.
+
+"No!"
+
+She waited, looking down and plucking at the silken fringe of her
+bodice. "Why?" she asked after a time.
+
+He made no reply.
+
+She glanced up at him. He was looking away from her, across the gay
+canal. His face had a gentle, preoccupied look, and his lip trembled.
+
+Her glance fell. "Why not?" she repeated softly.
+
+He looked down at her and his face flushed. "I don't know," he said. He
+bent toward her and took the fan from her fingers.
+
+She yielded it with half reluctance, her eyes mocking him and her lips
+alluring.
+
+He smiled back at her, shaking his head slightly and unfurling the fan.
+He had regained his self-possession. He moved the fan gently, stirring
+the red-gold hair and fluttering the silken fringe on her bodice. It
+rose and fell swiftly, moved in the soft current of air. His eyes
+studied her face. "Will you sit for me some day?" he said.
+
+She nodded without speaking. The breath came swiftly between the red
+lips and the eyes were turned away. They rested on the facade of a tall
+building opposite, where a flock of doves, billing and cooing in the
+warm air, strutted and preened themselves. Their plump and iridescent
+breasts shone in the sun.
+
+Her hand reached for the cithara at her side. "Shall I sing you their
+song?" she said, "The Birds of Venus."
+
+He smiled indulgently. Her voice crooned the words.
+
+"Sing!" she said imperiously. He joined in, following her mood with
+ready ease.
+
+There was silence between them when the song was done. She sat with her
+eyes half closed, looking down at the white hands in her lap.
+
+He lifted one of them gently, his eyes on her face. She did not stir or
+look up. He raised it slowly to his lips.
+
+The warm breath stirred a smile on her face. She glanced at him from
+under falling lids.
+
+He dropped the hand and stood up with a half cry.
+
+"I must go--Violante--I must--go!" He groped to where the doorway
+opened, cool and dark, behind them, "I must go," he repeated vaguely.
+
+She rose and came to him slowly. "You must go," she said softly.
+
+They passed into the dark, open doorway.
+
+Below, in the hot sun, the gondola rocked at the foot of the stairs.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+The noon-bell in the southern turret of the Fondaco chimed softly. A
+painter at work on the facade near by looked up inquiringly at the sun.
+He smiled absently to himself and, dropping his brushes, descended
+lightly from the scaffolding to the ground. He walked away a few
+steps--as far as the ground permitted--and turned to look at the work
+above.
+
+"Not so bad," he murmured softly, "--not so bad ... and better from the
+water." He glanced at the canal below. A white hand from a passing
+gondola waved to him and motioned approvingly toward the colors of the
+great wall.
+
+"Bravo, Tiziano!" called some one from another craft. The canal took up
+the cry. "Bravo, bravo! Bravo,--Tiziano!"
+
+Titian raised his painter's cap and returned the salute. He stood with
+one foot on the parapet, looking down and smiling with easy grace, at
+the pleasure-loving crowd below. A man came in sight around the corner
+of the Fondaco, walking slowly and looking up at the picture as he came.
+
+"Well?" Titian glanced at him keenly.
+
+"Great!" responded Giorgione heartily. "The Judith bears the light well,
+and when the scaffolding is down it will be better yet.... Venice will
+be proud!" He laid his hand affectionately on the other's shoulder and
+motioned toward the throng of boats that had halted below, gazing at the
+glowing wall.
+
+"To-day Titian--to-morrow another!" said Titian a little bitterly.
+
+"Why care?" responded Giorgione. "Some one to-day told me that my
+Judith, on the south wall here, surpasses all my other work together."
+He laughed cordially.
+
+Titian looked at him keenly. His face had flushed a little under the
+compliment. "It is like you not to care," he said affectionately.
+
+"Care! Why should I care--so that the work is done?" His eyes rested
+lovingly on the facade. "It is marvellous--that trick of light," he said
+wonderingly.... "You must teach it to me."
+
+Titian laughed under his breath. "I learned it from you."
+
+Giorgione shook his head. "Not from me...." he replied doubtingly. "If
+you learned it from me, others would learn from me." He stood, looking
+up, lost in thought.
+
+"Where is Zarato?" asked Titian abruptly.
+
+Giorgione started vaguely. A flush came into his face. "He stopped
+work--an hour ago," he said.
+
+Titian's eyes were on his face.
+
+The open friendliness had vanished. It was turned to him with a look of
+trouble. "Had you thought, Cevelli--" His speech hesitated and broke
+off. He was looking down at the dark water.
+
+Titian answered the unspoken question. "Yes, I had thought," he said.
+His voice was very quiet.
+
+His companion looked up quickly. "He is with her now, it may be.... I
+told them that I should not go home at the noon-bell." He looked about
+him slowly--at the clear sky and at the moving throng of boats below--
+
+"I am going home." He spoke the words with dull emphasis.
+
+Titian turned and held out his hand. "The gods be with you, friend!"
+
+Giorgione gripped it for a moment. Tears waited behind the eyes and
+clouded the look of trust. "I could bear it if--if Zarato was not my
+friend," he said as he turned away.
+
+"Keep faith while you may," said Titian, following him a step. "He who
+distrusts a friend lends thunderbolts to the gods," he quoted softly.
+
+"Remind him that he is to sit for me this afternoon," he called more
+lightly, as the other moved away.
+
+"I will remember," said Giorgione soberly. The next moment he had
+disappeared in the maze of buildings.
+
+Titian, looking after him, shook his head slowly. He turned and gathered
+up some tools from a bench near by.... The look in his friend's eyes
+haunted him.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+It still haunted him as he laid out brushes and colors in his studio for
+the appointed sitting with Zarato.
+
+He brought the canvas from the wall and placed it on the easel and stood
+back, examining it critically. His face lighted and he hummed softly,
+gazing at the rough outline.... Slowly, in the smudge of the vague face,
+gleaming eyes formed themselves--Giorgione's eyes! They looked out at
+him, pathetic and fierce.
+
+With an exclamation of disgust he threw down the brush. He looked about
+him for his cap, and found it at last--on the back of his head. He
+settled it more firmly in place. "There will be time," he muttered. "I
+shall be back in time." With a swift glance about him he was gone from
+the room, and on the way to Giorgione's studio.
+
+As he opened the door he saw Giorgione's great figure huddled together
+against the eastern window. Bars of light fell across it and danced on
+the floor. Titian crossed the studio quickly and touched the bent
+shoulder.
+
+The eyes that looked up were those that had called him. Giorgione's
+eyes--a fierce, pathetic light in their depths. They gazed at him
+stupidly. "What is it?" asked the man. He spoke thickly and half rose,
+gazing curiously about the room. He ran a hand across his forehead and
+looked at Titian vaguely. "What is it?" he repeated.
+
+Titian fell back a step. "That's what I came to find out," he said
+frankly. He was more startled than he cared to show.
+
+"What has happened, Giorgione?" His tone was gentle, as if speaking to a
+child, and he took him by the shoulder to lead him to a seat.
+
+For a moment the man resisted. Then he let himself be led, passively,
+and sank back in the chair with a hoarse sigh. He looked about the
+studio as if seeking something--and afraid of it. "She's gone!" he
+whispered.
+
+Titian started. "No!"
+
+Giorgione laughed harshly. "Fled as a bird," he said gayly, "a bird that
+was snared." He hummed a few bars of the song and stopped, his gaze
+fixed on vacancy. A great shudder broke through him, and he buried his
+face in his hands. There was no movement but the heave of his shoulders,
+and no sound. The light upon the floor danced in the stillness.
+
+Titian's eyes rested on it, perplexed. He crossed the room swiftly and
+touched a bell. He gave an order and waited with his hand on his
+friend's shoulder till the servant returned.
+
+"Drink this," he said firmly, bending over him. He was holding a long,
+slender glass to his lips.
+
+The man quaffed it--slowly at first, then eagerly. "Yes, that is good!"
+he said as he drained the glass. "I tremble here." He laid his hand on
+his heart. "And my hand is strange." He smiled--a wan, wintry smile--and
+looked at his friend with searching eyes.
+
+"Where have they gone?" he demanded.
+
+Titian shook his head. "How should I know?"
+
+"He said he was going to you."
+
+"Zarato?" Titian started. "For the portrait--He will be there!"
+
+Giorgione broke into a harsh laugh. "No portrait for Zarato!" He said it
+exultantly.
+
+"What do you mean!"
+
+"He bears a beauty mark." He laughed again.
+
+"You did not----?"
+
+Giorgione glanced cunningly about the studio. His big face worked and
+his eyes were flushed. He laid his hand on his lips.
+
+"Hush!" he said. "It is a secret--I--she--branded him with this." A
+piece of heavy iron lay on the sill--the wood near it blackened and
+charred. He took it up fondly.
+
+"Look!" He pointed to the fire-worn end.
+
+Titian shrank back in horror. "You are mad!" he said.
+
+Giorgione shook his head sadly. "I wish I were mad ... my eyes have
+seen too much." He rubbed his hand across them vaguely.
+
+"Sleep--" he murmured. "A little sleep." The potion was beginning to
+take effect.
+
+Titian laid him on the couch near by and hurried from the studio.
+
+"Home!" he said to the white-robed gondolier who looked back for orders.
+"Home! Row for life!"
+
+A sense of vague horror haunted him. He dared not think what tragedy
+might be enacting. A man of Zarato's proud spirit--"Faster!" he called
+to the laboring gondolier, and the boat shot under the awning.
+
+With a sigh of relief he closed the door of his studio behind him.... On
+the couch across the room, his cap fallen to the floor and his arms
+hanging at his sides, lay the young man asleep. Titian moved forward,
+scanning eagerly the dark, handsome face. Deep shadows lay under the
+closed lids, and a look of scornful suffering touched the lines of the
+mouth. Slowly his eyes traversed the figure. He gave a start and bent
+closer, his eyes peering forward.... The left hand trailing on the floor
+was gloved, but above the low wrist a faint line shot up--a blotch on
+the firm flesh.
+
+With an exclamation of horror he dropped to his knees and lifted the
+hand.
+
+It rested limply in his grasp.
+
+Slowly the eyes opened and looked out at him. A faint flush overspread
+the young man's face. He withdrew the hand and sat up. "I came to tell
+you the portrait--must wait," he said apologetically, "I fell asleep."
+He picked up his cap from the floor and smoothed its ruffled surface. "I
+must go now." He looked awkwardly at his friend and got to his feet.
+
+"Zarato," said Titian sternly. "Where is she?"
+
+He shook his head. "I don't know," slowly.
+
+"You don't know! She has left home----"
+
+"But not with me."
+
+The two men stood staring at each other.
+
+There was a sound of steps in the hall and the door swung open. It was a
+group of Venetian boatmen, bearing in their midst a wet, sagging form.
+The red-gold hair trailed heavily. They moved stolidly across the room
+and laid their burden on the low bench. The oldest of them straightened
+his back and looked apologetically at the wet marks on the shining
+floor.
+
+"He said to bring her here, Signor." He motioned clumsily toward the wet
+figure. "He said so."
+
+"Who said it?" said Titian harshly.
+
+"Signor--The Signor--Giorgione.... We took her there. He would not let
+us in. He stood at the window. He was laughing. He said to bring her
+here," ended the old man stolidly. "She is long dead." He bent to pick
+up the heavy litter. The group shuffled from the room.
+
+Slowly the young man crossed to the bench. He knelt by the motionless
+figure and, drawing the glove from his hand, laid it on the breast that
+shone in the wet folds.
+
+"I swear, before God--" he said ... "before God!" He swayed heavily and
+fell forward.
+
+The artist sprang to his side. As he touched him, his eye fell on the
+ungloved hand.... Shuddering, he reached over and lifted the glove from
+the wet breast. He drew it over the hand, covering it from sight.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+"You must go!" said Titian sternly.
+
+The young man looked at him dully, almost appealingly. He shook his
+head. "I have work to do."
+
+Titian lifted an impatient hand. "The people will not permit it--I tell
+you!" He spoke harshly. "Giorgione is their idol. It has been hard to
+keep them--this one week! Only my promise that you go at once holds
+them."
+
+The young man smiled, a little cynically. "Do you think I fear death--I
+crave it!" His arms fell at his sides.
+
+His companion looked at him intently. "What is your plan?" he asked
+shortly.
+
+"Giorgione--" The voice was tense. "He shall pay--to the uttermost!"
+
+"For that?" Titian made a motion toward the gloved hand.
+
+The young man raised it with a scornful gesture.
+
+"For that"--he spoke sternly--"I would not touch the dog. It is for
+her!" His voice dropped.
+
+Titian waited a moment. "What would you do?" he asked in a low voice.
+
+The young man stirred. "I care not. He must suffer--as she suffered," he
+added with slow significance.
+
+"Would that content you? Would you go away--and not return?"
+
+"I would go--yes."
+
+Titian waited, his eyes on the gloved hand. "You can go," he said at
+last, "the Lord has avenged her."
+
+The young man leaned forward. His breath came sharply. "What do you
+mean?"
+
+"That she is avenged," said Titian slowly. "Giorgione cannot live the
+year. Go away. Leave him to die in peace."
+
+"I did not ask for peace," said the young man grimly.
+
+Titian turned on him fiercely. "His heart breaks. He dies drop by drop!"
+
+The young man smiled.
+
+Titian watched him closely. "You need not fear his not suffering," he
+said significantly. "Go watch through his window, or by a crack in the
+door."--He waited a breath. "The man is mad!"
+
+The young man started sharply.
+
+"Mad!" repeated Titian.
+
+Zarato turned on him a look of horror and exultation. "Mad!" he repeated
+softly. The gloved hand trembled.
+
+A look of relief stole into Titian's face. "Does that satisfy you?" he
+asked quietly. "Will you go?"
+
+"Yes, I will go." The young man rose. He moved toward the door. "Mad!"
+he whispered softly.
+
+"Wait," said Titian. He sprang before him. "Not by daylight--you would
+be murdered in the open street! You must wait till night.... I shall row
+you, myself, out from the city. It is arranged. A boat waits for you."
+
+The young man looked at him gratefully. "You take this risk for me?" he
+said humbly.
+
+"For you and Giorgione and for--her."
+
+They sat silent.
+
+"He will never paint again," said the young man, looking up quickly with
+the thought.
+
+Titian shook his head. "Never again," he said slowly.
+
+The young man looked at him. "There are a dozen pictures begun," he
+said, "a dozen and more."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Who will finish them?"
+
+"Who can tell?" The painter's face had clouded.
+
+"Shall you?"
+
+Titian returned the suspicious gaze frankly. "It is not likely," he
+said. "He will not speak to me or see me. He says I am false to him--I
+harbor you."
+
+The young man's gaze fell. "I will go," he said humbly. He shivered a
+little.
+
+"And not return till I send for you."
+
+"I will not return--till you send for me!"
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+
+Venice laughed in the sunshine. Gay-colored boats flitted here and there
+on the Grand Canal, and overhead the birds of Venus sailed in the warm
+air.
+
+A richly equipped gondola, coming down the canal, made its way among the
+moving boats. Its occupant, a dark, handsome man, sitting alone among
+the crimson cushions, looked out on the hurrying scene with watchful
+eyes. Other eyes from passing gondolas returned the glance with curious,
+smiling gaze and drifted past. No one challenged him and none
+remembered. Two years is overlong for laughing Venice to hold a grudge
+or to remember a man--when the waters close over him.... Slowly the boat
+drifted on, and the dark eyes of the man feasted on the flow and change
+of color.... "Bride of the Sea," he murmured as the boat swept on.
+"Bride of the Sea--There is none like thee in beauty or power!" His
+eyes, rapt with the vision, grew misty. He raised an impatient hand to
+them, and let it fall again to his knee. It rested there, strong and
+supple. The seal of a massive ring broke its whiteness. The other hand,
+incased in a rich glove, rested on the edge of the gondola. The man's
+eyes sought it for a moment and turned away to the gay scene.
+
+With a skilful turn the boat had come to rest at the foot of a flight of
+stairs leading to a richly carved doorway. The young man leaped out and
+ran up the steps. The great silent door swung open to his touch, and he
+disappeared within.
+
+Titian, standing by his easel, looked up quickly. "You are come!" He
+sprang forward, holding out his hands.
+
+The young man took them, looking into the welcoming eyes. "I am come,"
+he said slowly.
+
+"Why did you send for me?" he asked after a pause. His eyes sought the
+glowing walls of color, with curious, eager glance.
+
+"Nothing there!" The painter shook his head with a wistful smile. "I
+have not done a stroke since that last night--the night I rowed you out
+to the lagoon."
+
+"Why not?" They were seated by a window; the tide of life drifted below.
+
+Titian shook his head again. "I was broken at first--too strained and
+weak. My fingers would not follow my thoughts." He glanced down at them
+ruefully. "And then--" His voice changed. "Then they came for me to
+finish his pictures.... There has been no time."
+
+"Did he want you to do it?" asked the other in a low voice.
+
+Titian's gaze returned the question. "I shall never know--He would not
+see me--to the last. He never spoke.... When he was gone they came for
+me. I did the work and asked no questions--for friendship's sake." He
+sighed gently and his glance fell on the moving, changing crowd below.
+
+"His name is water," he said slowly. "Ask for the fame of
+Giorgione--They will name you--Titian!" He laughed bitterly.
+
+The young man's smile had little mirth in it. "We are all like that...."
+He turned to him sharply: "Why did you want me?"
+
+The painter roused himself. "To sit for me"--with a swift look. "I am
+hunted! I cannot wipe away your face--as it looked that night. I paint
+nothing.... Perhaps when you are done in oil I shall rest easy." He
+laughed shortly and rose to his feet.
+
+The young man rose also with a courteous gesture of the supple hand. "I
+am at your service, Signor Cevelli, now and always."
+
+Titian's eyes swept the graceful figure. "I must begin at once." He
+turned away to an easel.
+
+"There was a picture begun, was there not?" asked the young man. He had
+not moved from his place.
+
+Titian looked up swiftly. "Yes," he said. "Yes."
+
+"Why not finish that?"
+
+The painter waited an awkward moment. He crossed the room and fumbled
+among the canvases. Then he brought it and placed it on the easel,
+looking at it.... Slowly the look changed to one of pride, and his hand
+reached out for a brush.
+
+The young man moved to his side. They looked at it in silence.
+
+"You will not do better." The young man spoke with decision. "Best
+finish it as it stands--I am ready." He moved to his place by the
+console, dropping his hand upon it and standing at ease.
+
+Titian looked at him doubtfully. "We shall change the length and perhaps
+the pose," he said thoughtfully.
+
+"Why?" The question came sharply.
+
+The painter colored under it. "I had planned--to make much of
+the--hands." He hesitated between the words. "The change will be
+simple," he added hastily.
+
+"Would you mind painting me as I am?" There was a note of insistence
+behind the words.
+
+Titian's eyes leaped at the question. They scanned the figure before him
+with quick, gleaming lights.
+
+The young man read their depths. "Go on," he said coolly. "When my
+feelings are hurt I will tell you."
+
+The painter took up his brushes, working with swift haste. Fingers and
+brush and thumb flew across the canvas. Splotches of color were daubed
+on and rubbed carelessly in and removed with infinite pains. Over the
+picture crept a glow of living color and of light.
+
+At last the brush dropped. "I can do no more--to-day," he said slowly.
+His eyes dwelt on the picture lovingly.
+
+The young man came across and joined him, looking down at the glowing
+canvas. His lips curved in a sweet smile.
+
+"You thought I was ashamed of it?" The gloved hand lifted itself
+slightly. "I would not part with it--not for all the gold of Venice!"
+
+The painter's eyes were on it, doubtingly. "But you wear it gloved," he
+stammered.
+
+"It is not for the world to see," murmured the young man quietly. "It is
+our secret--hers and mine. It was her last touch on my hand."
+
+Titian's eyes stared at him.
+
+"You did not know?" The lips smiled at him. "It was her hand that did
+it." He touched the glove lightly. "Giorgione stood over her--and guided
+it...." His voice ceased with a catch.
+
+Titian's eyes were full of tears. "Poor Violante!" he murmured. "Poor
+child!"
+
+The other nodded slightly. "It has pledged us forever--forever." He
+repeated the words in low, musical exultation. The locket suspended from
+its slender chain amid the folds of his cloak, swung forward as he
+moved. A hand stayed it--the gloved hand.
+
+There was silence between them. Voices from the canal floated up,
+laughter-laden. The June sunshine flooded in.
+
+Titian roused himself with a sigh. "It shall be called 'The Portrait of
+a Gentleman,'" he said. He laid his hand with swift affection on the arm
+beside him.
+
+The young man smiled back. His hand closed firmly over the one on his
+arm. "Call it 'The Man With the Glove,'" he said quietly. "It is the
+open secret that remains unguessed."
+
+
+
+
+THE LOST MONOGRAM
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+The woman seated in the light of the low, arched window was absorbed in
+the piece of linen stretched on a frame before her. As her fingers
+hovered over the brilliant surface, her eyes glowed with a look of
+satisfaction and lighted the face, making it almost handsome. It was a
+round, smooth face, untouched by wrinkles, with light-blue eyes--very
+near the surface--and thin, curved lips.
+
+She leaned back in her chair to survey her work, and her lips took on a
+deeper curve. Then they parted slightly. Her face, with a look of
+listening, turned toward the door.
+
+The young man who entered nodded carelessly as he threw back the
+blue-gray cloak that hung about his shoulders and advanced into the
+room.
+
+She regarded the action coldly. "I have been waiting, Albrecht." She
+spoke the words slowly. "Where have you been?"
+
+"I see." He untied the silken strings of the cloak and tossed it from
+him. "I met Pirkheimer--we got to talking."
+
+The thin lips closed significantly. She made no comment.
+
+The young man crossed the room and knelt before a stack of canvases by
+the wall, turning them one by one to the light. His full lips puckered
+in a half whistle, and his eyes had a dreamy look.
+
+The woman had returned to her work, drawing in the threads with swift
+touch.
+
+As the man rose to his feet her eyes flashed a look at the canvas in
+his hand. They fell again on her work, and her face ignored him.
+
+He placed the canvas on an easel and stood back to survey it. His lips
+whistled softly. He rummaged again for brushes and palette, and mixed
+one or two colors on the edge of the palette. A look of deep happiness
+filled his absorbed face.
+
+She lifted a pair of scissors and snipped a thread with decisive click.
+"Are you going on with the portrait?" she asked. The tone was clear and
+even, and held no trace of resentment.
+
+He looked up absently. "Not to-day," he said. "Not to-day." His gaze
+returned to the easel.
+
+The thin lips drew to a line. They did not speak. She took off her
+thimble and laid it in its velvet sheath. She gathered up the scattered
+skeins of linen and silk, straightening each with a little pull, and
+laid them in the case. She stabbed a needle into the tiny cushion and
+dropped the scissors into their pocket. Then she rose deliberately, her
+chair scraping the polished boards as she pushed it back from the frame.
+
+He looked up, a half frown between the unseeing eyes.
+
+She lifted the embroidery-frame from its rest and turned toward the
+door. "I have other work to do if I am not to pose for you," she said
+quietly.
+
+He made no reply.
+
+Half-way to the door she paused, looking back. "Herr Muendler was here
+while you were out. We owe him twenty-five guldens. It was due the
+fifth." She spoke the words crisply. Her face gave no sign of emotion.
+
+He nodded indifferently. "I know. I shall see him." The soft whistle
+was resumed.
+
+"There is a note from the Rath, refusing you the pension again." She
+drew a paper from the work-box in her hand and held it toward him.
+
+He turned half about in his chair. "Don't worry, Agnes," he said. The
+tone was pleading. He did not look at the paper or offer to take it. His
+eyes returned to the easel. A gentle light filled them.
+
+She dropped the paper into the box, a smile on her lips, and moved
+toward the easel. She stood for a moment, looking from the pictured face
+of the Christ to the glowing face above it. Then she turned again to the
+door. "It's very convenient to be your own model," she said with a
+laugh. The door clicked behind her.
+
+He sat motionless, the grave, earnest eyes looking into the eyes of the
+picture. Now and then he stirred vaguely. But he did not lift his hand
+or touch the brushes beside it. Gazing at each other, in the fading
+light of the low window, the two faces were curiously alike. There was
+the same delicate modelling of lines, the same breadth between the eyes,
+the long, flowing locks, the full, sensitive lips, and in the eyes the
+same look of deep melancholy--touched with a subtle, changing, human
+smile that drew the beholder. It disarmed criticism and provoked it.
+Except for the halo of mocking and piercing thorns, the living face
+might have been the pictured one below it. The look of suffering in one
+was shadowed in the other.
+
+There was a light tap at the door and it flew open.
+
+The painter looked up quickly. The tense, earnest gaze broke into a
+sunny smile. "Pirkheimer!" He sprang to his feet. "What now?"
+
+The other man came leisurely across the room, his eyes on the easel. He
+nodded toward it approvingly.
+
+"Wanted to see it," he said. His eyes studied the picture. "I got to
+thinking it over after you left me--I was afraid you might touch it up
+and spoil it--I want it just as it is." His eyes sought his companion's
+face.
+
+The painter shook his head. "I don't know--not yet--you must leave it
+with me. It's yours. You shall have it--when it's done."
+
+"It's done now," said the other brusquely. "Here--sign." He picked up a
+brush, and, dipping it into a soft color on the palette, handed it to
+the painter.
+
+He took it doubtfully between his fingers, his eyes on the face. Slowly
+his hand moved toward the canvas. It traced rapidly, below the flowing
+locks, a huge, uncouth A; then, more slowly, within the sprawling legs
+of the A, a shadowy D; and finally, at the top, above them both, in tiny
+figures, a date--1503. The brush dropped from his fingers, and he
+stepped back with a little sigh.
+
+His companion reached out his hand. "That's all right," he said. "I'll
+take it."
+
+The artist interposed a hand. "Not yet," he said.
+
+"It's mine," replied the other. "You said it."
+
+"Yes, I said it--not yet."
+
+The other yielded with a satisfied smile. His hand strayed to the purse
+hanging at his side. "What's to pay? Tell me."
+
+The artist shook his head. "I would not sell it--not even to you," he
+said. His eyes were on the canvas.
+
+"But it's mine!"
+
+"It's yours--for friendship's sake."
+
+The young man nodded contentedly. Then a thought struck across his face.
+"You'll tell Agnes that?" he said quickly.
+
+"Ay, I'll tell Agnes--that it's yours. But not what you paid for it,"
+added the painter thoughtfully.
+
+"No, no, don't tell her that." The young man spoke quickly. His tone was
+half jesting, half earnest. He stood looking at the two faces, glancing
+from one to the other with a look of baffled resentment. "A living
+shame!" he muttered under his breath.
+
+The artist looked up quickly. "What?"
+
+"Nothing." The young man moved vaguely about the room. "I wish to God,
+Duerer, you had a free hand!" he broke out.
+
+The artist glanced inquiry. He held up his hand, moving the supple
+fingers with a little gesture of pride. "Isn't it?" he demanded,
+smiling.
+
+The young man shook his head. His round face retained its look of
+dissent. "Marriage--for a man like you! Two hundred florins--for dowry!"
+He laughed scornfully.
+
+His companion's face flushed. A swift look came into the eyes.
+
+The other held out a deprecating hand. "I didn't mean it," he said.
+"Don't be angry."
+
+The flush faded. The artist turned to the easel, taking up a brush, as
+if to seek in work a vent for his disturbed thought.
+
+"You'll spoil it!" said Pirkheimer quickly.
+
+"I shall finish it," replied Duerer, without looking up.
+
+The other moved restlessly about. "Well ... I must go. Good-by, Duerer."
+He came and stood by the easel, holding out his hand.
+
+The artist rose, the warm smile on his lips bathing his face. "Good-by,
+my friend." He held out his hand frankly.
+
+Pirkheimer caught it in his. "We're friends?" he said.
+
+"Always."
+
+"And you will never want--if I can help you."
+
+"Never!" The tone was hearty and proud.
+
+Pirkheimer turned away with a look of contentment. "I shall hold you to
+it," he said. "It is a promise."
+
+"I shall hold you to it," laughed Duerer.
+
+When the door had closed, he stood looking down at the picture. He moved
+once or twice across the room. Then he stopped before a little brazier,
+looking at it hesitatingly. He bent over and lighted the coals in the
+basin. He blew them with a tiny bellows till they glowed. Then he placed
+a pan above them and threw into it lumps of brownish stuff. When the
+mixture was melted, he carried it across to the easel and dipped a large
+brush into it thoughtfully. He drew it across the canvas. The track
+behind it glowed and deepened in the dim light. Slowly the picture
+mellowed under it. A look of sweet satisfaction hovered about the
+artist's lips as he worked. The liquid in the pan lessened and his brush
+moved more slowly. The mixture had deepened in tint and thickened.
+Wherever the brush rested a deep, luminous color sprang to meet it. It
+moved swiftly across the monogram--and paused. The artist peered forward
+uncertainly. The letters lay erased in the dim light. With another
+stroke of the brush--and another--they were gone forever.
+
+The smile of satisfaction deepened on his lips. It was not conceit, nor
+humility, nor pride. One could not have named the sweetness that hovered
+in it--hauntingly.
+
+He laid down the brush with a quick breath and sat gazing at the
+picture. It returned the gentle, inevitable look. He raised a finger to
+the portrait, speaking softly. "It is Albrecht Duerer--his work," he said
+under his breath. "None but a fool can mistake it. It shall speak for
+him forever."
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+For a quarter of a century the picture had rested, face to the wall, on
+the floor of the small, dark studio. Pirkheimer had demanded his
+treasure--sometimes with jests, and sometimes with threats. But the
+picture had remained unmoved against the wall.
+
+Journeys to Italy and to the Netherlands had intervened. Pirkheimer's
+velvet purse had been dipped into again and again. Commissions without
+number had been executed for him--rings and stones and tapestries,
+carvings and stag-antlers, and cups and silks and velvet--till the
+Pirkheimer mansion glowed with color from the South and delicate
+workmanship from the North. Other pictures from Duerer's brush adorned
+its walls--grotesque monks and gentle Virgins. But the Face bided its
+time against the wall.
+
+To-day--for the first time in twenty-five years--the Face of the Christ
+was turned to the light. The hand that drew it from its place had not
+the supple fingers of the painter. Those fingers, stiffened and white,
+lay upon a quiet breast--outside the city wall.
+
+The funeral cortege had trotted briskly back, and Agnes Duerer had come
+directly to the studio, with its low, arched window, to take account of
+her possessions. It was all hers--the money the artist had toiled to
+leave her, the work that had shortened life, and the thousand Rhenish
+guldens in the hands of the most worthy Rath; the pictures and
+copperplates, the books he had written and the quaint curios he had
+loved--they were all hers, except, perhaps, the copperplates for
+Andreas. Her level glance swept them as she crossed to the canvas
+against the wall and lifted it to a place on the easel. She had often
+begged him to sell the picture. It was large and would bring a good
+price. Her eyes surveyed it with satisfaction. A look of dismay crossed
+the smooth face. She leaned forward and searched the picture eagerly.
+The dismay deepened to anger. He had neglected to sign it! She knew well
+the value of the tiny monogram that marked the canvases about her. A
+sound clicked in her throat. She reached out her white hand to a brush
+on the bench beside her. There would be no wrong done. It was Albrecht's
+work--his best work. Her eyes studied the modelling of the delicate,
+strong face--the Christ face--Albrecht's face--at thirty-three.... Had
+he looked like that? She stared at it vaguely. She moved away, looking
+about her for a bit of color. She found it and came again to the easel.
+She reached out her hand for the brush. A slip of paper tucked beneath
+the canvas caught her eye. She drew it out slowly, unfolding it with
+curious fingers. "This picture of the Christ is the sole property of my
+dear and honored friend, the Herr Willibald Pirkheimer. I have given it
+to him and his heirs to have and to hold forever. Signed by me, this
+day, June 8, 1503, in my home in Nuernberg, 15 Zisselstrasse, Albrecht
+Duerer."
+
+She crushed the paper in firm fingers. A door had opened behind her. The
+discreet servant, in mourning garments, with downcast, reddened eyes,
+waited. "His Highness the Herr Pirkheimer is below, my lady."
+
+For a moment she hesitated. Then her fingers opened on the bit of
+paper. It fluttered to the table and lay full in sight. She looked at it
+with her thin smile. "Ask Herr Pirkheimer to ascend to the studio. I
+shall receive him here," she said.
+
+He entered facing the easel. With an exclamation he sprang forward. He
+laid a hand on the canvas. The small eyes blinked at her.
+
+She returned the look coldly.
+
+"It is mine!" he said.
+
+She inclined her head, with a stately gesture, to the open paper on the
+table beside her.
+
+He seized it in trembling fingers. He shook it toward her. "It is mine.
+You see--it is mine!"
+
+"It is yours, Herr Pirkheimer." She spoke with level coolness. "I had
+read the paper."
+
+With a grunt of satisfaction, he turned again to the canvas. A smothered
+oath broke from his lips. He leaned forward, incredulous. His round
+eyes, bulging and blue, searched every corner. They fell on the wet
+brush and bit of color. He turned on her fiercely. "Jezebel!" he hissed,
+"you have painted it out. I saw him sign it--years ago--twenty-five
+years!"
+
+She smiled serenely. "It may have been some other one," she said
+sweetly. Her glance took in the scattered canvases.
+
+He shook his head savagely. "I will have no other," he shouted; "I
+should know it in a thousand!"
+
+"Very well." Her voice was as tranquil as her face. "Shall I have it
+sent to the house of the honored Herr Pirkheimer?"
+
+He glared at her. "I take it with me," he said. "I do not trust it out
+of sight."
+
+She bowed in acquiescence. Standing in her widow's garments, with
+downcast eyes and gentle resignation, she waited his withdrawal.
+
+He eyed her curiously. The years had touched her lightly. There were the
+same plump features, the same surface eyes, and light, abundant bands of
+hair. He heaved a round sigh. He thought of the worn face outside the
+city wall. He gathered the canvas under his arm, glaring about the low
+room. "There was a pair of antlers," he muttered. "They might go in my
+collection. You will want to sell them."
+
+The downcast eyes did not leave the floor. "They are sold," she said,
+"to Herr Umstaetter." A little smile played about the thin lips.
+
+"Sold! Already!" The round eyes bulged at her. "My God!" he shouted
+fiercely, "you would sell his very soul, if he had left it where you
+could!"
+
+She raised the blue eyes and regarded him calmly. "The estate is without
+condition," she said.
+
+He groaned as he backed toward the door. The canvas was hugged under his
+arm. At the door he paused, looking back over the room. His small eyes
+winked fast, and the loose mouth trembled.
+
+"He was a great man, Agnes," he said gently. "We must keep it clean--the
+name of Duerer."
+
+She looked up with a little gesture of dismissal. "It is I who bear the
+name," she said coldly.
+
+When he was gone she glanced about the room. She went over to a pile of
+canvases and turned them rapidly to the light. Each one that bore the
+significant monogram she set aside with a look of possession. She came
+at last to the one she was searching. It was a small canvas--a Sodom and
+Gomorrah. She studied the details slowly. It was not signed. She gave a
+little breath of satisfaction, and took up the brush from the bench. She
+remembered well the day Albrecht brought it home, and his childish
+delight in it. It was one of Joachim Patenir's. Albrecht had given a
+Christ head of his own in exchange for it. The brush in her fingers
+trembled a little. It inserted the wide-spreading A beneath Lot's flying
+legs, and overtraced it with a delicate D. She paused a moment in
+thought. Then she raised her head and painted in, with swift, decisive
+strokes, high up in one corner of the picture, a date. It was a safe
+date--1511--the year he painted his Holy Trinity. There would be no one
+to question it.
+
+She sat back, looking her satisfaction.
+
+Seventy-five guldens to account. It atoned a little for the loss of the
+Christ.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+The large drawing-room was vacant. The blinds had been drawn to shut out
+the glare, and a soft coolness filled the room. In the dim light of
+half-opened shutters the massive furniture loomed large and dark, and
+from the wall huge paintings looked down mistily. Gilt frames gleamed
+vaguely in the cool gloom. Above the fireplace hung a large canvas, and
+out of its depths sombre, waiting eyes looked down upon the vacant room.
+
+The door opened. An old woman had entered. She held in her hand a stout
+cane. She walked stiffly across to the window and threw back a shutter.
+The window opened into the soft greenness of a Munich garden. She stood
+for a minute looking into it. Then she came over to the fireplace and
+looked up to the pictured face. Her head nodded slowly.
+
+"It must be," she muttered, "it must be. No one else could have done it.
+But four hundred years!"--she sighed softly. "Who can tell?"
+
+Her glance wandered with a dissatisfied air to the other canvases. "I
+would give them all--all of them--twice over--to know--" She spoke under
+her breath as she hobbled stiffly to a huge chair.
+
+The door swung softly back and forth behind a young girl who had
+entered. She came in lightly, looking down at a packet of papers in her
+hand.
+
+The old woman started forward.
+
+"What have ye found?" she demanded. She was leaning on the stout cane.
+She peered out of her cavernous eyes.
+
+The girl crossed to the window and seated herself in the green light.
+Shadows of a climbing vine fell on her hair and shoulders as she bent
+over the papers in her hand. She opened one of them and ran her eye over
+it before she spoke.
+
+"They were in the north room," she said slowly. "In the big
+_escritoire_--that big, clumsy one--I've looked there before, but I
+never found them. I've been trying all day to make them out."
+
+"What are they?" demanded the old woman.
+
+"Papers, grandmamma," returned the girl absently; "letters and a sort of
+journal." Her eyes were on the closely written page.
+
+"Read it," said the old woman sharply.
+
+"I can't read it, grandmamma." She shook back the soft curls with a
+little sigh. "It's queer and old, and funny--some of the words. And the
+writing is blurred and yellow. Look." She held up the open sheet.
+
+The keen old eyes darted at it. "Work on it," she said brusquely.
+
+"I have, grandmamma."
+
+"Well--what did ye find?"
+
+"It's a man--Will--Willi"--she turned to the bottom of the last
+page--"Willibald! That's it." She laughed softly. "Willibald Pirkheimer.
+Who was he?" she asked.
+
+"One of your ancestors." The old mouth waited grimly.
+
+"One of mamma's?"
+
+"Your father's."
+
+"He must have been a nice man," said the girl slowly. "But some of it is
+rather--queer."
+
+The old woman leaned forward with a quick gesture. She straightened
+herself. "Nonsense!" she muttered. "Read it," she said aloud.
+
+"This is written to Albrecht Duerer," said the girl, studying it, "in
+Italy."
+
+The old woman reached out a knotted hand. "Give it to me," she said.
+
+The girl came across and laid it in her hand. The knotted fingers
+smoothed it. The old eyes were on the picture above the mantel. "Will it
+tell?" she muttered.
+
+"There are others, grandmamma." The girl held up the packet in her hand.
+
+"What have ye made out?" The old hand closed upon them.
+
+"He was Duerer's friend," said the girl. "There are letters to him--five
+or six. And he tells about a picture--in the journal--a picture Albrecht
+Duerer gave to him." She glanced down at the wrinkled, working face. "It
+was unsigned, grandmamma--and it was the head of the Saviour."
+
+The old woman's throat moved loosely. Her hands grasped the stout cane.
+
+With a half sigh, she rose to her feet and tottered across the room.
+"Fool--fool--" she muttered, looking up to the mystical, waiting face.
+"To leave no mark--no sign--but that!" She shook the yellow papers in
+her hand.
+
+A question shot into the old eyes. She held out the papers.
+
+"What was it dated, Marie?--that place in the journal--look and see."
+
+The girl took the papers and moved again to the window. She opened one
+and smoothed it thoughtfully, running her eye along the page. She shook
+her head slowly. "There is no date, grandmamma," she said. "But it must
+be after Duerer's death. He speaks of Frau Duerer"--a smile shaded her
+lips--"he doesn't like her very well, I think. When did Duerer die,
+grandmamma?" She looked up from the paper.
+
+"April 6, 1528," said the old woman promptly.
+
+The girl's eyes grew round and misty. "Four hundred years ago--almost,"
+she murmured softly. She looked down, a little awed, at the paper in her
+hand.
+
+"It is very old," she said.
+
+The old woman nodded sharply. Her eyes were on the papers. "Take good
+care of them," she croaked; "they may tell it to us yet."
+
+She straightened her bent figure and glanced toward the door.
+
+A wooden butler was bowing himself to the floor. "The Herr Professor
+Doctor Polonius Holtzenschuer," he announced grandly.
+
+A dapper young man with trim mustaches and spotless boots advanced into
+the room.
+
+The girl by the window swayed a breath. The clear color had mounted in
+her cheek.
+
+The old woman waited, immovable. Her hands were clasped above the stout
+cane and her bead-like eyes surveyed the advancing figure.
+
+At two yards' distance it paused. The heels came together with a swift
+click. He bowed in military salute.
+
+The old woman achieved a stiff courtesy and waited. The dim eyes peered
+at him shrewdly.
+
+"I have the honor to pay my respects to the Baroness von Herkomer," said
+the young man, with deep politeness.
+
+The baroness assented gruffly. She seated herself on a large divan,
+facing the picture, and motioned with her knotted hand to the seat
+beside her.
+
+The young man accepted it deferentially. His eyes were on a bowed head,
+framed in shadows and leaves across the room.
+
+"I trust Fraeulein Marie is well?" he said promptly.
+
+"Marie----"
+
+The girl started vaguely.
+
+"Come and greet the Herr Doctor Holtzenschuer."
+
+She rose lightly from her place and came across the room. A soft curl,
+blown by the wind, drifted across her flushes as she came.
+
+The young man sprang to his feet. His heels clicked again as he bent low
+before her.
+
+She descended in a shy courtesy and glanced inquiringly at her
+grandmother.
+
+The old woman nodded curtly. "Go on with your papers," she said.
+
+The girl turned again to the green window. Her head bowed itself above
+the papers.
+
+The young man's eyes followed them. He turned to the old woman beside
+him. "Is it something about--the picture?" he asked.
+
+She nodded sharply. "Private papers of Willibald Pirkheimer," she said,
+"ancestor of the von Herkomers--sixteenth century. He was a friend of
+Duerer's." Her lips closed crisply on the words.
+
+He looked at her, a smile under the trim mustaches. "You hope they will
+furnish a clew?" he asked tolerantly.
+
+She made no reply. Her wrinkled face was raised to the picture.
+
+"You have one Duerer." He motioned toward a small canvas. "Is it not
+enough?"
+
+Her eyes turned to it and flashed in disdain. "The Sodom and Gomorrah!"
+She spoke scornfully. "Not so much as a copy!"
+
+"It is signed."
+
+She glanced at it again. There was shrewd intolerance in the old eyes.
+"Do you think I cannot tell?" she said grimly. "I know the work of
+Albrecht Duerer, length and breadth, line for line. You say he painted
+that!" She pointed a swift finger at the picture across the room. "Have
+ye looked at Lot's legs?" Her laugh cackled softly.
+
+The young man smiled under his mustaches.
+
+The baroness had turned again to the picture over the fireplace. "But
+_that_--" she murmured softly. "It is signed in every line--in the eyes,
+in the painting of the hair, in the sweep from brow to chin. It will yet
+be found," she said under her breath. "It shall be found."
+
+He looked at her, smiling. Then he raised his eyes politely to the
+picture. A slow look formed behind the smile. He half started, gazing
+intently at the deep, painted canvas. His glance strayed for a second to
+the green window, and back again to the picture.
+
+The old baroness roused herself with a sigh. She turned toward him.
+"Your dissertation has brought you honor, they tell me," she said,
+looking at him critically.
+
+He acknowledged the remark with a bow. "It is nothing," he replied
+indifferently. "Only a step toward molecules and atoms."
+
+The baroness smiled grimly. "I don't understand chemical jargon." Her
+tone was dry. "I understand you are going to be famous."
+
+The young man bowed again absently. He glanced casually at the picture
+above the fireplace. "What would you give to know"--he nodded toward
+it--"that it is a genuine Duerer?"
+
+The shrewd eyes darted at him.
+
+The clean-cut face was compact and expressionless.
+
+"Give! I would give"--her eye swept the apartment with its wealth of
+canvas and gilt and tapestry--"I would give all, everything in the
+room"--she raised a knotted hand toward the picture--"to know that
+Albrecht Duerer's monogram belongs there." The pointing finger trembled a
+little.
+
+He looked at it reflectively. Then his glance travelled about the great
+room. "Everything in this room," he said slowly. "That means--" He
+paused, glancing toward the window.
+
+The young girl had left her seat. The papers had dropped to the floor.
+She was leaning from the casement to pick a white rose that swayed and
+nodded, out of reach.
+
+He waited a breath. Her fingers closed on it and she sank back in her
+chair, smiling, the rose against her cheek.
+
+The eyes watching her glowed softly. "Everything in this room--" He
+spoke very low. "The one with the rose?"
+
+The old face turned to him with a look. The heavy jaw dropped and forgot
+to close. The keen eyes scanned his face. The jaws came together with a
+snap. She nodded to him shrewdly.
+
+The young man rose to his feet. The cynical smile had left his face. It
+was intent and earnest. He looked up for a moment to the picture, and
+then down at the wrinkled, eager face.
+
+"To-morrow, at this time, you shall know," he said gravely.
+
+The old eyes followed him, half in doubt, half in hope. They pierced the
+heavy door as it swung shut behind him.
+
+The stiff, dapper figure had crossed the hall. The outer door clanged.
+
+Against the green window, within, the soft curls and gentle, questioning
+eyes of the Fraeulein Marie waited. As the door clanged, a rose was laid
+lightly to her lips and dropped softly into the greenness below.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+At a quarter to ten the next morning a closed carriage drew up before
+the heavy gate. A dapper figure pushed open the door and leaped out. It
+entered the big gateway, crossed a green garden and was ushered into the
+presence of the Baroness von Herkomer.
+
+She stood beneath the picture, her eyebrows bent, her lips drawn, and
+her hands resting on the stout cane.
+
+"Will you come with me?" he asked deferentially.
+
+"Where to?"
+
+He hesitated. "You will see. I cannot tell you--now. But I need
+you--with the picture." He motioned toward it.
+
+She eyed him grimly for a second. Then she touched a bell.
+
+The wooden butler appeared. "Send Wilhelm," she commanded.
+
+Half an hour later the Herr Doctor Holtzenschuer was handing a bundled
+figure into the closed carriage that stood before the gate. A huge,
+oblong package rested against a lamp-post beside him, and near it stood
+the Fraeulein Marie, rosy and shy. The young man turned to her with a
+swift gesture.
+
+"Come," he said.
+
+He placed her beside her grandmother, and watched carefully while the
+heavy parcel was lifted to the top of the carriage. With an injunction
+to the driver for its safety, he turned to spring into the carriage.
+
+The voice of the baroness, from muffled folds, arrested him.
+
+"You will ride outside with the picture," it said. "I do not trust it to
+a driver."
+
+With a bow he slammed the carriage door and mounted the box. In another
+minute the Herr Professor Doctor Holtzenschuer was driving rapidly
+through the streets of Munich, on the outside of a common hack, a clumsy
+parcel balanced awkwardly on his stiff shoulders.
+
+From the windows below, on either side, a face looked out upon the
+flying streets--a fairy with gentle eyes and a crone with toothless
+smile.
+
+"The Pinakothek!" grumbled the old woman. "Does he think any one at the
+Pinakothek knows more of Albrecht Duerer than Henriette von Herkomer?"
+She sniffed a little and drew her folds about her.
+
+Past the Old Pinakothek rolled the flying carriage--on past the New
+Pinakothek. An old face peered out upon the marble walls, wistful and
+suspicious. A mass of buildings loomed in view.
+
+"The university," she muttered under her breath. "Some upstart Herr
+Professor--to tell _me_ of Albrecht Duerer! Fool--fool!" She croaked
+softly in her throat.
+
+"The Herr Doctor is a learned man, grandmamma--and a gentleman!" said a
+soft voice beside her.
+
+"A gentleman can be a fool!" returned the old woman tartly. "What
+building is this?"
+
+The carriage had stopped before a low, square doorway.
+
+"It is the chemistry laboratory, grandmamma," said the girl timidly.
+
+The old woman leaned forward, gray with rage, pulling at the
+closed door. "Chemistry lab--" Her breath came in pants. "He
+will--destroy--burn--melt it!" Four men lifted down the huge parcel from
+the carriage and turned toward the stone door. "Stop!" she gestured
+wildly to them.
+
+The door flew open. The young scientist stood before her, bowing and
+smiling. She shook a knotted finger at him. "Stop those men!" she cried
+sternly.
+
+At a gesture the men waited. She descended from the carriage, shaking
+and suspicious, her cane tapping the pavement before her. The Fraeulein
+Marie leaped lightly down after her. Her hand had rested for a moment on
+the young man's sleeve. A white rose trembled in the fingers. His face
+glowed.
+
+"Is your Highness ready?" he asked. He had moved to the old woman's
+side.
+
+She was standing, one hand on the wrapped parcel, the other on her stout
+cane, peering suspiciously ahead.
+
+"Is your Highness ready?" he repeated.
+
+"Go on," she said briefly.
+
+Four men were in the hall when they entered--the director of the Old
+Pinakothek, the artist Adrian Kauffmann, the president of the
+university, and a young man with a scared, helpful face, who proved to
+be a laboratory assistant.
+
+"They are your witnesses," murmured the young man in her ear.
+
+She greeted them stiffly, her eyes on the precious parcel. Swiftly the
+wrappings were undone, and the picture lifted to a huge easel across the
+room. The light fell full upon it.
+
+The witnesses moved forward in a body, silent. The old face watching
+them relaxed. She smiled grimly.
+
+"Is it a Duerer?" she demanded. She was standing behind them.
+
+They started, looking at her doubtfully. The artist shrugged his
+shoulders. He stepped back a little. The director shook his head with a
+sigh. "Who can tell?" he said softly. "The marks----"
+
+The baroness's eyes glowed dangerously. "I did not suppose you could
+tell," she said curtly.
+
+The young scientist interposed. "It is a case for science," he said
+quickly. "You shall see--the Roentgen rays will tell. The
+shutters--Berthold."
+
+The assistant closed them, one by one, the heavy wooden shutters. A last
+block of light rested on the shadowy picture. A last shutter swung into
+place. They waited--in darkness. Some one breathed quickly, with soft,
+panting breath. Slowly a light emerged through the dark. The great
+picture gathered to itself shape, and glowed. Light pierced it till it
+shone with strokes of brushes. Deeply and slowly in the bluish patina,
+at the edge of the flowing locks, on the shoulder of the Christ, a
+glimmer of shadow traced itself, faintly and unmistakably.
+
+Confused murmurs ran through the darkness--the voice of the director--a
+woman's breath.
+
+"Ready, Berthold." It was the voice of the Herr Doctor.
+
+There was a little hiss, a blinding flash of light, the click of a
+camera, and blackness again.
+
+A shutter flew open.
+
+In the square of light an old woman groped toward the picture. Her
+knotted hands were lifted to it.
+
+Close at hand, a camera tucked under his arm, the laboratory assistant
+stood--on his round, practical face the happy look of successful
+experiment.
+
+A little distance away the Herr Professor Doctor moved quickly. The one
+with the rose looked up.
+
+High above them all--on the great easel, struck by a ray of light from
+the shutter--the Duerer Face of Sorrow--out of its four hundred
+years--looked forth and waited in the modern world.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Unfinished Portraits, by Jennette Lee
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK UNFINISHED PORTRAITS ***
+
+***** This file should be named 30562.txt or 30562.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/3/0/5/6/30562/
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Rob Reid and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://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.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+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
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
+donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.