initial commit of ebook 35590HEADmain

9 files changed, 15552 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/35590-8.txt b/35590-8.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..522136b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/35590-8.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,5140 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of a Genius, by Ossip Schubin
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Story of a Genius
+
+Author: Ossip Schubin
+
+Translator: E. H. Lockwood
+
+Release Date: March 16, 2011 [EBook #35590]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF A GENIUS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+   1. Page scan source:
+      http://www.archive.org/details/storyageniusfro00lockgoog
+
+   2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
+
+   3. There are three stories included in this volume:
+
+      (a) The Story of a Genius
+      (b) The Nobl' Zwilk
+      (c) What Happened to Holy Saint Pancras of Evolo
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+
+                           STORY OF A GENIUS
+
+
+
+                           FROM THE GERMAN OF
+                             OSSIP SCHUBIN
+
+
+
+                              ENGLISHED BY
+                             E. H. LOCKWOOD
+
+
+
+
+
+                   R. F. FENNO & COMPANY: 9 and 11 E.
+                   SIXTEENTH STREET    ::    NEW YORK
+                                  1898
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                            Copyright, 1898
+                                   BY
+                         R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
+
+
+
+
+
+
+_The Story of a Genius_
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                         The Story of a Genius
+
+
+
+
+                                   I
+
+
+Monsieur Alphonse de Sterny will come to Brussels in November and
+conduct his Oratoria of "Satan."
+
+This short notice in the _Indépendence Belge_ created a general
+sensation. The musicians shrugged, bit their lips, and sneered about
+the public's injustice toward home talent. The "great world,"--between
+ourselves the most unmusical "world" in the universe,--very nearly
+stepped out of its aristocratic apathy. This is something which seldom
+happens to it in artistic matters, but now, for a whole week it talked
+nothing but de Sterny: of his octave playing a little, and of his love
+affairs a great deal. In autumn Brussels has so little to talk about!
+
+Alphonse de Sterny had been in his day a great virtuoso and a social
+lion. Reigning belles had contended for his favor; George Sand was said
+to have written a book about him, nobody knew exactly which one; the
+fair Princess G---- was supposed to have taken poison on his account.
+But five years before the appearance of this notice in the
+_Indépendence Belge_, de Sterny had suddenly withdrawn from the world.
+During that time he had not given any concerts, nor had he produced any
+new piano pieces, in his well-known style, paraphrases and fantasies on
+favorite airs.
+
+Now, for the first in that long interval his name emerged, and in
+connection with an Oratorio!
+
+De Sterny and an Oratorio!
+
+The world found that a little odd. The artists thought it a great joke.
+
+
+
+
+                                   II
+
+
+It is November fifth, the day on which the first rehearsal of "Satan"
+is to be held, under the composer's own direction.
+
+In the concert hall of the "Grand Harmonic" the performers are already
+assembled. In honor of the distinguished guest half a dozen more gas
+jets are burning than is usual at rehearsals, yet the large hall with
+its dark auditorium and the dim flickering light on its stage, has a
+desolate, ghostly air. A smell of gas, dust and moist cloth pervades
+the atmosphere.
+
+A grey rime of congealed mist clings to and trickles down the clothes
+of the latest arrivals. One sees within the hall how bad the weather
+must be without. The lusty male chorus, with their pear-shaped Flemish
+faces, their picturesquely soiled linen, and their luxuriant growth of
+hair, knock off the clay from their boots and turn down the legs of
+their trousers. The disheveled female chorus, on whose shoulders the
+locks are hanging out of curl, complain of indisposition, and exchange
+cough lozenges. The members of the orchestra work away sulkily on their
+instruments. Across the dissonance of the thrilling fiddles darts the
+sharp sound of a string that breaks.
+
+Two dilettanti have slipped in by favor. One is a young piano teacher
+of German extraction, who raves about the music of the future. The
+other is an amateur, well known in Brussels by the nickname of "l'ami
+de Rossini."
+
+The instruments are tuned; here and there a violin practices a scale.
+The gas jets chirp faintly. The male chorus stamp their feet to keep
+warm, and rub their red knuckles together. De Sterny is letting himself
+be waited for.
+
+The friend of Rossini makes up to the lady soloists.
+
+"Madame," he says to the Alto, whose engagement at the "Monnaie" he had
+helped to bring about, "Madame, I pity you. De Sterny is an exponent of
+this new music of the future. His compositions are among the most
+ungrateful tasks ever set the human throat. One only needs to sing them
+to expiate by penance all one's musical pleasures."
+
+"You are too severe, monsieur," said the Alto. "No one can wonder at
+the 'friend of Rossini' for hating the music of the future, and I grant
+that some numbers of this Oratorio are quite astonishingly dull. But
+with some of the others, monsieur, I predict that you will have to
+confess yourself in sympathy."
+
+"_I_, confess myself in sympathy with the music of the future!"
+
+"Well, well," said the Alto, soothingly, "up to a certain point I agree
+with your aversion, but you must grant all the same that Wagner and
+Berlioz are composers of genius, and that the music of the future has
+opened new regions of art."
+
+"What has it opened? A parade ground for pretentious mediocrity! I'll
+grant this much, that Wagner and Berlioz are ill-doers of genius. But
+the 'school!' and this new invention they call descriptive music! An
+insurrection of fiddles screaming over against one another! and they
+give it names. 'Battleo of the Horatii'--'Eruption of Vesuvius'--so
+that the audience may have something to think about since they can't
+feel anything, except headache!"
+
+L'ami de Rossini laughed very much at his own joke.
+
+"H'm!-m! and this fine work of de Sterny's," he began again, "I suppose
+it consists of splendid paraphrases upon poverty of thought."
+
+"The 'Satan' contains pearls which will enchant you," replied the Alto.
+"But see--here comes de Sterny! I commend the 'Duet of the Outcasts' to
+your attention."
+
+Followed by the capellmeister and a little group of intimate admirers,
+Alphonse de Sterny stepped upon the platform. The German pianist
+started and raised a pair of rapture dilated eyes. De Sterny, who was
+well accustomed to create that sort of excitement, smiled faintly,
+threw her an encouraging glance, and nodding to the bowing orchestra
+took his place before the conductor's desk. Then he let his keen eyes
+run over the ranks of his musical forces. The violin rows were not
+even.
+
+"Who is absent?" he asked, pointing to the vacant place.
+
+The violins looked at one another, murmured a name indistinctly, and
+some one said, "He is excused."
+
+"He is only just out of the hospital," explained the capellmeister, "he
+often is irregular about rehearsals."
+
+"And you permit that?" asked de Sterny, with his deliberate smile.
+
+"He--he--never spoils anything at the concerts, and I have
+consideration for him because, because,"--the capellmeister stammered,
+embarrassed, and stopped short. "But certainly it is an inexcusable
+irregularity and should be punished," he added.
+
+De Sterny shrugged his shoulders. "Don't disturb yourself," he said,
+"but next time I hope I shall find my musical forces all together." He
+rapped on the desk.
+
+His manner of conducting was characteristic. It recalled neither the
+fiery contortions of Verdi, nor the demoniac energy of Berlioz. His
+movements at first were quiet, almost weary, his countenance wore an
+expression of fixed concentration; suddenly his eyes lighted up, his
+lip quivered, his breast heaved as an exciting climax approached, he
+raised his arms higher and higher, like wings with which he would
+wrench himself free from earth; then all at once he collapsed with a
+look of dejected exhaustion.
+
+"He is killing himself!" sighed the pianist, in a gush of sympathy. But
+the friend of Rossini said testily:
+
+"He is an incarnate phrase like his own music, and just as full of
+grimaces!" The introductory figure had confirmed his aversion to de
+Sterny. "A pretentious fuss!" he muttered grimly, while the pianist
+with her hand on her heart declared she had "heard the fall of
+Avalanches!" The figure was repeated and left for future study, and
+then the Alto laid aside her furs, rose, threw the "friend of Rossini"
+one glance, drew her mouth into the regulation Oratorio smile, and
+began.
+
+Upon a somewhat dramatic recitation there followed a meltingly sweet,
+inexpressibly mournful melody! Yes, really a _melody_! As simple,
+genuine and tender as a melody of Mozart, but adapted to the
+requirements of our modern pain craving ears by a few bitter-melancholy
+modulations. The friend of Rossini could scarcely believe his senses.
+
+And now with every number,--a few bombastic interludes excepted--the
+beauties of "Satan" increased until at last at the "Duet of the
+Outcasts," a duet wherein the whole human race seems to weep for its
+lost heaven, the orchestra rose and broke into enthusiastic applause.
+De Sterny shed tears, assured them it was the happiest moment of his
+life, and the execution of the orchestra surpassed all his hopes, the
+pianiste fell into raptures, and the friend of Rossini growled, while
+he mechanically moved his hands in applause, "Where did he get that
+now? A plagiarism--a mass of plagiarism--but from whence?"
+
+The duet was followed by a really hateful finale, which the more
+experienced among the musicians forgave for the sake of the Oratorio's
+otherwise uncommon beauties. The musical craft generally put their envy
+in their pockets, didn't understand, but made their bows as became them
+before a great mystery.
+
+Next morning, de Sterny, in the coupe of the Countess C---- drove up
+the steep street Montague de la Cour. He was going to be served with an
+exquisite breakfast, by gold laced lackeys, and to let himself be
+buzzed about by mind perverting flatteries uttered in soft aristocratic
+voices. Suddenly he saw something that interested--that startled him.
+
+Before one of the large red posters which announced the approaching
+Oratorio performance, stood a broad-shouldered man with worn-out boots,
+shabby clothes, and a soft felt hat dragged down over his ears.
+
+A crowd of wagons blocked the way, and the coupe was obliged to stop.
+Again the virtuoso glanced at the shabby man; this time he saw him in
+profile. Strange! De Sterny turned pale as a corpse and leaned back
+shuddering in the soft green satin cushions of the carriage. Could it
+be that he knew the shabby man, or had known him before the brutalizing
+stamp of drink had disfigured his face?
+
+Who knows? For the matter of that there was enough in the stranger's
+appearance to draw a glance and a shudder from any passer-by.
+
+Round shoulders, a loose carriage, a slouching walk, and yet in the
+whole person and expression of broken-down vigor, and burned-out fire.
+A handsome face, with somewhat too full red lips, a short nose,
+powerful brow and eyes, the latter contracting and peering out like
+those of a wild animal that shuns the light, or like those of a man who
+will see nothing but the narrow path in which he is condemned to walk,
+or, perhaps, where he has condemned himself to walk, for life: in the
+whole countenance the marks of past anguish and present degradation.
+
+Meanwhile the jam has given way, and while C---- cream colors, striking
+out to regain lost time, bring the great man rapidly up to the
+countess's palace, the shabby stranger enters one of those butter shops
+out of which, in the rear, a liquor shop usually opens, and calls for a
+glass of gin.
+
+
+
+
+                                  III
+
+
+Who was he? What was he?
+
+One of those riddles that heaven sends from time to time down to earth
+to be solved. But the earth occasionally finds the task too difficult
+and buries the riddle unread in her bosom.
+
+He was born in Brussels, the son of a chorus singer in the theatre "de
+la Monnaie," and of one of those Hungarian Gipsy musicians, who appear
+now here now there in the capitals and small towns of Europe, always in
+bands, like troops of will-o'-the-wisps, carrying on their unwarranted
+and unjustifiable but bewitching musical nonsense. The mother,
+Margaretha von Zuylen, she was called, gave the boy the first name of
+his Hungarian father, who had disappeared before the child saw the
+light. The Flemish woman's son was named Gesa, Gesa von Zuylen. He had
+a dark-eyed face, framed by black curls; at the same time he was
+somewhat rounded in feature, and heavily built, indicating that he was
+a son of his flat, canal-intersected fatherland. His temperament was a
+strange mixture of dreamy inertness and fitful fire. The alley in which
+he grew up was called the Rue Ravestein, and stretched itself crooked
+and uneven, dirty and neglected, behind the Rue Montagne de la Cour,
+out toward St. Gudule. The nooks and corners of that region, albeit
+close to the brilliant centre of urban civilization, have an ill name,
+are picturesquely disreputable, and quite unrecognized by the good
+society of Brussels. No carriage can pass here, partly because the
+alleys are too narrow, partly because their original unevenness--no
+country in the world has a more hilly capital than flat Belgium--is
+increased here and there by a few rickety steps. Consequently nearly
+all the inhabitants extend their domestic establishments into the open
+air.
+
+The active life and the dirt remind one of southern cities. Decaying
+vegetables, squirrel skins, paper flowers, old ball gloves, ashes, and
+other trash make themselves comfortable on the large irregular stones
+of the pavement, and through the middle slowly creep the dull and
+stagnant waters of the drain. Long-legged hyena-like dogs, with crooked
+backs and rough hides, that remind the visitor of Constantinople,
+belonging to nobody, snuff amongst the refuse; scissors-grinders, and
+other roofless vagabonds, lie, according to the time of year, in the
+shade or the sunshine; untidy women in dirty wrappers, with slovenly
+hair caught up on pins, lean out of windows and carry on endless
+conversations; others stand in the house doors, a puffy red fist on
+either hip, and look forth, blinking at time creeping by.
+
+The houses are not alike, some are narrow and tall, some broad and low,
+as if crowded into the ground by their monstrous red-green roofs. In a
+few windows are flower pots, others are closely curtained. Small, not
+particularly tempting drinking shops, with dark red woodwork, on which
+is written in white letters, "Hier verkoopt men drank," frequently
+break the rows of dwellings. Any one of these alleys, in Gesa's youth,
+might have passed for all the rest, only the Rue Ravestein perhaps was
+still more disreputably picturesque than the others. With the lazy hum
+of its vagabond life there mingled the sound of the coffin maker's
+hammer and the sharp stroke of the stone mason's chisel. Against the
+rear wall of an ancient grey church there leaned an enormous crucifix,
+and from beneath the time-blackened halo around his head, the Redeemer
+looked sadly down on the shame and misery that he had not been able to
+banish from the world. Two narrow church windows mirrored themselves in
+the waters of the drain, that is, on days when the drain was clear
+enough.
+
+In these surroundings Gesa grew up. His mother belonged among those
+females who stood in the house doors and blinked at time creeping by.
+She was a type of a handsome Fleming, tall, somewhat heavy, with
+powerful limbs and a red and white complexion. Her red lips parted
+indolently over very white teeth, a delicate pink played about her
+nostrils. She had the prominent eyes and the richly waving, luxuriant,
+tawny hair with which Rubens liked to adorn his Magdalens. When she was
+not engaged at the theatre, or standing in the house door, she was
+lounging on her straw bed in the gaunt room, reading robber stories out
+of old journals, that were bought from an antiquary in a rag shop near
+by, and circulated from hand to hand among the gossips of the Rue
+Ravestein.
+
+Lazy to sleepiness, good-humored to weakness, she had ever a caress for
+Gesa, and a merry frolic for the big grey cat. She lived only in the
+moment. In the beginning of the month, she fed the boy with dainties,
+toward the end she ran in debt.
+
+From his earliest youth Gesa was musical. Before he could speak, he
+would look up with great dark eyes to his mother, enchanted when she
+rocked him in her arms and sang a cradle song.
+
+A friend of Margaretha taught the little one to play on the violin.
+Gesa learned extraordinarily fast. The chorus singer's financial
+condition growing constantly more and more unfortunate, led her to make
+use of her son's talent, and she actually procured him an engagement,
+when he was hardly nine years old, in the band of a circus that had
+erected its temporary booths on the "Grand Sablon," and whose company
+consisted of an acrobat of conspicuous beauty, a particularly
+unpleasant dwarf named Molaro, four monkeys and a pony, the height of
+whose accomplishments it was to stand on three legs, though that might
+have been due to infirmity rather than art.
+
+Gesa's orchestral duties consisted in supporting, along with an old
+flutist, the musical disorders of a narrow-chested, long-haired youth,
+who hammered waltzes and polkas on a tired old spinnet, while at the
+same time, as he confessed to little Gesa with a sigh, he had vainly
+longed all his life to be entrusted with the execution of a funeral
+march!
+
+The circus gave its performances from two to four in the afternoon, and
+was always empty. While Gesa, behind the orchestra rails, fiddled his
+simple part mechanically, his childish eyes peered out into the ring
+beyond. There he saw the acrobat, bedizened in paint and tinsel, with
+pink tights and green silk hose, a gold circlet on his head, throwing
+somersaults in the air, and contorting his limber body on a trapeze. He
+saw the dwarf, with his big red bristly head, and his tights, yellow on
+one side and blue on the other, making disgusting jokes. The dwarf was
+always applauded. The little monkeys tremblingly played their bits of
+tricks. The smell of sawdust, gas, orange peel and monkeys crept into
+the little fiddler's nostrils, he sneezed. Then he grew sleepy, and his
+bow stopped. "Allons donc!" wheezed the pianist, stamping his foot.
+Gesa opened his eyes, and met those of his mother, who sat blonde and
+phlegmatic at the edge of the ring. She smiled and nodded to him; he
+fiddled on. When the chorus singer was not hindered by rehearsals at
+the theatre, she never omitted a performance of the circus. Gesa
+imagined she came to hear him play.
+
+But one fine day Gesa was rude to the dwarf Molaro, and paid for it
+with his place in the orchestra. Margaretha, however, still continued a
+regular visitor at the circus.
+
+And then there came an April afternoon with cold showers of rain and
+violent blustering wind. Winter and spring waged war without. Gesa, who
+since he had ceased to have a regular occupation, read incessantly in
+the knight and robber romances of his mother, sat bent over the faded
+and tattered leaves of an old journal, completely lost in a tale of
+terror, both elbows planted on the shaky table and a finger in each
+ear. Margaretha entered, and came up to him.
+
+"Your supper stands already prepared in the cupboard," she said,
+stammering and hesitating. "You--you need not wait for me. I shall come
+home late. Adieu, my treasure!"
+
+"Adieu, mama," said he, indifferently. He was used to her coming home
+late and scarcely looked up from his reading. She went. Five minutes
+later she returned.
+
+"Have you forgotten something, mother?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," muttered his mother. She was flushed, and searched about
+aimlessly, now here, now there. At last she came and bent over the boy,
+kissed him once, twice, thrice, pressing his head to her breast. "God
+guard thee," she murmured, and went away. Gesa read on. Presently, he
+was obliged to brush away something bright that obscured the already
+indistinct print of the journal. It was a tear of his mother.
+
+Gesa lay down that night as usual, when Margaretha was engaged at the
+theatre, without fastening the door. When he awoke next morning, he
+found his mother's bed empty. Frightened he cried "Mother! mother!" He
+knew she could not hear him; he cried out to relieve the oppression at
+his heart. Slipping into his clothes he ran down into the street. The
+gutter, brimming full from the melted snow, quivered in the morning
+wind. Slanting red sunbeams shimmered in the church windows. A few
+melancholy organ tones sounded through the grey walls out into the
+empty street. Gesa wept bitterly. "Mother!" he cried, louder and more
+pitifully than ever--"Mother!" She had always been kind to him.
+
+He looked up and down. The whole world had grown empty for him. He
+understood that his mother had deserted him. The children in the Rue
+Ravestein understand so quickly! A long thin hand was laid on his
+shoulder. He looked up, beside him stood a gentleman whom he knew. The
+gentleman lived on the first floor of the house where Margaretha's
+garret was. He was pale as the Christ on the great Crucifix, and looked
+down almost as sadly. "Poor fellow!" he murmured, "she has left thee?"
+Gesa bit his teeth into his under lip, turned very red and shook off
+the stranger's hand. He felt for the first time that pity can
+humiliate. The strange gentleman, however, stroked him very softly on
+the head, and said once more, "Poor fellow! You must not blame her.
+Love is like that!"
+
+"What is love?" asked Gesa, looking at him steadily.
+
+The stranger cleared his throat. "A sickness, a fever," said he,
+hastily, "a fever in which one dreams beautiful things--and does
+hateful ones."
+
+
+
+
+                                   IV
+
+
+M. Gaston Delileo was the stranger's name, but in the Rue Ravestein
+they never called him anything but "the sad gentleman,"--the "droevige
+Herr." He might have been between forty and fifty years old, had a
+yellow face that reminded one of a carving in old ivory, wore a full
+beard, and long straight black hair parted in the middle of his
+forehead. Except in the hottest summer weather he never went on the
+street otherwise than wrapped in an old dark blue, red-lined Carbonari
+cloak.
+
+About seven months before, he had moved into the Rue Ravestein, stroked
+the children's heads, greeted the women in passing, was generally liked
+and associated with no one.
+
+Before Margaretha's flight she had secretly placed a letter in the
+otherwise empty letter-box before his door, begging that he would adopt
+the boy, thereby showing some shrewd knowledge of character in trusting
+to his benevolence. His wife was dead: his only child, a little
+daughter, at that time hardly seven years old, was being brought up by
+relatives in France, as his bachelor housekeeping would have made it
+difficult for him to give the child proper care. Thus widowed and
+solitary, afflicted moreover with a great heart that needed love, and
+had never all his life long been satisfied, he took the boy to himself
+without any overnice reasoning upon the subject.
+
+"Come to breakfast," he said quite simply, took the orphan by the hand
+and led him into his own dwelling.
+
+When the meal was over, and while M. Delileo, with that rage for
+systematizing which often distinguishes especially unpractical people,
+was bending over his writing table, making out a plan of education, a
+division of hours, and finally a long list of things which Gesa might
+possibly need within the next ten years, the boy slipped curiously
+around in the little room, and examined its arrangement. The furniture
+was a decayed mixture of stiff, military Empire, and pretentious,
+crooked Louis-Philippe. On the walls hung a few sketches by once
+celebrated masters, with dedications "à mon chère ami, etc.," a few
+poet's autographs in little black frames, and besides these the rapidly
+executed portrait of a very beautiful woman, in a white satin dress
+with a great many strings of pearls around her neck, and a little crown
+on her head. "Is that the queen?" asked Gesa of his new protector.
+
+Whereupon the "droevige Herr," rising up from his occupation, answered,
+not without a certain solemnity, "That, my child, that was the
+Gualtieri!"
+
+"Ah!" said Gesa, and was exactly as wise as before. How indeed was he
+to know that the Gualtieri in her time had been one of the most famous,
+and alas! one of the most infamous artistes in the world?
+
+"She was a queen too,--a queen of song," added Delileo after a pause.
+
+"And did you know her?" asked Gesa, still absorbed in staring at the
+romantically costumed lady.
+
+"She was my wife," answered Delileo with emphasis, and an eloquent
+gesture.
+
+"Ah! then she must have loved you very much," observed Gesa, seriously,
+wishing to say something pleasant. But Delileo shrank and turned away
+his head.
+
+Beneath this portrait, day after day, on a shabby black marble-top
+table, stood fresh flowers in a crumbling blue delft pitcher.
+
+
+
+
+                                   V
+
+
+Immediately upon the beginning of their life together, Delileo made a
+correct estimate of his protégé's musical gifts, and thanks to some
+artist connections that still remained to him, he procured instruction
+for Gesa from one of the most famous violinists at that time
+established in the Brussels Conservatory. He cared for the rest of
+Gesa's education himself. A curious education, truly! "Correct spelling
+and an extensive knowledge of literature," he would assert, "are two
+absolute necessities of a gentleman's culture, further than that he
+needs nothing." Gesa's orthography, in spite of his instructor's
+praiseworthy efforts, remained somewhat uncertain, his knowledge of
+literature on the contrary made astonishing progress, and soon reached
+from the "Essais de Montaigne," Delileo's first hobby, to Delileo's own
+romance--his second hobby.
+
+This romance, which was called "The Twilight of the Gods," and had been
+waiting ten years in vain for a publisher, formed a striking
+counterpart to Delileo's Carbonari cloak. Like that romantic article of
+apparel it smelled of mould, and the breath of superannuated
+philanthropic theories hovered about it. It began with a legend and
+ended with an ode. Many an evening the elder spent in reading this
+nondescript production to his protégé, Gesa always attending with the
+devout fervor which believing natures bring to mysteries they do not
+understand.
+
+An odd couple they made, the broken man with his nervous restlessness,
+the restlessness of one who has accomplished nothing, and who sees the
+grave before him--and the vigorous young fellow, with his healthy
+laziness, the self-confident laziness of one who feels a great talent
+within him and to whom life seems as if it could never end. The weary
+spirit of one strayed constantly back, from the hopeless insipidity of
+his present, to an Utopia of the year thirty: the other's imagination,
+meanwhile, crippled by no sort of experience, galloped confidently out
+into the future, behind a double team of fresh young chimeras!
+Enthusiasts were they both,--Delileo the more unpractical of the two.
+
+Poor Gaston Delileo! He belonged in the category of universal geniuses;
+for which reason he had brought his genius to the attainment of
+absolutely nothing in the universe! Music, painting, literature,
+political economy,--he had pursued them all, one after the other or
+simultaneously, just as it happened, and all with the greatest zeal. He
+had believed with devout idealism in the capacity of society for
+improvement. He had adopted the theories of St. Simon, and had worn
+with enthusiasm the vest laced up behind of that brotherhood, and a
+headband on which his name was embroidered. History relates that the
+St. Simonian Brotherhood, with their practical division of labor,
+limited his activity in the beginning to the contribution of money and
+the brushing of boots! Later they enrolled him the memorable "Three
+hundred," who set forth to seek the mother of the sect in foreign
+lands, after Madame de Stael had declined that post of honor.
+
+His money was gone, his illusion had changed to disgust. He had
+withdrawn in melancholy from the world, seeking to hide himself and his
+disappointment. He wished nothing but to forget and be forgotten:--that
+is in the present; from the future, a far-off, misty future, he still
+hoped something--for his romance. Meanwhile he supported existence by
+copying notes,--like Rousseau. Two, three years passed by, Gesa became
+as handsome as a youth in a picture. At Delileo's side he could not
+fail to gain cultivation of mind and heart, but associated with the
+eccentric St. Simonian he remained a stranger to all discipline of
+character. More and more there was revealed a want of concentration,
+and a vague dreaminess in his nature which to a practiced observer,
+would have boded no good for his future. He could never maintain a
+medium between relaxed indolence and exhausting ardor: in tough,
+persistent capacity for work he failed altogether, and whatever did not
+come to him by inspiration, he acquired with greater difficulty than
+did the most commonplace pupil of the conservatory.
+
+Upon all this, however, his violin-professor made no reflections. Gesa
+not only played his instrument with a skill unheard of for his years,
+but he also improvised with wonderful originality, at least, so said
+the professor--who marked nothing but the gigantic strides of the boy's
+progress, was proud of his pupil and presented him to one amateur after
+another.
+
+The phlegmatic Brusselers were enchanted by his musical extravagances,
+because he was named Gesa, had a handsome brunette face, and was said
+to have sprung from Hungarian origin. Their enthusiasm at his
+performance always culminated in the same words--"how gipsy-like!
+_Comme c'est tsigane!_"
+
+At last came a day when Gesa was to play for the first time at a public
+concert. With the colossal conceit of youth, he rejoiced at the thought
+of his debut The apprehensive Gaston Delileo on the contrary, lost
+appetite and sleep.
+
+Anxiously anticipating a disappointment for the boy, he spent most of
+his time in exhorting Gesa not to care much for a fiasco; an
+exhortation which the young musician took very impatiently, and ran
+away from it. With his hat dragged down self-assertingly over his ears,
+he stamped fuming up and down the Rue Ravestein, while the sad elder
+crept back and forth in his chamber above, and foreboded.
+
+On the concert evening, Delileo could not be moved to enter the music
+hall. Breathless and panting, he stood before the performer's entrance,
+and held his fingers in his ears. Suddenly, in spite of his efforts to
+exclude every sound, he heard a strange tumult. He let his hands fall.
+Was it a fire alarm? No, it was clapping from hundreds of hands and
+shouting from hundreds of throats. The next moment he had burst sobbing
+into the green-room, and held his nurseling in his arms.
+
+All the other performers pressed the young fellow's hands, praised him,
+and promised him a brilliant future. With that naïve arrogance
+which one so easily pardons in young gods, even while it provokes a
+pitying smile, he received all these compliments as if they were his
+proper tribute; but even his unabashed self-possession gave way when
+the door opened and an elegant young man entered holding out both
+hands--Alphonse de Sterny.
+
+"My dear young friend," he cried, "I could not let the evening pass
+without knowing you--without congratulating you." Then the young
+violinist's head sank, he trembled from head to foot, and his hands
+grew ice cold in those of the great virtuoso.
+
+
+
+
+                                   VI
+
+
+Alphonse de Sterny! The name in those days exercised an enchantment
+that was mingled with awe upon the ears of every one, be he artist or
+amateur, who cared for music. In our coldly critical times we can form
+no idea of the insane idolatry that was addressed, during the decade of
+the fifties to one or two piano virtuosos. De Sterny was among the most
+famous of these. The Sterny craze appeared like an epidemic in every
+town where he gave his concerts. At the same time the riddle of his
+power was hard to solve. His envious contemporaries asserted bluntly
+that he owed his triumphs not so much to the artistic excellence of his
+playing as to his agreeable person and gracious manners. He was the
+perfection of a _homme à succès_. Gloved and cravated with just
+precision enough for elegance, sufficiently careless to appear
+distinguished, ready and malicious enough to pass for witty, dissipated
+and extravagant enough to be credited with genius, he was also very
+handsome, wore his hair parted low in the middle of his forehead, and
+always dressed with quiet correctness in the latest fashion but one, as
+became a person of the best gentility, avoiding all artist
+eccentricities. His conversation was amusing, his manners
+unimpeachable. He was the natural son of a French diplomat, called
+himself de Sterny after his birthplace, and had inherited an income of
+twenty-five thousand francs, as the world knew; from an Italian
+princess--as the world did not know. His piano playing was beautifully
+finished, a shower of pearls, a chain of flowers, with a masterly
+balanced technique, carried out in a dignified execution, never one
+false note, never any vulgar pounding.
+
+Certainly the great Hungarian pianist, to whose performance a handful
+of false notes belonged as part of the effect, was wont to remark
+bitingly that "de Sterny played like a countess." But de Sterny, to
+whom the speech was brought by kind friends, only smiled amiably, and
+continued, at least in the beginning of his career, to delicately
+caress an instrument which the other pianists maltreated, and
+electrified a public satiated with musical orgies, by his moderation.
+He moved almost exclusively in the best social circles, yet he always
+showed himself ready to do a service for a fellow artist.
+
+Altogether he was, when Gesa first became acquainted with him, a
+perfectly shallow, perfectly selfish, uncommonly talented, very
+good-humored, very vain man who loved to hear himself talked about.
+Charlatan he only became later, in order to maintain himself upon the
+pedestal whither public adulation had driven him. The pedestal was too
+high! Many another might have found himself growing dizzy up there.
+
+He loved to patronize, and for that reason did not content himself with
+pressing Gesa's hands, but gave him his address, and invited him to
+call upon him next morning at the Hotel de Flandres, "so that we can
+talk over your future," said he, cheeringly. Then he was very amiable
+to the other artists assembled in the green-room, then he held out his
+hand to Delileo, over whose cheeks the tears were running down, then he
+clapped the debutant on the shoulder, wished him "good luck!" and
+disappeared.
+
+At the little artist supper, which the manager had arranged for the
+performers, Gesa sat, ate not a mouthful, and spoke not a word. With
+pale cheeks and fixed eyes he gazed before him into the future,--a
+future in which the trees bore golden leaves, and their fruit sparkled
+like diamonds--a future in which dust and mold were unknown things,
+where forms of radiant beauty wandered among thickets of thornless
+roses, and the laurel trees bowed before him.
+
+In those days Gesa von Zuylen's eyes were not contracted like the eyes
+of a wild beast that shuns the light; they were wide open, like a young
+eagle's whom the sun itself does not blind.
+
+
+
+
+                                  VII
+
+
+No one could take up a gifted but obscure beginner more cordially than
+did the great de Sterny the little Von Zuylen. He invited the boy to
+breakfast, two, three times in succession, and Gesa became a familiar
+part of the furniture, perhaps rather a favorite ornament in the
+virtuoso's elegant hotel apartments. He was always obliged to bring his
+violin, and to improvise for de Sterny, who accompanied him on the
+piano, with the ready skill in following another's feeling, which was
+his peculiar gift. Then he would draw Gesa into conversation and laugh
+immoderately at the boy's original notions. Soon he could not meet an
+acquaintance without crying out to him, "Have you seen my little Gipsy?
+I must make you acquainted with my Gipsy. He improvises like Chopin,
+only quite otherwise. Yesterday he quoted Shakespeare to me, and to-day
+he discovered that Marsala is not so good as Tokay. And he is
+handsome,--'_à croquer_.'"
+
+In Brussels society the rumor of an "Eighth Wonder of the World" began
+to spread, and at last the Princess L---- arranged a musical soirée for
+his benefit, on which occasion truly the "eighth wonder" came very near
+losing his prestige altogether. De Sterny took charge with amiable
+pedantry, of all the details of his protégé's appearance, had him
+measured for a pair of patent leather shoes, and on the eventful
+evening tied the boy's white cravat with his own hands, and brought him
+in his own carriage to the L---- palace. But already in the brilliant
+vestibule, adorned with old weapons, and two mysterious black suits of
+armor, Gesa's robust self-conceit vanished completely. He who had faced
+the public at a concert with a lion's courage now clung with almost
+childish anxiety to de Sterny.
+
+"Have you brought the 'eighth wonder'?" cried the princess to de
+Sterny, as he entered. She was a blonde lady, uncommonly good-natured,
+very lively, and very short-sighted, for which reason she always held
+her glass to her eyes. "Have you brought the 'eighth wonder'?" cried
+she, in a tone as if that were something comic.
+
+"Of course--here it is,--it is named Gesa von Zuylen--Gesa von Zuylen,
+_c'est droll_--is it not, princess? May I beg that you will deal a
+little carefully with my 'eighth wonder'--it is a little sensitive!"
+
+"So--really! That is charming. I am glad when a young artist displays a
+certain pride, it is always becoming. What eyes he has,"--staring at
+Gesa through her glass--"my husband told me about his eyes. A real
+true gipsy.--They say he quoted Shakespeare of late--I laughed so at
+that!"-- Then, as other guests entered, "pray, endeavor to make the
+'eighth wonder' comfortable, de Sterny, you are entirely at home here."
+This was the princess's manner of dealing carefully with a sensitive
+"eighth wonder."
+
+De Sterny placed the boy temporarily in a corner, out of which he soon
+drew him forth to be presented to several ladies and gentlemen. Gesa
+assumed a haughty bearing. The ladies especially were very friendly,
+and very patronizing, only it scarcely occurred to one of them to
+address a word to the boy himself. They all talked about him, in his
+presence, as if he were a picture, or as if he could not understand
+French. They wondered, and praised and then forgot him while he stood
+before them, and talked among themselves of other things. It grew more
+and more uncomfortable for him, and as his embarrassment increased he
+felt as if he were walking painfully upon smooth thin ice. He shivered
+a little. Everything around him was so bright and cold. The soft, fine,
+flute-like voices of good society hurt him. Light and stinging as
+snowflakes, their words flew against his burning cheeks. He would have
+liked to weep. He was an "eighth world-wonder"--they stared at him
+through a lorgnette, discussed him,--and cared for him no further.
+Listening he heard the words "comes from the Rue Ravestein."--"What is
+that, the Rue Ravestein?" "What is it? That is difficult to explain to a
+lady,"--"_vraiment_?" "But he gives a perfectly amazing impression of
+good breeding." "_Il n'a pas du tout e' air peuple!_" "But since he is
+a gipsy,"--Gesa felt his throat tighten.
+
+"Shall we not hear you to-day?" asked the ladies who crowded around de
+Sterny.
+
+"Me?" he replied, with a laugh, "me? I am only manager to-day--and
+besides I suffer horribly from stage fright."
+
+The moment had come! Gesa must play: his heart beat to suffocation. It
+was not he, but a stolid clod stiffened with bashfulness who stood up
+and laid his fingers on the strings. In the middle of Mendelssohn's G
+minor Concerto he stuck fast, stumbled over himself, picked up, and
+scrambled painfully through to the end. The composition was never worse
+played. De Sterny was beside himself. Gesa would have liked to sink
+through the floor.
+
+A few people applauded because they did not know any better, and a few
+others because they had not been listening at all. But the greater part
+shrugged their shoulders, and said "de Sterny is an enthusiast."
+
+And when the virtuoso tried to say a word in excuse for his protégé and
+declared he had never heard him play so ill, they answered "Bah! we
+don't blame you for anything, de Sterny. We know you are an
+enthusiast."
+
+The company chatted and laughed, and nibbled a little refreshment in
+their careless fashion. Then came a deputation of the handsomest women
+and begged de Sterny to play, whereupon he seated himself at the piano
+with his usual good-humored readiness, and smiling consciousness of
+success. After he had played he went to Gesa and said:
+
+"My dear boy, collect yourself! Could you not forget that any one heard
+you but me, and improvise something? Try to remember the theme you last
+played to me. Your future depends upon it. And I would so like to be
+proud of you!"
+
+These last words worked a miracle.
+
+"I will play--only--only--that I may not shame you!" murmured Gesa.
+
+The boy was deathly pale, and trembled all over as he raised his
+violin, his eyes lighted up--and then hid themselves behind their dark
+lashes.
+
+A rain of fire fell before his vision, a whirl of emotion filled his
+breast, wild passionate melodies sounded in his ears. Had he dreamed
+them, or had a complaining autumn storm driven them hither from the
+land of his father? Were they echoes of the songs his mother had
+listened to from her lover, and later had hushed her child to sleep
+with them, as she rocked him on the threshold of the house in the
+shabby little street, where the sad Saviour looked hopelessly down from
+the Crucifix on the grey church wall? Who knows! His violin sang and
+sobbed as only a Hungarian gipsy-violin can; harsh modulations,
+piercing melodies, a mad tempest of passion,--then one last burst of
+wild, reckless hilarity--and he broke off, breathless, and gazing
+fixedly before him. He knew he had done his best. His ears listened
+greedily. If they expected a storm of applause as at his public debut,
+they were disappointed. Only a little hum, like the dry leaves that an
+east wind is rustling, buzzed through the room, and as if afar off he
+heard the words "_Charmant, magnifique_, original, tsigane"--His head
+sank, a black cloud floated before his eyes. De Sterny came up and
+clapped him on the shoulder. "Bravo! Bravo!" he cried, "we are
+rehabilitated!" and turning to the company with a triumphant smile,
+
+"Now did I exaggerate?"
+
+But Gesa listened no longer for the answer of the salon. He pressed de
+Sterny's hand to his hot lips, and burst into tears. The virtuoso was
+his heaven, his God. "Mais voyons! grand enfant!" said his patron
+soothingly. And the "world" was enchanted, even more of course by the
+generosity of the great pianist than by the talent of his protégé!
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+"What is a chimera?" asked the little Gipsy of his great friend one
+day.
+
+It was in the forenoon. Gesa had been turning over the leaves of a
+French book which he did not understand, "Les Fleurs du Mal," by
+Baudelaire. De Sterny meanwhile had been writing letters. He wore a
+yellow dressing gown of Japanese silk, in which he looked like a large
+mullein. He yawned and stretched himself, looked pale and used up. That
+he had not slept regularly for fifteen years was very evident from his
+appearance.
+
+"What is a chimera?" asked Gesa.
+
+"A chimera--a chimera--it is a siren with wings," defined the virtuoso,
+turning round.
+
+"H'm!" Gesa lowered his eyes thoughtfully, then raised them
+inquiringly. "An ennobled siren then?"
+
+"Yes,--as one takes it."
+
+De Sterny sat down by the chimney to warm his feet. "Deuced cold!--hand
+me the chartreuse, so--Yes, a refined siren if you like," he continued.
+"The siren has soft human arms with which she draws us into destructive
+pleasures, the chimera has claws with which she tears our heart.
+The siren entices us into the mire, the chimera lures us toward
+heaven,--only we don't reach the heaven, and we often find ourselves
+very well off in the mire,--deucedly well off! But _saperment_! you
+don't understand that yet." And he pulled Gesa's ear.
+
+The boy looked rather confused: he certainly had not understood a word
+of his patron's tirade. "But some of us reach heaven, the heaven of
+Art, the Walhalla, the Pantheon," cried he, eagerly, with the bombast
+of a very young person who has read more than he has understood, and
+likes to display his little knowledge--"If only one sets out early
+enough on the way."
+
+"Oh yes, a few!" murmured the virtuoso with a queer smile.
+
+"Michael Angelo, Raphael, Beethoven," cried the boy.
+
+"Shakespeare, Milton, Mozart, Leonardo da Vinci," de Sterny laughed
+aloud as he continued the litany. "But I assure you a man must have
+quite astounding powers to reach that heaven, and lungs constructed
+expressly for the purpose in order to feel comfortable after he gets
+there." The pianist yawned slightly. He belonged among those who amuse
+themselves with the sirens without permitting them to acquire too much
+power, and who avoid chimeras on principle. But Gesa was not yet
+satisfied.
+
+"Have all chimeras wings?" he asked, thoughtfully.
+
+"God forbid!" cried de Sterny.
+
+"But"--
+
+"My dear," cried his patron, laughingly, "if you have any more
+questions to ask, say so, and I will ring for the waiter to bring up an
+encyclop[oe]dia--I am at the end of my Latin!"
+
+
+
+
+                                  VIII
+
+
+Eleven years later, in the middle of May, Gesa came back to Brussels
+after a long absence. Alphonse de Sterny had known how to make
+practical use of the enthusiasm in Brussels society. Gesa had been sent
+on a government pension and supported, moreover, by the favor of
+several eminent persons, to study under one of the most famous
+violinists of the time, then settled in Paris.
+
+He had studied a little, dissipated a great deal, then studied again;
+had been much admired, much envied; had learned to empty his champagne
+glass, and to distinguish in women between a coquette and one who will
+repel an impertinence. He had made his first professional tour, with a
+famous Italian staccato singer, and a still more famous Moravian
+impressario, had earned many laurels, had finally quarreled at Nice
+with the violincellist of the troupe on the singer's account, had
+challenged the cellist, and insulted the manager. The latter was a
+reasonable being, however, who did not stand on trifles of that sort,
+and two months later in Paris, when he was engaging a company for his
+American tour he made Gesa a brilliant offer. But the young violinist
+was rich in the possession of a few thousand francs that remained to
+him from his last enterprise, and he curtly declined the great
+Marinsky's proposal, saying "the career of a soloist bored him, he
+wished to devote himself to composition." He was twenty-four years old.
+At that age many musicians have produced their greatest works. He had
+published nothing as yet, except a "Reverie" that appeared nearly seven
+years before, with a handsome vignette of the young composer on the
+title page, in all the pomp of a dilettante production, was bought by
+the whole Faubourg St. Germaine, and by hardly any one else. Since that
+time he had scribbled a great deal, but had finished nothing,--and yet
+he felt so rich! He had only not willed it as yet. He needed quiet for
+composing. But quiet in Paris is an article of luxury that none but
+very great gentlemen can compel. Brussels rose in his memory, Brussels
+with her Gothic churches and crooked streets, her zealous Catholicism,
+her luxuriant vegetation and stagnant life. A sort of homesickness
+overcame him,--he started for Brussels.
+
+It was the middle of May; May is beautiful in Brussels. No long war,
+only gay skirmishes between sun and rain clear the air. Undulating
+golden vapors weave a dreamy halo, like the atmosphere of old legends,
+over the perspective of ancient streets that lose themselves in the far
+distance; they shimmer like luminous shadows around the Gothic lace
+work of St. Gudule, and spread their blonde veil over the green pomp of
+the park. There is something quite mysterious in this hazy light, this
+mist of dissolved sunbeams, this metallic vibrating and shimmering that
+illumines sober, grey old Brussels in the springtime, like a saint's
+nimbus. The statues in the park have lost their winter cowls of straw;
+through the trees, whose feathery foliage gives out a pleasant pungent
+spring odor, glide the sunbeams, outline the edge of a gnarled black
+bough with a streak of silver, paint broad spots of light on a mighty
+bole, slip gaily into the moist grass and play hide-and-seek among the
+transparent leaf-shadows. Around the house of the Prince of Orange
+luxuriant blooming lilac bushes toss their white and pale purple
+plumes; before the Koenigsgarten dreamily waves a sea of violet
+rhododendrons; and heavy with fragrance, warmly enervating, a scarcely
+perceptible breath of wind stirs the air, the Sirocco of the North.
+
+Gesa went with vigorous strides from the Gare du Midi, across the
+Boulevard, to the Rue Ravestein. Everything interested him, everything
+seemed like home. He stood still, looked about him, smiled, went a
+little further, and again stood still, in his foolish absent fashion.
+Now he turned off from the Montagne de la Cour--before his eyes
+stretched the Rue Ravestein. A strange nameless feeling overcame him, a
+feeling of agitation and anxiety. He could have turned and fled, yet he
+drew nearer and nearer. Soft golden haze wove itself over everything.
+The strange little alley, with its architecture of the Middle Ages, and
+its crucifix leaning against the black church wall, looked like an old
+picture painted on a gold background.
+
+"Is Monsieur Delileo at home?" asked Gesa at the door of the well-known
+dwelling. The unaccustomed Flemish words fell haltingly from his lips.
+The maid, who was busied (unexampled waste of time!) in cleaning the
+threshold, looked up at him somewhat astonished, and nodded. His heart
+beat as he entered the vestibule, and hastily cleared the old wooden
+stairs that groaned under the storming of his impatient young feet. He
+knocked at the door but received no answer, and he entered the chamber,
+which still contained the old green carpet. It was much cleaner than
+when he and Delileo had lived there together; even a little coquettish
+in its arrangement. A strange narcotic, dreamy odor streamed to meet
+him. Under the portrait of the Gualtieri, in the crumbling delft
+pitcher, stood a large bouquet of tempting iris-hued poppies,--those
+bewitching, beautiful, enormous flowers that are known by the name of
+"_pavots de Nice_."
+
+The door of this first room was open; on the outer wall of the farther
+chamber was a glass enclosed balcony. There at a little round table,
+opposite one another, sat Delileo--and his daughter! Gesa started, and
+looked at the maiden dumb with admiration. Nowhere except in Italy had
+he seen features with at once such regular and such peculiarly rounded
+lines. The girl's little head rested upon a pair of strong classic
+shoulders, her colorless face was lighted by a pair of mysterious, dark
+eyes, and scarlet lips. Delileo's daughter, notwithstanding she
+scarcely counted seventeen years, had nothing of the angular grace that
+belongs to Northern maidens: her whole being breathed an enchanting,
+luxuriant ripeness.
+
+While Gesa stood there, lost in this unexpected vision, Delileo looked
+up, winked as if dazzled, stretched out his head, the young musician
+smiled and stepped forward.
+
+"Gesa! Thou!" and in the next moment the "droevige Herr" held his
+foster son in his arms. The two shed some pleasant tears, then Delileo
+pushed the young man away from him, the better to see him, then he
+embraced him again. "And will you stay with us for a little while?" he
+asked, and his voice trembled.
+
+"As long as you will let me, father," replied Gesa. "I want to work in
+quiet near you; that is, I know that here is no place for me, but I
+will lodge in your neighborhood. But"--he looked around at the young
+girl, "make me acquainted with my sister!"
+
+"Ah! right! Well, Annette, this is Gesa von Zuylen, of whom I have so
+often told you. Tell him he is welcome, and you, Gesa, give her a kiss,
+as a brother should!"
+
+The evening meal was over, the long grey May twilight had extinguished
+all the golden shimmer. Only one slender red ray fell from a street
+lamp along the alley, and a second glistened in the colored glass of
+the church window.
+
+Gesa sat comfortably leaning back in the softest armchair the
+establishment afforded, and explained to the attentive Gaston his
+numerous plans for composition.
+
+Annette was silent: her large eyes shone in the twilight.
+
+Gesa talked and talked and the "droevige Herr" only interrupted him
+from time to time to cry "cela sera superbe!"
+
+Rhythmically scanned, mystically blended, the far-off sounds of the
+city penetrated to the Rue Ravestein like a monotonous slumber song.
+The dreamy relaxing smell of the poppies grew stronger with the
+incoming night, and from time to time there was the rustle of a leaf
+that detached itself and fell dying onto the cold marble of the
+gueridon.
+
+
+
+
+                                   IX
+
+
+The poppies lay in the gutter and many other fresh and gracious flowers
+had withered under the portrait of the Gualtieri. May had become June,
+and June July. Every evening Gesa explained his projects to his
+foster-father, played one and another melody on his violin, or
+sketched the whole of an ensemble movement for him on the old spinet,
+received Gaston's assurance "_cela cera superbe!_" improvised a great
+deal, listened dreamily to the singing and ringing in his soul,
+and--accomplished nothing. He had lodged himself in a neighboring
+attic, at a washerwoman's, but spent the whole day in the home of
+Delileo, now made still more attractive by the gracious presence of
+Annette.
+
+The "droewige Herr" had found a regular situation, probably for his
+daughter's sake. He busied himself as secretary of the theatre and also
+as _feuilletonist_ of a newspaper. This procured him steady employment.
+His housekeeping now bore the stamp, not of limited means, but of
+slovenly comfort, the comfort of the Rue Ravestein.
+
+Gesa felt at home in this disorder. He always found a comfortable sofa
+on whose arms he could rest his hands while he talked about the future,
+and in whose cushions he could lean back his head while he searched for
+the outlines of impending fortune among the smoke-clouds from his
+cigarette; and he always found a bottle of good Bordeaux on the table
+when he seated himself at dinner.
+
+He loved the long idling meal times, which lifted from him the
+necessity of doing anything, and furnished such a plausible excuse for
+his beloved laziness: he loved to sit and dally with his coffee, while
+Annette sat opposite and occasionally sipped a little out of his cup.
+He loved to rummage among the notes of old composers whom no one had
+ever heard of and to rush through the works of half-forgotten poets.
+When a verse pleased him, then his eyes glowed, and he would thunder
+forth the most colossal adjectives, and read the lines two, three, yes
+twenty times to the little Annette. He might just as well have read to
+the Flemish servant outside, only she would not, perhaps, have smiled
+so prettily. Then he would seize note paper and set the verse to music,
+try his hasty composition on the old spinet, that gave back the stormy
+melodies of his foaming, effervescing youth in a broken, trembling
+little voice, like a grandmother on the edge of the grave who sings a
+love song for the last time. Then Annette must try the verse. She had a
+splendid contralto voice, and spared no pains to give him pleasure with
+her singing. But he was never contented. "More expression Annette, more
+passion!" he would cry. "Do you feel nothing then, absolutely nothing
+here!" and he tapped her on the heart with his finger. She smiled,
+colored, and turned her face away.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+Gaston Delileo had resolved to look upon Annette and Gesa as sister and
+brother; that cut short all other thoughts, and was very comfortable.
+He would not notice how much Annette was occupied with her "brother,"
+to what flattering little attentions she accustomed him, with what an
+expression her large dark eyes sometimes rested upon him. He only
+noticed that in the beginning Gesa's bearing was perfectly cool,
+cordial and brotherly. Toward the end of July the latter began to
+neglect Rue Ravestein a little, and entangled himself in some sort of
+relation with a Paris actress who, playing an engagement at the Galerie
+St. Hubert, found herself bored in Brussels. Annette was consumed by
+jealousy without Gesa's guessing the cause of her disquiet.
+
+"What ails you, Bichette?" he asked, anxiously, stroking her thin cheek
+with a caressing hand. "What makes you sad? It is this pestilential
+city air that does not agree with you. Send her to the seashore for a
+while, father!" The old man shrugged his shoulders--
+
+"Alas!" he murmured. "I have not the means."
+
+"The means! the means!" cried Gesa, "then permit me to advance them. I
+have lived so long on your generosity!" Gesa forgot how much his little
+attentions to Mlle. Irma had cost! When he hurried over to his
+apartment to get a couple of bank notes, he found in his pocketbook
+just one solitary twenty-franc piece. At first he rubbed his head and
+stared, then he burst out laughing, and carried his used up purse
+across to Delileo, "There, laugh at me and my big promises," he cried.
+"Here, see, this is my whole wealth! But wait, only wait! My hands and
+my head are full of gold. If only once the right feeling for work would
+come--the real fever! Do you happen to know where I have laid the
+libretto for my opera?"
+
+Toward the end of August, Mlle. Irma left Brussels, Gesa became morose,
+and the mood was favorable to industry.
+
+One morning he felt "the fever." He spread some music paper before him,
+smoothed it with his hand, cut a pen, planted his elbows on the one
+shaky table his attic contained, wrote a line, struck it out, stretched
+himself, and twisted himself--a feeling of physical unrest tormented
+him. He resolved to go out for a little, and wandered into the park,
+where he stood still from time to time as if listening to an inward
+voice, jostling absently against passers-by, and at last sat down upon
+a bench, thinking deeply. Suddenly a gust of wind passed, lightly at
+first, then howling loudly through the tree tops overhead. Gesa
+started, pressed his hands to his temples, a flood of music streamed
+through his soul. He hurried back to his attic, and wrote and wrote.
+
+The hour at which he was accustomed to find himself at lunch with
+Annette,--Delileo seldom came home for this meal,--was long past, the
+late supper time had come--Gesa still bent over his music paper. Single
+leaves lay strewn around him on the floor. Some one knocked at the
+door--he did not hear. Delileo entered. "What are you doing, my boy,
+that one sees nothing of you to-day. Are you sick?"
+
+Gesa stared at him as if awakened from a strange dream. "No," he
+answered, simply, "I am working."
+
+He was very pale and his hands trembled. Delileo insisted that he must
+interrupt his work at least long enough to take some nourishment. Gesa
+followed him unwillingly. He sat at table, ate nothing, did not speak,
+but gazed steadily at one spot like a ghost seer. After supper he
+wandered up and down the sitting-room, humming disconnected melodies to
+himself, clutched from time to time at the keys of the old spinet,
+threw out with short lips a single tone in which some sort of grand
+finale seemed to culminate, lashed about him urging on an imaginary
+orchestra, stamped suddenly on the floor and cried "Bravo!"
+
+Delileo, who had had plenty to do, in his day, with poets and
+composers, let him quietly alone; treating him with the forbearance
+which is accorded to the unhappy, the weak-minded, and geniuses. But
+Annette could not understand this strange behavior, and at last she
+broke out in a gay laugh.
+
+Strange to say Gesa took this childishness very ill, and left the
+chamber with a hastily muttered "good-night."
+
+Until the grey of morning he was working at his opera.
+
+Several days went by, days during which Gesa neither ate nor slept,
+looked excited and irritable, yet at the same time enjoyed an
+indescribable painful happiness, a condition of supreme exaltation. In
+vain Delileo warned him, "Don't overwork, one can strain the creative
+faculty as well as the voice, be moderate!" Gesa only shook his
+handsome head and smiled to himself with eyes half shut. Perhaps he had
+not heard a word his foster-father had been saying.
+
+And then, suddenly, when, shouting an exultant Eureka to himself, he
+finished the finale of the fifth act,--the third and fourth were not
+even begun yet,--his inspiration failed. Pegasus threw him, as an
+overworked and maltreated Pegasus will,--threw him from the Spheres of
+Light down into the regions of Earthly Misery.
+
+Painful headaches, and fathomless melancholy tormented him, his own
+performance seemed suddenly repulsive to him: where at first he had
+only seen the beauties of his work, he now recognized nothing but its
+deficiencies, compared it with the works of other masters, ground his
+teeth, and beat his brow. He condemned his own composition
+unmercifully, as overstrained and absurdly romantic. He could only
+endure the coldest, dryest musical fare. A Nocturne of Chopin threw him
+into a nervous excitement. He practiced the "Chaconne" by Bach
+incessantly. He looked like one who was convalescing from a severe
+illness. With neglected dress and dragging step he lounged about
+aimlessly, or brooded by the hour, all in a heap, head on hand, in the
+darkest corner of the green sitting-room. Once after he had been trying
+a new composition, in careless fashion on his violin, he put the
+instrument away with nervous haste, threw himself into the great
+leather armchair that was regarded as his by all the family, bit
+restlessly at his nails a moment, and then suddenly broke into
+convulsive sobbing. Then came Annette shyly to him, stroked his hair
+pityingly, and whispered, "Poor Gesa, does it hurt so to be a Genius?"
+He drew her onto his knee, kissed her often and ardently on hair, eyes,
+mouth, and when half glad, half frightened, she drew away, he allowed
+her to slip from his arms, but took both her hands and said softly,
+looking up at her with true-hearted eyes, "Annette, my good little
+Annette, can you endure me? Will you be my wife? Not now, but when I am
+become a great artist. Perhaps I may yet, for your sake."
+
+She blushed, and stammered, "What can you want of such a foolish girl
+as I am?"
+
+"But if she just happens to please me," he jested, much moved.
+
+She bent her young head over his hand and kissed it, then she nestled
+down on a stool at his feet. When Gaston came home he found them thus,
+and gave his blessing upon the betrothal.
+
+
+
+
+                                   X
+
+
+Gesa's affection for his betrothed grew ever day more tender, and more
+devoted. Her behavior toward him changed, in that she laid aside
+something of her bashfulness, and adopted a tone of teasing perversity.
+
+Since it was no longer possible to regard his children as brother and
+sister, Gaston resolved to beg that Gesa would limit his intercourse
+with Annette to evening visits, and a daily walk. O those daily walks!
+Annette liked the frequented streets, and loved to stand before the
+show windows of the shops where finery was kept, while she asked her
+lover if he would give her this or that pretty thing if he were a great
+artist. Her fancies, as yet, were not very expensive, and seldom rose
+above a dainty ribbon or a coquettish pair of bronze slippers. He
+smiled at her questions and usually sent her the desired object next
+morning, accompanied by a pretty, cordial, unpretending little note. A
+few lessons which he was giving enabled him to indulge in this
+lover-like extravagance.
+
+Unlike Annette, he had a disinclination for frequented streets, and
+strolled more willingly with her in the park, at this time quite
+desolate, and deserted of human kind. Dreaming and forgetful of all the
+world, he walked beside her under the trees that sighed in the November
+wind. Here and there the paths were broken by large puddles, and when
+no one was looking he lifted the maiden lightly over. Annette did not
+care for a little splashing, and leaned all the more heavily on her
+lover's arm. Sometimes, when he went along quite too dumb and absent at
+her side, she gave his arm a little pinch to arouse him, and cried
+"Wake up, tell me something." Then he would look down at her with wet,
+happy eyes and murmur, "I love you." He was beyond all bounds in love,
+and beyond all measure tiresome. But he composed at this time very
+industriously although more collectedly, and with less exaltation. He
+had postponed the completion of his opera for the present, and had
+nearly finished instead a dramatic work, in oratorio form, founded on
+Dante's Inferno.
+
+
+
+
+                                   XI
+
+
+"Annette!" cried Gesa, one evening in the end of November, bursting
+breathless into the green sitting-room. "Annette! Father!"
+
+"What is it, my boy?" asked Delileo.
+
+"De Sterny has written to me. He is coming next week to Brussels."
+
+"Oh!" said Annette, irritated and disappointed, "I certainly thought
+you had drawn the great lottery prize or had come to astonish us with
+an engagement at five thousand francs a month."
+
+"Why! Annette!" cried Gesa.
+
+"No wonder that you rejoice," said the tender and sympathetic Delileo,
+and seeing that Gesa kept his great tragic eyes fixed on Annette's
+face, with an expression of reproachful surprise, he added soothingly,
+"You must not take her indifference to heart, she does not know what
+'de Sterny' is."
+
+So Gesa spent that evening in explaining to his betrothed bride what de
+Sterny had been to him for the last ten years, and what the virtuoso's
+name meant to his grateful heart.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XII
+
+
+She had understood--the virtuoso's nimbus had become quite visible to
+her. Gesa need fear no longer that she would not know how to value his
+great friend sufficiently. How could it be otherwise? His name was to
+be encountered everywhere. All the newest bon-bons, patent leathers,
+pocket handkerchiefs were named after him, and the children played at
+"Concert and Virtuoso," just as in the earliest youth of our century
+they had played "Consul and Battle of Marengo." Annette was taking
+singing lessons now. Another little luxury that Gesa had provided for
+her, and at her singing teacher's house the girls whom she met there
+talked of nothing but de Sterny. The uncle of one pupil was conductor
+at the "Monnaie" de Sterny had called upon him, and had forgotten his
+gloves on going away. The said pupil brought those gloves to the next
+singing lesson; they were cut in pieces and divided among Signor
+Martini's feminine pupils. Years afterward, more than one of these
+gushers wore a bit of leather round her neck, sewed up in a little silk
+bag!
+
+At this time de Sterny had reached the zenith of his fame. His last
+tour through Russia had resembled a triumph. In Odessa they had
+received him with the discharge of cannon, in Moscow a procession had
+gone to meet him, huzzahing students had unhitched the horses from his
+coach and the fairest women had showered down flowers from the windows
+upon his illustrious head, as the cortege passed through the principal
+streets; in Petersburg a grand duchess had insisted upon his lodging in
+her palace; sable furs, laurel wreaths, diamond rings, casks of
+caviare, and a golden samovar, had all been humbly laid at his feet by
+Russian enthusiasm. All this Gesa related to his beloved. What he
+failed to tell her was that the greatest ladies had contended for de
+Sterny's favor, and that a princess cruelly scorned by him had shot
+herself at one of his concerts while he was playing! But these things
+she learned from the girls in the singing class. They interested her
+much more than de Sterny's other triumphs.
+
+Of course Gesa went to meet the virtuoso at the station. But as half
+Brussels besides were assembled at the "gare du nord," for the same
+purpose, de Sterny could only dismiss his protégé with a cordial
+pressure of the hand, and an invitation to visit him next morning at
+the Hotel de Flandres.
+
+When Gesa entered at the appointed hour, he found de Sterny sitting at
+his desk, with his head on one hand and a pen in the other: a sheet of
+music paper, covered with notes, and full of corrections, lay before
+him. In his nervous, precise, mechanically polite bearing, that
+uncomfortable something betrayed itself, which a man contracts from
+constant association with his superiors. One remarked in him that he
+had accustomed himself, so to speak, to sleep with open eyes, like
+hares,--and courtiers.
+
+"Well, how are you? I am truly rejoiced to see you," he cried to Gesa,
+"it makes me downright young to look in your eyes. I was much
+astonished to hear of your prolonged stay in Brussels. What the devil
+are you going to do here? I thought you were with Manager Marinski, on
+the other side of the world long ago."
+
+"My engagement was broken off--that is I have no desire to bind
+myself," said Gesa, blushing a little.
+
+"So--here--and meantime you are knocking around"--de Sterny treated the
+young musician in his old cordial, patronizing manner. "Sapristi! You
+look splendidly, too well for a young artist. Look me in the face. And
+what are you really doing? Plans? Eh?"
+
+"O, I am very industrious, I give lessons."
+
+"Oh! lessons! _You_--lessons! _Nom d'un chien!_ I should think it would
+have been more amusing to dig for gold in America with Marinski.
+Lessons! And so few pretty women learn the violin! Well, and besides
+lessons, how do you busy yourself?"
+
+"I compose. You seem also"--
+
+"Certainly, certainly," replied de Sterny, pushing the music paper into
+his portfolio. "But how can a man compose in such a life as I lead?
+Bah! I have had enough of squandering my existence in railroad cars and
+concert halls! Oh for four weeks rest, beefsteak and potatoes, country
+air, flowers and one friend!"
+
+Some one knocked, the virtuoso's servant entered. "I am not at home!"
+cried de Sterny.
+
+"But it is Count S----"
+
+"I am not at home. Animal! to any one--do you hear!"
+
+The valet vanished.
+
+"You see how it is," grumbled de Sterny, "before another quarter
+strikes ten persons will have been announced. It is a stale life,
+always to play the same fool's tricks, always to be applauded for
+them...."
+
+"Do you perhaps desire to be hissed by way of variety?" laughed Gesa.
+At this quite innocent repartee the virtuoso changed color a little,
+and glanced suspiciously first at Gesa and then at the portfolio where
+he had hidden his composition. But the young violinist's eyes convinced
+him that no harm was intended. If de Sterny ever had a believing
+disciple it was Gesa Van Zuylen.
+
+"It is really a shame," earnestly observed the young musician after a
+while, "that you allow yourself so little time for composition. I have
+never heard anything of yours but transcriptions--perhaps you will
+sometime trust me with your more serious work."
+
+De Sterny's brows met. "Hm!" growled he--"I can't show the things
+around. They might take wings. It spoils their eclat if one confides
+them to all sorts of people before they are published." The blood
+mounted in Gesa's cheek.
+
+"All sorts of people," he repeated.
+
+But de Sterny burst out laughing and cried, "Still so sensitive! I did
+not mean it in that way. We know you are an exceptional being. Sacre
+bleu! I am the last who would deny it! As soon as I have completed an
+important work I will lay it before you. But that"--with a glance at
+the writing desk, "that is nothing, just nothing--the sketch of some
+ballet music. Princess L----, you remember her, surely, has asked for
+it. Already at Vienna she wrote me about it--you understand. I couldn't
+put it off. _C'est assomant_. A Countess-ballet!
+
+"And now be so good as to ring, that they may bring in the breakfast.
+During the meal you shall confide to me what it really is that holds
+you fast chained in Brussels, for that you remain solely in order to
+find leisure for composition I don't believe!"
+
+Over the breakfast Gesa confided his great secret to his friend.
+
+De Sterny started up. "So that is it. Well you could not have contrived
+anything more stupid for yourself!" cried he. "I suspected something,
+some long drawn out liaison, from which I should have to extricate you.
+But a betrothal! Oh, yes! What are you thinking of? To marry and become
+a paterfamilias at your age! It is ruin! It is the grave! The grave of
+your genius mind, not of your body, that will flourish in the
+atmosphere of sleek morality. You'll grow fat. You'll celebrate a
+christening every year. You'll run from one street to another with your
+trousers turned up and a music book under one arm, giving lessons. And
+your ambition will culminate in obtaining the post of first violin in
+some orchestra, or perhaps if it soars very high in becoming conductor
+of the same. Sapristi! You need the whip of the manager over your back,
+and not the feather bolster of family life under your head! What is
+more _this_ bolster which you are stuffing for yourself will contain
+few feathers. But that is all one to you. You only need a pretext for
+laziness, and would go to sleep on a potato sack!"
+
+"You speak like a heretic, like a regular atheist in love," cried Gesa,
+who had not outgrown his passion for large words. "Who told you I was
+going to be married the day after to-morrow? I shall not receive her
+hand until I have secured a position."
+
+"Ah--so! Well--that is some comfort. But who is she? One of your
+pupils? The blonde daughter of a square-built burgher?"
+
+"She is the daughter of my foster-father."
+
+"O--h! The Gualtieri's daughter. And her you will marry? Marry?"
+
+"You cannot possibly imagine how charming she is," murmured Gesa.
+
+"That the Gualtieri's daughter is charming I can easily imagine," said
+the virtuoso, and there came suddenly into his eyes an expression of
+dreamy passion to which they were quite unaccustomed, "but that a man
+would want to marry the Gualtieri's daughter, I cannot understand.
+Perhaps you do not know who the Gualtieri was."
+
+Gesa bit his lip.
+
+"She made my foster-father happy."
+
+"So--hm! Made him happy! He was mad as we all were. To have been
+permitted to black her shoes would have made him happy. I know the
+history of Delileo's marriage. It is a legend which they still relate
+in artist circles, only they have got the names wrong. I know the right
+names because ... Delileo interests me for your sake, and--and--because
+the Gualtieri ... was my first love!"
+
+Gesa shrank back. "Your first love!" he repeated, breathlessly.
+
+The virtuoso passed his hand over his forehead and smiled bitterly.
+"Yes! I became acquainted with her in the salon of the d'Agoult. I
+looked like a girl myself then, was scarcely eighteen years old, and in
+love! Oh! in love! She laughed at me--I fretted myself with vain
+desire, she would never notice me. I cannot hear her name now after
+twenty years without feeling as I did then. Heavens! How beautiful she
+was! Form, smile, tresses! Dark hair with auburn lights in neck and
+temples--as if powdered with gold dust. Withal a certain grand
+carriage...."
+
+The virtuoso ceased and gazed musingly into vacancy. The remembrance of
+the Gualtieri was a sore spot in his heart. Gesa looked, deeply moved,
+into the changed countenance of his friend.
+
+"How could such a woman consent to marry Delileo?"
+
+"How? Yes--how? She had lost her voice, her lovers, her health. She was
+thirty-eight years old. He was of a good family, and still possessed
+the remains of a handsome fortune, of which he had already squandered
+the greater part in philanthropic enterprises. He spoiled and pampered
+her as if she were a princess, and she ... she ran away from him one
+year and a half after the birth of her child, your bride,--with an
+obscure Polish adventurer. Delileo discovered her afterward in the
+greatest misery, dying of consumption, in a garret; he took her home
+and nursed her till she died. Poor devil! He had united himself to her
+against the will of his family, and the counsel of his friends, he was
+at the end of his money--so he buried himself in the Rue Ravestein. His
+lot is hard; but--at least he lived a year and a half at her side!"
+
+Alphonse de Sterny ceased, and looked down, brooding.
+
+Gesa laid a hand on his arm.
+
+"The memory of this woman lives so powerfully in you still, and yet you
+marvel that I want her daughter for my wife--her daughter, who inherits
+all the mother's charm, without her sinfulness?"
+
+De Sterny smiled, no pleasant smile. "How old is she then--sixteen or
+seventeen, if I reckon rightly is she not?"
+
+Gesa nodded.
+
+"Ah! So! And you will judge already of her temperament?" He drummed a
+march on the table. Gesa colored. "De Sterny!" he cried after a pause.
+"Much as I love you I will not bear to hear you speak in that way. Do
+me a favor and learn to know the little one--then judge yourself. Come
+sometime in the evening and drink tea with us, unless you are afraid of
+the Rue Ravestein!"
+
+"When you will, big child! to-morrow, day after!--You always keep early
+hours there. I can come before I have to go into society!"
+
+A few minutes later Gesa took leave. De Sterny accompanied him to the
+door of the apartment, and called gaily after him, over the banisters.
+"The day after to-morrow then, about eight! I am curious to see your
+Capua!"--
+
+
+
+
+                                  XIII
+
+
+Great excitement reigned in Rue Ravestein No. 10. An odor of freshly
+baked tea cakes pervaded the stairs and halls. Annette with constantly
+changing color settled the furniture, now in this place, now in that,
+trying to hide its deficiencies, her beautiful eyes rested on the green
+carpet, and she murmured faint-heartedly--"how will it look to him
+here?" Gesa only smiled, kissed her on the forehead, gave her a
+confident little pat on the cheek, and said, "He comes to make your
+acquaintance, my treasure, not to criticize our dwelling."
+
+Even more excited than his daughter was the old Delileo. He had exhumed
+from a worm-eaten chest an ancient frock with a mighty collar in the
+ponderous taste of the citizen-king, and attired in this garment, and
+smelling strongly of camphor, he wandered restlessly from one little
+chamber to another, dusting off a picture frame with his pocket
+handkerchief, casting a half-shamed glance into the dull mirror, and
+pulling with trembling fingers at his imposing silk neck kerchief,
+which with his beautifully embroidered but rather yellow cambric shirt,
+had been young under the umbrella-sceptre of Louis Philippe.
+
+Gesa joked at the agitation of his little family, but nevertheless felt
+it to be perfectly justifiable, in anticipation of the great event.
+
+At eight o'clock every heart beat; five minutes after eight Delileo
+remarked "perhaps he won't come"; at a quarter past Annette turned a
+surprised look on her lover, and said, "but he promised you positively,
+Gesa!" at half past eight a stir was heard on the floor below. "It is
+an excuse from de Sterny," said Delileo, going to meet disappointment,
+as was his custom.
+
+"Shall I find Monsieur Delileo here?" a very cultivated voice was heard
+asking, on the stairs. Gesa rushed out. The old journalist passed a
+thumb and fore finger over his cheeks--to give himself an unembarrassed
+air, Annette disappeared.
+
+A few seconds later the door opened, and into the shabby green salon
+there came an aristocratic-looking blonde man, who was a little
+embarrassed by the fact that he had not been able to lay aside his fur
+coat in the hall. This did not last a moment, however. Scarcely had
+Gesa relieved him of the heavy garment than he held out his hand
+cordially to the master of the house, whom Gesa formally presented, and
+said "we are old acquaintances!" and when the "droewige Herr" would
+have set aside this compliment with a deprecating wave of the hand, de
+Sterny continued, "You perhaps may not remember the love-sick dreamer
+whom you met in old times at the Countess d'Agoult's. But I have not
+forgotten your sympathizing kindness. It did me good. We had then, as I
+believe, the same trouble--only"--with a glance at the Gualtieri's
+picture which his quick searching eye had already discovered--"later
+you were happier than I!"
+
+Then verily tears filled the eyes of the "droewigen Herrn," and he
+pressed the virtuoso's hand.
+
+"Well?" de Sterny glanced merrily at Gesa, "I was promised something
+more than a meeting with old friends,--a new acquaintance?"
+
+Gesa looked around. "Oh, the little goose, she has hidden." He hurried
+into the next room--they heard his tender reassuring "_vollons
+fillette_, don't be a child!"
+
+On Gesa's arm, timid, abashed, pale from excitement, deep feverish red
+on her lips, she came toward the virtuoso, and laid her little ice-cold
+fingers in his offered hand.
+
+As if bewitched he stared at the young girl, then collecting himself,
+he kissed her soft child-hand, chivalrously and said, "You must pardon
+me this, Fräulein, I am a very old friend of your betrothed, and was
+once an obscure, but intense admirer of your mother." Then turning to
+Delileo, he added "the resemblance is perfectly startling--it is a
+resurrection!"
+
+No one could be more amiable than de Sterny was in the Rue Ravestein,
+and moreover his amiability cost him not the slightest effort. Like
+other grand gentlemen he took pleasure in making small excursions into
+spheres where it would have been frightful for him if he had been
+obliged to live.
+
+Toward old Delileo he adopted a tone of modest deference, toward Gesa,
+as always heretofore, one of half boon-companion, half paternal banter.
+He drank two cups of tea, boasted of his hunger, and praised the dainty
+tea cakes.
+
+Delileo poured out reminiscences which dated as far back as his frock,
+and were just as much in accordance with modern taste. Silent and pale
+the Gualtieri's daughter sat before the guest. She did not raise her
+eyes to him once, yet no detail of his appearance escaped her. As he
+expected that evening to return from the Rue Ravestein into the world,
+he wore evening dress which became him well. His white cravat, his open
+waistcoat and carefully arranged hair, were for her a revelation.
+
+He addressed her repeatedly, but she only answered in monosyllables.
+
+"Is not mademoiselle musical?" he asked, turning from these laborious
+attempts at conversation to Delileo.
+
+"Yes, she sings a little!"
+
+"Has her voice any resemblance to--to"--de Sterny stopped short.
+
+"Say, will you sing something for us, Bijou?" whispered Gesa to the
+girl, "we will not urge you, but if...."
+
+"You would give me such great pleasure!" said de Sterny.
+
+Making no answer, with a heavy movement, as if walking in sleep, the
+young girl rose, went to the spinet, and laid a sheet of music on the
+desk. It was the fine old romance of Martini--"plaisir d'Amour." The
+virtuoso instantly offered to accompany her. She nodded shyly. Softly
+and sadly through the shabby green chamber sounded the immortal love
+song, a song which the united efforts of all the female pupils in the
+Conservatories of Europe have not succeeded in killing.
+
+
+            Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un instant,
+            Chagrin d'amour dure tonte la vie!--
+
+
+She held her hands, as she had been taught, lightly laid in one
+another, but the delicate head, contrary to regulation, was inclined
+toward the right shoulder--as if it had suddenly grown heavy. Her voice
+sounded hollow and mournful; it trembled as if with suppressed sobs.
+
+"She is afraid of you," said Gesa, who had come up to her side, "I
+don't know in the least what ails her. Usually she does not want
+courage. _Pauvre petite chat_"--and he stroked her hair gently.
+
+The virtuoso's brow fell, as if it hurt him to witness these innocent
+caresses. He turned to Delileo.
+
+"It is the same voice, absolutely the same voice! A wonderful likeness!
+Now, mademoiselle, you will grant me just one more trifle, will you
+not?"
+
+Gesa brought out from a pile of music a written sheet, and laid it on
+the rack. "Just do this, Annette," he urged, taking up his violin. "The
+song is for voice and violin," he said--"Please give me an A, de
+Sterny." De Sterny struck the note.
+
+It was the "Nessun maggior dolore" from his own music to Dante's
+Inferno, which Gesa had laid on the music desk. A strange composition,
+in which the human voice swelled from soft half audible revery to
+bitter despairing utterance of pain, while the violin gave out a melody
+of penetrating sweetness, like the torturing memory of long vanished
+joy. Gesa's cheeks were burning as he finished the performance of this
+his favorite composition. De Sterny let his hands glide from the
+keyboard, and fixed the violinist with a sharp look, "That is yours?"
+he asked.
+
+Gesa nodded.
+
+"Then let yourself be embraced on the spot. It is simply superb!"
+
+It was toward eleven o'clock before de Sterny remembered that duty
+called him back into "the world." Gesa had shown him several more of
+his own compositions, and in everything the virtuoso had taken the
+liveliest interest.
+
+Gesa accompanied his friend from the Rue Ravestein into the region of
+civilization. De Sterny was absent and silent. "Well, what do you say?"
+urged his disciple, pressingly.
+
+"You will have very great success."
+
+"In what--in my marriage?" laughed Gesa.
+
+"Ah your marriage!" The virtuoso started--"yes, your marriage.
+Well--she is the most enchanting creature I have met since her mother.
+What a voice--she could become a Malibran."
+
+"And?"--
+
+They were standing now at the Place Royale. "_Dieu merci_--there
+comes a carriage--I despaired of finding one," cried de Sterny.
+"Adieu,--bring me the whole of your 'Inferno' to-morrow,--auf
+Wiedersehen!"
+
+With this he sprang into the fiacre which had stopped at a sign from
+him, and rolled away.
+
+In the Rue Ravestein that evening there was a great deal to talk about.
+Old Delileo, whose cheeks glowed as if he had been drinking champagne,
+was very loquacious. Gesa confided to Annette word for word, de
+Sterny's flattering judgment upon her, but she showed herself nervous
+and irritable like a child too early waked from sleep. She complained
+that she had sung badly. She who had always so kindly indulged the
+garrulity of her poor old father, scarcely listened to him, even made
+impatient little grimaces, and said his way of walking up and down put
+her beside herself. When the old man sat down with a hurt air, then she
+broke into tears and begged his forgiveness.
+
+Gesa drew her onto his knees, dried her tears, and quieted her with
+playful caresses. "She lives too isolated; the least thing excites her,
+father?" said he, stroking her cheek. "We must find some amusement for
+her."
+
+The "droewige Herr," looked down gloomily.
+
+About three o'clock de Sterny mounted the stairs of his hotel. He had
+been honored and flattered exactly as much as ever, but he felt out of
+spirits.
+
+"Every street urchin knows my name now, and the crossing sweepers show
+each other the celebrated de Sterny when I pass. But when I die, what
+will remain of me! Nothing but a few wretched piano pieces, which they
+will laugh at after my death."
+
+The songs of the violinist rang in his ears. He shivered. He thought of
+the beautiful girl, and passed his hand across his forehead.
+
+"Hm!--the danger of a quiet family life does not threaten him from that
+quarter. She sleeps as yet; but she has inherited all the
+passionateness of her mother and all the nervousness of her father. How
+beautiful she is! How beautiful!"
+
+
+
+
+                                  XIV
+
+
+It was about this time that de Sterny began to be restlessly ambitious.
+His playing changed. He began to take on affectations. He began to
+pound. This enraptured the masses; the critics pronounced it "a
+magnificent development," and he himself was disgusted.
+
+An icy crust covered the gutter in the Rue Ravestein, long icicles hung
+from the arms of the great crucifix, and on the windows of the little
+green salon the frost painted his chilly flowers; but Annette's hands
+were always hot now, and her lips burning red. Her walk had grown slow
+and careless, her movements dreamy and gliding. Her eyes gazed into the
+distance. Instead of teasing wilfulness, or childlike winningness, she
+met her lover with apathetic compliance, sometimes with repellent
+irritation. Then would come hours when she hung upon him passionately,
+begged him with tears not to be angry with her, and seemed as though
+she could not show him love and tenderness enough.
+
+He did not ponder very deeply over her strange contradictory nature,
+but simply forgave her, as a sick child.
+
+One evening, when he and his foster-father were involved in one of
+their endless talks about music and literature, Annette, who had sat
+meanwhile, reserved and silent, leaning back in a corner of the stiff
+horse-hair sofa, suddenly raised her head and listened. Some one
+knocked at the door: neither Gesa nor Delileo paid any attention.
+
+"Entrez," cried Annette, breathlessly. The door opened. "Do I disturb
+you?"--said an amiable voice, and Alphonso de Sterny entered.
+
+Several days later, Gesa, returning from his lessons to the Rue
+Ravestein, remarked, "Strange, Annette, it smells of amber,--has de
+Sterny been here?"
+
+"He brought us tickets for his next concert," she replied without
+looking at her lover.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+"Dear Friend:--I have something to say to you--come to me to-morrow, if
+possible.
+
+                             "Sterny."
+
+
+Gesa found this note one evening in his apartment. Next morning, when
+he dutifully presented himself at the Hotel de Flandres, de Sterny
+received him with the question--"Would you like to earn a great deal of
+money?"
+
+"How can you doubt it! You know how pressingly I need money. Can it be
+an opportunity offers for disposing of my 'Inferno,'" cried Gesa.
+
+"Not yet--but something else offers. I received a telegram yesterday.
+Winansky has broken an arm--Marinski, in consequence, needs a violinist
+of the first rank and offers ten thousand francs a month and expenses.
+Would that suit you?" Gesa's head sank. "How long must I remain away?"
+he murmured.
+
+"Six--eight months. You must decide by tomorrow. Are you afraid of
+seasickness?" laughed the virtuoso.
+
+"That?--No! but--Well I will ask the little one. Six or eight
+months--it is long--and so far. She will not have the courage. However,
+I thank you heartily!"
+
+The servant announced an illustrious amateur and Gesa left.
+
+To his great astonishment Annette exulted and rejoiced when he told her
+of Marinksi's offer. "I did not know that you were already such a great
+man in the world," she cried, triumphantly.
+
+"Shall I accept?" asked Gesa, with a trembling voice, tears standing in
+his eyes. She looked at him amazed. "Would you refuse? Gesa, only think
+when you come back from America, a rich man!"
+
+He sighed once deeply, then he bent over her, kissed her forehead, and
+quietly said, "You are right, Annette. I was cowardly!"
+
+He accepted Marinski's offer.
+
+A few days later, a little dinner was served in the Rue Ravestein,
+which was very elaborate for the surroundings, and at which Gesa left
+all his favorite dishes untouched, and old Delileo exerted himself to
+talk very rapidly about the most indifferent things, shook pepper into
+his marmalade, and finally raised his glass with a trembling hand and
+gave a toast to Gesa's speedy, happy return. Annette, who up to this
+time had regarded Gesa's departure with the most frivolous gaiety,
+became every moment more painfully excited. She ate nothing, said not a
+word, and looked wretched, pain and terror were in her eyes. When Gesa
+drew her to him, and kindly stroked her pallid cheeks, she broke into
+immoderate weeping, clung to him convulsively, and begged him again and
+again "do not leave me alone--do not leave me alone!"
+
+He made no answer to her unreasonable words, only pitied her most
+tenderly, called her a thousand sweet names, and said, turning to
+Delileo, "Try to divert her a little, father--take her sometimes to the
+theatre, and as soon as pleasant weather comes, take her to the
+country. And read with her a little,--none of the complicated old trash
+that we delight in, but something simple, entertaining, to suit a
+spoiled little girl."
+
+"Is there any one in the world, better than he is, papa?" sobbed
+Annette. The servant entered and announced that the carriage was
+waiting at the Place Royale, and the porter was there to take Monsieur
+Gesa's luggage, at the same time clutching his traveling bag and violin
+case. Gesa looked at the clock. "It is time," said he, quietly, "be
+reasonable, Annette!"
+
+But she sobbed incessantly, "do not leave me alone," and he was
+forced to unclasp her dear, soft arms from his neck. He pressed his
+foster-father's hand in silence, and hastened away. From the street, he
+heard the sound of a window opening above, and Annette's voice. He
+stood still, looked back--cried "Auf Wiedersehen!"--and hurried on to
+the Place Royale.
+
+Before the train puffed off, a slender, blonde man rushed onto the
+platform. "De Sterny!" cried Gesa, deeply moved.
+
+"Well, well, you expected me I hope. I slipped away from the X's in
+order to catch you. You understand that I did not want to let you go
+without wishing you 'bonne chance' for the last time."
+
+The conductor opened the door of the coupé--Gesa entered it.
+
+"Bonne chance! it can't fail you"--cried de Sterny.
+
+Gesa bent out of the coach window. "Thousand thanks for all your
+kindness," he cried, "and if it is not too tiresome for you,--then
+to-morrow look in a moment, to see how it is with her."
+
+"I will take her your last greeting," said de Sterny.
+
+The virtuoso beckoned smilingly, while the train steamed away.
+
+Thus, smiling, kind, sympathetic, Gesa lost sight of his friend. Thus
+he remained in Gesa's memory.
+
+
+
+
+                                   XV
+
+
+Thanks to a sudden outbreak of yellow fever in the South, Marinski's
+troupe left America earlier than had been agreed upon.
+
+With salary somewhat diminished by this circumstance, a bundle of
+bombastic critiques, and some very pretty ornaments from Tiffany's in
+New York for Annette, Gesa went on board the "Arcadia," in which
+Marinski's troupe were to sail for old Europe. How he rejoiced for his
+"little one!" She had looked so badly when he left Brussels, was so
+inconsolable at parting. He resolved to give her a surprise by his
+sudden return. What great eyes she would make! Sometimes at night he
+started from sleep--a cry of joy and her name on his lips.
+
+The whole troupe knew why he was hurrying home. He never grew weary of
+telling about Annette. About Annette and de Sterny. He was much beloved
+by all his traveling companions, and they all felt a lively interest in
+Annette; but of de Sterny they would not hear a word; and an old basso,
+who had taken Gesa especially to his heart, said warningly--
+
+"Take care! he will play you a trick--he is a villain, monsieur!"
+
+Gesa took the caution very ill, and starting up rebuked the basso
+severely.
+
+The basso smiled to himself.
+
+Among the female forces of the troupe was a certain Guiseppina D----.
+Pale, with rich red hair that when she uncoiled it reached to her
+heels, her enormous black eyes, short nose, and large mouth lent her
+some likeness to a death's head. Yet, she was not without a certain
+charm, especially in her smile, and she smiled constantly, as people do
+whom nothing can any longer rejoice. To her Gesa talked oftenest about
+his beloved. She listened to him most kindly and sometimes she wept.
+She was the soprano of the troupe, and lived in the bitterest enmity
+with the Alto, who was married to the Tenor, immensely jealous, and
+very proud of her own virtue.
+
+In Paris, when the troupe broke up, the Guiseppina at parting put both
+arms around Gesa's neck and kissed him. This the virtuous Alto
+certainly would not have done. But the Guiseppina whispered at the same
+time,
+
+"The kiss is for thee, with my good wishes, and this"--she gave him a
+little gold cross--"this is for the bride, with my mother's blessing
+that clings to it yet. It belonged to my First Communion, and is the
+only one of my possessions which is worthy a bride of yours."
+
+They all promised to come to his wedding, and at last he had bidden
+them farewell, and had left Paris for Brussels.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+It was in the second half of June and Corpus Christi day. At all the
+stations groups of girls in white were to be seen. Now and then
+white-robed processions passed in the distance, and softly as from a
+spirit choir their Catholic hymns floated to the traveler's ear.
+
+It was late in the afternoon when he arrived in Brussels, sprang into a
+fiacre, and directed it to the Rue Ravestein. The hack, with all the
+vexatious phlegm of a Brussels' vehicle, jogged slowly toward its
+destination.
+
+The moist, heavy sultriness of a northern summer brooded over the town.
+The air had something oppressive, stifling, like that of a hot room.
+Above the earth all was motionless, except that in the very topmost
+branches of the linden trees on the Boulevard there was a light
+rustling. From the ground steamed the moisture of yesterday's showers;
+in the sky the clouds were piling up for another thunderstorm, with
+muttered growl along the horizon. The atmosphere was heavy and sad with
+the odor of incense, burning wax, candles, and withering flowers, the
+odor of Corpus Christi Day. Against the walls of the houses still
+leaned the altars that had been erected, surmounted by shriveled
+foliage, and dead blossoms. Luxuriant roses, tender heliotrope and
+modest reseda lay trodden and soiled on the pavement.
+
+As Gesa alighted at the Place Royale a woman in a battered hat, gaudily
+be-ribboned, and a red shawl, stooped down after some of the faded
+flowers. She was one of those who hide themselves when the Corpus
+Christi procession passes by. She lived in the Rue Ravestein, and Gesa
+knew her. Always pitiful, he took a twenty-france piece from his pocket
+and gave it to her. She glanced up, looked at him sharply and suddenly
+turned away her painted face.
+
+He entered the Rue Ravestein. Sickening miasmas rose from the drain; a
+cloud of midges hovered in the air;--the crucified Saviour looked down
+more sadly than ever.
+
+Familiar things greeted his eyes as he passed: the lean hyena-like dogs
+wagged their tails, and some of them came and shoved cold moist noses
+into his hand.
+
+"No one is at home!" cried the woman who sold vegetables in the shop on
+the ground floor of Delileo's dwelling. "No one. Neither the old
+gentleman, nor the young lady."
+
+"Have they gone on a journey?" asked Gesa, blankly.
+
+"No, I think not. Unless I am mistaken the young lady has gone to
+church. Perhaps monsieur will find her yet in St. Gudule."
+
+Gesa was already hastening down the street toward the Cathedral. Behind
+him little groups collected. The gossips of Rue Ravestein laughed.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XVI
+
+
+On an irregular square, from which numberless streets and alleys spread
+themselves out like rays, rises the Cathedral of St. Gudule. Light and
+transparent in architecture, bearing herself proudly--the church towers
+above the city where the ghosts of Horn and Egmont walk. Her walls are
+blackened as if they wore mourning for the crimes which men have
+committed here in God's name; and through her cool aisles sighs the
+mouldy breath of a vault. Gesa entered. It was dusky within; thick
+shadows covered the feet of the brown, worm-eaten benches. Only a few
+people still remained. In vain the violinist looked around for his
+bride. A couple of old women he saw: a child in a blue apron,
+stretching on tiptoe to reach the holy water, two beggars near the
+door--that was all. No priest was at the altar: service was over.
+
+The child had tripped away: the old woman had hobbled off; for the last
+time Gesa's eye searched the church, then he went on to the high altar
+and kneeled down to say a prayer. In spite of the fantastic pantheism
+in which Delileo had brought him up, Gesa had always retained a strong
+leaning toward Catholic devotion. Suddenly he heard a sound,--a sigh.
+In the deepest shadow, almost at his feet, crouched a dark form. A
+tender trouble overcame him.
+
+"Annette!" he whispered--"Annette!"
+
+She rose up out of the shadow. She stared at him, gave a short cry, and
+clung shuddering to a pillar.
+
+"Annette! What ails you!" he cried, shocked, almost angry. "Are you
+afraid of me?"
+
+She shook her head. Was it the dusk that made her look so ashen pale?
+
+"You come so suddenly, and I am ill;" she said.
+
+"Ill, poor heart! Then truly I must have appeared to you like a ghost.
+And I wanted to enjoy your surprise! Foolish egotist that I am! Forgive
+me!" Thus he stammered, and forgetting where he was would have drawn
+her to him. She motioned him from her. "Not here!" she cried. Looking
+around at the sacred walls, with an intense gaze--"Not here!" Leaning
+on his arm she passed out of the church door.
+
+The air was moist and sultry, clouds hung low, a swallow fluttered
+anxiously across the square. In comparison with the dusky gloom of the
+church it was still quite light here. Gesa raised questioning, longing
+eyes to the face of his beloved. It was deathly pale, the cheek
+thinner, the eyes larger, the lips darker than formerly; little lines
+about the mouth and nose, melancholy shadows around the eyes idealized
+its heretofore purely material beauty.
+
+"I had quite forgotten how charming thou art," he murmured, in a voice
+stifled with passion. She smiled at him, a wild strange smile, in which
+she grew still more beautiful, and the shadows around her eyes
+deepened.
+
+It suddenly seemed to him that she reminded him of some one, of
+something, but he searched his soul in vain. It could not be
+of the pale Malmaison roses whose tender heads drooped, on the
+pavement,--or,--no,--and yet--yes,--a little,--Annette reminded him of
+Guiseppina!
+
+Her hand, which she had left to him passively in the beginning, nestled
+now more tenderly on his arm. When they would have turned their steps
+toward the Rue Ravestein, she held him back.
+
+"What if we should make a detour," she whispered, "take me to the park,
+to all your favorite places, will you?"
+
+"My heart! My treasure!" he murmured, drunk with the rapture of her
+presence.
+
+An odor of withering flowers impregnated the air, mixed with the faint
+breath of fresh acacia blossoms. They entered the park. It was as if
+dead. Through the dark crowns of the trees there passed, from time to
+time, something like a shudder of fear.
+
+"And you are really ill, Annette?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," and her voice sounded hollow, like a suppressed cry of anguish:
+then she burst out passionately, "Why did you leave me alone!"
+
+"You sent me away yourself," he replied, half playfully, "and then I
+had to go."
+
+"That is true," she said, simply.
+
+They were silent. It grew darker. All at once she stood still. "Here
+was a mire last autumn and you used to carry me over. Do you remember?"
+
+He nodded smiling. They went a few steps further. The white reflection
+of the evening light played over the water of a reservoir.
+
+"And here you told me about Nice and the Angers Bay."
+
+Again he smiled, and they went on. They came to a statue. "There you
+gave me a villa in Bordighera. Have you forgotten how we built air
+castles?" said the girl.
+
+The shuddering in the tree tops grew stronger.
+
+She bent back her head and gazed up at her lover as if in a dream. "No
+one sees us," she whispered. "Kiss me!"
+
+He kissed her long and passionately. "Again!" she whispered, so softly
+that her voice sounded like the rustling of the leaves.
+
+He kissed her again, murmuring, "I never knew how fair life was until
+to-day!"
+
+A long sobbing sigh passed through the trees. "Come home, or the
+thunderstorm will overtake us," she said--her voice had suddenly grown
+harsh. They turned back.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XVII
+
+
+"I will not expect you to wear it, but you must keep it sacred, as a
+relic. It was the best thing she possessed," said Gesa to Annette, when
+he gave her Guiseppina's cross.
+
+He had told the girl about the pale singer and the touching manner in
+which she had offered her gift. Annette had kissed the cross on the
+threshold of the house, when she stood to take leave of him. "My father
+will not be home before midnight"--she whispered "farewell"--whereupon
+at first he looked most longingly in her face, and then yielding
+to her decision, said quietly--"To-morrow." And now he sat in his old
+attic room, opposite, and mused the evening through. His veins throbbed
+with a happiness that was painfully sweet. Never had Annette appeared
+to him so enchantingly beautiful, never had she met him with such
+heart-winning gentleness. The memory of her tender smile, of her great
+dark eyes softened his heart like a caress.
+
+But she was ill. A cold shudder broke his warm dream. She was very ill.
+
+A fearful anxiety overcame him. The heavy, sultry air of the coming
+tempest brooded without, and from the street below rose an odor of
+filth and decay.
+
+He looked across at Annette's window; it was open. A delicate head
+appeared there, listening. Against the wall in the pale moonlight a
+dainty silhouette was thrown.
+
+"Annette!" cried Gesa, across the sleeping street.
+
+Through the dusk he saw her smile.
+
+"Good-night!" she breathed, laid both hands on her lips and sent him
+one kiss. Then she disappeared. A heavy silence settled down on the Rue
+Ravestein.
+
+Dizzy and drunk with happiness, that smile in his heart, Gesa von
+Zuylen laid himself down and fell asleep.
+
+
+It was not yet five o'clock in the morning when a mysterious stir in
+the little street awoke him. Excited voices and hasty steps sounding
+confusedly together. Was it fire? The confusion increased. Something
+had happened. He hurried on his clothes and went down. The air was raw.
+In the lustreless morning light there was a pale, reddish shimmer. The
+sparrows on the roofs twittered over loud. Under Delileo's window stood
+a few people; untidy women rubbing the sleep out of their eyes, some
+men in blouses, on their way to work. Like a little flock of vultures,
+with greedy eyes and outstretched heads, they jostled one another.
+
+The woman of the green grocer shop was speaking. Her face expressed
+pride at having assisted at some awful event Gesa heard her say:
+
+"I tell you they have just sent my boy to the apothecary. But it's too
+late--much too late!"
+
+"Has Monsieur Delileo had a stroke?" cried Gesa, breathlessly.
+
+"Mon-sieur De-lileo?" repeated the women. A few of them turned away.
+
+"Annette!" he reeled. "What! What!"
+
+Half beside himself he rushed up the stairs, and burst open the door of
+his promised bride's chamber. He knew the room well. It was the same
+which years ago he had occupied with his mother. Only now it was more
+daintily furnished.
+
+Old Delileo sat on the edge of the little bed, and gazed in tearless
+despair at something which the white curtains hid.
+
+"Father!" cried Gesa.
+
+Then the old man rose trembling in every limb, passed his hand across
+his brow--his poor yellow face working....
+
+"Have pity!" he said in a broken voice, "Have pity, she has repented,
+she is dead!"
+
+Gesa tore back the curtains. There on the white pillow, waxen pale, but
+beautiful as ever, the parting smile upon her lips, lay Annette.
+
+She had put on the blue dress in which he had first seen her, fourteen
+months ago--Guiseppina's little cross lay on her breast.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+There is a suffering so painful that no hand is tender enough to touch
+it, and so deep that no heart is brave enough to fathom it. Dumbly we
+sink the head, as before something sacred.
+
+Never could he reproach her, lying there before him, clad in the
+blue dress, of which every fold, so dear to him, cried "Forgive!
+Not to our desecrated love do I appeal, but to our sweet caressing
+friendship,--forgive the sister what the bride has done!" How could he
+reproach her, with her parting kiss still on his lips?
+
+She had drawn off her betrothal ring, and laid it on the coverlet
+enclosed in a folded letter, where in her large, unskilled, childish
+hand, she had written the words: "To my dear, dear brother Gesa. God
+bless him a thousand times!"
+
+He placed the ring again on her finger, and kissed her cold hand.
+
+The fearful mystery which separates us from our dead is so
+incomprehensible that we never realize our loss in all its fulness
+while the beloved form yet lies before us. Involuntarily we feel as if
+the dead knew of every little service we render--and this thought
+hovers around us as a comfort. The whole bitterness of our anguish is
+first felt when we have buried our happiness, and life with its sterile
+uses and requirements reenters, and commands: "What have you to do
+longer dallying with death? I will have my right!"
+
+And so with Gesa, the bitterest pang of all overcame him when,
+returning home with his foster-father from the churchyard where they
+had laid the poor "little one" to rest, he found the old green salon
+all in order. Annette's favorite trifles removed, and the table laid
+for--two.
+
+They sat down opposite one another, the old journalist and the young
+musician. Neither ate; Gesa was dumb. Delileo stroked his hand from
+time to time and murmured, "My poor boy, my poor boy!"
+
+Suddenly Gesa raised his eyes to the old man's face. "Who was it,
+father?" he asked in a hollow voice.
+
+The "droewige Herr" dropped his eyes.
+
+"I--I do not know"--he stammered.
+
+"Father!" cried Gesa, starting up.
+
+"Nay, I knew nothing. She never confided in me. Very lately I had a
+suspicion, a fear"--the old father grew more and more distressed.
+
+"You must have remarked it, if Annette was interested in any one?"
+cried Gesa, anger in his eyes and shame on his cheeks.
+
+"Ah! she fell under the spell of a demon"--the father stopped, and shut
+his lips tightly together, and said no more.
+
+One day followed another in monotonous sadness. The "droewige Herr"
+went to his daily work: Gesa sat in the green salon and brooded. He
+said nothing of any more engagement, nothing of going on any more
+journeys. He dreaded every meeting with acquaintances, with all to whom
+he had talked of his happiness. There was one single human being for
+whom he longed, and that was de Sterny. De Sterny had such a rare,
+almost feminine art of understanding and sympathizing! And then, he
+would not be surprised like the others--he had foretold it all!
+
+Gesa learned de Sterny's whereabouts. The virtuoso was in England. Gesa
+wrote him a simple, heartfelt letter, in which he confided to his
+friend the sudden death of Annette, and ended with the words "Let me
+know when you are to be in Paris. I will remove there, in order to work
+near you. Intercourse with you is the only thing in the world that
+could afford me any comfort now."
+
+To this letter he received no answer. He removed to Delileo's and
+occupied Annette's chamber.
+
+One day, as he sat at the poor girl's little desk, and searched a
+drawer for an envelope, he found wedged in a crack the half of a torn
+note. He knew the writing. "... wild with bliss. At one o'clock in the
+Rue de la Montague
+
+                        Thy S."
+
+The violinist read this note twice, then he looked around with a dull,
+stupefied gaze, stretched his arms on high as those do who are shot
+through the heart, and sank senseless to the floor.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+A lingering nervous fever broke his constitution, and destroyed the
+little energy he had still possessed. When he began to creep about his
+chamber, a weary convalescent, with thinned hair, he sought at once for
+pen and ink. Every day he wrote a letter to de Sterny, and tore it in
+pieces. When Delileo, who had nursed him through the sickness like a
+mother, begged him not to excite himself, he only answered, "I must
+have it off my heart!" and wrote a fresh letter,--but never sent any.
+
+One day he said to himself that it did not become him to write, that he
+must demand satisfaction from de Sterny face to face. But before that
+could happen he must recover his health. From that time he wrote no
+more. He lived his brooding life, idle, and melancholy. His grief was
+mingled with a burning shame. He constantly feared that he should meet
+some one who would ask him about his bride, or his friend. At the
+thought the blood rushed into his cheek, and even when he was quite
+alone he turned his face to the wall. He trembled in every limb, a wild
+rage possessed him when he thought of the betrayer. Then--then he
+remembered the thousand kindnesses to which the virtuoso had accustomed
+him, his amiability, the cordial tone of his voice. He pressed his
+hands to his temples and groaned.
+
+He could not understand.
+
+And the days went by, and he did not seek de Sterny. A wild fear of men
+mastered him. By day he almost never left Delileo's dwelling, but, as
+his health improved, he gradually accustomed himself to go out at
+night. He was still young. He felt a vehement desire to deaden the
+power of feeling. In the midst of the wildest orgies, he sat pale and
+dumb, with fixed expressionless face. This joyless dissipation he soon
+gave up, but his wound still craved relief--and slowly, gradually, he
+gave himself to drink. Music he neglected altogether. Every note awoke
+a memory. If he had been obliged to earn his bread by his profession,
+he would probably not have gone so utterly to ruin, but the money which
+he had brought back from America permitted him to live.
+
+When old Delileo, whom it cut to the heart to see his dear one's
+hopeless suffering, and his splendid talents so sadly wasted, asked him
+questions in regard to the future, Gesa answered, "I will work again,
+but leave me alone now for a while--it is too hard yet." And his fear
+of mankind more and more sought concealment in Rue Ravestein. In all
+large cities there are alleys like the Rue Ravestein. Paris has many of
+them. A man flies thither when he has suffered a fiasco, or a great
+sorrow, hides himself there from the derision of enemies and the pity
+of friends ... pity which at the best seems to him but a sentimental
+form of contempt! He has no intention of passing his whole life in that
+unwholesome obscurity, he will only give his wounds time to heal.
+Meanwhile he forges many plans in this voluntary exile; and dreams how
+he will go back to the world sometime and retrieve all by a grand
+success. The dreams never see fulfilment. For such streets are graves,
+and whoever after long years seeks to flee from that solitude, wanders
+among men like a risen corpse. Superannuated ideas surround and cling
+to him like the mouldy air of the sepulchre. He speaks a dead language.
+
+
+
+
+                                 XVIII
+
+
+"The 'satan' is one of the most beautiful of modern musical
+compositions," announces the _Indépendence Belge_. "The 'satan'
+contains numbers of classic beauty," confess the artists. "Have you
+heard? The 'satan' is a tremendous success!" says the fashionable world
+to itself. "Satan's" renown penetrates even as far as the Rue
+Ravestein, and reaches the ear of a starving fiddler there.
+
+Although Delileo has long been dead Gesa still lives in the old house.
+The remains of his little savings went during his foster-father's long
+and weary last illness. Now Gesa supports life as best he can. A dozen
+years ago every one was comparing him to Paganini; now he is counted
+among the most obscure members of the "Monnaie" orchestra. Benumbed in
+melancholy indolence, given over to drink, he feels nevertheless from
+time to time the longing for creative effort. But something always
+comes between him and his purpose.
+
+When he hears of the approaching performance, under de Sterny's
+personal direction, he is shaken with a sudden wild rage.
+
+How dare de Sterny venture on coming to Brussels, in face of the chance
+that they may meet?
+
+Then he mutters bitterly. "He thinks I am dead. He says to himself, 'If
+Gesa von Zuylen were still alive the world would have heard of him!'" A
+fearful pang harrows his very soul. Not the death of his bride, not the
+treachery of his friend had inflicted a pang like that. The spectre of
+his great, degraded talent stands suddenly before him.
+
+He has weighed de Sterny's powers of composition. He remembers with
+triumphant contempt the "transcriptions" and "fantasias" of former
+times. He recalls the pianist's painful labors over the little
+"Countess-ballet," until in the full swing of their friendship Gesa
+took the thing in hand and finished it for him. And now? _Could_ de
+Sterny have developed into a composer of any importance? He examines
+his violin part with feverish curiosity, but it contains more rests
+than notes.
+
+The day of the second rehearsal arrived. Gesa had intended to report
+himself ill again, but a feeling of breathless anxiety that he could
+not explain urged him to the music hall. This time it was not the
+friend of Rossini and the piano teacher alone who had come to hear the
+rehearsal. The foremost dilettante of Brussels crowded around the
+stage, all the musical ladies in society sat together in the front rows
+of the parquet. There was a fever of curiosity and expectation. At the
+same time that sort of opposition made itself felt which attends upon
+all novelties that have been immoderately praised.
+
+"_Il parait que c'est epatant_"--said the Count de Sylva, a gentleman
+who was resting from the fatigues of a laborious diplomatic career, and
+employed all the time not absorbed by his social duties in studying the
+violincello. "Epatant," he repeated, walking up to the ladies, "I must
+confess I do not esteem de Sterny's talent for composition so very
+highly."
+
+"Nor I either, most decidedly," growled the friend of Rossini. "How he
+ever contrived to write the 'Satan,' I cannot understand. But that it
+is a masterpiece is not to be denied. These melodies!--they tyrannize
+over me! they creep into every nerve, they creep into the blood!
+Spectres walk abroad in this music!"
+
+"It is true that great powers require time to ripen," observed Prince
+L----, "wonderful children seldom come to anything. You may perhaps
+remember such a case, ladies--the little gypsy whom de Sterny brought
+to us one evening."
+
+"Hm--a little hunch back in a braided jacket?" asked a lady.
+
+"No--no--that was another--this was a handsome youth from the Rue
+Ravestein."
+
+None of the ladies remembered. "What of him?" they asked.
+
+"Nothing remarkable. I only cited him apropos of wonder children. Never
+have I heard finer improvisation than his and what has come of it?" At
+this moment there was a slight stir, de Sterny stepped upon the
+platform. They clapped applause, they bowed before him, they pressed
+his hands.
+
+He stood at the conductor's desk and let his eye run over his musical
+forces--they were all there. Suddenly he turned pale, the baton sank at
+his side, he longed to flee, the eyes of his aristocratic friends were
+shining all around him; he rapped on the desk, and the bombastic
+introduction to "Satan" sounded through the hall.
+
+There was disappointed shrugging of shoulders in the audience. Gesa von
+Zuylen's mouth showed deep mocking corners. Slowly, painfully, but with
+increasing confidence he raised his eyes to the director's face, the
+face that had once been to him as the countenance of a god. He smiled
+bitterly.
+
+And now the Alto is singing her first song. The audience rouses up as
+if from an electric shock--and listens amazed, but none listens with
+such intentness as Gesa von Zuylen.
+
+A strange, strange feeling trembles through him, the feeling of warm
+young delight, of joyful intoxication with which he wrote that song.
+Indignation had no chance to be heard, so mighty is the bliss of
+hearing his own work. It is as if some one had given him back his lost
+soul. The applause grows louder and louder. As if in a dream he plays
+on, sometimes he shrinks when some blatant interlude of de Sterny's
+disfigures his own composition.
+
+"Now comes the most beautiful of all," they whisper in the audience,
+"the duet of the Outcasts."
+
+In mournful lament are heard the exile's voices, softly, lightly
+floating, the violin's Angel song mingles with theirs, above, around
+them, whispering memories of joys forever lost.
+
+Gesa listens--listens--his bow stops, he sees the little green chamber,
+the smiling friend at the old spinet, and beside him the lovely maiden,
+her hands clasped in one another, her delicate head slightly bent
+toward the shoulder, as if it were grown too heavy. "Nessun maggior
+dolore," he murmurs. The whole audience shouts. The orchestra applauds
+standing--the amateurs crowd round the stage. But there!--what is this?
+Panting, breathless, foam on his lips, rage in his eyes, the violinist
+presses forward through the ranks of the orchestra, up to the director.
+
+"Wretch! Murderer!" he shrieks and strikes him with his bow across the
+face, then sinks unconscious to the floor. De Sterny passes a hand
+across his brow, and while the violinist is being carried out, he turns
+to the capelmeister, who is hurrying up and says with that practiced
+presence of mind which teaches a man of the world heroism on the
+scaffold.
+
+"A sudden attack of delirium tremens. You really might have taken pains
+to spare me such a painful scene!"
+
+The rehearsal proceeded. Gesa was taken home. As soon as he recovered
+consciousness he sought in all the closets and chests for the original
+score of his "Inferno" of which he had lent a copy to de Sterny. He
+never found the manuscript. All he discovered were the disconnected
+parts of his unfinished opera.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XIX
+
+
+Between the Boulevard exterieur, "Boulevard des Crimes" as the popular
+voice has named it, and the Buttes Montmartre, stretches a quarter of
+Paris which is behind the Rue Ravestein in remoteness from the world,
+but far surpasses it in wretchedness. No mournful redeemer here
+stretches out his crucified arms to mankind, as if he would say: "I
+would have warmed you all in my bosom, but you have nailed my hands
+fast!"
+
+No colored church windows glimmer changefully here, amidst misery and
+depravity. The old Montmartre church is broken up,--they are building
+on the new one!
+
+In a temporary wooden tower on the Buttes Montmartre, hangs a shrill
+bell that sounds like the bell of a railroad or a factory, and at
+certain hours of the day, it tinkles a little despairing Catholicism
+down into the empty republican clatter below.
+
+One junk shop crowds another here, and wooden booths full of
+second-hand rubbish and guarded mostly by poodle dogs stand in the
+wind.
+
+One thing is especially noticeable in the Faubourg Montmartre. Every
+article one buys there is handed to him wrapped in old drawings, old
+manuscripts, or old copied music. On everything lies the mould and dust
+of defunct artist existences, and the debris of fallen air castles. The
+countless miserable lodgings swarm with young artists who never will
+accomplish anything, with old ones who never have accomplished
+anything. Against a background of impudent vice and grumbling poverty
+are drawn the relaxed figures of enthusiasts weary into death.
+
+In his "_petits poems en prose_," Bandelaire described three people
+sinking from fatigue, yet without revolting against their burdens,
+carrying on their backs three enormous, grinning chimeras, whose claws
+are fastened in their patient shoulders. Every artist in the Faubourg
+Montmartre bears his chimera. His burden holds him upright; when
+that disappears he disappears with it. Whole troops of pretentious
+non-geniuses are to be met there, but also here and there among these
+eccentric jack fools, a really great, although long ruined artist
+nature making its last attempt to live and writing its name with
+trembling hand in the dust. There they dream, and peer across to the
+Boulevard, the high road of fortune, listening and waiting, with the
+vigor-and reason-devouring hope of the gambler.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+One morning a man climbed up to the humblest lodging of Rue de
+Steinkerque in the Faubourg Montmartre; Gesa von Zuylen. He had come to
+Paris partly to escape from the Rue Ravestein, and partly because Paris
+is supposed to be the California of artists.
+
+A tenor, whom he met on the railroad gave him the address of this
+lodging; he said it was a place where a man could work.
+
+And Gesa wanted to work! He had a thousand francs in his pocket, the
+price of an Amati, once presented him by a distinguished patron. The
+violin was thrown away at a thousand francs. But what of that? He
+needed money and would have sold the blood from his veins to compass
+this sojourn in Paris.
+
+He still heard the thundering tribute of applause paid to his work, and
+saw de Sterny's complacent bows. His clenched nails dug into the palms,
+but he forced himself back to calmness. He would work, he must work,
+that he might tear away his stolen royal mantle from the shoulders of
+the traitor! Surely for every genuine talent the hour of triumph
+strikes at least once in a life time, and he, he was no man of talent,
+he was a genius! How freely he breathed after that first day after his
+arrival in Paris. His new acquaintance, the tenor, had asked him "if he
+would like to take a walk to the real Boulevard." He meant the
+Boulevard between the New Opera House and the Madeleine. But Gesa
+shrank from the bustle and confusion--and while the tenor, with the
+haste of a newly-arrived provincial hurried off into the heart of
+Paris, Gesa crept slowly up the hill of Montmartre. There was a shabby
+public garden on the top, with newly set forlorn vegetation, a slippery
+flight of wooden steps led up to it. Lean, badly nurtured children, not
+in the least resembling the elves in the Champs Elysées and the Park
+Monceau, tumbled about in the crowded walks. Behind the garden was some
+waste land where grass covered with chalky dust stretches up to the
+doors of some miserable little huts. Paris seemed far away.
+
+He seated himself on a bench. Shrill children's voices, in whose
+strident tones could already be heard the curse of the factory hand,
+and the coarse laugh of the paissarde surrounded him. He was deadly
+tired. In other times he had not even noticed the little journey from
+Brussels to Paris. His head sank on his breast. He dreamed that he was
+walking under the sleepy rustling trees of the park in Brussels,
+Annette Delileo was on his arm. The blue sky mirrored itself in an
+enormous pool, whereon some red poppy leaves were floating, and he told
+Annette how that "he was a genius, and was going to do something
+great."
+
+He felt the tender nestling of her warm young form against him.
+Suddenly he started up. Little cold fingers touched his, a small
+girl in a white cap and large blue apron stood beside him, and
+said--"Monsieur, they are closing the garden."
+
+The Angelus was tinkling through the air as Gesa descended. Damp odors
+pervaded the slippery hill; great ragged streaks of fog settled slowly
+down on the wretchedness of Montmartre.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+Once more in his apartment, Gesa made a light, and looked around
+him, shivering a little at the comfortless room. In the grey marble
+chimney-place, stood an iron stove. The orange and blue flowers of the
+carpet had long taken on a uniform covering of dirt. Two offensive
+terra-cotta images stood on the mantelpiece. The tenor who was well
+acquainted in the Rue Steinkerque, and had mounted to the lodging with
+Gesa before, had explained that these were the work of a certain
+Vaudreuil, a second Michael Angelo, whose genius was broken in pieces
+against the hard stupidity of the public.
+
+"Genius!" How the misuse of the word angered him! "Genius! The man has
+no trace even of talent," Gesa had cried, looking at the disgusting
+figures.
+
+"Si! Si!" rejoined the tenor. "He spent all his means in trying to
+convert the world to 'high art,' chiseled and ecce homo--but what
+will you have? Marble is dear--he grew melancholy, took to drink--and
+then--_il a fini par faire cela_."
+
+Whereat Gesa asked shuddering, "What became of him, did he kill
+himself?"
+
+"No, but he works no longer--his daughter supports him, _vous savez!
+Les filles d'artistes! cela a quelquechose dans le sang_. At one time
+he cursed her and turned her out of doors. But he does not remember
+that any more, he doesn't remember anything any more. So long as he has
+his warm room, his game of billiards and his glass of absynthe, he is
+contented. He lives in the Hotel de Nancy, here on the corner. You can
+make his acquaintance to-morrow if you like. The young artists treat
+him sometimes, to hear him spout about art,--it is very funny!"
+
+The Michael Angelo of the Hotel de Nancy was the first thing that
+occurred to Gesa when he returned to his miserable room. His look
+sought the two terra-cotta statuettes. He examined them with a morbid
+curiosity. He took one of them and held it close to his dimly burning
+lamp in order to see it more distinctly. His artist eye recognized in
+the figure the traces of very great powers gone astray.
+
+A terrible sob unmanned him, the figure shook in his trembling hand. He
+let it fall and it broke into a thousand pieces. But they did not
+charge it in his weekly reckoning. It had no value for any one.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+He drank no longer. A nameless dread clutched his heart; red clouds
+floated before his vision, a fearful lassitude enervated him--but he
+drank no more and he worked.
+
+And at first it seemed as if the completion of his opera would be
+accomplished with perfect ease. He covered piles of music paper with
+great celerity, and when his power of invention suddenly ceased it did
+not frighten him, for he remembered that, even in his best days, the
+inspiration had suffered such moments. He proposed while waiting for a
+fresh impulse, to polish that which was already written; but when he
+came to examine it, it was a chaos, which even he himself could not
+understand. Whole bars were wanting, the accompaniment was perfectly
+incoherent. Here and there certainly, were places of striking beauty,
+quite isolated however, like splendid ruins in heaps of rubbish.
+
+Another thing disquieted him. Many of the technical signs of
+orchestration had escaped him, he could no longer write a regular
+score. He spent the whole night in looking over a work on composition.
+Next morning he began his work anew.
+
+To carry out with perfect clearness one miserable little phrase caused
+him the most painful effort. The faculty of concentration seemed lost
+to him. But he shirked no pains, no fatigue--"Patience! Patience! It
+will all come!" he said to himself, and at the same time his tears fell
+on the paper.
+
+He imposed the most fearful privations upon himself in order to
+eke out his means to the farthest possible extent. He moved from the
+orange-yellow room to an attic--he ate once a day.
+
+He grew grey, his hands trembled and he stammered in his speech. The
+children on the hill, whither he crept, of an afternoon, for air, all
+knew him and tripped in a friendly way up to the bench where he
+cowered, muttering to himself, a note-book on his knees, a pencil in
+his hand, and wished him good-day. He stroked their cheeks, took them
+on his lap and rejoiced that they were not afraid of him. He would
+gladly have told them stories--but the words would not come.
+
+One day he brought his violin up to the Buttes Montmartre. Anxious to
+please the children's taste, he played them little dances. His fingers
+had grown stiff since he had so suddenly renounced the inspiring
+indulgence of drink. The bow wavered in his trembling hand. He was
+ashamed before the children. But for them his playing was exactly
+right. Soon a large audience had assembled around him. Some of the
+little people gazed at him with earnest attention, their heads slightly
+thrown back, their hands clasped behind them--others danced gaily with
+one another.
+
+This pleased him. He held up his head before the children. He felt as
+if he would like to improvise; then it seemed to him as if the tune
+that sprung from under his fingers was strangely familiar--it was the
+same which he had played nearly thirty years before in the circus on
+the "Sablon."
+
+And now every day he shuffled with his violin up to the shabby garden.
+The poor children's applause had become a necessity.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+He grew more and more intimate with the Tenor. The latter, after having
+been refused at the opera--thanks to a vile conspiracy--had arrived at
+the practical conviction that this Grand Opera was a decaying
+institution, with which he would scorn to have any relations, and had
+accepted an engagement in a café chantant of the Faubourg Montmartre,
+where he earned a comfortable subsistence.
+
+At first Gesa would not hear of playing anything from his opera to the
+Tenor, but later, when he began to despair in secret over his work, an
+urgent desire to confide in some one overcame him. He played for hours
+to the Tenor after that, on a lamentable old piano, and wheezed the
+Arias at times, in a ghostly, hollow voice, only for the sake of
+hearing from some one the assurance, "cela sera superbe!"
+
+Then he would talk himself into an unnatural excitement, his eyes would
+flash, and he would cry, flourishing his clenched fist in the air--"It
+has the grand manner, has it not?"
+
+Once he had been so modest!
+
+His means were almost exhausted. He sold his books, his watch. He
+always treated the Tenor patronizingly, like a dependant--and the Tenor
+indulged him as one whose mind was weak.
+
+But once, as the two were sitting opposite each other before the fire
+in the singer's room, the latter said, passing his fingers through his
+hair, "My dear friend, _ton genie ne te fera pas vivre!_"
+
+Gesa stared gloomily at the speaker.
+
+"Well, well," said the Tenor, hastening to pacify him, "I only mean
+that the mere inception of such a grand work must require a long time.
+How would it be if you should occupy yourself a little hereabouts,
+meanwhile?"
+
+Gesa sighed. "I could compose something small," said he. "Romances, for
+example."
+
+"Unhappily that would amount to nothing unless you allied yourself
+with a singer or an actress, who would bring you into fashion. And
+then--even so it would be a dreadful pity to divert you from your chief
+end--to fritter you away. No, you ought to seek a place in an
+orchestra."
+
+"Yes, at the opera," said Gesa, and thought of his stiff fingers with a
+shudder. However, as he would on no consideration have confessed this
+infirmity he added, with some embarrassment. "Everything is so
+complicated there,--so many rehearsals,--one is busy till late at
+night."
+
+"No!" replied the other, "you should not undertake such absorbing work
+as that. That would be treason to your muse. I was thinking of a
+comfortable place in an orchestra that makes no big flourishes and does
+not rehearse a great deal."
+
+"Well!" muttered Gesa.
+
+"I made the acquaintance lately at the Hotel de Nancy, of a clown, a
+splendid fellow, who works in a circus on the Boulevard Rochechonart.
+Not a first-class circus, but a very respectable circus for all
+that. I told the clown about you. They just happen to need a first
+violin and"--
+
+Gesa sprang hastily up and left the room. From that moment he never
+spoke to the Tenor again.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+His lassitude and weakness increased with every day. The blood crept in
+his veins like cold lead--there was always a mist before his eyes, and
+in his ears a sound like the flapping of an exhausted butterfly. The
+miserable nourishment which was all he could afford himself, did not
+suffice to keep him up any longer, he could not leave his room, then he
+took to his bed.
+
+Because he was universally liked his fellow lodgers did him all the
+kindnesses they could, and even the hostess herself brought him food,
+made his bed, and borrowed newspapers for him. He thanked them all with
+the same timid smile, the same far-off look, and spent nearly the whole
+day in a sad, drowsy condition, falling from one light slumber into
+another.
+
+But one afternoon it seemed to him as if a soft hand passed tenderly
+over his forehead. He opened his eyes. Above him bent a handsome old
+face, decently framed in grey hair, and a voice that sounded from the
+far distance murmured "Gesa!" He roused himself. "Gesa!" she cried
+again. It was his mother!
+
+Yes, his mother, whom he had not seen for nearly five and twenty years.
+She had married the acrobat Fernando. The circus on the Boulevard
+Rochechonart belonged to them--they were prosperous. The light-minded
+woman was not so bad as one might have thought her. She had kept
+herself secretly informed about Gesa for a long time after leaving him,
+and convinced herself that he was well cared for and "among quality
+people," as she said, and this latter circumstance had deprived her of
+courage to approach him. But she had often rejoiced at the sight of him
+from a distance. Then, slowly he disappeared from her horizon. And now
+the Tenor, Monsieur Augusti, whose acquaintance she had lately made,
+after talking a great deal of his friend, had only yesterday spoken his
+name. All this Margaretha imparted to her son, weeping the while,
+straightening his miserable pillow and smoothed the bed clothes. He
+suffered it all quietly, murmuring sometimes a grateful word, and
+observing her, half stupefied, half astray. He could not realize this
+sudden meeting.
+
+But when she, embarrassed by his passiveness, went on--"I heard you
+play, years ago,--long years ago,--at Nice. Oh! I was proud of you! And
+I bought your piece, the one where your picture is on the cover:--such
+a handsome picture!"--then the violinist buried his face in the pillow
+and groaned like a dying man. His anguish overcame the shyness which
+held his mother back--"Poor boy!" she whispered, caressingly, stroking
+the rough grey hair of the broken man, as in times long past she had
+smoothed the child's soft locks.
+
+"You must not take your trouble so to heart. I know all, what a great
+genius you are, and how cruelly the world has used you. We will nurse
+you well again, and then all will be right. You shall come to us; we
+will not disturb you; not one of us; only take care of you. You shall
+have a little room of your own where you can work as much as you will."
+
+He looked up slowly, a heavy cough shook his sunken breast. The mother
+passed her arm under his thin shoulders and raised him up a little to
+ease his breath, his tired head rested on her bosom.
+
+"How fallen away you are," she said, half weeping, "and your poor
+shirt, all in pieces. To-morrow I must bring you fresh linen. And now
+try to take something; you must get strong." And she gave him a
+cup of broth that she had warmed for him. He did as she bade him,
+silently,--he even relished the broth. His bitter grief, his deep
+degradation were forgotten in the feeling of being once more cared for.
+Drowsy, quiet, lazy contentment overcame him. Dumb, but grateful, he
+kissed his mother's hand.
+
+Her eyes lighted up. "I must go now," she said. "The ticket-office of
+the circus opens at six; I must be there. Good-bye. I shall get free
+about eight and can come to you then. Now you will sleep a little."
+
+She pressed her lips to his temples and disappeared.
+
+The violinist fell asleep. A memory glided into his soul, a long
+forgotten memory,--not of his dead bride, his faithless friend,--no, a
+painless memory of his first return to the Rue Ravestein.
+
+A dreamy, narcotic odor hovered around him, and he saw a bunch of
+brilliant-hued poppies. He heard the light rustle of the dying leaves
+as they fell on the marble gueridon.--He sprang up. His heart beat as
+if it would burst his breast.--A nameless terror seized him, as of one
+who finds himself sinking contentedly into a bog.
+
+He collected himself--he would flee--he would seek death. He seized his
+clothes,--but the garments slipped from his hands,--he reeled and sank
+back powerless on his bed. The resignation, the sleepy intoxication of
+ruined souls, who are grown too weary for despair, mastered him. A dark
+genius hovered for a moment in the bare attic, the genius of the
+hopeless. He carried a cluster of red poppies in his hand.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+Days passed, weeks, months. On the Boulevards Rochechonart and Clichy,
+peopled by artist workers of all kinds, one often meets a tall, elderly
+man with grey hair, that hangs disorderly about his cheeks.
+
+It is Gesa von Zuylen.
+
+His face is still handsome--but the expression is dull. Sometimes he
+stops, places his hand to his ear, as if listening to something at a
+distance. Then he shakes his head, sighs impatiently and goes his way.
+He lives with his mother, and is treated by her and by his stepfather,
+and his half-brothers with much deference.
+
+Carefully tended, neatly dressed, and well fed, he does not feel
+himself unhappy. He enjoys his meals and every one calls him, "Le Raté
+de Montmartre."
+
+
+
+
+
+                            THE NOBL' ZWILK
+
+
+
+
+
+                            The Nobl' Zwilk
+
+
+It was in Vienna, in the Ring-Strasse, at the house of Frau Von ---- I
+forget her name, but they used to call her "Madame Necker," because she
+was married to a banker, thought a great deal of her manners, had a
+weakness for celebrities, and two _jours fixes_ every week. Wednesday
+was for the _gens d'esprit_, and Friday was for the _gens bêtes_.
+
+It was Wednesday evening, and the salon of "Madame Necker" was almost
+empty. Excepting her husband, who, to provide against possible
+misunderstandings, always showed himself there on the clever peoples'
+day, there was no one present but a celebrated poet, a celebrated
+poetess, a celebrated orientalist, and a harmless little freethinking
+idealist, not at all celebrated but much in fashion.
+
+The conversation turned on social prejudices, and the hostess, whose
+fad for the moment was for belles-lettres pure and simple, and who took
+no account of aristocracy, could not think of enough scornful words for
+a certain Frau von Sterzl, who was spending her life in the vain effort
+to balance a seven-pointed coronet, to which she had no right, on her
+worried head.
+
+The orientalist looked thoughtful. He was a retired cavalry officer.
+Some years before he had accompanied a friend to Cairo, and on the
+strength of that, had sent some articles about the Museum of Bulac to
+an illustrated journal.
+
+"Not to come of a good family," said he, "is no misfortune and yet,
+under certain circumstances, it can cause a social discomfort, which
+those who suffer from, deny, and for which not one of them is
+consoled."
+
+"This discomfort is shared with so many famous men that I should be
+inclined to regard it as a distinction," cried the young idealist, with
+much ardor and little logic, as usual.
+
+"That's as much as to say you would like to be descended from a tailor
+because Goethe was," said the general, dryly. Not thinking of any
+answer to this, the young man said "Hem!" and pulled his moustache.
+"And you would like to wear a hump, because Æsop did," smiled the
+general.
+
+"My dear general," put in the poet, "what has a hump to do with low
+birth?"
+
+"Nothing intrinsically, and yet these two things do meet at one point.
+The first is an imaginary evil, while the other is a positive one; but
+they are alike in the bad influence which they may exert on the
+character."
+
+"Oh, general!" laughed the hostess.
+
+"With your permission," he went on, "I will tell you a story to
+illustrate my paradox, which I see you don't accept at present: a very
+simple story, of something which I witnessed myself."
+
+"We are all ears," simpered the host, and passed a fat hand over the
+two pomaded cupid's wings, which stuck up on either side his head.
+"Very interesting, I am sure," said the hostess, in the politely
+condescending manner of her great prototype. The poet and the poetess
+made satirical faces, the idealist craned his neck forward, eager to
+listen.
+
+The general gazed thoughtfully before him for a while, then he began,
+speaking slowly:
+
+"He went by the name of Zwilk: by rights it was Zwilch; but after he
+was promoted for some brilliant deed of arms or other, he never called
+himself anything but Zwilk von Zwilneck. He liked the title so much
+that he wrote it on all his books, and bought books that he never read,
+in order to write it on them.
+
+"No one knew anything about his origin. Sometimes he passed for the son
+of a crowned head and a dancer. I think he set this story going
+himself. Sometimes he passed for the son of a sacristan in Reichenhall.
+He never mentioned his family; he never went home; he received no
+letters, excepting those which came from comrades in the regiment. Only
+once did a letter arrive for him, which was plainly not from a brother
+officer. It was a narrow, greenish, forlorn-looking missive, with the
+address written zigzag, and the sealing wax spattered all over the
+cover. They brought it to him in the coffeehouse, and he turned quite
+red when the waiter presented it 'Ah, yes,' he said, stiffly, through
+his nose. 'A letter from my old nurse.' Heaven knows why we didn't
+believe much in that old nurse.
+
+"Whatever Zwilk's origin might have been, his tastes were severely
+aristocratic. He never would let himself be introduced to a woman
+unless she belonged in 'Society.'
+
+"Others of the corps recognized his exclusiveness by nicknaming him the
+'Countess's Zwilk,' 'the Nobl' Zwilk,' and 'Batiste.' These were not
+very good jokes, but they never lost their charm for us, and we laughed
+at them just as much the hundredth time as the first. Zwilk laughed
+with us: his laugh used to make me nervous; it sounded like a bleat,
+and seemed to come out of his nose and ears. He was undeniably a
+handsome man, tall, blonde, broad-shouldered, stiff and slender, with a
+regular profile and a thick blonde beard.
+
+"He had great success with women: that is, with young widows and
+elderly pensioners, and the blowsy provincial beauties, to whom, as I
+said, he would never be presented, but with whom he danced, all the
+same, at balls in the early morning hours.
+
+"You might think these ladies would consider his pompous impertinence
+an insult. On the contrary they were greatly impressed by his
+'exclusiveness,' and when he waltzed with one of them she talked about
+it for a fortnight afterward.
+
+"He wore his uniforms too tight, and his cuffs too long, and he used to
+pull the latter down over his knuckles. Those hands of his were
+incurably coarse, in spite of all the care they got, and he was always
+fussing with them. Sometimes he trimmed the flat, uneven nails in
+public; sometimes he crooked the little fingers with graceful ease. His
+manners were stiff, and his German was florid, but ungrammatical. He
+spoke like a dancing master, who, having 'had a great deal to do with
+society,' feels obliged, for that reason, to pronounce the most
+teutonic words with a French accent.
+
+"He was at home in danger. Not only did he distinguish himself by
+reckless bravery in the field, but he showed in duels a cold
+indifference, which gave him great advantage over those of his
+opponents, who, though his equals in courage and his superiors in
+skill, were yet unable wholly to control a certain sentimental
+nervousness. The superior officers all praised him, for he was able,
+and he knew how to obey as well as to command. But he was very
+unpopular with his subordinates, to whom he showed himself extremely
+harsh, and with whom he never exchanged a joke, or a bit of friendly
+chat about their families, as the rest of us liked to do.
+
+"As much audacity as he showed in great matters, just so little did he
+possess in small ones. Nothing could have induced him to tell a prince
+who said a horse had five legs, that it only had four.
+
+"I am aware that this manner of judging him is retrospective. In those
+days, while we were in service together it hardly occurred to us, with
+our Austrian good humor, easy going, and perhaps a little bit
+superficial, to examine critically him or his failings. If we found him
+uncongenial, we hardly confessed it among ourselves, still less would
+we have acknowledged it to a civilian.
+
+"He had one pronounced enemy in the corps, and that was little Toni
+Truyn, cousin of Count Erich Truyn, the Truyn von Rantschin. Poor Toni!
+He was the black sheep, the Karl Moor of his distinguished family, and
+if he never got so far as to turn incendiary and robber-chief, that was
+from lack of energy and of genius. The requisite number of paternal
+letters were not wanting.
+
+"His family had a right to lecture Toni, for he had cruelly
+disappointed all their hopes. Destined from infancy to the Church, he
+suddenly, in his eighteenth year, developed religious scruples. His
+family regarded these as a symptom of nervous derangement, arising from
+too rapid growth, and they sent him to Rome to be scared back into an
+orthodox frame of mind by the hierarchy. To help matters, they provided
+him with an Abbé as a traveling companion.
+
+"In less than a month, Toni, having quarreled with his Abbé, was going
+up and down in Rome, proclaiming his contempt for Popish superstitions,
+and raving about heathen gods and goddesses like a Renaissance
+Cardinal. He neither presented himself at the Austrian Embassy, nor
+sought the customary Papal blessing: he wandered about with mad
+artist-folk, ate in hostelries, danced extravagantly at models' balls,
+where he gave the Italian females lessons in Austrian Choregraphy,
+which caused them to open their eyes, and ended by falling in love with
+a market-girl from the Trastevere. When he came home, he brought his
+Trasteverina along, with the naïve intention of marrying her. His
+father, not unnaturally declined this connection, Toni had still less
+mind to the Church, so they put him in the army.
+
+"Found fault with by his superiors, idolized by his subordinates,
+cordially liked by the rest of us, he remained to the end, a middling
+officer and a splendid comrade. He rode round-shouldered and was
+incurably careless about his accoutrements, and because of his harmless
+cynicism, and his easy-going, half rustic unmannerliness, we christened
+him the Peasant Count and Farmer Toni.
+
+"There was a legend that his Majesty, one day at a hunt or a race, or
+some one of those occasions that serve to bring the monarch a little
+nearer to his subjects, condescended to ask Toni's father, old Count
+Hugo, 'How is your family, and what are your sons doing?' 'The eldest,'
+said Count Truyn, 'is serving your Majesty in the Foreign Office, and
+the second is in the army.' 'He is here,' added the count, looking
+about for Toni. He discovered him not far off, leaning against a tree,
+whistling, his hands in his pockets, his cap dragged down over his
+ears, oblivious of kaisers.
+
+"The old count was so upset by this sight, that he pointed out another
+man, in a great hurry, and that man happened to be Zwilk. The kaiser
+asked no more questions, and nothing came of it, but when the
+peasant-count told us this story afterward, amid shouts of laughter, he
+added, 'Now you know why I can't bear Zwilk. I envy him his
+distinction.'
+
+"One hot summer day,--it was in Vienna, and we were riding home from
+the man[oe]uvres, through a suburb,--in a deserted street, full of
+sweepings and gamins, smelling of soap boiling and leather curing,
+Farmer Toni's eyes fell on the dirty sign of a miserable little shop,
+'Anton Zwilch, Tin-man.' Resting one hand on his horse's croup, Toni
+leaned over, and said with that soft, winning voice of his, which was
+in such true aristocratic contrast to his rough-and-ready manners,
+'Batiste, is that your cousin?' And Zwilk replied with a forced smile,
+through his nose, 'Non, mon cher, that must be another line. We write
+our name with a k: Zwilk von Zwilnek.'
+
+"Next day in Café Daum, the farmer-count perfidiously seized on a
+general lull in the conversation, and called across several tables to
+his particular friend. First Lieutenant Schmied.
+
+"'Du, Schmied! Is the brewer at Hitzing, a relative of yours?' And the
+other called back affectedly, 'Non, mon cher, that must be another
+line, we spell ourselves with an _ie_.'
+
+"This feeble joke was repeated at intervals after that, to the
+edification of Toni and his friend, and the great embarrassment of all
+the rest. Zwilk pretended not to hear it.
+
+"About this time our corps was enriched by the arrival of Count Erich
+Truyn, Toni's cousin. He had got himself exchanged from the Cuirassiers
+because of some love affair or other. He was blonde, handsome as a
+picture, chivalrous, aristocrat through and through. Like all the
+Truyns, excepting Toni, Erich was conservative, even reactionary.
+Nevertheless, perhaps exactly for that reason, he was most considerate
+toward people who were less well born than himself. When Toni and
+Schmied served up their stale joke about 'the other line,' Count Erich
+always grew restless, and at last, one day when I was present, he
+remonstrated with his cousin. 'You are really too unfeeling, Toni,' he
+said. 'How is it possible for you to jeer at a poor devil who can't
+help his extraction, and no doubt has to suffer enough from it. Look
+here--I--Hm--it would annoy me very much to have this go any further,
+but I have heard that poor Zwilk was once a waiter at Lamm.'
+
+"'Whatever he was would make no difference if he were a decent man now,
+but he isn't!' broke out Toni. 'He's a low fellow; heartless canaille!'
+
+"'You ought not to speak that way of a comrade,' said Count Erich, much
+shocked, 'of a man with whom you stand on terms of _Du_ and _Du_.'
+
+"'I say _Du_ to his uniform, not to him,' muttered Toni. Count Erich
+burst out laughing,--'And I took _you_ for a Red!' he cried.
+
+"Soon after this we were sent to Salzburg; there Zwilk saw his best
+days. He became the intimate friend of Prince Bonbon Liscat, a very
+limited person, between ourselves, whom they had shoved into the army
+to keep him occupied, until they could arrange a marriage for him, to
+provide his line with heirs.
+
+"Spoiled by priests and women, like so many scions of our highest
+nobility, wrapped in cotton from his birth, nurtured in arrogance,
+Prince Liscat as a child could never endure the equally pampered
+arrogance of his young peers, and always chose his playmates from among
+the toadies and fags. Now, true to this taste of his youth, he liked no
+company so well as that of Zwilk. Zwilk must dine with him, must drive
+with him, Zwilk must accompany him on the piano while he poured forth
+elegies on the French horn,--on the tortoise-shell comb, for anything I
+know.
+
+"As for Zwilk, he existed for Bonbon: he bathed in aromatic vinegar
+like Bonbon: he went to confession; he abused the liberal journals; he
+raved about Salvioni's legs, all like Bonbon. He acquired a complete
+aristocratic jargon, talking of 'Bougays,' 'Table _do_,' and
+'Orschestre.' Prince Liscat was the last to correct him. It would have
+been quite too revolutionary for Zwilk to pronounce French as well as
+he did himself.
+
+"Zwilk's Bonbon had an ancient uncle, Prince Schirmberg, who lived in a
+curious old rococo Chateau, about an hour out of Salzburg. He was a
+bachelor, once very gay, now very pious; the first in accordance with
+family tradition, the latter from fear of future punishment. He
+suffered from spinal complaint, and, being paralyzed in both legs, he
+spent his time between a rolling chair and a landau. Before the latter
+walked four large cream-colored steeds, in slow solemnity, as if it was
+a funeral.
+
+"All the cab drivers and private coachmen reined in as soon as they
+overtook the serene equipage, and fell behind, the whole cavalcade then
+proceeding at a snail's pace. It would never do to pass the prince, and
+it would never do to stir up the princely cream colors by a too lively
+example, lest evil befall the princely spinal column.
+
+"Only Toni Truyn wickedly rushed past now and then, at the full
+speed of his thoroughbreds. Then the big cream colors before the
+old-fashioned landau would give an excited jump or two, and poor Prince
+Schirmberg would call out, 'Damn that Truyn!'
+
+"His serene highness certainly hated Toni, who returned it with
+good-natured contempt and a number of bad jokes. Some one came and told
+Prince Schirmberg that Toni had said he was nothing but a bundle of
+prejudices done up in old parchment. This the prince took very ill,
+without in the least understanding it. 'Prejudice,' he knew, from
+reading the 'Neue Freie Presse' was the liberal word for principles:
+and 'Parchment' was simply an aristocratic kind of leather.
+
+"The prince had a sister, Auguste. All the little girl babies in
+Salzburg were named after her. We used to call her the May-Beetle,
+because she had a little head and a broad, round back, and always
+dressed in a black cap and a frock of Carmelite brown.
+
+"She occupied herself with heraldry and charity. That is, she painted
+the Schirmberg coat-of-arms on every object that would hold it, and she
+engaged all their evening visitors, who were not playing whist with her
+brother, in cutting little strips of paper to stuff hospital pillows.
+For their reward she used to have them served at ten o'clock with weak
+tea and hard biscuits, but, as even the best families in Salzburg still
+keep up the barbarous custom of dining at one o'clock, the guests found
+their supper rather meagre.
+
+"When she wanted to give them a special treat, she read to them in a
+thin voice out of an old Chronicle about the deeds of the Schrimbergs.
+
+"She had a marked weakness for Zwilk. He cut papers with enthusiasm: he
+listened to the Chronicles with ecstasy: he fell on one knee to kiss
+her hand when she graciously extended it at leave-taking.
+
+"It was Sylvester Day, in the yard of the Riding School. The cold
+winter sun fell dazzlingly on the hard, white snow. Long, strangely
+twisted icicles hung from the snow-covered roofs, against the gloomy
+sides of the buildings which surrounded the court.
+
+"We had given our recruits a good dressing down in the Riding School,
+and now we were standing about in little groups chatting, cheerful and
+hungry, in the cold court. I heard Erich Truyn behind me, speaking in
+that polite, pleasant tone which he kept especially for poor country
+priests, and scared women of the lower classes. He was saying, 'I'm
+sorry, but First Lieutenant Zwilch is engaged at present. Shall I send
+for him?' I turned round. There in the old, grey archway stood handsome
+Truyn, blonde, slender, careless, easy, correct without pedantry; from
+head to foot what a cavalier ought to be. Beside him, square, clumsy,
+tufts of grey hair over his ears, a grey beard under his chin, face
+mottled red and blue from the cold, mouth and eyes surrounded by
+fine wrinkles, cheeks rough and seamed like the shell of an English
+walnut,--an old man, a stranger.
+
+"He wore very poor clothes, half town, half country make, a short
+sheepskin, high boots, from which green worsted stockings protruded, a
+long faded scarf with a grey fringe twisted round his neck. He had a
+little bundle tied up in a red handkerchief squeezed under one arm, and
+he was kneading nervously in his two hands a shabby old fur cap, as he
+looked up with an expression half frightened, half confiding to Count
+Erich.
+
+"That usually so self-possessed young gentleman was much embarrassed,
+and was making visible efforts to hide it, while he strove at the same
+time to encourage the old stranger.
+
+"'Shall I send for him?' he asked a second time. 'Oh! please, I
+can wait, please,'--stammered the old man in his _gemüthlich_
+Upper-Austrian dialect.
+
+"I took him for a small mechanic; he was too diffident for a peasant,
+and not shabby enough for a day laborer.
+
+"'I can wait,' he repeated. 'Have already waited, long, very long, Herr
+Lieutenant.'
+
+"'As you will, but won't you sit down?' said Erich, hesitating, divided
+between fear of giving the old man a cold, and fear of not showing him
+proper attention.
+
+"Right and left of me our comrades were chatting. 'Sylvester,' cried
+Schmied, 'it's the stupidest day of the year. It makes me think of
+punch, and cakes, and cousins.'
+
+"'It makes me think of my tailor and my governor,' laughed Farmer Toni.
+
+"The peasant-count was sitting on a bale of hay: Schmied stood over
+against him, leaning on the side of a forage wagon. Toni wore a short
+white riding coat; his chin was in his hands, his elbows were on his
+knees.
+
+"'To the first I owe a bill,' he went on, 'And to the latter I owe
+congratulations. Schmied, do you think he'd be satisfied with "Best
+Wishes for the New Year," on a card?'
+
+'"Are you going to Schirmberg's to-night?' asked another officer coming
+up.
+
+"'Must,' said Toni, laconically. 'And you?'
+
+"'I don't know. Perhaps I can plead another engagement. It will be
+deadly dull at Schirmberg's.'
+
+"'I hear they are going to serve champagne and a prince of the blood,'
+said Schmied.
+
+"'Hello! What's old Gusti up to?' laughed Toni: 'Big soirées are not in
+her line.'
+
+"'It's all for Zwilk,' answered Schmied. 'You know he is going to be
+made adjutant to Prince Schirmberg.'
+
+"'Adjutant to a prince!' It was the old stranger who cried out, proud,
+excited, turning his head from one to the other.
+
+"Erich had continued to do the honors with all the courtesy of your
+true aristocrat to the plebeian who has not as yet stretched out a hand
+toward any of his prerogatives. The little old man had grown quite
+confiding: he looked up now in Erich's face and asked, 'You know him
+well?'
+
+"'He is my comrade,' answered Truyn. 'I wish I could call myself as
+admirable an officer as he is. He is one of the best in the service,
+and he has a brilliant career before him.'
+
+"Truyn liked Zwilk as little as the rest of us, but he wanted to give
+the old man pleasure, and that he could do without falsehood.
+
+"The stranger stripped off his mittens, and put his knuckles to his wet
+eyes.
+
+"'I thank you, I thank you,' he sobbed like a child. 'He's my son. I
+wanted to see him, long, long, but he was so far away and he never
+could come home,--but he wrote,--such beautiful letters. The priest,
+himself, couldn't beat them; and,--and--now, I was going to surprise
+him, but--will he--will he like it, Herr Lieutenant, after all? Look
+you,--I'm afraid,--he such a grand gentleman, and I'--
+
+"Zwilk's voice sounded from within, hard and merciless, rating a common
+soldier: then he walked into the yard.
+
+"Arm in arm with Prince Liscat, varnished, laced, buckled, strapped,
+affected and arrogant, one hand on his moustache, he simpered through
+his teeth:
+
+"'You're much too good, Bonbon. You don't know how to treat the
+_canaille_. The Pleb must be trodden on, else he will grow up over our
+heads.'
+
+"Then his eyes met those of the old stranger. He turned deathly pale;
+the old man shook in every limb. Handsome Truyn, very red in the face,
+stammered:
+
+"'Your father has come to see you: it gives me much pleasure to make
+his acquaintance,' or some well-meant awkwardness of that kind.
+
+"But Zwilk smiled, his upper lip drawing tight under his nose, showing
+his teeth, large, square and white, like piano keys.
+
+"'Der papa?' he simpered, elegantly, looking all over the court, as if
+searching for him; then, as the old man, stretching out his trembling
+hands, 'Loisl!' Zwilk fixed him with a cold stare and said, 'I don't
+know the man; he must be crazy.'
+
+"Ashamed, confused, the stranger let fall his hands; he caught his
+breath, then looking anxiously from one to the other of us, he
+stammered:
+
+"'It is not my son. I was mistaken: a very grand gentleman. Not my
+son.'
+
+"'Never mind,' strutted Zwilk, and clapped him jovially on the
+shoulder. 'There, drink my health,' and he reached him a silver gulden.
+
+"The old man took it with an indescribable, hesitating gesture; looked
+again in a scared way around on us all, lifted his eyes sadly, as if
+begging forgiveness, to the face of the Nobl' Zwilk, and turned away,
+repeating, 'Not my son!'
+
+"He was blind with grief. He struck against the sharp corner of the
+stone gatepost, recoiled, felt about with his hands for support, and
+disappeared.
+
+"We were dumb. There came the ring of a coin on the pavement without, a
+half-choked sob, then nothing more.
+
+"'Dost thou dine at the Austrian Court to-day?' inquired Zwilk, with
+cheerful effrontery of his friend Bonbon, whose arm he took.
+
+"Farmer Toni hawked and spat slowly and deliberately at Zwilk's feet,
+but Zwilk had the presence of mind not to see it, and left the place on
+Liscat's arm, still smiling.
+
+"We looked at each other. Count Erich's eyes were full of tears.
+Schmied's fists were clenched, and his lip trembled. All of us felt a
+tightness in our throat. We longed to rush after the disowned man; to
+surround him with respectful attentions; to pour out kind words and
+consolation,--if we could have found consolation. But it was one of
+those moments when fine feeling lays a restraining hand on sympathy,
+and we pass the sufferer blindly by, not daring even to uncover our
+heads.
+
+"In the square before the barracks, a silver gulden sparkled on the
+pavement in the cold winter sun.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+"New Year had come in when the party broke up at Prince Schirmberg's,
+and we rode homeward by a narrow, snow-covered path across the fields,
+a short cut, by which the heavy equipages of the other guests could not
+follow us.
+
+"The soirée had been a great success. The prince of the blood had shown
+himself, as usual, all affability, and Zwilk, warmly recommended to
+favor, had been graciously distinguished by His Royal Highness.
+
+"The slightly faded Countess Schnick had looked very pretty. Zwilk had
+been courting her since autumn, and to-night she had been very
+encouraging to the future adjutant of Prince Schirmberg. And Zwilk,
+after the departure of His Royal Highness, had beamed and twinkled, and
+shone as if varnished all over with good fortune, patronizing
+everybody, even his friend Bonbon. Now he rode, sunk in pleasant
+reveries, a little apart from us, at the head of our cavalcade.
+
+"The moon shone clear. Sown with countless stars, the sky blue and
+cloudless arched above an endless expanse of snow. Everything around us
+was of a blinding whiteness, an unearthly purity, and still as death.
+Only now and again, at long intervals, a light shudder trembled through
+the silence, a swift rushing, a deep sigh,--then once more silence.
+
+"'It is a parting soul,' said Erich Truyn, listening, much moved. Erich
+was a little superstitious.
+
+"'Nonsense,' grumbled Schmied, 'it is a tree letting fall its burden of
+snow.'
+
+"'Everything is so strangely pure, one is afraid of meeting an angel,'
+said Toni.
+
+"'Yes, it makes one ashamed of being a man,' muttered Schmied. Then we
+all ceased talking. We thought of home. The New Year's night, so still
+and peaceful, brought us all memories of long-forgotten childhood.
+Presently Schmied spoke out in his deep bass voice, to Toni.
+
+"'I must see if I can't get leave and give my old governor a surprise
+for Twelfth Night. He's awfully pleased when Hopeful turns up.'
+
+"'Wish I could say the same of my Herr Papa,' sighed Toni. 'But it's
+all up in that quarter. I'm simply a lightning rod for him. When his
+steward bothers him, he sits down and writes me an abusive letter. But
+it's partly my own fault,' he added, regretfully.
+
+"Count Erich, who had lost his father shortly before, looked straight
+ahead, his brows meeting, his eyes winking unsteadily.
+
+"Proudly the Nobl' Zwilk rode at the head of our little troop, rocking
+himself in dreams of gratified vanity. All at once his horse reared, so
+violently and unexpectedly that he was thrown. He kept hold of the
+bridle, and was back in the saddle next moment, punishing his horse
+furiously, and cursing so loud that Schmied, who rode nearest him,
+called out 'Restrain yourself': and pointed to a small wayside shrine,
+on the edge of the path. It held an image of the Virgin, and a half
+extinguished lamp, burning dimly before it, sent a red ray into the
+blue white of the moonbeams.
+
+"Then, on the spot where Zwilk's horse had shied, Schmied's Gaudeamus
+began to back and tremble, to our amazement, for Schmied's horses were
+reputed as phlegmatic as their master. Next Truyn's Coquette jumped to
+one side, and Toni's Lucretia began swinging herself backward and
+forward like a wooden rocking horse.
+
+"'I think the brutes have entered into a conspiracy to make us stop
+here and say our prayers,' said Toni. But Schmied sprang down.
+
+"'What is it?' we called. 'Some one frozen,' he answered. 'Perhaps some
+one drunk,' lisped Prince Liscat. Erich and his cousin with the rest of
+us were already dismounted. Two sleepy grooms held our horses.
+
+"There on the chapel steps, crouched a human form, in the attitude of
+one who has fled to God with a great burden.
+
+"We stretched him out on the snow. His limbs cracked gruesomely. His
+hands were hard as stone: he must have been dead for hours. The cold
+moon shone on his face. It was old and wrinkled, the frost of frozen
+tears glimmered on his cheeks and around his mouth. The dead drawn
+mouth kept the expression of weeping.
+
+"'It's the poor devil who came to us yesterday morning in the
+Riding-School,' said Erich, and bowed his head reverently.
+
+"'Better so,' muttered Schmied, in a shaky voice. 'Better for him.' The
+little peasant-count kneeled in the snow, rubbing the stiff hands and
+sobbing.
+
+"'We had better take ourselves off. We can't do any good here, and
+there will be trouble with the police.'
+
+"It was Zwilk who spoke, standing by with white, strangely smiling
+face: his voice was hoarse and hurried.
+
+"Then Toni sprang to his feet. 'You hound!' he cried, and struck him
+across the face with a riding-whip."
+
+The speaker paused a few seconds, then went on quietly.
+
+"Of course Zwilch left the army. He and Toni fought with pistols.
+Zwilch came off extremely well, and Toni extremely ill, being badly
+wounded in the hip. He lay in bed six months, but during that time he
+was reconciled to his family, and shortly after he got well he married
+a pretty little cousin. He lives in the country, overseeing an estate
+of his father's. He has grown steady, has a great many children and
+preserves the most touching affection for his old comrades.
+
+"We gave the poor old stranger a grand funeral, which the whole
+officer's corps attended. We buried him in St. Peter's Churchyard, and
+put him up a fine monument.
+
+"The Nobl' Zwilk vanished utterly. For a long time I expected to see
+him turn up as a fencingmaster somewhere. But far from it: I ran across
+him lately in Venice, married to a rich widow from Odessa. His servants
+call him Eccelenza; things prosper with him."
+
+The old general paused, and looked about him. He had told his story in
+a voice of much feeling, and now he evidently looked for some signs of
+sympathy.
+
+The celebrated poet remarked, with a grin, that the story would make a
+good subject for a comedy, if you changed the ending a little. The
+celebrated poetess said she didn't feel much interest in stories that
+hadn't any love in them. The hostess inquired if the widow whom Zwilch
+married was a person of good reputation. The host remarked that that
+was what came of letting the rabble into the same regiment with
+respectable people.
+
+Only the youthful idealist had been so much moved that he was afraid to
+speak for fear of showing it. But at last he pulled himself together
+and broke out with these enigmatical words--
+
+"After all, it's our own fault."
+
+"How do you mean?" asked the hostess.
+
+He blushed and stammered. "I mean, that if there were no Prince Liscat,
+there would be no Nobl' Zwilk."
+
+
+
+
+
+                             WHAT HAPPENED
+                     TO HOLY SAINT PANCRAS OF EVOLO
+
+
+
+
+
+                  What Happened to Holy Saint Pancras
+                                of Evolo
+
+
+
+
+                                   I
+
+
+"Down with him! Into the sea with the old pig-head! Let him come to
+reason among the crabs and cuttle-fish! Now he touches water,--now he
+swims,--now he goes under! There, Evoluccio, may you find it cool and
+pleasant!"
+
+He who made all this shouting and ranting was the little
+broad-shouldered Cesare Agresta, ship-trader, and he stood in the midst
+of a noisy crowd on the outermost edge of the cliffs which descend
+steeply to the sea before Evolo. They who moved about with turbulent
+cries, and still more turbulent behavior, among the gnarled olive trees
+on the rocks where the old chapel stands, were his fellow citizens, the
+entire population of the little Sicilian town of Roccastretta--men and
+women, children and aged people, rich and poor, even including the
+reverend Padre Atanasio, and the equally reverend Syndic. These two,
+withdrawn a few steps apart, watched the crowd's activity with a
+curiously sly expression of mischievous amusement.
+
+Around the stem of an ancient olive tree some handy, half-naked fellows
+had slung a thick rope, whose length reached over the rocks down to the
+sea, and which, with many tugs and jerks, as if attached to a heavy,
+uneven weight that pitched about, made the old trunk shake from lowest
+root to topmost branch. Don Cesare held the chief command over this
+tumultuous mob. He ran, he gesticulated, he ordered, he swore, he
+laughed, he blustered, and they all obeyed him to the letter.
+
+"Just why little Don Cesare exerts himself so much about it I can't
+make out," said the well-nourished padre, in his neighbor's ear. "The
+old Evolino, or, as they call him in despite to-day, Evoluccio, has
+never done any harm to Don Cesare. It must be all one to him whether it
+rains or not, since he doesn't possess the smallest bit of land, and
+not one single lemon tree can he call his property."
+
+The Syndic shrugged his shoulders like a man at loss for an answer, and
+said, slightly nodding toward a youthful pair, half hidden behind the
+chapel, who seemed to be excellent company for one another:
+
+"While Don Cesare bestows his attention upon the old, his pretty sister
+occupies herself with the young."
+
+"I have long remarked that there was something between those two," said
+the padre with a half envious side glance, in which rebellion,
+contending in the heart's depths with resignation, was plainly
+manifest; "but what will come of it? The wealthy Nino will never
+content himself with the sister of a ship-trader."
+
+"Nay, Father Atanasio, one need not always be thinking of marriage,"
+answered the other, smiling slyly on the stout padre.
+
+"I know that very well," replied the holy man, without taking the least
+offence at the Syndic's light-mindedness; "but if it comes to Don
+Cesare's knowledge, let Nino beware of his knife."
+
+"That is Nino's business. Between my neighbor's door and its hinge I
+never put my fingers," cried the Syndic with a laugh.
+
+They were interrupted by the crowd streaming back from the cliffs
+toward the chapel.
+
+"This pleases you. Father Atanasio," cried a lank sailor, who looked
+out from beneath his Calabrian cap like a bandit. "You never were on
+good terms with the old Evoluccio. Well, he's fixed for one while!"
+
+"He'll stay down there till he gets reasonable," said another, shaking
+his fist at the sea; "and if that won't do,--something else will!"
+
+"Yes, yes!" howled a third; "if water fails he shall feel fire. Only
+that Don Cesare talked us down to-day, we'd have built a blaze under
+the old one's feet that would have made him remember us forever! The
+villain! the lump! the old heathen!"
+
+At these words, a little smile, like a flash, shimmered in the eye of
+Father Atanasio, but it was very brief, and remarked by no one; then he
+said, slowly, waving his hand to those who were passing, and clothing
+his words in an unctuous sort of conciliatory chant:
+
+"That is enough. It will certainly work this time. Malicious the
+Evolino never was. He only needs to have his old memory jogged a bit.
+If you were as old as he you would forget too, sometimes."
+
+Then the bystanders all broke into loud laughter, and cried to each
+other:
+
+"The padre is always right The Evoluccio is an old fellow--older than
+any of us can think--and one must be considerate with age."
+
+"Carmela! Carmela!" suddenly sounded from the midst of the confused
+throng descending the side of the cliff toward the little town; and
+from his higher point of observation the padre saw Don Cesare's short
+figure powerfully fighting against the stream of people, and remarked
+with edification how he stretched his neck, how he jumped off his
+little legs, and stood on his little toes, making strenuous efforts to
+climb the hill again, or, at least to look over the heads of his fellow
+citizens. "Carmela," he cried, "where are you?" But Carmela appeared to
+have just reached a highly interesting clause of her conversation with
+the smart and enterprising Nino, who was pushing his suit gaily with
+the listening girl.
+
+"See," he said, pointing to where, close at the foot of the promontory
+a country house lay hidden among the groves of lemon trees, "yonder is
+my Casina. Last year I inherited it, and now in a few days it will be
+all ready to live in. How pretty it looks! Everything new, and ready
+for daily life. And it is so cool and pleasant sitting there on a hot
+summer evening, with the fresh, silvery spring that trickles out of the
+rock into an old Greek marble basin; it is a stone from the temple, you
+know, that used to stand here, with images of gods, and wonderful
+animals. Only come there with me, and see how much pleasanter it is
+than in the dark street under your window."
+
+The pretty girl's look followed his gesture. She shaded her eyes with
+her hand, and a rosy smile rested on her delicately cut mouth.
+
+"Oh, yes," she said, half aloud, to herself, "it may well be cool and
+pleasant there."
+
+Then she heard her brother's voice.
+
+"I am coming," she cried; and, hastily turning to Nino, "shall I see
+you this evening at the usual hour?"
+
+"Yes, if you will promise to come out here with me."
+
+"Yes, yes," she cried, hastily, and ran away toward the others, who
+were descending the hill. Nino stroked his slender moustache, and a
+mocking little smile shot from his eyes after the pretty girl who had
+so thoughtlessly thrown him this momentous promise.
+
+When Padre Atanasio found himself alone by the chapel under the olive
+trees he walked with much deliberation to the edge of the cliff and
+looked over; a most peculiar, condoling, bantering smile hovered on his
+lips, as his glance fell on the rope, and glided down to the place
+where it plunged into the sea. Down there, several feet deep under
+water, dashed over by the foaming waves, floated something heavy, that
+looked like a human body--a helpless lump, which the waves tossed
+hither and thither, and across which the fish, like silver arrows, shot
+back and forth in lightning darts. Occasionally the thing would bounce
+against a rock, roll back on itself, and then resume its regular motion
+in the water. If the dashing of the waves ceased for a little, and a
+sunbeam fell upon the clear flood, one could have sworn that a corpse
+was floating there--the corpse of an old man with snow-white hair and
+beard, in a faded red-brown mantle; the rope was knotted strongly
+around his hips, and his arms were closely bound by it also. He lay
+there, the poor old man, stretched out stiffly, and let the waves drive
+him, and Padre Atanasio looked down at him so queerly, and queer
+sounded the words which the holy man threw him over his shoulder at
+parting:
+
+"Serves you rights Evoluccio! What? You wanted to keep up a sinful
+competition with the blessed Mother of God? You must have the finest
+presents, the handsomest wax candles, the gayest festivals! And what
+is there so extraordinary about you, then? You're nothing but a
+half-converted old heathen!"
+
+But the poor old man with the snow-white beard and hair, and the
+red-brown mantle, over whom the jolly fishes were swimming, was not a
+murderer's victim; he was not even a corpse; he was not even a poor old
+man. He was nothing more nor less than the especial patron saint of the
+little town and surrounding country. Holy Saint Pancras of Evolo--the
+Evolino, as the people were accustomed, after their familiar fashion,
+to call him for short--the Evoluccio, as they injuriously named him
+when his conduct didn't please them.
+
+The good saint might well have wondered what had happened to him on
+that fine spring morning, when the entire population of Roccastretta
+broke into his sanctuary on the Promontory of Evolo, tore him from his
+pedestal, carried him out from the cool twilight of his chapel into the
+glaring day, tied a rope around his body, dragged him, amid the most
+intolerable cursing and abuse, to the edge of the rocks, and pitched
+him over, like a dead cat, into the sea.
+
+Hardly two days before, all Roccastretta had assembled in his chapel,
+and words of the most passionate devotion had risen like a cloud of
+grateful incense to the niche in whose depths he had made his dwelling
+for more years than any one there could count.
+
+"Holy Pancrazio of Evolo, dear good Saint Pancras," prayed this pious
+people, "you love us like children and we love you like a father. Every
+Sunday we bring you fragrant nosegays, and when, as at present, the
+burning drought kills our flowers, then we bring bunches of gold and
+silver tinsel, and thick yellow wax candles to light before your image.
+Father Atanasio, who never honored you as he ought, and always calls
+you a half-converted heathen, he is of opinion that we give his Madonna
+nothing but miserable tallow dips, and keep the best of everything for
+you. So, you see, best, dearest Evolino, that we don't grudge you
+anything, and our children shall be just like us; for you are our own,
+only honored patron saint. Only, now, bethink you of your office,
+dearest, kindest Evolino. For three months not a drop of rain has
+fallen on our fields, trees, vines. Look around you! The figs are
+drying up, the olives will not swell, the wheat fields look like a
+desert. If you don't send rain, Evolino, it is all over with our
+harvest, and nothing will be left for your people but to save
+themselves from starvation by catching fishes and crabs. Be good, then,
+holy Saint Pancras, and send rain. You know very well it is not a
+tempest we want, but a good, long, mild, soaking rain, such as you know
+how to send when you will. To-morrow, or next day, at the latest. Do
+this for us, dear Saint Pancras, and you know how we will deck your
+image beautifully, and honor you above all the other saints; yes, even
+before the blessed Madonna herself, who is such a busy Queen of Heaven
+and Earth that she has no time to think about our little place. But
+you, Evolino, belong to us alone, and have no one else to look after!
+Care for us then, dearest Evolino, and we will bless you to all
+eternity."
+
+Thus they prayed and besought him, and the ancient Evolino in his niche
+listened without stirring an eye or a hand, as became a saint that was
+cut out of wood, and plastered over with paint; and presently they all
+trooped out and locked the door, leaving the honest old fellow to his
+dreams in the cool, cozy chapel. Long and many were the Christian years
+that he had stood up here in the sanctuary of Evolo; but his dim
+confused remembrance looked wistfully back into the twilight of a still
+older time. There was a shrine here then, too--not a chapel, but a
+temple; other priests came and went before his image, other songs were
+sung and other gods were honored. The ancient sculpture had hewn him
+out of stout knotty wood, and beneath the various crusts deposited
+by the lapse of centuries, the old image was still hidden, as it came
+from that hand, now long moldering in dust; defaced, however, by
+strange gaudy daubs of color, with a red mantle, over a blue tunic,
+silver-white beard and hair, cherry-red lips, black brows in two even
+arches above the neatly painted eyes, and a round saintly nimbus,
+behind his head, that glistened as if he had a pure gold sailor's hat
+on the nape of his neck. Truly he didn't look like that in the old
+times, yet they honored him then much as he was honored now, not like
+one of the high mighty ones, who are only to be addressed with fear and
+trembling; like a dear old friend rather, with whom a man can exchange
+the familiar "thee and thou"--older, certainly, and doubtless of higher
+degree, but who has dwelled so long in our midst that he seems like one
+of our own people. This feeling increased with the lapse of years, and
+a most confidential relation had sprung up between the patron saint and
+his flock--a relation of mutual service and mutual indulgence, as of
+friendly neighbors who like to do each other a brotherly good turn when
+they can.
+
+It was Saint Pancras' duty to take care of the little town, and its
+surrounding country; but the honest patron was so old and brittle, that
+no one could blame him if his head was not always in the right place,
+and his thoughts sometimes went wool gathering, so the weakness of age
+was helped for Evolino by various friendly hints; if that had no
+effect, the duties of a patron saint were set before him seriously but
+kindly; if this did not serve, then the standpoint was made clear in
+coarse but unmistakable fashion,--and thus it happened that on this
+fine spring morning, after he had failed to supply the longed-for rain,
+in spite of prayers and entreaties, he was lowered at the end of a rope
+into the sea, like a common malefactor, for his punishment and his
+reformation.
+
+And so he lay down there at the end of his rope, and saw how the crowd,
+when their work was accomplished, took the way to the town, and saw how
+Padre Atanasio, who hated him for a dangerous rival, in the bottom of
+his heart, wept crocodile tears over him, and then he saw how his
+chapel stood above among the olive trees, lonely and forsaken, and how
+the open door swung to and fro in the wind,--and he may have turned
+back in his dim memory to that fair, long past time when the warm
+sea-winds blew through the breezy colonnades, when the bright sunbeams
+played over his youthful godlike figure, when he looked down from his
+pedestal upon the coast, the purple sea, and the high-beaked ships with
+their great oars. Then, when he was a young god, when they brought
+grapes and figs, and pomegranates to lay at his feet! Gayer than now
+sounded the songs of the priests, and lustily streamed up the clouds of
+incense from the golden vessels. He was not Saint Pancras of Evolo
+then, yet it was under a very similar sounding name that he was honored
+by the believing crowd, and none then would have dared to snatch from
+his pedestal the beautiful God of the Winds, and throw him down among
+the fibrous polyps, a mock for women and children.
+
+In dull, humming tones sang these ancient, half-smothered memories
+through his drowsy thoughts, and duller, and still further off, were
+the voices of the noisy folk, who had just left him, and in crisp
+softly-splashing wavelets the eternal sea, like a tender mother with
+her sleeping child, rocked holy Saint Pancras of Evolo.
+
+
+
+
+                                   II
+
+
+Father Atanasio could not explain satisfactorily to his own mind why
+Don Cesare had been able to work himself into such a violent rage
+against the poor Saint Pancras, and with every one whom he came across
+on the way home, and with every one whom he encountered during the day
+on the street, or in the wine-shop, he began the subject over again.
+
+"I can understand very well," said the father, to his
+devoutly-attentive listeners--"I understand perfectly--that you, Don
+Ciccio, and you, Don Pasquale, and you, Don Geronimo, and many others,
+are angry in your hearts with our patron saint. You need rain, you need
+it as mankind needs air, and fishes water. That is to say, your fields
+need it, your lemon trees, figs, pomegranates, olives, and almond
+plantations. You are landed people, you cultivate your acres, and wet
+them with the sweat of your brows. But the sweat of your brows,
+ha-ha-ha! That is only a dewdrop or two, and won't answer instead of
+rain." Here the father laughed, and all the others laughed at their
+priest's joke.
+
+"Well, then, if your patron forgets his duty, and neglects to send the
+rain"--
+
+"He doesn't want to send it!" cried one.
+
+"Whether he doesn't want to, or whether he forgets it, that I don't
+know--I am not at liberty to discuss the question since you credit me
+with an evil-disposed jealousy toward the good old St. Pancras. Well,
+then, never mind that; I know what I know. But what was I going
+to say? Oh, yes, if you, being injured in your property through
+your patron saint's--let us say, carelessness--if you show him in your
+way--which--well--your way is--I don't know exactly what to call it."
+
+"It's the way to deal with him," they shouted from every side. "We know
+him. Praying is no good unless we discipline him too. This isn't the
+first time. Fifty years ago our fathers had to do the same thing, and
+he had not been three days under water before it rained. It's his old
+heathenish obstinacy that must be broken now and then."
+
+Father Atanasio turned right and left, behind, before, defending
+himself from the pelting of angry words, with hands and feet, his head
+wagging from side to side, hands and shoulders raised protestingly;
+after a while, when they let him speak once more, he was quite
+breathless, as if it were he who had been raging and shouting.
+
+"Be peaceable, I beg," he gasped. "I know well that you understand this
+matter better than I. It is nothing to me. I only have to read mass in
+church before the blessed Madonna, and your Saint Pancras and his
+chapel do not belong to my parish. But this is not what I wanted to
+talk about. What I would say is: Don Cesare owns neither a tree nor a
+blade of grass. It is all one to him if it rains or shines. He is a
+ship-trader. What has he to do with rain? And yet it was Don Cesare who
+took the saint from his pedestal and carried him down to the rocks. He
+it was who slung the rope over the olive tree, and let Evolino down
+into the water. And Don Cesare is a wise man, the wisest of us--of you
+all. He knows what he does, and why he does it; and therefore I, Father
+Atanasio, say something is wrong--something is hidden that must be
+revealed."
+
+In vain did the bystanders, charmed by Don Censure's heroic deed, seek
+to make the father understand that the little ship-trader had simply
+shared the feelings of his fellow tradesmen; that he had not acted from
+personal motives, and it was exactly this unselfishness which deserved
+to be admired and respected. All these explanations and assurances
+rebounded from the father's sceptical smile without effect.
+
+"My dear friends," said the stout, smiling father, "I know you and all
+your kin. You were all hatched out of the same shell. Unselfishness? We
+will seek that elsewhere. When it comes into your heads to praise a
+fellow creature for his unselfishness it is because you somehow find it
+to your own advantage. And Don Cesare, above all others, is far too
+wise to be unselfish. He had his sufficient reasons for letting himself
+be compromised with Saint Pancras, like the rest of you. Yes, Don
+Ciccio, compromised you are, thoroughly, and if I were the Evolino,
+Santo Diav--that is, I would say. Holy Madonna--I know what I would do.
+However, that is not the question. I was talking of Don Cesare. He
+knows on which side his bread is buttered, and how to squeeze in time
+out of a tight place. He will set himself right with Saint Pancras,
+take care of his own interests, and leave you all sitting in the mire,
+never doubt it. Cesare Agresta, the clever trader, will look after his
+own advantage."
+
+The padre was not far wrong, for Don Cesare was a stirring, driving,
+scheming little man; and as to the present question, it was certainly
+true that, in the morning, when he took the saint down from his
+pedestal and carried him, like a baby, out of the chapel, he had
+whispered lightly, quite lightly, so that no one else could hear:
+"Don't be angry, dear Pancrazio. What I do I must do. I will make it up
+to you." Certainly no one heard this, not even Father Atanasio,
+although he was standing close by, and looking on with silent,
+malicious delight, while they made life so hard for the Holy Madonna's
+hated rival; and still less was it observed by the bystanders, for the
+face which Don Cesare made didn't match his words at all, and whoever
+had seen him at that moment must have said to himself: "Poor St.
+Pancras! it's lucky you are made of wood; for if alive you were, alive
+you would never come out of the hands of this raving maniac, with the
+glaring eyes and bristling hair."
+
+Quite another face, the most unconcerned face in the world, was that
+with which, toward evening of the same day, Don Cesare, in the
+gathering twilight, walked into the room where his sister sat sewing by
+the flickering, smoking tallow candle; and, with the most indifferent
+tone in the world, he said to the girl looking up at him with the most
+unconcerned as well as the handsomest and brightest of black eyes:
+"Close up the house with care, Carmela. I am going to Salvatore's, and
+shall not return till late."
+
+At the door he turned and added: "And, Carmela, I may as well say, take
+care of your eyes, little Mouse; they are remarkably bright these days.
+And, you know, I would be well pleased with Nino, but he must take you
+before the altar. If he will not do that--tell him from me--then let
+him keep away from you, or it may be the worse for him. Good-night,
+little Mouse!"
+
+Whereupon Carmela, demurely bending her head over her work, replied:
+
+"Go on, Cesare, and be easy. Carmela comes from good stock."
+
+She was from the same stock as her brother, at any rate, for she added,
+in exactly the same tone as that in which Don Cesare has whispered to
+the saint:
+
+"That Nino shall marry Carmela and none other will scarcely be
+accomplished by your aid, Cesare. I must see to that."
+
+Her eyes sparkled over her work, as if she knew very well indeed what
+she was thinking about. And she did, too, the petite witch, with the
+fine finger tips, and the raven black curly hair; for her brother was
+no sooner out of the house than she sprang up lightly, ran to the door,
+drew the bolt, and then stepped softly, softly, to a window that opened
+on the street, stuck her little head through a narrow opening, and
+looked quietly after Don Cesare for a while, then, when she had seen
+him disappear through the darkness in the direction of Salvatore's
+house, she threw the window wide open, leaned out, laid her right hand
+above her eyes, and gazed steadily in the opposite direction, as if
+searching for something in the thick gloom. She found what she was
+looking for very soon. It appeared in the shape of a young, slender
+man, who kept himself in the shadow of the houses, cautiously and
+noiselessly approached the window, and suddenly stood before her,
+grasping her hands in his, and whispering:
+
+"I have waited long. I have kept my word. Will you keep yours,
+Carmela?"
+
+Cesare's small house lay at the outermost end of a little street that
+led to the harbor. Whoever came up that way was certain not to be seen
+by any one, and that was exactly the way the young man had come. The
+night was dark. The moon was yet far below the horizon. It was easy to
+chat quietly and unobserved between window and street, and this the two
+did. They were far past the rudimentary stage of love-making, for
+Carmela promptly resigned her hand to the caresses of Nino, who
+confidently pressed upon it a long, passionate kiss.
+
+"Only come this evening with me to my Casina," he whispered; "we can be
+alone there, and we can't go on forever talking from window to street
+like this."
+
+Carmela smiled under cover of the night.
+
+"It is so far," said she; "if my brother should come back before I"--
+
+"You will be home long before your brother. The way is very short along
+the shore, under the Promontory of Evolo."
+
+"It is too far, Nino; the moon will rise soon, and then we shall be
+discovered."
+
+They talked together a long time. The moon rose, and poured its
+peaceful light into the gloomy streets; but only for a little while,
+then the sky darkened again, and black clouds rose slowly from the
+west.
+
+"See," laughed Nino, "the holy Pancrazio is getting tired of his bath.
+And see, too, Carmela, he favors our love. He is hiding the clear
+moonlight. Will you come now? Come then!"
+
+She hesitated a moment Then she whispered. "Wait, I will fetch my
+mantle," and disappeared.
+
+While the pair were holding their rendezvous before Don Cesare's house,
+that worthy was proceeding to his, after another fashion. At a
+leisurely pace, as if addressed to an evening's gossip with a friend,
+he had slowly departed down the street, never doubting that Carmela
+would look after him; all girls did so, and his sister was like the
+others, of course. Women were women, he opined, smiling quietly to
+himself; one must treat them like children, pretend immense confidence,
+but be mighty vigilant, and always preserve one's masculine
+independence. This he certainly did, and carried out his theory with
+much precision by making a sudden turn the moment a bend in the road
+hid him from Carmela, and starting off at an amazing gait in the
+opposite direction. First he took a side circuit through the crooked
+little streets, and then hurried off toward the Promontory of Evolo.
+
+There must have been something extraordinary in the busy little man's
+brain, for he ran as fast as his short legs would let him. Tali Ciccio,
+whom he met outside the ruined gate of the town, looking for Heaven
+knows what in that lonely place, he never once noticed; on the
+contrary, when he saw him from a distance, he seized the blue hood
+which every one on the coast of Sicily wears winter and summer, in sun,
+wind, and rain, fastened Bedouin fashion around his neck, and drew it
+far over his face, raised his broad shoulders, and sunk his head
+between them. He passed his astonished fellow citizen without looking
+around, and the latter stood gazing after him, and muttered: "The devil
+knows who that is, and where he is going;--I know every one in
+Roccastretta, but I never saw _him_ before;" and shook his head after
+him for a long while, like an honest member of society who has met with
+something to reflect upon.
+
+Don Cesare, meantime, hurried on, smiling slyly to himself. "By you, my
+stupid Ciccio, I, Don Cesare, am not going to let myself be
+overreached. What you are doing at this hour outside the town Heaven
+knows. Some sort of love adventure, perhaps. Or have you been stealing
+fruits and grain, and hiding them somewhere in a ruinous cassine? Or
+are you engaged in smuggling? Saints have mercy on us! who could thrive
+at smuggling these days, when not a ship runs into our harbor? For
+three months, exactly as long as the rain has failed, not a sail has
+this poor deserted harbor looked upon. Smuggling! Yes, that business
+paid once on a time, but not now."
+
+And the honest Don Cesare thought, with satisfaction, of that happy
+time when, at least twice every month, a foreign sailing vessel came in
+his way. What pleasant times! And now, for three long months, he had
+stood day after day near the chapel of Evolo, which he now saw before
+him on the heights above, and he had looked with his trusty spyglass in
+all four quarters of the heavens to see if he could not discover a
+white sail making for the harbor of Roccastretta, and showing the
+well-known flag of Norway, or of England, or of Germany. From thence
+came the vessels which supplied themselves in this vicinity with
+southern fruits, olive oil, sulphur, and pumice stone, and brought
+hither various things which Don Cesare secretly purchased for little
+money and sold again for much--tobacco and cigars, woolen and cotton
+goods, gay ribbons, gaudily-painted saints, and freshly-varnished
+Madonnas, apostles, evangelists, and all sorts of wares, for which the
+customhouse inspectors were especially greedy. These Don Cesare
+understood how to convey into his house without discovery, and
+undiscovered to sell afterward at a comfortable profit. Close by his
+house, tied to an old broken pile, year in and year out, his boat lay
+ready, and when a sail appeared in the distance, he was the first to
+row out and offer his assistance to the captain; for he could jabber a
+mixture of every known tongue with the greatest fluency, and the ship
+had not come to anchor before Don Cesare was the confidential friend of
+every one and the trusted adviser of the whole crew. Yes, insignificant
+as he was in figure, Don Cesare was an enterprising fellow, and had his
+head in the right place; and that thick, round skull, covered with
+close-cut hair, with big, prominent, ring-bedecked ears, and wide mouth
+stretched in an everlasting smile, was stuffed full of stratagems and
+trader's tricks that brought him many a pretty sum, and at which the
+honest foreign sailors did not complain; for, without Don Cesare's
+help, they must have paid far dearer, and how did it cheat them that he
+made a hundred per cent, on the fiery wine which he furnished them, and
+that he obtained their fruits and meal and fresh meat from his
+neighbors at a ridiculously low price? Oh, those good honest people!
+They paid so willingly whatever he asked; they found everything so
+cheap in this beautiful land; and when the ship was once more under
+sail they all thanked him who went away, and those who remained, they
+thanked him, too, for they all had done a good business; but he had
+done better than any one! Yes, pleasant time! thought Don Cesare, as he
+wandered along through the night and looked out on the black sailless
+sea. Directly before him lay the Promontory of Evolo, with its old
+olive trees. The chapel showed clearly through the darkness; last year
+they had whitewashed it, to the honor of the saint who now lay in the
+water. Don Cesare shook his head. "You poor, dear Evolino, what must
+you think of me, that I could help them treat you so? And yet, you know
+as well as I do, how much good it would have done for me to interfere.
+If I had opposed them they would, maybe, have used you far worse; and
+that, instead of water, you did not have to stand the scorching fire,
+you may thank me. Sometimes one serves a friend better by howling with
+the wolves than letting himself be torn to pieces by them in his
+friend's company. Only wait. I will make it all right, good Evolino."
+
+He had arrived at the foot of the Promontory. The little path wound off
+among the rocks. A few steps further and it turned to the left, toward
+the other side of the cliffs where Nino's country house lay silently
+hid in thick groves of orange and lemon.
+
+Don Cesare stood still. Suddenly a puff of wind passed over the water
+which foamed up to his feet.
+
+"Oh, oh!" said the little ship-trader, "from the west! The wind for
+rain! No, dear San Pancrazio, you will not be so obliging to those
+people who threw you into the water?"
+
+Then he looked cautiously on every side, listened carefully to right
+and left, and believing himself secure stepped down to the shore where
+he knew the saint lay, felt around among the stones till he found the
+rope, and then one might have seen the little man, slowly pulling the
+line toward him, with the exertion of his whole strength. But the
+holy Pancrazio didn't come so easily. One arm stuck on a sharp rock,
+his halo got caught between two stones, and when there came a hard
+pull it seemed as if something cracked in poor Saint Pancras' ancient
+worm-eaten neck, and as if a very critical wabbling seized his old
+heathen head.
+
+"Ei, ei!" the poor saint must have thought, "how careless these human
+beings are with their saints! First one is tied and thrown in the
+water, and then knocked to pieces against the stones, for some one is
+pulling the rope I see. What is _he_ going to do with me?"
+
+And the shiny varnished eyes of Evolino tried to recognize the man, and
+when he found that it was Don Cesare, he sighed in his wooden bosom,
+but he patiently resigned himself to his fate. Only the wabbling of his
+head made him anxious; for he liked his old head. Suppose he should
+lose it, and they should put him on a new one?--a new head on the old
+trunk! or if they should order a whole new saint from the best modern
+wood-carver, what would become then of him, the only real, true,
+ancient, genuine San Pancrazio of Evolo?
+
+But Don Cesare pulled and pulled, and turned and twisted, and at last,
+there lay the saint at his feet on the dry sand.
+
+"Now, God be gracious to you, poor Evolino!" thought that ill-used
+person. What then was his surprise, when Don Cesare, without speaking a
+word, dragged him across the footpath, set him carefully up in a cleft
+of the rock, brushed and cleaned him from slime and dirt, and dropping
+on his knees, with folded hands, thus addressed him:
+
+"There you are again on dry land, dear, good, holy Pancrazio, and are
+rescued from the neighborhood of sea-crabs and polyps. And, do you see,
+me, me alone, you have to thank for it, Don Cesare, who loves and
+honors you! I told you so when I was bringing you down from the chapel.
+The others have treated you shockingly, poor patron, but I, I rescued
+you. Don't forget it, dear old San Pancrazio. Now I know well enough
+what you would say: Don Cesare! Don Cesare! you were there too, and
+slung the rope over the olive tree! Alas, yes! I had to be there! But
+only think what would have happened if I had not been there, those
+others were in such a rage with you!--on account of the rain! But what
+do I care about the rain? You may leave them for weeks longer without
+rain for all I care! they deserve it, and that tall, lean Ciccio, whom
+I just met outside the walls, he it was who blustered most shockingly
+about fire, and I it was who silenced him by slinging you into the
+water. Yes, Evolino, and it is I again who drew you out. And now,
+Evolino, be good to me, you who are also an ancient God of the Winds.
+Weren't you called Æolus before you became the Saint of Evolo? Surely
+you have not forgotten that,--and the winds will certainly listen to
+you still. Blow, then, a good strong wind into the sails of a foreign
+ship and guide it to our harbor, so that I may earn something once
+more! See, I am not a rich man"--
+
+He broke off suddenly. A clear, white beam of light had fallen upon the
+saint and a strange smile seemed to play over his features. Don Cesare
+looked around him in fright But it was only the moon that had just
+risen from the ocean, and threw its first beams upon the image.
+
+"It is clearing," said Don Cesare, as he rose, and brushed the sand
+from his knees. "I must go now, for you understand, Evolino, only you
+alone know that I have drawn you out of the sea. Now stand quietly, and
+dry yourself, and get over your fright. But don't forget that you have
+me to thank, me alone! and don't forget to send me the ship--soon! very
+soon! Then I will dress your altar, and you shall have a new halo."
+
+He stopped again in his discourse; for suddenly the image grew dark.
+What was that? a cloud? rain? He looked around. In the west it had
+grown black and heavy from the horizon up. "West wind?" said Don
+Cesare. "Rain wind?--yes. But a favorable wind for ships that come from
+the ocean into the Mediterranean. San Pancrazio, San Pancrazio--only
+remember me!" He clambered slowly up the steep path, that led between
+rubble, sharp-pointed cactus and aloes, to the chapel, but on the way
+he often paused and looked around to see if any gleam of white sail
+flashed across the blackness of the waves; for now he knew certainly
+that Evolino had listened to him, and once the wind came to blowing,
+the ships could not long fail. Thicker and thicker the huge clouds
+massed themselves on the horizon. When he reached the top he sat down
+under an olive tree to take breath. In the distance he thought he heard
+a noise. Was it a ship in whose cordage the wind whistled its song, and
+which was hastening to the protecting harbor? "Then Carmela may wait
+till I come home," murmured Don Cesare. "I shall stay up here." And,
+his eye immovably fixed on the water, Don Cesare remained sitting under
+his olive tree.
+
+Not from the sea, however, did the sound come which held the listening
+trader spellbound on his lookout. With her narrow mantle drawn far over
+her face, glancing on every side, secretly trembling from fear and joy,
+Carmela ran beside Nino along the shore, jumped, with a beating heart,
+from stone to stone, and at every noise that reached her ears from the
+sea or the dark lemon trees, she clung closer and faster to her
+companion.
+
+"It is too far," she whispered, and already repented that she had
+listened to his persistent entreaties, and left the safe walls of her
+own home to follow him on this dangerous expedition.
+
+"Calm yourself, child," answered Nino; "it is not a hundred steps
+further, and your brother will not return before midnight--to-day
+especially, they will have so much to tell about the fate of San
+Pancrazio--and meanwhile we will tell other stories yonder in my cozy
+Casina."
+
+"Oh, Nino, it frightens me. Why did we not stay and chat at my window?
+The street is so lonesome. Let us turn back. Really it is not right for
+me."
+
+"What are you saying, Carmela? The street lonesome? Oh, yes, and
+suppose that old Francisca, your servant, looks out of the window on a
+sudden, and sets all the dogs on the midnight marauder, as she did last
+time? In my Casina there is nothing of that kind to dread. We shall be
+alone there, and we have never been alone together yet since we
+plighted our love to one another."
+
+Carmela stood still.
+
+"Nino," she said, "you risk nothing; but I risk everything. If any one
+should find me here--or yonder."
+
+"Who should find you?" broke in Nino. "No one wanders around out here
+at this hour, and you are as safe as"--
+
+She started suddenly, shrank back, and laid her hand, with an impetuous
+gesture, on his mouth. They were standing directly in front of the
+Promontory, where its outermost point juts forth and descends sheer to
+the sea, and where the path crowds narrowly between this rocky wall and
+the water.
+
+"What is it?" asked Nino, softly.
+
+"Yonder!" whispered Carmela, and her finger pointed through the night
+to a rock close by the path, where, silent and motionless. _One_ stood.
+
+"Santo Diavolo!" muttered Nino, darkly, to himself, and all his
+Sicilian jealousy rushed like flame to his head. Hastily bending down,
+he picked up a sharp heavy stone, and, without turning his eye from the
+mysterious figure, he added, hastily: "The way is watched. Here is the
+path that leads up to the chapel. Quick, Carmela, before he sees us."
+
+By this time the rushing wind had driven the heavy clouds high up into
+the zenith. Suddenly, through a rift, a beam of bright moonlight fell
+upon the rocks. A wild scream broke from the girl, staring with wide
+eyes at the motionless figure.
+
+"The saint!" she cried, and held out her arms as if in self-defence
+against the fearful sight. "The saint! ascended from the sea! Blessed
+Madonna, protect me!" And, without knowing what she did, as if fleeing
+from Divine judgment, she rushed up the path to the chapel in
+breathless haste.
+
+At first Nino was as if spellbound at the unexpected and, even for him,
+mysteriously terrible vision.
+
+"San Pancrazio!" came brokenly from his lips. But when he heard his
+beloved's cry, and saw her fleeing through the darkness as if bereft of
+reason, then the wild blind rage of the Sicilian whose love is
+threatened seized him.
+
+"Santo Diavolo, accursed saint, you shall pay for this!" he screamed,
+fiercely, and at the same moment the stone flew, sent by a strong,
+young hand, toward the Evolino. Nino watched it go, strike; then
+something solid and heavy rolled, with a dull sound, over the rocks.
+"May you smash your heathen skull to pieces on the cliffs, old idol!"
+cried Nino to the tottering saint, and followed his beloved. "Carmela!"
+he called, without regard to the danger of being heard and discovered.
+"Carmela, stop! What are you doing?"
+
+But Carmela rushed on like a frightened deer, over stones and roots of
+trees, whither she knew not, what she sought she could not have told.
+She fled, in order to flee--fled from the image of the threatening
+saint, who had appeared in the white shimmering moonlight, as a
+messenger of God, with the rod of avenging justice in his hand, or
+perhaps as a guardian angel set in the way of temptation and
+destruction.
+
+She did not hear Nino's shouts, and she was deaf also to another voice
+that suddenly called her name. As if all the lost souls from perdition
+were at her heels, she flew up the cliff's side, and ran under the old
+olive trees to the chapel.
+
+"Carmela! Carmela!" shouted Nino, following close in breathless haste;
+a gust of wind swung open the door of the deserted sanctuary; like a
+child seeking its father's protection, Carmela sprang within; close
+behind her followed Nino, and at the same moment, propelled by a
+powerful hand, the door fell to with a loud bang; a hasty rattling
+followed, and from the fast-made lock some one drew out the key.
+
+Don Cesare it was who stood before the chapel, motionless, the key in
+his hand, his eyes fastened on the door. Convulsively his hand sought
+his knife, and he muttered a few half-stifled words. He stood there a
+long time, seemingly in violent conflict with himself, and as if he
+strove in vain for a decision. At last he seemed to find what he
+sought.
+
+"You won't escape me," he said to himself, and shoved the key into his
+pocket; and after another pause he added: "Herein I recognize thy hand,
+holy Pancrazio."
+
+He clambered hurriedly down the path to the cliff once more, and a very
+grim smile indeed passed over his face, for a saying which Father
+Atanasio loved to bring into his sermons came suddenly, he could not
+tell how, into his head--about ancient Saul, and how he went forth to
+seek his she ass. Had he not also, like Saul, found something better
+than he sought? The bold Nino was in his power. The blood shot up into
+his head. He almost turned back to the chapel, but he was master of his
+own will, and let the knife go again. The thieving villain! He had
+taken advantage of his absence to chatter, Heaven knew what, misleading
+nonsense in his favorite sister's ears, and had enticed her out of the
+house onto that lonely path. She had fled before him, but yet she had
+followed him. And now the two were sitting up there, caught, behind
+lock and bolt, and he, Don Cesare, held the key in his hand, and,
+except as true and honorable husband of Carmela, that rascal should
+never come out of the chapel. And now Don Cesare laughed aloud, and
+said:
+
+"Whom have you to thank for this, Don Cesare? Whom but the good, dear
+Evolino, whom you drew out of the water with your own hand--to whom you
+will go now, this moment, and, throwing yourself on your knees, will"--
+
+Hold! what was that? Evolino was no longer standing in the rocky niche,
+and what did he see? Yonder he lay across the path; and, holy Madonna!
+without a head! and in his breast a gaping wound, as if something had
+crushed in poor Evolino's worm-eaten side. Don Cesare looked all
+around. There lay the stone. Now he understood it all. Nino must have
+thrown it at the saint when Carmela's scream startled him; yes, yes,
+and now Evolino was revenging himself. He had hunted the two into his
+chapel, and delivered the key into Don Cesare's hand! And see! there
+lay the head. It had rolled close to the shore; but ah! in what a
+condition it was, and what a change in Evolino's countenance! There was
+the strangest mixture of godlike, cheerful youth, and shrivelled old
+age, the shape, the forehead, the crown, the chin, were those of a
+youth, but there were painted wrinkles on them, and scars had engraved
+themselves deep in the old wood, and close beside these deep seams
+which time had made in the once youthful face, the gaudy new varnished
+colors showed like rouge on the face of a dead boy. Don Cesare felt
+quite overcome by the sight. "Evolino! San Pancrazio!" said he, half
+aloud to the head, which he held in his trembling hand. "Evolino, is it
+you? or, is it not you? I don't know you any longer--and yet I know you
+well, poor old friend!"
+
+And with great fervor, as if he were carrying something very sacred, he
+bore the head of San Pancrazio to where his body lay, raised the latter
+from the ground, set it once more in the rocky niche, and carefully
+laid the mutilated, unrecognizable head in the crossed arms, then he
+kneeled on the sharp stones, folded his hands, and thanked his patron
+in a prayer of much devoutness, for the favor which he had shown him
+that day. He prayed a long time, and did not mark how the clouds
+lowered ever nearer on land and sea--did not mark how the wind swept
+cooler and cooler over the rocks. Not until the soft raindrops wet his
+arms and shoulders did he arouse from his pious devotion.
+
+"Evolino--dear Evolino!" said he silently to himself. "It is you who
+put this into my head; you who led me hither, and in your hands I leave
+the fortunes of my house. Rule it as seems best to you. To-morrow you
+will find me at your chapel, ready for anything; for atonement, and
+bridal rejoicing, or for a bloody avenging of my injured honor."
+
+As he said this, he drew the key slowly out of his pocket, hung it on
+one of the saint's hands, as if it were a hook, kissed Evolino's robe
+once more in humble confidence, and departed with strong, rapid steps
+through the night.
+
+
+
+
+                                  III
+
+
+Next day, in the early morning, there was a great stir, calling,
+laughing, and rejoicing in the little town of Roccastretta. Men, in
+Capuchin-like hoods, stood in the doors, women wrapped in their
+mantles, leaned out of the windows; and from one house to another, and
+one street to another, the laughing dialogue ran: "Ha, ha! what did we
+say yesterday?" "He has come to reason over night!" "Only since
+yesterday he has lain in the sea, and last evening he sent the rain!"
+
+"And what a heavenly rain!"
+
+"Yes, yes, the Evolino is a brave patron, we could not ask a better."
+
+As Father Atanasio, who, any one could see, didn't know what sort of a
+face to put upon the matter, slowly crossed the large open square where
+the men were accustomed to idle about when they had no work to do, all
+sorts of taunting salutations flew at his head:
+
+"Oh, oh! Father Atanasio, but it _did_ help!" The father, who was a
+discreet man, assumed an open, cheerful expression, returned the
+greetings of his fellow townsmen with pompous nods and smiles, and
+answered unctuously:
+
+"No one ever addresses himself to the saints in vain: and even if this
+time it was done after a rude fashion, Saint Pancras loves this town
+and people too well to resent it. Besides, good for evil is the rule of
+the saints."
+
+"Very fine; yes, yes!" came back from the mocking house doors and
+windows, "we know you are obliged to talk that way; but we know just as
+well that the 'rude fashion' was necessary, and long live Don Cesare,
+who put it into our heads!"
+
+"And who saved you from putting the good Evolino to the test of fire?"
+answered the little ship-trader, with a loud voice, as he came out of a
+side street, and advanced toward his friends, receiving the praises and
+congratulations that poured upon him from every side with dignified
+self-approval, as if it were he, and not Saint Pancras, who had wrapped
+the horizon in clouds, and caused the fruitful rain to descend over
+fields and gardens. A quite extraordinary seriousness pervaded his
+features and demeanor; he spoke with calm majesty, as his distinguished
+namesake might have done after a victory over the Gauls. But whoever
+had observed him closely could not have failed to detect the feverish
+wandering of his glance, and a certain convulsive movement that now and
+then overcame his right hand, causing it, without visible occasion, to
+clutch itself into a fist, and to lay hasty hold on the handle of his
+knife.
+
+Only for a short time did Don Cesare feast upon the enthusiasm of his
+fellow citizens. Turning toward Father Atanasio, he suddenly cried:
+
+"And now, friends, not another moment's delay! Not an hour longer must
+our good patron saint remain in the water. He has heard us, sooner than
+we hoped, and we must be equally prompt in assuring him of our
+gratitude, and in replacing him with all honor in his chapel. Come,
+Father Atanasio, and call the Syndic also, for whoever helped yesterday
+must help to-day, if he would not have the saint bear him a grudge!"
+
+The wisdom of Don Cesare's words was obvious, even to Father Atanasio
+and the Syndic;--though as to the latter, he never ventured to wish for
+anything until the majority had first willed it; --and thus the whole
+community set forth once more for the Promontory of Evolo, in spite of
+wind and rain, feet in the wet sand, hands in pockets, cowls and gay
+kerchiefs over their heads and necks. Don Cesare opened the procession,
+between the Syndic and the priest.
+
+"Where is your little sister Carmela?" asked the latter, after a while,
+smiling cunningly, and glancing aside at his neighbor.
+
+"Oh, father, I am not anxious about her," answered Don Cesare; "she was
+on her feet early this morning, and gave me no peace trying to catch
+the rain in her hands. A real child."
+
+"Yes, yes," said the padre, politely; "Carmela is a fine girl, and
+pretty. Nay, that is nothing to me, but others have remarked the same.
+It would be a joy to me, Don Cesare, if I could see the two before the
+altar. I speak of Nino, Don Cesare, who is courting her as if she were
+the only girl in Sicily."
+
+Behind the amiable tone in which these words were spoken, lay hidden a
+quiet laugh at the thrust he delighted in being able to give his
+neighbor. But the little ship-trader did not appear to notice it, and
+replied quite seriously:
+
+"And that will soon happen, Father Atanasio. In the chapel above they
+will be betrothed before the image of the good Evolino."
+
+His two comrades stared at him in astonishment.
+
+"Nay, nay, my good Don Cesare," said the Syndic, "I would gladly see it
+too, but Nino seems to us a little bit too rich."
+
+Don Cesare caught him up quickly: "I thought so myself yesterday."
+
+"And what has happened since yesterday?" asked the amazed padre.
+
+"I may tell you now, my excellent Father Atanasio," answered Don
+Cesare, and a knavish smile might have been seen to flash for one
+instant from his eyes: "Yesterday, when we let down the good Evolino
+from the rocks into the sea, everybody was crying for rain! rain! What
+was the rain to me? I shouted with them because I wished them well, but
+as for me, in the depths of my heart I asked for something quite
+different."
+
+"So, so!" said Father Atanasio, and poked the Syndic in the side behind
+Don Cesare's back. He looked triumphantly around at those who followed,
+winked at them with pompous, victorious eyes, and seemed suddenly to
+grow a head taller than all the others, in the consciousness of
+possessing such penetrating power of divining the hidden secrets of the
+human breast.
+
+"Yes, that is allowed to every one," continued Don Cesare, "and look!
+the good Evolino has fulfilled the others' wish, and so I think to
+myself; yours, too, will be fulfilled, Don Cesare, for there is not one
+in the whole community that treats him as well as I do."
+
+He thought about the foreign ships all the time he was speaking, and
+gave a hasty glance toward the horizon, but nothing was to be seen
+there, and he was forced to confine his hopes and longings to Carmela
+and Nino. They had arrived at the foot of the promontory.
+
+"I think we will remain below," said the Syndic; "the rope will be hard
+to draw from the cliff, and, besides, some harm might easily happen to
+the saint."
+
+No one made any objection to this wise precaution, and on they went
+over the steep path, in a long single file, as a flock of geese
+marches, one behind the other--first the Syndic, then the padre, then
+Don Cesare, then the rest. The rocks had grown very slippery from the
+wet; every time a cowled figure lost footing and tumbled, more or less
+ridiculously, into the sand, or caught at a neighbor's arm, or dress,
+or leg, then arose a great laughing and screaming, and so the whole
+company by degrees was brought into the best possible humor and
+unanimity of mind.
+
+Suddenly the procession came to a stop. The Syndic had turned pale as
+chalk, and stood rooted to the ground. They could see his fat cheeks
+shake, and his knees tremble, and were uncertain whether it was the
+strong wind, or a terrible fright that made his hair rise up and stand
+stiffly out all round his head.
+
+"Holy Madonna!" they heard him gasp; "holy Madonna!"
+
+"What is it? what is the matter?" they cried from every side, crowding
+forward, and pitching over the rocks and through the water. But they
+one and all stiffened with horror when they saw Saint Pancras, whom
+they had thrown into the sea the day before, standing in the hollow of
+the rocks, and, oh, fearful sight! holding his head in his arms! and,
+oh, inconceivable miracle! the key of his chapel which they had left in
+the door, now hung from the saint's finger!
+
+Dumb from terror, old and young, men and women, remained as if
+spellbound; cold shivers ran down their backs; they pressed closer
+together, every hand made the sign of the cross on forehead and breast
+at the same moment, every mouth murmured the prayer to the blessed
+Madonna.
+
+Even the wily Don Cesare, who had very distinct information concerning
+the history of this miracle, felt himself agitated and overcome by the
+general consternation; he, too, felt his knees knock together and his
+blood congeal, and he made the sign of the cross and muttered, without
+hypocrisy, "Holy Madonna, protect us!"
+
+Father Atanasio was the first to venture forward, as belonged to his
+office. Trembling in every limb, he pushed the Syndic aside, advanced
+with hands raised and eyes directed toward heaven, to the headless
+saint and sank, shaking, upon his knees, his example followed by the
+whole company. His eyes at first sought the place where saints and men
+are generally accustomed to carry their heads; there his glance found
+nothing but the grewsome wooden stump, out of which ragged splinters
+were sticking up in place of a neck, and, shuddering. Father Atanasio
+lowered his gaze to Evolino's breast, where the head lay on the crossed
+arms. But a new terror overcame him when he beheld the wild strange
+alteration of that countenance, and he had to support himself with both
+hands on the earth in order not to fall forward as if stunned by a
+blow. But the others thought their padre was engaged in fervent
+devotion, and muttered their litanies with lowered eyes and increased
+zeal.
+
+"San Pancrazio, dear, only Evolino," prayed the sly Don Cesare, in the
+silence of his heart, "now remember me, and send Father Atanasio a
+lucky thought. Don't forget that my little sister is up there in your
+chapel with that cursed hound Nino; and, dear Evolino, send this wanton
+coxcomb Nino a lucky thought, too, lest something unlucky befall this
+day!"
+
+Thinking, hearing, and the sending of lucky thoughts were perhaps a
+trifle more difficult to the poor beheaded saint than formerly, when he
+was whole, at any rate it was a long time before Father Atanasio awoke
+from his stupor. But all at once it seemed as if a bright beam of light
+fell upon his mind, and he gathered himself together.
+
+"I understand the sign," murmured he, kissing the saint's feet; "be
+thou blessed forever, San Pancrazio of Evolo."
+
+Then he rose, turned to the anxiously-gazing crowd, spread out his
+arms, and said:
+
+"The saint has worked a miracle upon us. A miracle hath he wrought upon
+himself. The long-desired rain he sent us by night, and he has
+ascended, victorious over human devices, from the sea in which you had
+sunk him, and here he stands, as a saint should, upon dry ground. And
+behold him! for a sign that henceforth a new and a purer tie exists
+between the patron and his people; with his own hands he has taken from
+his shoulders that ancient heathen head, which he formerly wore to your
+harm, and in defiance of the blessed Madonna. And as a sign of that
+which he requires from you he has brought down the key of his chapel
+and hung it on his finger, that you shall set up a new image for him
+there; that you may know the old Evolino, as you have been wont to call
+him, in remembrance of past times, dies to-day and a new San Pancrazio
+enters into his place, a true and blessed saint, who will love and
+protect you, and will never more allow the old heathen who hides under
+these venerable garments to afflict your town and fields with drought,
+bad harvests, and deadly pestilence."
+
+Thus spake the honest father. The Syndic nodded applause, and Don
+Cesare, of course, did the same. Then the saint was lifted with careful
+hands and laid on the shoulders of several stout fellows; but the head
+Father Atanasio placed with solemn importance in Don Cesare's hands;
+then, holding the chapel key aloft in his own right hand, he led the
+procession, which slowly and in deep silence moved toward the heights
+above and the little sanctuary under the olive trees.
+
+There was a couple there already, who had passed a bad night. Like one
+bereft of reason, Carmela had thrown herself on the earth before the
+altar.
+
+"The saint! the saint!" sobbed the girl wildly. "It was he; he called
+my name. I saw him as he came sweeping up the steep precipice. He
+followed me; his halo streamed angry light through the darkness. Holy
+Mother of God, I beseech thee defend and forgive thy sinful child!"
+
+Nino tried in vain to quiet her.
+
+"No," she cried, pushing him from her, as he sought to raise her from
+the ground, "I followed you on an evil path, Nino; the saint has warned
+us, and he will punish us. Did you not hear how he threw the door to
+behind us? Nino, Nino, there is but one atonement--that you acknowledge
+me as your true and honorable wife before this altar."
+
+Nino faltered. The image of San Pancrazio stood before his own eyes,
+and he could not shut it out. He, too, felt a tremor in his very soul,
+for, however secure and sceptical he might represent himself, in the
+depths of his consciousness there always remained the inherited fear of
+the unknown--the secret dread of heaven and hell. In his heightened
+pulse-beats, which he could distinctly hear, this feeling knocked
+loudly at his heart.
+
+A close, sultry air filled the chapel. Through the one little round
+window over the altar a dusky glimmer fell, scarce brighter than the
+surrounding darkness. Nino reached up and tried the door. He wanted to
+open it, to let in the fresh night air, to scare away the fantasies
+which were slowly surrounding his senses. But the door lay fast in bolt
+and hinge and would not yield to his straining. He sought the latch
+with groping fingers, and found that the key had been turned and drawn
+out.
+
+"Santo Diavolo!" he cried, ice-cold shivers running through every limb.
+"The door is locked!"
+
+"Locked, yes, locked," cried Carmela, springing from her knees, and
+throwing herself on the threshold. "I saw him, how he followed at our
+heels, and how he raised his hand with threatening gesture. Yes, I
+heard him, and I saw him, and it is he who has locked us in his
+sanctuary, that our deed may be expiated."
+
+Thus the poor child raved in feverish terror. Nino listened without a
+word. What should he do? What would come of all this? It was no use to
+think of flight. The old stones lay fast one upon another, and fast lay
+the old oaken doors on their hinges. In the morning all Roccastretta
+would come to replace the saint on his pedestal, for he had sent the
+rain without a doubt. Nino could hear the big drops pattering against
+the window-panes. And they would find him here with Carmela. Alone with
+Carmela in the chapel! And then? When Don Cesare stepped across the
+threshold? Nino knew Don Cesare and what he had to expect from him. It
+would be a battle for life and death, and all the men and women, Father
+Atanasio and the Syndic--every one would be on the side of Carmela's
+injured brother. Verily this was not the ending he had imagined for his
+love adventure when he tempted Carmela to follow him to his quiet
+Casina.
+
+Ever blacker lowered the night, heavier and closer hung the clouds,
+thicker poured the rain. And as Nino heard the rush of heavy drops on
+the roof, and felt the moist breath of the drinking earth which came in
+through the little window, it seemed as if something broke within his
+heart, and a voice cried from the depths: "Every drop of rain that
+falls from heaven proclaims the power of the saint, and can you doubt
+the miracle which he has worked on you?"
+
+Next morning, when the procession, led by Father Atanasio, stopped,
+with the mutilated image of the patron saint, before his chapel, and
+when the key entered in the lock, and the lock creaked, and the door,
+swollen by moisture, turned slowly and heavily on its hinges, there was
+one there whose heart beat violently, and whose blood boiled at fever
+heat, one whose hand lay carelessly as if toying but none the less fast
+and grimly on the handle of his knife--for who could foresee what was
+going to happen? But Don Cesare breathed more freely, and let his knife
+go, and with difficulty retained composure enough to play out the
+_rôle_ he had assumed, when the padre stood still on the threshold with
+a cry of astonishment, while out of the dusk from the foot of the altar
+two figures advanced, kneeled with clasped hands before the good
+father, and amid the astounded silence that fell upon them all, Nino's
+voice was heard saying humbly:
+
+"Saint Pancras has wrought a miracle not on our fields and gardens
+alone; upon me and upon Carmela in the last night another has fallen.
+How it happened, ask me not. The saint led us into this chapel with his
+own hand, with his own hand closed the door and took away the key. At
+the foot of his altar we have pledged each other our wedded troth, and
+at the foot of his altar we beg you, Father Atanasio, to bless the
+banns."
+
+Then the little Don Cesare exulted aloud:
+
+"Ha!" he cried, waving his little hands in the air, "that was what I
+prayed yesterday of the good, dear Evolino for myself. That was it.
+Father Atanasio! He gave you rain, and me he gave a brother-in-law.
+Long live Evolino!"
+
+And in his heart he added something more, which he did not think it
+necessary to say aloud:
+
+"Evolino," thought he, "you were wiser than I, and led me to a kingdom,
+when I only looked for a she ass. The ships will come to the harbor of
+themselves, but of himself never would this rascal Nino have taken my
+little sister for his wife."
+
+A few weeks later, when the wedding of Carmela and Nino was celebrated
+with great pomp in the chapel of Evolo, a new image of the saint stood
+on the altar, a gay, brand new image, which Don Cesare, with divers
+other matters, had brought from a foreign ship that lay at anchor in
+the harbor of Roccastretta, and had placed in the chapel in remembrance
+of this day of miracles. The old Evolino, however, he claimed for
+himself, and no one grudged him that worm-eaten and broken relic.
+
+At the foot of the rocks of Evolo, in a cool arbor, searched through by
+sun, and moonbeams, at the Casina, where Nino and Carmela were to make
+their home, Don Cesare had set up the image--mended, and decently
+restored by his own hand. It stood in a niche of stone under a roof of
+fragrant orange trees, beside the ivy-wreathed Greek marble basin into
+which the crystal spring of Evolo poured; and almost it seemed as if
+the Evolino felt himself far more at ease amid these surroundings, near
+the finely-cut bas-reliefs from his ancient temple, with the free winds
+sighing around him, than above in his musty chapel. A singular
+peacefulness seemed to have settled down upon his old head, stripped of
+beard, and hair, and halo; he looked with Olympian smile upon the
+youthful pair, gaily pursuing a frolicsome existence at his feet, on
+this their wedding evening, and a faint spark gleamed in his painted
+eyes, as Nino, who must have learned some lore of the ancient gods,
+poured a goblet of fragrant Muscatel upon the ground before him, and
+laughingly cried:
+
+"To the gods belong the first drops; honor and glory to the gods and
+the saints!"
+
+When they had all departed, and even Don Cesare had taken leave of him
+with a friendly, confidential nod, and when at last the Evolino stood
+alone in the silent moonlight, a soft whisper fell from his lips:
+
+"In spite of all, you feel yourselves drawn back again to the ancient
+heathen gods, you dear gay heathen folk; and though new names have
+taken the place of the old ones, in you, my cheerful, good-natured,
+grown-up children, I recognize my early worshippers once more. In spite
+of time and change you are they who used to lay fragrant wreaths on the
+old god's altar, in the pillared temple on the cliff, and singing, and
+laughing, and shouting, passed their shouting, singing, laughing life
+away!"
+
+Silently gleaming, the eternal stars beckoned, softly splashing, the
+rippling spring murmured a kindly, comforting answer to the poor
+forgotten God of the Winds.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of a Genius, by Ossip Schubin
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF A GENIUS ***
+
+***** This file should be named 35590-8.txt or 35590-8.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/5/9/35590/
+
+Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
+
+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 1.F.3.  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.
diff --git a/35590-8.zip b/35590-8.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9b47a40
--- /dev/null
+++ b/35590-8.zip
diff --git a/35590-h.zip b/35590-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d8c7361
--- /dev/null
+++ b/35590-h.zip
diff --git a/35590-h/35590-h.htm b/35590-h/35590-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..33ecce5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/35590-h/35590-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,5256 @@
+<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN">
+<html>
+<head>
+<title>The Story of a Genius</title>
+<meta name="Author" content="Ossip Schubin.">
+<meta name="Publisher" content="R. F. Fenno &amp; Company">
+<meta name="Date" content="1898">
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1">
+<style type="text/css">
+body  {margin-left:10%;
+       margin-right:10%; background-color:#FFFFFF;}
+
+
+
+p.normal  {text-indent:.25in; text-align: justify;}
+p.center   {text-align:center; margin-top:9pt;}
+
+
+p.right          {text-align:right; margin-right:20%;}
+
+p.continue       {text-indent: 0in; margin-top:9pt;}
+.text10           {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:10%; margin-right:0px; font-size:90%;}
+.text20           {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:20%; margin-right:0px; font-size:90%;}
+
+.t0              {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:0em; margin-right:0px;}
+.t1              {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:1em; margin-right:0px;}
+.t2              {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:2em; margin-right:0px;}
+.t3              {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:3em; margin-right:0px;}
+.t4              {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:4em; margin-right:0px;}
+.t5              {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:5em; margin-right:0px;}
+.t6              {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:6em; margin-right:0px;}
+.t7              {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:7em; margin-right:0px;}
+.t8              {margin-top:0px; margin-bottom:0px; margin-left:8em; margin-right:0px;}
+
+.quote           {font-size:90%; margin-top:24pt; margin-bottom:24pt}
+.dateline        {text-align:right; font-size:90%; margin-right:10%; margin-top:24pt; margin-bottom:24pt}
+
+h1,h2,h3,h4,h5   {text-align: center;}
+
+span.sc		    {font-variant: small-caps; font-size:100%;}
+span.sc2		{font-variant: small-caps; font-size:90%;}
+
+hr.W10		  {width:10%;
+               color:black;}
+
+hr.W20        {width:20%;
+               color:black;}
+
+hr.W50        {width:50%; margin-top:24pt; margin-bottom:24pt; color:black;}
+hr.W90        {width:90%; margin-top:12pt; color:black;}
+
+p.hang1        {margin-left:1em; text-indent:-1em;}
+p.hang2        {margin-left:3em; text-indent:-1em;}
+
+.poem {
+  margin-top: 24pt;
+  margin-left: 20%;
+  margin-right: 10%;
+  text-align: left;
+  margin-bottom: 24pt
+  }
+  .poem .stanza {
+  margin : 1em 0;
+  margin-top:24pt;
+  }
+
+</style>
+
+</head>
+
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of a Genius, by Ossip Schubin
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Story of a Genius
+
+Author: Ossip Schubin
+
+Translator: E. H. Lockwood
+
+Release Date: March 16, 2011 [EBook #35590]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF A GENIUS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<p class="hang1">Transcriber's Note:<br>
+<br>
+1. Page scan source: http://www.archive.org/details/storyageniusfro00lockgoog<br>
+<br>
+2. There are three stories included in this volume:<br>
+<br>
+(a) <a name="div1Ref_01" href="#div1_01">The Story of a Genius</a><br>
+(b) <a name="div1Ref_02" href="#div1_02">The Nobl' Zwilk</a><br>
+(c) <a name="div1Ref_03" href="#div1_03">What Happened to Holy Saint Pancras of Evolo</a></p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h3>THE</h3>
+
+<h1>STORY OF A GENIUS</h1>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h3><span class="sc2">FROM THE GERMAN OF</span><br>
+OSSIP SCHUBIN</h3>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h3><span class="sc2">ENGLISHED BY</span><br>
+E. H. LOCKWOOD</h3>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h3>R. F. FENNO &amp; COMPANY: 9 and 11 E.<br>
+SIXTEENTH STREET<span style="letter-spacing:10px"> :: </span>NEW YORK<br>
+1898</h3>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h4>Copyright, 1898<br>
+BY<br>
+R. F. FENNO &amp; COMPANY</h4>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<p class="continue"><i>The Story of a Genius</i></p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2><a name="div1_01" href="#div1Ref_01">The Story of a Genius</a></h2>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>I</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Monsieur Alphonse de Sterny will come to Brussels in November and
+conduct his Oratoria of &quot;Satan.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">This short notice in the <i>Indépendence Belge</i> created a general
+sensation. The musicians shrugged, bit their lips, and sneered about
+the public's injustice toward home talent. The &quot;great world,&quot;--between
+ourselves the most unmusical &quot;world&quot; in the universe,--very nearly
+stepped out of its aristocratic apathy. This is something which seldom
+happens to it in artistic matters, but now, for a whole week it talked
+nothing but de Sterny: of his octave playing a little, and of his love
+affairs a great deal. In autumn Brussels has so little to talk about!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Alphonse de Sterny had been in his day a great virtuoso and a social
+lion. Reigning belles had contended for his favor; George Sand was said
+to have written a book about him, nobody knew exactly which one; the
+fair Princess G---- was supposed to have taken poison on his account.
+But five years before the appearance of this notice in the
+<i>Indépendence Belge</i>, de Sterny had suddenly withdrawn from the world.
+During that time he had not given any concerts, nor had he produced any
+new piano pieces, in his well-known style, paraphrases and fantasies on
+favorite airs.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Now, for the first in that long interval his name emerged, and in
+connection with an Oratorio!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">De Sterny and an Oratorio!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The world found that a little odd. The artists thought it a great joke.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>II</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">It is November fifth, the day on which the first rehearsal of &quot;Satan&quot;
+is to be held, under the composer's own direction.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In the concert hall of the &quot;Grand Harmonic&quot; the performers are already
+assembled. In honor of the distinguished guest half a dozen more gas
+jets are burning than is usual at rehearsals, yet the large hall with
+its dark auditorium and the dim flickering light on its stage, has a
+desolate, ghostly air. A smell of gas, dust and moist cloth pervades
+the atmosphere.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A grey rime of congealed mist clings to and trickles down the clothes
+of the latest arrivals. One sees within the hall how bad the weather
+must be without. The lusty male chorus, with their pear-shaped Flemish
+faces, their picturesquely soiled linen, and their luxuriant growth of
+hair, knock off the clay from their boots and turn down the legs of
+their trousers. The disheveled female chorus, on whose shoulders the
+locks are hanging out of curl, complain of indisposition, and exchange
+cough lozenges. The members of the orchestra work away sulkily on their
+instruments. Across the dissonance of the thrilling fiddles darts the
+sharp sound of a string that breaks.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Two dilettanti have slipped in by favor. One is a young piano teacher
+of German extraction, who raves about the music of the future. The
+other is an amateur, well known in Brussels by the nickname of &quot;l'ami
+de Rossini.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The instruments are tuned; here and there a violin practices a scale.
+The gas jets chirp faintly. The male chorus stamp their feet to keep
+warm, and rub their red knuckles together. De Sterny is letting himself
+be waited for.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The friend of Rossini makes up to the lady soloists.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Madame,&quot; he says to the Alto, whose engagement at the &quot;Monnaie&quot; he had
+helped to bring about, &quot;Madame, I pity you. De Sterny is an exponent of
+this new music of the future. His compositions are among the most
+ungrateful tasks ever set the human throat. One only needs to sing them
+to expiate by penance all one's musical pleasures.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You are too severe, monsieur,&quot; said the Alto. &quot;No one can wonder at
+the 'friend of Rossini' for hating the music of the future, and I grant
+that some numbers of this Oratorio are quite astonishingly dull. But
+with some of the others, monsieur, I predict that you will have to
+confess yourself in sympathy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;<i>I</i>, confess myself in sympathy with the music of the future!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, well,&quot; said the Alto, soothingly, &quot;up to a certain point I agree
+with your aversion, but you must grant all the same that Wagner and
+Berlioz are composers of genius, and that the music of the future has
+opened new regions of art.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What has it opened? A parade ground for pretentious mediocrity! I'll
+grant this much, that Wagner and Berlioz are ill-doers of genius. But
+the 'school!' and this new invention they call descriptive music! An
+insurrection of fiddles screaming over against one another! and they
+give it names. 'Battleo of the Horatii'--'Eruption of Vesuvius'--so
+that the audience may have something to think about since they can't
+feel anything, except headache!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">L'ami de Rossini laughed very much at his own joke.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;H'm!-m! and this fine work of de Sterny's,&quot; he began again, &quot;I suppose
+it consists of splendid paraphrases upon poverty of thought.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The 'Satan' contains pearls which will enchant you,&quot; replied the Alto.
+&quot;But see--here comes de Sterny! I commend the 'Duet of the Outcasts' to
+your attention.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Followed by the capellmeister and a little group of intimate admirers,
+Alphonse de Sterny stepped upon the platform. The German pianist
+started and raised a pair of rapture dilated eyes. De Sterny, who was
+well accustomed to create that sort of excitement, smiled faintly,
+threw her an encouraging glance, and nodding to the bowing orchestra
+took his place before the conductor's desk. Then he let his keen eyes
+run over the ranks of his musical forces. The violin rows were not
+even.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Who is absent?&quot; he asked, pointing to the vacant place.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The violins looked at one another, murmured a name indistinctly, and
+some one said, &quot;He is excused.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He is only just out of the hospital,&quot; explained the capellmeister, &quot;he
+often is irregular about rehearsals.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And you permit that?&quot; asked de Sterny, with his deliberate smile.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He--he--never spoils anything at the concerts, and I have
+consideration for him because, because,&quot;--the capellmeister stammered,
+embarrassed, and stopped short. &quot;But certainly it is an inexcusable
+irregularity and should be punished,&quot; he added.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">De Sterny shrugged his shoulders. &quot;Don't disturb yourself,&quot; he said,
+&quot;but next time I hope I shall find my musical forces all together.&quot; He
+rapped on the desk.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">His manner of conducting was characteristic. It recalled neither the
+fiery contortions of Verdi, nor the demoniac energy of Berlioz. His
+movements at first were quiet, almost weary, his countenance wore an
+expression of fixed concentration; suddenly his eyes lighted up, his
+lip quivered, his breast heaved as an exciting climax approached, he
+raised his arms higher and higher, like wings with which he would
+wrench himself free from earth; then all at once he collapsed with a
+look of dejected exhaustion.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He is killing himself!&quot; sighed the pianist, in a gush of sympathy. But
+the friend of Rossini said testily:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He is an incarnate phrase like his own music, and just as full of
+grimaces!&quot; The introductory figure had confirmed his aversion to de
+Sterny. &quot;A pretentious fuss!&quot; he muttered grimly, while the pianist
+with her hand on her heart declared she had &quot;heard the fall of
+Avalanches!&quot; The figure was repeated and left for future study, and
+then the Alto laid aside her furs, rose, threw the &quot;friend of Rossini&quot;
+one glance, drew her mouth into the regulation Oratorio smile, and
+began.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Upon a somewhat dramatic recitation there followed a meltingly sweet,
+inexpressibly mournful melody! Yes, really a <i>melody</i>! As simple,
+genuine and tender as a melody of Mozart, but adapted to the
+requirements of our modern pain craving ears by a few bitter-melancholy
+modulations. The friend of Rossini could scarcely believe his senses.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And now with every number,--a few bombastic interludes excepted--the
+beauties of &quot;Satan&quot; increased until at last at the &quot;Duet of the
+Outcasts,&quot; a duet wherein the whole human race seems to weep for its
+lost heaven, the orchestra rose and broke into enthusiastic applause.
+De Sterny shed tears, assured them it was the happiest moment of his
+life, and the execution of the orchestra surpassed all his hopes, the
+pianiste fell into raptures, and the friend of Rossini growled, while
+he mechanically moved his hands in applause, &quot;Where did he get that
+now? A plagiarism--a mass of plagiarism--but from whence?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The duet was followed by a really hateful finale, which the more
+experienced among the musicians forgave for the sake of the Oratorio's
+otherwise uncommon beauties. The musical craft generally put their envy
+in their pockets, didn't understand, but made their bows as became them
+before a great mystery.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Next morning, de Sterny, in the coupe of the Countess C---- drove up
+the steep street Montague de la Cour. He was going to be served with an
+exquisite breakfast, by gold laced lackeys, and to let himself be
+buzzed about by mind perverting flatteries uttered in soft aristocratic
+voices. Suddenly he saw something that interested--that startled him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Before one of the large red posters which announced the approaching
+Oratorio performance, stood a broad-shouldered man with worn-out boots,
+shabby clothes, and a soft felt hat dragged down over his ears.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A crowd of wagons blocked the way, and the coupe was obliged to stop.
+Again the virtuoso glanced at the shabby man; this time he saw him in
+profile. Strange! De Sterny turned pale as a corpse and leaned back
+shuddering in the soft green satin cushions of the carriage. Could it
+be that he knew the shabby man, or had known him before the brutalizing
+stamp of drink had disfigured his face?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Who knows? For the matter of that there was enough in the stranger's
+appearance to draw a glance and a shudder from any passer-by.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Round shoulders, a loose carriage, a slouching walk, and yet in the
+whole person and expression of broken-down vigor, and burned-out fire.
+A handsome face, with somewhat too full red lips, a short nose,
+powerful brow and eyes, the latter contracting and peering out like
+those of a wild animal that shuns the light, or like those of a man who
+will see nothing but the narrow path in which he is condemned to walk,
+or, perhaps, where he has condemned himself to walk, for life: in the
+whole countenance the marks of past anguish and present degradation.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Meanwhile the jam has given way, and while C---- cream colors, striking
+out to regain lost time, bring the great man rapidly up to the
+countess's palace, the shabby stranger enters one of those butter shops
+out of which, in the rear, a liquor shop usually opens, and calls for a
+glass of gin.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>III</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Who was he? What was he?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">One of those riddles that heaven sends from time to time down to earth
+to be solved. But the earth occasionally finds the task too difficult
+and buries the riddle unread in her bosom.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He was born in Brussels, the son of a chorus singer in the theatre &quot;de
+la Monnaie,&quot; and of one of those Hungarian Gipsy musicians, who appear
+now here now there in the capitals and small towns of Europe, always in
+bands, like troops of will-o'-the-wisps, carrying on their unwarranted
+and unjustifiable but bewitching musical nonsense. The mother,
+Margaretha von Zuylen, she was called, gave the boy the first name of
+his Hungarian father, who had disappeared before the child saw the
+light. The Flemish woman's son was named Gesa, Gesa von Zuylen. He had
+a dark-eyed face, framed by black curls; at the same time he was
+somewhat rounded in feature, and heavily built, indicating that he was
+a son of his flat, canal-intersected fatherland. His temperament was a
+strange mixture of dreamy inertness and fitful fire. The alley in which
+he grew up was called the Rue Ravestein, and stretched itself crooked
+and uneven, dirty and neglected, behind the Rue Montagne de la Cour,
+out toward St. Gudule. The nooks and corners of that region, albeit
+close to the brilliant centre of urban civilization, have an ill name,
+are picturesquely disreputable, and quite unrecognized by the good
+society of Brussels. No carriage can pass here, partly because the
+alleys are too narrow, partly because their original unevenness--no
+country in the world has a more hilly capital than flat Belgium--is
+increased here and there by a few rickety steps. Consequently nearly
+all the inhabitants extend their domestic establishments into the open
+air.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The active life and the dirt remind one of southern cities. Decaying
+vegetables, squirrel skins, paper flowers, old ball gloves, ashes, and
+other trash make themselves comfortable on the large irregular stones
+of the pavement, and through the middle slowly creep the dull and
+stagnant waters of the drain. Long-legged hyena-like dogs, with crooked
+backs and rough hides, that remind the visitor of Constantinople,
+belonging to nobody, snuff amongst the refuse; scissors-grinders, and
+other roofless vagabonds, lie, according to the time of year, in the
+shade or the sunshine; untidy women in dirty wrappers, with slovenly
+hair caught up on pins, lean out of windows and carry on endless
+conversations; others stand in the house doors, a puffy red fist on
+either hip, and look forth, blinking at time creeping by.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The houses are not alike, some are narrow and tall, some broad and low,
+as if crowded into the ground by their monstrous red-green roofs. In a
+few windows are flower pots, others are closely curtained. Small, not
+particularly tempting drinking shops, with dark red woodwork, on which
+is written in white letters, &quot;Hier verkoopt men drank,&quot; frequently
+break the rows of dwellings. Any one of these alleys, in Gesa's youth,
+might have passed for all the rest, only the Rue Ravestein perhaps was
+still more disreputably picturesque than the others. With the lazy hum
+of its vagabond life there mingled the sound of the coffin maker's
+hammer and the sharp stroke of the stone mason's chisel. Against the
+rear wall of an ancient grey church there leaned an enormous crucifix,
+and from beneath the time-blackened halo around his head, the Redeemer
+looked sadly down on the shame and misery that he had not been able to
+banish from the world. Two narrow church windows mirrored themselves in
+the waters of the drain, that is, on days when the drain was clear
+enough.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In these surroundings Gesa grew up. His mother belonged among those
+females who stood in the house doors and blinked at time creeping by.
+She was a type of a handsome Fleming, tall, somewhat heavy, with
+powerful limbs and a red and white complexion. Her red lips parted
+indolently over very white teeth, a delicate pink played about her
+nostrils. She had the prominent eyes and the richly waving, luxuriant,
+tawny hair with which Rubens liked to adorn his Magdalens. When she was
+not engaged at the theatre, or standing in the house door, she was
+lounging on her straw bed in the gaunt room, reading robber stories out
+of old journals, that were bought from an antiquary in a rag shop near
+by, and circulated from hand to hand among the gossips of the Rue
+Ravestein.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Lazy to sleepiness, good-humored to weakness, she had ever a caress for
+Gesa, and a merry frolic for the big grey cat. She lived only in the
+moment. In the beginning of the month, she fed the boy with dainties,
+toward the end she ran in debt.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">From his earliest youth Gesa was musical. Before he could speak, he
+would look up with great dark eyes to his mother, enchanted when she
+rocked him in her arms and sang a cradle song.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A friend of Margaretha taught the little one to play on the violin.
+Gesa learned extraordinarily fast. The chorus singer's financial
+condition growing constantly more and more unfortunate, led her to make
+use of her son's talent, and she actually procured him an engagement,
+when he was hardly nine years old, in the band of a circus that had
+erected its temporary booths on the &quot;Grand Sablon,&quot; and whose company
+consisted of an acrobat of conspicuous beauty, a particularly
+unpleasant dwarf named Molaro, four monkeys and a pony, the height of
+whose accomplishments it was to stand on three legs, though that might
+have been due to infirmity rather than art.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa's orchestral duties consisted in supporting, along with an old
+flutist, the musical disorders of a narrow-chested, long-haired youth,
+who hammered waltzes and polkas on a tired old spinnet, while at the
+same time, as he confessed to little Gesa with a sigh, he had vainly
+longed all his life to be entrusted with the execution of a funeral
+march!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The circus gave its performances from two to four in the afternoon, and
+was always empty. While Gesa, behind the orchestra rails, fiddled his
+simple part mechanically, his childish eyes peered out into the ring
+beyond. There he saw the acrobat, bedizened in paint and tinsel, with
+pink tights and green silk hose, a gold circlet on his head, throwing
+somersaults in the air, and contorting his limber body on a trapeze. He
+saw the dwarf, with his big red bristly head, and his tights, yellow on
+one side and blue on the other, making disgusting jokes. The dwarf was
+always applauded. The little monkeys tremblingly played their bits of
+tricks. The smell of sawdust, gas, orange peel and monkeys crept into
+the little fiddler's nostrils, he sneezed. Then he grew sleepy, and his
+bow stopped. &quot;Allons donc!&quot; wheezed the pianist, stamping his foot.
+Gesa opened his eyes, and met those of his mother, who sat blonde and
+phlegmatic at the edge of the ring. She smiled and nodded to him; he
+fiddled on. When the chorus singer was not hindered by rehearsals at
+the theatre, she never omitted a performance of the circus. Gesa
+imagined she came to hear him play.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But one fine day Gesa was rude to the dwarf Molaro, and paid for it
+with his place in the orchestra. Margaretha, however, still continued a
+regular visitor at the circus.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And then there came an April afternoon with cold showers of rain and
+violent blustering wind. Winter and spring waged war without. Gesa, who
+since he had ceased to have a regular occupation, read incessantly in
+the knight and robber romances of his mother, sat bent over the faded
+and tattered leaves of an old journal, completely lost in a tale of
+terror, both elbows planted on the shaky table and a finger in each
+ear. Margaretha entered, and came up to him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Your supper stands already prepared in the cupboard,&quot; she said,
+stammering and hesitating. &quot;You--you need not wait for me. I shall come
+home late. Adieu, my treasure!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Adieu, mama,&quot; said he, indifferently. He was used to her coming home
+late and scarcely looked up from his reading. She went. Five minutes
+later she returned.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Have you forgotten something, mother?&quot; he asked.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes,&quot; muttered his mother. She was flushed, and searched about
+aimlessly, now here, now there. At last she came and bent over the boy,
+kissed him once, twice, thrice, pressing his head to her breast. &quot;God
+guard thee,&quot; she murmured, and went away. Gesa read on. Presently, he
+was obliged to brush away something bright that obscured the already
+indistinct print of the journal. It was a tear of his mother.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa lay down that night as usual, when Margaretha was engaged at the
+theatre, without fastening the door. When he awoke next morning, he
+found his mother's bed empty. Frightened he cried &quot;Mother! mother!&quot; He
+knew she could not hear him; he cried out to relieve the oppression at
+his heart. Slipping into his clothes he ran down into the street. The
+gutter, brimming full from the melted snow, quivered in the morning
+wind. Slanting red sunbeams shimmered in the church windows. A few
+melancholy organ tones sounded through the grey walls out into the
+empty street. Gesa wept bitterly. &quot;Mother!&quot; he cried, louder and more
+pitifully than ever--&quot;Mother!&quot; She had always been kind to him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He looked up and down. The whole world had grown empty for him. He
+understood that his mother had deserted him. The children in the Rue
+Ravestein understand so quickly! A long thin hand was laid on his
+shoulder. He looked up, beside him stood a gentleman whom he knew. The
+gentleman lived on the first floor of the house where Margaretha's
+garret was. He was pale as the Christ on the great Crucifix, and looked
+down almost as sadly. &quot;Poor fellow!&quot; he murmured, &quot;she has left thee?&quot;
+Gesa bit his teeth into his under lip, turned very red and shook off
+the stranger's hand. He felt for the first time that pity can
+humiliate. The strange gentleman, however, stroked him very softly on
+the head, and said once more, &quot;Poor fellow! You must not blame her.
+Love is like that!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What is love?&quot; asked Gesa, looking at him steadily.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The stranger cleared his throat. &quot;A sickness, a fever,&quot; said he,
+hastily, &quot;a fever in which one dreams beautiful things--and does
+hateful ones.&quot;</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>IV</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">M. Gaston Delileo was the stranger's name, but in the Rue Ravestein
+they never called him anything but &quot;the sad gentleman,&quot;--the &quot;droevige
+Herr.&quot; He might have been between forty and fifty years old, had a
+yellow face that reminded one of a carving in old ivory, wore a full
+beard, and long straight black hair parted in the middle of his
+forehead. Except in the hottest summer weather he never went on the
+street otherwise than wrapped in an old dark blue, red-lined Carbonari
+cloak.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">About seven months before, he had moved into the Rue Ravestein, stroked
+the children's heads, greeted the women in passing, was generally liked
+and associated with no one.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Before Margaretha's flight she had secretly placed a letter in the
+otherwise empty letter-box before his door, begging that he would adopt
+the boy, thereby showing some shrewd knowledge of character in trusting
+to his benevolence. His wife was dead: his only child, a little
+daughter, at that time hardly seven years old, was being brought up by
+relatives in France, as his bachelor housekeeping would have made it
+difficult for him to give the child proper care. Thus widowed and
+solitary, afflicted moreover with a great heart that needed love, and
+had never all his life long been satisfied, he took the boy to himself
+without any overnice reasoning upon the subject.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Come to breakfast,&quot; he said quite simply, took the orphan by the hand
+and led him into his own dwelling.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When the meal was over, and while M. Delileo, with that rage for
+systematizing which often distinguishes especially unpractical people,
+was bending over his writing table, making out a plan of education, a
+division of hours, and finally a long list of things which Gesa might
+possibly need within the next ten years, the boy slipped curiously
+around in the little room, and examined its arrangement. The furniture
+was a decayed mixture of stiff, military Empire, and pretentious,
+crooked Louis-Philippe. On the walls hung a few sketches by once
+celebrated masters, with dedications &quot;à mon chère ami, etc.,&quot; a few
+poet's autographs in little black frames, and besides these the rapidly
+executed portrait of a very beautiful woman, in a white satin dress
+with a great many strings of pearls around her neck, and a little crown
+on her head. &quot;Is that the queen?&quot; asked Gesa of his new protector.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Whereupon the &quot;droevige Herr,&quot; rising up from his occupation, answered,
+not without a certain solemnity, &quot;That, my child, that was the
+Gualtieri!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ah!&quot; said Gesa, and was exactly as wise as before. How indeed was he
+to know that the Gualtieri in her time had been one of the most famous,
+and alas! one of the most infamous artistes in the world?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;She was a queen too,--a queen of song,&quot; added Delileo after a pause.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And did you know her?&quot; asked Gesa, still absorbed in staring at the
+romantically costumed lady.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;She was my wife,&quot; answered Delileo with emphasis, and an eloquent
+gesture.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ah! then she must have loved you very much,&quot; observed Gesa, seriously,
+wishing to say something pleasant. But Delileo shrank and turned away
+his head.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Beneath this portrait, day after day, on a shabby black marble-top
+table, stood fresh flowers in a crumbling blue delft pitcher.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>V</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Immediately upon the beginning of their life together, Delileo made a
+correct estimate of his protégé's musical gifts, and thanks to some
+artist connections that still remained to him, he procured instruction
+for Gesa from one of the most famous violinists at that time
+established in the Brussels Conservatory. He cared for the rest of
+Gesa's education himself. A curious education, truly! &quot;Correct spelling
+and an extensive knowledge of literature,&quot; he would assert, &quot;are two
+absolute necessities of a gentleman's culture, further than that he
+needs nothing.&quot; Gesa's orthography, in spite of his instructor's
+praiseworthy efforts, remained somewhat uncertain, his knowledge of
+literature on the contrary made astonishing progress, and soon reached
+from the &quot;Essais de Montaigne,&quot; Delileo's first hobby, to Delileo's own
+romance--his second hobby.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">This romance, which was called &quot;The Twilight of the Gods,&quot; and had been
+waiting ten years in vain for a publisher, formed a striking
+counterpart to Delileo's Carbonari cloak. Like that romantic article of
+apparel it smelled of mould, and the breath of superannuated
+philanthropic theories hovered about it. It began with a legend and
+ended with an ode. Many an evening the elder spent in reading this
+nondescript production to his protégé, Gesa always attending with the
+devout fervor which believing natures bring to mysteries they do not
+understand.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">An odd couple they made, the broken man with his nervous restlessness,
+the restlessness of one who has accomplished nothing, and who sees the
+grave before him--and the vigorous young fellow, with his healthy
+laziness, the self-confident laziness of one who feels a great talent
+within him and to whom life seems as if it could never end. The weary
+spirit of one strayed constantly back, from the hopeless insipidity of
+his present, to an Utopia of the year thirty: the other's imagination,
+meanwhile, crippled by no sort of experience, galloped confidently out
+into the future, behind a double team of fresh young chimeras!
+Enthusiasts were they both,--Delileo the more unpractical of the two.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Poor Gaston Delileo! He belonged in the category of universal geniuses;
+for which reason he had brought his genius to the attainment of
+absolutely nothing in the universe! Music, painting, literature,
+political economy,--he had pursued them all, one after the other or
+simultaneously, just as it happened, and all with the greatest zeal. He
+had believed with devout idealism in the capacity of society for
+improvement. He had adopted the theories of St. Simon, and had worn
+with enthusiasm the vest laced up behind of that brotherhood, and a
+headband on which his name was embroidered. History relates that the
+St. Simonian Brotherhood, with their practical division of labor,
+limited his activity in the beginning to the contribution of money and
+the brushing of boots! Later they enrolled him the memorable &quot;Three
+hundred,&quot; who set forth to seek the mother of the sect in foreign
+lands, after Madame de Stael had declined that post of honor.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">His money was gone, his illusion had changed to disgust. He had
+withdrawn in melancholy from the world, seeking to hide himself and his
+disappointment. He wished nothing but to forget and be forgotten:--that
+is in the present; from the future, a far-off, misty future, he still
+hoped something--for his romance. Meanwhile he supported existence by
+copying notes,--like Rousseau. Two, three years passed by, Gesa became
+as handsome as a youth in a picture. At Delileo's side he could not
+fail to gain cultivation of mind and heart, but associated with the
+eccentric St. Simonian he remained a stranger to all discipline of
+character. More and more there was revealed a want of concentration,
+and a vague dreaminess in his nature which to a practiced observer,
+would have boded no good for his future. He could never maintain a
+medium between relaxed indolence and exhausting ardor: in tough,
+persistent capacity for work he failed altogether, and whatever did not
+come to him by inspiration, he acquired with greater difficulty than
+did the most commonplace pupil of the conservatory.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Upon all this, however, his violin-professor made no reflections. Gesa
+not only played his instrument with a skill unheard of for his years,
+but he also improvised with wonderful originality, at least, so said
+the professor--who marked nothing but the gigantic strides of the boy's
+progress, was proud of his pupil and presented him to one amateur after
+another.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The phlegmatic Brusselers were enchanted by his musical extravagances,
+because he was named Gesa, had a handsome brunette face, and was said
+to have sprung from Hungarian origin. Their enthusiasm at his
+performance always culminated in the same words--&quot;how gipsy-like!
+<i>Comme c'est tsigane!</i>&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At last came a day when Gesa was to play for the first time at a public
+concert. With the colossal conceit of youth, he rejoiced at the thought
+of his debut The apprehensive Gaston Delileo on the contrary, lost
+appetite and sleep.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Anxiously anticipating a disappointment for the boy, he spent most of
+his time in exhorting Gesa not to care much for a fiasco; an
+exhortation which the young musician took very impatiently, and ran
+away from it. With his hat dragged down self-assertingly over his ears,
+he stamped fuming up and down the Rue Ravestein, while the sad elder
+crept back and forth in his chamber above, and foreboded.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">On the concert evening, Delileo could not be moved to enter the music
+hall. Breathless and panting, he stood before the performer's entrance,
+and held his fingers in his ears. Suddenly, in spite of his efforts to
+exclude every sound, he heard a strange tumult. He let his hands fall.
+Was it a fire alarm? No, it was clapping from hundreds of hands and
+shouting from hundreds of throats. The next moment he had burst sobbing
+into the green-room, and held his nurseling in his arms.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">All the other performers pressed the young fellow's hands, praised him,
+and promised him a brilliant future. With that naïve arrogance
+which one so easily pardons in young gods, even while it provokes a
+pitying smile, he received all these compliments as if they were his
+proper tribute; but even his unabashed self-possession gave way when
+the door opened and an elegant young man entered holding out both
+hands--Alphonse de Sterny.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;My dear young friend,&quot; he cried, &quot;I could not let the evening pass
+without knowing you--without congratulating you.&quot; Then the young
+violinist's head sank, he trembled from head to foot, and his hands
+grew ice cold in those of the great virtuoso.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>VI</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Alphonse de Sterny! The name in those days exercised an enchantment
+that was mingled with awe upon the ears of every one, be he artist or
+amateur, who cared for music. In our coldly critical times we can form
+no idea of the insane idolatry that was addressed, during the decade of
+the fifties to one or two piano virtuosos. De Sterny was among the most
+famous of these. The Sterny craze appeared like an epidemic in every
+town where he gave his concerts. At the same time the riddle of his
+power was hard to solve. His envious contemporaries asserted bluntly
+that he owed his triumphs not so much to the artistic excellence of his
+playing as to his agreeable person and gracious manners. He was the
+perfection of a <i>homme à succès</i>. Gloved and cravated with just
+precision enough for elegance, sufficiently careless to appear
+distinguished, ready and malicious enough to pass for witty, dissipated
+and extravagant enough to be credited with genius, he was also very
+handsome, wore his hair parted low in the middle of his forehead, and
+always dressed with quiet correctness in the latest fashion but one, as
+became a person of the best gentility, avoiding all artist
+eccentricities. His conversation was amusing, his manners
+unimpeachable. He was the natural son of a French diplomat, called
+himself de Sterny after his birthplace, and had inherited an income of
+twenty-five thousand francs, as the world knew; from an Italian
+princess--as the world did not know. His piano playing was beautifully
+finished, a shower of pearls, a chain of flowers, with a masterly
+balanced technique, carried out in a dignified execution, never one
+false note, never any vulgar pounding.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Certainly the great Hungarian pianist, to whose performance a handful
+of false notes belonged as part of the effect, was wont to remark
+bitingly that &quot;de Sterny played like a countess.&quot; But de Sterny, to
+whom the speech was brought by kind friends, only smiled amiably, and
+continued, at least in the beginning of his career, to delicately
+caress an instrument which the other pianists maltreated, and
+electrified a public satiated with musical orgies, by his moderation.
+He moved almost exclusively in the best social circles, yet he always
+showed himself ready to do a service for a fellow artist.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Altogether he was, when Gesa first became acquainted with him, a
+perfectly shallow, perfectly selfish, uncommonly talented, very
+good-humored, very vain man who loved to hear himself talked about.
+Charlatan he only became later, in order to maintain himself upon the
+pedestal whither public adulation had driven him. The pedestal was too
+high! Many another might have found himself growing dizzy up there.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He loved to patronize, and for that reason did not content himself with
+pressing Gesa's hands, but gave him his address, and invited him to
+call upon him next morning at the Hotel de Flandres, &quot;so that we can
+talk over your future,&quot; said he, cheeringly. Then he was very amiable
+to the other artists assembled in the green-room, then he held out his
+hand to Delileo, over whose cheeks the tears were running down, then he
+clapped the debutant on the shoulder, wished him &quot;good luck!&quot; and
+disappeared.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At the little artist supper, which the manager had arranged for the
+performers, Gesa sat, ate not a mouthful, and spoke not a word. With
+pale cheeks and fixed eyes he gazed before him into the future,--a
+future in which the trees bore golden leaves, and their fruit sparkled
+like diamonds--a future in which dust and mold were unknown things,
+where forms of radiant beauty wandered among thickets of thornless
+roses, and the laurel trees bowed before him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In those days Gesa von Zuylen's eyes were not contracted like the eyes
+of a wild beast that shuns the light; they were wide open, like a young
+eagle's whom the sun itself does not blind.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>VII</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">No one could take up a gifted but obscure beginner more cordially than
+did the great de Sterny the little Von Zuylen. He invited the boy to
+breakfast, two, three times in succession, and Gesa became a familiar
+part of the furniture, perhaps rather a favorite ornament in the
+virtuoso's elegant hotel apartments. He was always obliged to bring his
+violin, and to improvise for de Sterny, who accompanied him on the
+piano, with the ready skill in following another's feeling, which was
+his peculiar gift. Then he would draw Gesa into conversation and laugh
+immoderately at the boy's original notions. Soon he could not meet an
+acquaintance without crying out to him, &quot;Have you seen my little Gipsy?
+I must make you acquainted with my Gipsy. He improvises like Chopin,
+only quite otherwise. Yesterday he quoted Shakespeare to me, and to-day
+he discovered that Marsala is not so good as Tokay. And he is
+handsome,--'<i>à croquer</i>.'&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In Brussels society the rumor of an &quot;Eighth Wonder of the World&quot; began
+to spread, and at last the Princess L---- arranged a musical soirée for
+his benefit, on which occasion truly the &quot;eighth wonder&quot; came very near
+losing his prestige altogether. De Sterny took charge with amiable
+pedantry, of all the details of his protégé's appearance, had him
+measured for a pair of patent leather shoes, and on the eventful
+evening tied the boy's white cravat with his own hands, and brought him
+in his own carriage to the L---- palace. But already in the brilliant
+vestibule, adorned with old weapons, and two mysterious black suits of
+armor, Gesa's robust self-conceit vanished completely. He who had faced
+the public at a concert with a lion's courage now clung with almost
+childish anxiety to de Sterny.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Have you brought the 'eighth wonder'?&quot; cried the princess to de
+Sterny, as he entered. She was a blonde lady, uncommonly good-natured,
+very lively, and very short-sighted, for which reason she always held
+her glass to her eyes. &quot;Have you brought the 'eighth wonder'?&quot; cried
+she, in a tone as if that were something comic.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Of course--here it is,--it is named Gesa von Zuylen--Gesa von Zuylen,
+<i>c'est droll</i>--is it not, princess? May I beg that you will deal a
+little carefully with my 'eighth wonder'--it is a little sensitive!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;So--really! That is charming. I am glad when a young artist displays a
+certain pride, it is always becoming. What eyes he has,&quot;--staring at
+Gesa through her glass--&quot;my husband told me about his eyes. A real
+true gipsy.--They say he quoted Shakespeare of late--I laughed so at
+that!&quot;-- Then, as other guests entered, &quot;pray, endeavor to make the
+'eighth wonder' comfortable, de Sterny, you are entirely at home here.&quot;
+This was the princess's manner of dealing carefully with a sensitive
+&quot;eighth wonder.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">De Sterny placed the boy temporarily in a corner, out of which he soon
+drew him forth to be presented to several ladies and gentlemen. Gesa
+assumed a haughty bearing. The ladies especially were very friendly,
+and very patronizing, only it scarcely occurred to one of them to
+address a word to the boy himself. They all talked about him, in his
+presence, as if he were a picture, or as if he could not understand
+French. They wondered, and praised and then forgot him while he stood
+before them, and talked among themselves of other things. It grew more
+and more uncomfortable for him, and as his embarrassment increased he
+felt as if he were walking painfully upon smooth thin ice. He shivered
+a little. Everything around him was so bright and cold. The soft, fine,
+flute-like voices of good society hurt him. Light and stinging as
+snowflakes, their words flew against his burning cheeks. He would have
+liked to weep. He was an &quot;eighth world-wonder&quot;--they stared at him
+through a lorgnette, discussed him,--and cared for him no further.
+Listening he heard the words &quot;comes from the Rue Ravestein.&quot;--&quot;What is
+that, the Rue Ravestein?&quot; &quot;What is it? That is difficult to explain to a
+lady,&quot;--&quot;<i>vraiment</i>?&quot; &quot;But he gives a perfectly amazing impression of
+good breeding.&quot; &quot;<i>Il n'a pas du tout e' air peuple!</i>&quot; &quot;But since he is
+a gipsy,&quot;--Gesa felt his throat tighten.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Shall we not hear you to-day?&quot; asked the ladies who crowded around de
+Sterny.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Me?&quot; he replied, with a laugh, &quot;me? I am only manager to-day--and
+besides I suffer horribly from stage fright.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The moment had come! Gesa must play: his heart beat to suffocation. It
+was not he, but a stolid clod stiffened with bashfulness who stood up
+and laid his fingers on the strings. In the middle of Mendelssohn's G
+minor Concerto he stuck fast, stumbled over himself, picked up, and
+scrambled painfully through to the end. The composition was never worse
+played. De Sterny was beside himself. Gesa would have liked to sink
+through the floor.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A few people applauded because they did not know any better, and a few
+others because they had not been listening at all. But the greater part
+shrugged their shoulders, and said &quot;de Sterny is an enthusiast.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And when the virtuoso tried to say a word in excuse for his protégé and
+declared he had never heard him play so ill, they answered &quot;Bah! we
+don't blame you for anything, de Sterny. We know you are an
+enthusiast.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The company chatted and laughed, and nibbled a little refreshment in
+their careless fashion. Then came a deputation of the handsomest women
+and begged de Sterny to play, whereupon he seated himself at the piano
+with his usual good-humored readiness, and smiling consciousness of
+success. After he had played he went to Gesa and said:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;My dear boy, collect yourself! Could you not forget that any one heard
+you but me, and improvise something? Try to remember the theme you last
+played to me. Your future depends upon it. And I would so like to be
+proud of you!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">These last words worked a miracle.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I will play--only--only--that I may not shame you!&quot; murmured Gesa.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The boy was deathly pale, and trembled all over as he raised his
+violin, his eyes lighted up--and then hid themselves behind their dark
+lashes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A rain of fire fell before his vision, a whirl of emotion filled his
+breast, wild passionate melodies sounded in his ears. Had he dreamed
+them, or had a complaining autumn storm driven them hither from the
+land of his father? Were they echoes of the songs his mother had
+listened to from her lover, and later had hushed her child to sleep
+with them, as she rocked him on the threshold of the house in the
+shabby little street, where the sad Saviour looked hopelessly down from
+the Crucifix on the grey church wall? Who knows! His violin sang and
+sobbed as only a Hungarian gipsy-violin can; harsh modulations,
+piercing melodies, a mad tempest of passion,--then one last burst of
+wild, reckless hilarity--and he broke off, breathless, and gazing
+fixedly before him. He knew he had done his best. His ears listened
+greedily. If they expected a storm of applause as at his public debut,
+they were disappointed. Only a little hum, like the dry leaves that an
+east wind is rustling, buzzed through the room, and as if afar off he
+heard the words &quot;<i>Charmant, magnifique</i>, original, tsigane&quot;--His head
+sank, a black cloud floated before his eyes. De Sterny came up and
+clapped him on the shoulder. &quot;Bravo! Bravo!&quot; he cried, &quot;we are
+rehabilitated!&quot; and turning to the company with a triumphant smile,</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Now did I exaggerate?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But Gesa listened no longer for the answer of the salon. He pressed de
+Sterny's hand to his hot lips, and burst into tears. The virtuoso was
+his heaven, his God. &quot;Mais voyons! grand enfant!&quot; said his patron
+soothingly. And the &quot;world&quot; was enchanted, even more of course by the
+generosity of the great pianist than by the talent of his protégé!</p>
+
+<br>
+<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:10px">* * * * *</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What is a chimera?&quot; asked the little Gipsy of his great friend one
+day.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It was in the forenoon. Gesa had been turning over the leaves of a
+French book which he did not understand, &quot;Les Fleurs du Mal,&quot; by
+Baudelaire. De Sterny meanwhile had been writing letters. He wore a
+yellow dressing gown of Japanese silk, in which he looked like a large
+mullein. He yawned and stretched himself, looked pale and used up. That
+he had not slept regularly for fifteen years was very evident from his
+appearance.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What is a chimera?&quot; asked Gesa.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;A chimera--a chimera--it is a siren with wings,&quot; defined the virtuoso,
+turning round.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;H'm!&quot; Gesa lowered his eyes thoughtfully, then raised them
+inquiringly. &quot;An ennobled siren then?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes,--as one takes it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">De Sterny sat down by the chimney to warm his feet. &quot;Deuced cold!--hand
+me the chartreuse, so--Yes, a refined siren if you like,&quot; he continued.
+&quot;The siren has soft human arms with which she draws us into destructive
+pleasures, the chimera has claws with which she tears our heart.
+The siren entices us into the mire, the chimera lures us toward
+heaven,--only we don't reach the heaven, and we often find ourselves
+very well off in the mire,--deucedly well off! But <i>saperment</i>! you
+don't understand that yet.&quot; And he pulled Gesa's ear.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The boy looked rather confused: he certainly had not understood a word
+of his patron's tirade. &quot;But some of us reach heaven, the heaven of
+Art, the Walhalla, the Pantheon,&quot; cried he, eagerly, with the bombast
+of a very young person who has read more than he has understood, and
+likes to display his little knowledge--&quot;If only one sets out early
+enough on the way.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh yes, a few!&quot; murmured the virtuoso with a queer smile.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Michael Angelo, Raphael, Beethoven,&quot; cried the boy.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Shakespeare, Milton, Mozart, Leonardo da Vinci,&quot; de Sterny laughed
+aloud as he continued the litany. &quot;But I assure you a man must have
+quite astounding powers to reach that heaven, and lungs constructed
+expressly for the purpose in order to feel comfortable after he gets
+there.&quot; The pianist yawned slightly. He belonged among those who amuse
+themselves with the sirens without permitting them to acquire too much
+power, and who avoid chimeras on principle. But Gesa was not yet
+satisfied.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Have all chimeras wings?&quot; he asked, thoughtfully.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;God forbid!&quot; cried de Sterny.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But&quot;--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;My dear,&quot; cried his patron, laughingly, &quot;if you have any more
+questions to ask, say so, and I will ring for the waiter to bring up an
+encyclop&#339;dia--I am at the end of my Latin!&quot;</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>VIII</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Eleven years later, in the middle of May, Gesa came back to Brussels
+after a long absence. Alphonse de Sterny had known how to make
+practical use of the enthusiasm in Brussels society. Gesa had been sent
+on a government pension and supported, moreover, by the favor of
+several eminent persons, to study under one of the most famous
+violinists of the time, then settled in Paris.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He had studied a little, dissipated a great deal, then studied again;
+had been much admired, much envied; had learned to empty his champagne
+glass, and to distinguish in women between a coquette and one who will
+repel an impertinence. He had made his first professional tour, with a
+famous Italian staccato singer, and a still more famous Moravian
+impressario, had earned many laurels, had finally quarreled at Nice
+with the violincellist of the troupe on the singer's account, had
+challenged the cellist, and insulted the manager. The latter was a
+reasonable being, however, who did not stand on trifles of that sort,
+and two months later in Paris, when he was engaging a company for his
+American tour he made Gesa a brilliant offer. But the young violinist
+was rich in the possession of a few thousand francs that remained to
+him from his last enterprise, and he curtly declined the great
+Marinsky's proposal, saying &quot;the career of a soloist bored him, he
+wished to devote himself to composition.&quot; He was twenty-four years old.
+At that age many musicians have produced their greatest works. He had
+published nothing as yet, except a &quot;Reverie&quot; that appeared nearly seven
+years before, with a handsome vignette of the young composer on the
+title page, in all the pomp of a dilettante production, was bought by
+the whole Faubourg St. Germaine, and by hardly any one else. Since that
+time he had scribbled a great deal, but had finished nothing,--and yet
+he felt so rich! He had only not willed it as yet. He needed quiet for
+composing. But quiet in Paris is an article of luxury that none but
+very great gentlemen can compel. Brussels rose in his memory, Brussels
+with her Gothic churches and crooked streets, her zealous Catholicism,
+her luxuriant vegetation and stagnant life. A sort of homesickness
+overcame him,--he started for Brussels.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It was the middle of May; May is beautiful in Brussels. No long war,
+only gay skirmishes between sun and rain clear the air. Undulating
+golden vapors weave a dreamy halo, like the atmosphere of old legends,
+over the perspective of ancient streets that lose themselves in the far
+distance; they shimmer like luminous shadows around the Gothic lace
+work of St. Gudule, and spread their blonde veil over the green pomp of
+the park. There is something quite mysterious in this hazy light, this
+mist of dissolved sunbeams, this metallic vibrating and shimmering that
+illumines sober, grey old Brussels in the springtime, like a saint's
+nimbus. The statues in the park have lost their winter cowls of straw;
+through the trees, whose feathery foliage gives out a pleasant pungent
+spring odor, glide the sunbeams, outline the edge of a gnarled black
+bough with a streak of silver, paint broad spots of light on a mighty
+bole, slip gaily into the moist grass and play hide-and-seek among the
+transparent leaf-shadows. Around the house of the Prince of Orange
+luxuriant blooming lilac bushes toss their white and pale purple
+plumes; before the Koenigsgarten dreamily waves a sea of violet
+rhododendrons; and heavy with fragrance, warmly enervating, a scarcely
+perceptible breath of wind stirs the air, the Sirocco of the North.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa went with vigorous strides from the Gare du Midi, across the
+Boulevard, to the Rue Ravestein. Everything interested him, everything
+seemed like home. He stood still, looked about him, smiled, went a
+little further, and again stood still, in his foolish absent fashion.
+Now he turned off from the Montagne de la Cour--before his eyes
+stretched the Rue Ravestein. A strange nameless feeling overcame him, a
+feeling of agitation and anxiety. He could have turned and fled, yet he
+drew nearer and nearer. Soft golden haze wove itself over everything.
+The strange little alley, with its architecture of the Middle Ages, and
+its crucifix leaning against the black church wall, looked like an old
+picture painted on a gold background.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Is Monsieur Delileo at home?&quot; asked Gesa at the door of the well-known
+dwelling. The unaccustomed Flemish words fell haltingly from his lips.
+The maid, who was busied (unexampled waste of time!) in cleaning the
+threshold, looked up at him somewhat astonished, and nodded. His heart
+beat as he entered the vestibule, and hastily cleared the old wooden
+stairs that groaned under the storming of his impatient young feet. He
+knocked at the door but received no answer, and he entered the chamber,
+which still contained the old green carpet. It was much cleaner than
+when he and Delileo had lived there together; even a little coquettish
+in its arrangement. A strange narcotic, dreamy odor streamed to meet
+him. Under the portrait of the Gualtieri, in the crumbling delft
+pitcher, stood a large bouquet of tempting iris-hued poppies,--those
+bewitching, beautiful, enormous flowers that are known by the name of
+&quot;<i>pavots de Nice</i>.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The door of this first room was open; on the outer wall of the farther
+chamber was a glass enclosed balcony. There at a little round table,
+opposite one another, sat Delileo--and his daughter! Gesa started, and
+looked at the maiden dumb with admiration. Nowhere except in Italy had
+he seen features with at once such regular and such peculiarly rounded
+lines. The girl's little head rested upon a pair of strong classic
+shoulders, her colorless face was lighted by a pair of mysterious, dark
+eyes, and scarlet lips. Delileo's daughter, notwithstanding she
+scarcely counted seventeen years, had nothing of the angular grace that
+belongs to Northern maidens: her whole being breathed an enchanting,
+luxuriant ripeness.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">While Gesa stood there, lost in this unexpected vision, Delileo looked
+up, winked as if dazzled, stretched out his head, the young musician
+smiled and stepped forward.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Gesa! Thou!&quot; and in the next moment the &quot;droevige Herr&quot; held his
+foster son in his arms. The two shed some pleasant tears, then Delileo
+pushed the young man away from him, the better to see him, then he
+embraced him again. &quot;And will you stay with us for a little while?&quot; he
+asked, and his voice trembled.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;As long as you will let me, father,&quot; replied Gesa. &quot;I want to work in
+quiet near you; that is, I know that here is no place for me, but I
+will lodge in your neighborhood. But&quot;--he looked around at the young
+girl, &quot;make me acquainted with my sister!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ah! right! Well, Annette, this is Gesa von Zuylen, of whom I have so
+often told you. Tell him he is welcome, and you, Gesa, give her a kiss,
+as a brother should!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The evening meal was over, the long grey May twilight had extinguished
+all the golden shimmer. Only one slender red ray fell from a street
+lamp along the alley, and a second glistened in the colored glass of
+the church window.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa sat comfortably leaning back in the softest armchair the
+establishment afforded, and explained to the attentive Gaston his
+numerous plans for composition.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Annette was silent: her large eyes shone in the twilight.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa talked and talked and the &quot;droevige Herr&quot; only interrupted him
+from time to time to cry &quot;cela sera superbe!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Rhythmically scanned, mystically blended, the far-off sounds of the
+city penetrated to the Rue Ravestein like a monotonous slumber song.
+The dreamy relaxing smell of the poppies grew stronger with the
+incoming night, and from time to time there was the rustle of a leaf
+that detached itself and fell dying onto the cold marble of the
+gueridon.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>IX</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">The poppies lay in the gutter and many other fresh and gracious flowers
+had withered under the portrait of the Gualtieri. May had become June,
+and June July. Every evening Gesa explained his projects to his
+foster-father, played one and another melody on his violin, or
+sketched the whole of an ensemble movement for him on the old spinet,
+received Gaston's assurance &quot;<i>cela cera superbe!</i>&quot; improvised a great
+deal, listened dreamily to the singing and ringing in his soul,
+and--accomplished nothing. He had lodged himself in a neighboring
+attic, at a washerwoman's, but spent the whole day in the home of
+Delileo, now made still more attractive by the gracious presence of
+Annette.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The &quot;droewige Herr&quot; had found a regular situation, probably for his
+daughter's sake. He busied himself as secretary of the theatre and also
+as <i>feuilletonist</i> of a newspaper. This procured him steady employment.
+His housekeeping now bore the stamp, not of limited means, but of
+slovenly comfort, the comfort of the Rue Ravestein.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa felt at home in this disorder. He always found a comfortable sofa
+on whose arms he could rest his hands while he talked about the future,
+and in whose cushions he could lean back his head while he searched for
+the outlines of impending fortune among the smoke-clouds from his
+cigarette; and he always found a bottle of good Bordeaux on the table
+when he seated himself at dinner.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He loved the long idling meal times, which lifted from him the
+necessity of doing anything, and furnished such a plausible excuse for
+his beloved laziness: he loved to sit and dally with his coffee, while
+Annette sat opposite and occasionally sipped a little out of his cup.
+He loved to rummage among the notes of old composers whom no one had
+ever heard of and to rush through the works of half-forgotten poets.
+When a verse pleased him, then his eyes glowed, and he would thunder
+forth the most colossal adjectives, and read the lines two, three, yes
+twenty times to the little Annette. He might just as well have read to
+the Flemish servant outside, only she would not, perhaps, have smiled
+so prettily. Then he would seize note paper and set the verse to music,
+try his hasty composition on the old spinet, that gave back the stormy
+melodies of his foaming, effervescing youth in a broken, trembling
+little voice, like a grandmother on the edge of the grave who sings a
+love song for the last time. Then Annette must try the verse. She had a
+splendid contralto voice, and spared no pains to give him pleasure with
+her singing. But he was never contented. &quot;More expression Annette, more
+passion!&quot; he would cry. &quot;Do you feel nothing then, absolutely nothing
+here!&quot; and he tapped her on the heart with his finger. She smiled,
+colored, and turned her face away.</p>
+
+<br>
+<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:10px">* * * * *</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Gaston Delileo had resolved to look upon Annette and Gesa as sister and
+brother; that cut short all other thoughts, and was very comfortable.
+He would not notice how much Annette was occupied with her &quot;brother,&quot;
+to what flattering little attentions she accustomed him, with what an
+expression her large dark eyes sometimes rested upon him. He only
+noticed that in the beginning Gesa's bearing was perfectly cool,
+cordial and brotherly. Toward the end of July the latter began to
+neglect Rue Ravestein a little, and entangled himself in some sort of
+relation with a Paris actress who, playing an engagement at the Galerie
+St. Hubert, found herself bored in Brussels. Annette was consumed by
+jealousy without Gesa's guessing the cause of her disquiet.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What ails you, Bichette?&quot; he asked, anxiously, stroking her thin cheek
+with a caressing hand. &quot;What makes you sad? It is this pestilential
+city air that does not agree with you. Send her to the seashore for a
+while, father!&quot; The old man shrugged his shoulders--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Alas!&quot; he murmured. &quot;I have not the means.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The means! the means!&quot; cried Gesa, &quot;then permit me to advance them. I
+have lived so long on your generosity!&quot; Gesa forgot how much his little
+attentions to Mlle. Irma had cost! When he hurried over to his
+apartment to get a couple of bank notes, he found in his pocketbook
+just one solitary twenty-franc piece. At first he rubbed his head and
+stared, then he burst out laughing, and carried his used up purse
+across to Delileo, &quot;There, laugh at me and my big promises,&quot; he cried.
+&quot;Here, see, this is my whole wealth! But wait, only wait! My hands and
+my head are full of gold. If only once the right feeling for work would
+come--the real fever! Do you happen to know where I have laid the
+libretto for my opera?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Toward the end of August, Mlle. Irma left Brussels, Gesa became morose,
+and the mood was favorable to industry.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">One morning he felt &quot;the fever.&quot; He spread some music paper before him,
+smoothed it with his hand, cut a pen, planted his elbows on the one
+shaky table his attic contained, wrote a line, struck it out, stretched
+himself, and twisted himself--a feeling of physical unrest tormented
+him. He resolved to go out for a little, and wandered into the park,
+where he stood still from time to time as if listening to an inward
+voice, jostling absently against passers-by, and at last sat down upon
+a bench, thinking deeply. Suddenly a gust of wind passed, lightly at
+first, then howling loudly through the tree tops overhead. Gesa
+started, pressed his hands to his temples, a flood of music streamed
+through his soul. He hurried back to his attic, and wrote and wrote.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The hour at which he was accustomed to find himself at lunch with
+Annette,--Delileo seldom came home for this meal,--was long past, the
+late supper time had come--Gesa still bent over his music paper. Single
+leaves lay strewn around him on the floor. Some one knocked at the
+door--he did not hear. Delileo entered. &quot;What are you doing, my boy,
+that one sees nothing of you to-day. Are you sick?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa stared at him as if awakened from a strange dream. &quot;No,&quot; he
+answered, simply, &quot;I am working.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He was very pale and his hands trembled. Delileo insisted that he must
+interrupt his work at least long enough to take some nourishment. Gesa
+followed him unwillingly. He sat at table, ate nothing, did not speak,
+but gazed steadily at one spot like a ghost seer. After supper he
+wandered up and down the sitting-room, humming disconnected melodies to
+himself, clutched from time to time at the keys of the old spinet,
+threw out with short lips a single tone in which some sort of grand
+finale seemed to culminate, lashed about him urging on an imaginary
+orchestra, stamped suddenly on the floor and cried &quot;Bravo!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Delileo, who had had plenty to do, in his day, with poets and
+composers, let him quietly alone; treating him with the forbearance
+which is accorded to the unhappy, the weak-minded, and geniuses. But
+Annette could not understand this strange behavior, and at last she
+broke out in a gay laugh.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Strange to say Gesa took this childishness very ill, and left the
+chamber with a hastily muttered &quot;good-night.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Until the grey of morning he was working at his opera.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Several days went by, days during which Gesa neither ate nor slept,
+looked excited and irritable, yet at the same time enjoyed an
+indescribable painful happiness, a condition of supreme exaltation. In
+vain Delileo warned him, &quot;Don't overwork, one can strain the creative
+faculty as well as the voice, be moderate!&quot; Gesa only shook his
+handsome head and smiled to himself with eyes half shut. Perhaps he had
+not heard a word his foster-father had been saying.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And then, suddenly, when, shouting an exultant Eureka to himself, he
+finished the finale of the fifth act,--the third and fourth were not
+even begun yet,--his inspiration failed. Pegasus threw him, as an
+overworked and maltreated Pegasus will,--threw him from the Spheres of
+Light down into the regions of Earthly Misery.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Painful headaches, and fathomless melancholy tormented him, his own
+performance seemed suddenly repulsive to him: where at first he had
+only seen the beauties of his work, he now recognized nothing but its
+deficiencies, compared it with the works of other masters, ground his
+teeth, and beat his brow. He condemned his own composition
+unmercifully, as overstrained and absurdly romantic. He could only
+endure the coldest, dryest musical fare. A Nocturne of Chopin threw him
+into a nervous excitement. He practiced the &quot;Chaconne&quot; by Bach
+incessantly. He looked like one who was convalescing from a severe
+illness. With neglected dress and dragging step he lounged about
+aimlessly, or brooded by the hour, all in a heap, head on hand, in the
+darkest corner of the green sitting-room. Once after he had been trying
+a new composition, in careless fashion on his violin, he put the
+instrument away with nervous haste, threw himself into the great
+leather armchair that was regarded as his by all the family, bit
+restlessly at his nails a moment, and then suddenly broke into
+convulsive sobbing. Then came Annette shyly to him, stroked his hair
+pityingly, and whispered, &quot;Poor Gesa, does it hurt so to be a Genius?&quot;
+He drew her onto his knee, kissed her often and ardently on hair, eyes,
+mouth, and when half glad, half frightened, she drew away, he allowed
+her to slip from his arms, but took both her hands and said softly,
+looking up at her with true-hearted eyes, &quot;Annette, my good little
+Annette, can you endure me? Will you be my wife? Not now, but when I am
+become a great artist. Perhaps I may yet, for your sake.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She blushed, and stammered, &quot;What can you want of such a foolish girl
+as I am?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But if she just happens to please me,&quot; he jested, much moved.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She bent her young head over his hand and kissed it, then she nestled
+down on a stool at his feet. When Gaston came home he found them thus,
+and gave his blessing upon the betrothal.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>X</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa's affection for his betrothed grew ever day more tender, and more
+devoted. Her behavior toward him changed, in that she laid aside
+something of her bashfulness, and adopted a tone of teasing perversity.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Since it was no longer possible to regard his children as brother and
+sister, Gaston resolved to beg that Gesa would limit his intercourse
+with Annette to evening visits, and a daily walk. O those daily walks!
+Annette liked the frequented streets, and loved to stand before the
+show windows of the shops where finery was kept, while she asked her
+lover if he would give her this or that pretty thing if he were a great
+artist. Her fancies, as yet, were not very expensive, and seldom rose
+above a dainty ribbon or a coquettish pair of bronze slippers. He
+smiled at her questions and usually sent her the desired object next
+morning, accompanied by a pretty, cordial, unpretending little note. A
+few lessons which he was giving enabled him to indulge in this
+lover-like extravagance.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Unlike Annette, he had a disinclination for frequented streets, and
+strolled more willingly with her in the park, at this time quite
+desolate, and deserted of human kind. Dreaming and forgetful of all the
+world, he walked beside her under the trees that sighed in the November
+wind. Here and there the paths were broken by large puddles, and when
+no one was looking he lifted the maiden lightly over. Annette did not
+care for a little splashing, and leaned all the more heavily on her
+lover's arm. Sometimes, when he went along quite too dumb and absent at
+her side, she gave his arm a little pinch to arouse him, and cried
+&quot;Wake up, tell me something.&quot; Then he would look down at her with wet,
+happy eyes and murmur, &quot;I love you.&quot; He was beyond all bounds in love,
+and beyond all measure tiresome. But he composed at this time very
+industriously although more collectedly, and with less exaltation. He
+had postponed the completion of his opera for the present, and had
+nearly finished instead a dramatic work, in oratorio form, founded on
+Dante's Inferno.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>XI</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Annette!&quot; cried Gesa, one evening in the end of November, bursting
+breathless into the green sitting-room. &quot;Annette! Father!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What is it, my boy?&quot; asked Delileo.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;De Sterny has written to me. He is coming next week to Brussels.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh!&quot; said Annette, irritated and disappointed, &quot;I certainly thought
+you had drawn the great lottery prize or had come to astonish us with
+an engagement at five thousand francs a month.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Why! Annette!&quot; cried Gesa.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No wonder that you rejoice,&quot; said the tender and sympathetic Delileo,
+and seeing that Gesa kept his great tragic eyes fixed on Annette's
+face, with an expression of reproachful surprise, he added soothingly,
+&quot;You must not take her indifference to heart, she does not know what
+'de Sterny' is.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">So Gesa spent that evening in explaining to his betrothed bride what de
+Sterny had been to him for the last ten years, and what the virtuoso's
+name meant to his grateful heart.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>XII</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">She had understood--the virtuoso's nimbus had become quite visible to
+her. Gesa need fear no longer that she would not know how to value his
+great friend sufficiently. How could it be otherwise? His name was to
+be encountered everywhere. All the newest bon-bons, patent leathers,
+pocket handkerchiefs were named after him, and the children played at
+&quot;Concert and Virtuoso,&quot; just as in the earliest youth of our century
+they had played &quot;Consul and Battle of Marengo.&quot; Annette was taking
+singing lessons now. Another little luxury that Gesa had provided for
+her, and at her singing teacher's house the girls whom she met there
+talked of nothing but de Sterny. The uncle of one pupil was conductor
+at the &quot;Monnaie&quot; de Sterny had called upon him, and had forgotten his
+gloves on going away. The said pupil brought those gloves to the next
+singing lesson; they were cut in pieces and divided among Signor
+Martini's feminine pupils. Years afterward, more than one of these
+gushers wore a bit of leather round her neck, sewed up in a little silk
+bag!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At this time de Sterny had reached the zenith of his fame. His last
+tour through Russia had resembled a triumph. In Odessa they had
+received him with the discharge of cannon, in Moscow a procession had
+gone to meet him, huzzahing students had unhitched the horses from his
+coach and the fairest women had showered down flowers from the windows
+upon his illustrious head, as the cortege passed through the principal
+streets; in Petersburg a grand duchess had insisted upon his lodging in
+her palace; sable furs, laurel wreaths, diamond rings, casks of
+caviare, and a golden samovar, had all been humbly laid at his feet by
+Russian enthusiasm. All this Gesa related to his beloved. What he
+failed to tell her was that the greatest ladies had contended for de
+Sterny's favor, and that a princess cruelly scorned by him had shot
+herself at one of his concerts while he was playing! But these things
+she learned from the girls in the singing class. They interested her
+much more than de Sterny's other triumphs.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Of course Gesa went to meet the virtuoso at the station. But as half
+Brussels besides were assembled at the &quot;gare du nord,&quot; for the same
+purpose, de Sterny could only dismiss his protégé with a cordial
+pressure of the hand, and an invitation to visit him next morning at
+the Hotel de Flandres.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When Gesa entered at the appointed hour, he found de Sterny sitting at
+his desk, with his head on one hand and a pen in the other: a sheet of
+music paper, covered with notes, and full of corrections, lay before
+him. In his nervous, precise, mechanically polite bearing, that
+uncomfortable something betrayed itself, which a man contracts from
+constant association with his superiors. One remarked in him that he
+had accustomed himself, so to speak, to sleep with open eyes, like
+hares,--and courtiers.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, how are you? I am truly rejoiced to see you,&quot; he cried to Gesa,
+&quot;it makes me downright young to look in your eyes. I was much
+astonished to hear of your prolonged stay in Brussels. What the devil
+are you going to do here? I thought you were with Manager Marinski, on
+the other side of the world long ago.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;My engagement was broken off--that is I have no desire to bind
+myself,&quot; said Gesa, blushing a little.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;So--here--and meantime you are knocking around&quot;--de Sterny treated the
+young musician in his old cordial, patronizing manner. &quot;Sapristi! You
+look splendidly, too well for a young artist. Look me in the face. And
+what are you really doing? Plans? Eh?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;O, I am very industrious, I give lessons.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh! lessons! <i>You</i>--lessons! <i>Nom d'un chien!</i> I should think it would
+have been more amusing to dig for gold in America with Marinski.
+Lessons! And so few pretty women learn the violin! Well, and besides
+lessons, how do you busy yourself?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I compose. You seem also&quot;--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Certainly, certainly,&quot; replied de Sterny, pushing the music paper into
+his portfolio. &quot;But how can a man compose in such a life as I lead?
+Bah! I have had enough of squandering my existence in railroad cars and
+concert halls! Oh for four weeks rest, beefsteak and potatoes, country
+air, flowers and one friend!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Some one knocked, the virtuoso's servant entered. &quot;I am not at home!&quot;
+cried de Sterny.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But it is Count S----&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am not at home. Animal! to any one--do you hear!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The valet vanished.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You see how it is,&quot; grumbled de Sterny, &quot;before another quarter
+strikes ten persons will have been announced. It is a stale life,
+always to play the same fool's tricks, always to be applauded for
+them....&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Do you perhaps desire to be hissed by way of variety?&quot; laughed Gesa.
+At this quite innocent repartee the virtuoso changed color a little,
+and glanced suspiciously first at Gesa and then at the portfolio where
+he had hidden his composition. But the young violinist's eyes convinced
+him that no harm was intended. If de Sterny ever had a believing
+disciple it was Gesa Van Zuylen.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It is really a shame,&quot; earnestly observed the young musician after a
+while, &quot;that you allow yourself so little time for composition. I have
+never heard anything of yours but transcriptions--perhaps you will
+sometime trust me with your more serious work.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">De Sterny's brows met. &quot;Hm!&quot; growled he--&quot;I can't show the things
+around. They might take wings. It spoils their eclat if one confides
+them to all sorts of people before they are published.&quot; The blood
+mounted in Gesa's cheek.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;All sorts of people,&quot; he repeated.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But de Sterny burst out laughing and cried, &quot;Still so sensitive! I did
+not mean it in that way. We know you are an exceptional being. Sacre
+bleu! I am the last who would deny it! As soon as I have completed an
+important work I will lay it before you. But that&quot;--with a glance at
+the writing desk, &quot;that is nothing, just nothing--the sketch of some
+ballet music. Princess L----, you remember her, surely, has asked for
+it. Already at Vienna she wrote me about it--you understand. I couldn't
+put it off. <i>C'est assomant</i>. A Countess-ballet!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And now be so good as to ring, that they may bring in the breakfast.
+During the meal you shall confide to me what it really is that holds
+you fast chained in Brussels, for that you remain solely in order to
+find leisure for composition I don't believe!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Over the breakfast Gesa confided his great secret to his friend.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">De Sterny started up. &quot;So that is it. Well you could not have contrived
+anything more stupid for yourself!&quot; cried he. &quot;I suspected something,
+some long drawn out liaison, from which I should have to extricate you.
+But a betrothal! Oh, yes! What are you thinking of? To marry and become
+a paterfamilias at your age! It is ruin! It is the grave! The grave of
+your genius mind, not of your body, that will flourish in the
+atmosphere of sleek morality. You'll grow fat. You'll celebrate a
+christening every year. You'll run from one street to another with your
+trousers turned up and a music book under one arm, giving lessons. And
+your ambition will culminate in obtaining the post of first violin in
+some orchestra, or perhaps if it soars very high in becoming conductor
+of the same. Sapristi! You need the whip of the manager over your back,
+and not the feather bolster of family life under your head! What is
+more <i>this</i> bolster which you are stuffing for yourself will contain
+few feathers. But that is all one to you. You only need a pretext for
+laziness, and would go to sleep on a potato sack!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You speak like a heretic, like a regular atheist in love,&quot; cried Gesa,
+who had not outgrown his passion for large words. &quot;Who told you I was
+going to be married the day after to-morrow? I shall not receive her
+hand until I have secured a position.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ah--so! Well--that is some comfort. But who is she? One of your
+pupils? The blonde daughter of a square-built burgher?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;She is the daughter of my foster-father.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;O--h! The Gualtieri's daughter. And her you will marry? Marry?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You cannot possibly imagine how charming she is,&quot; murmured Gesa.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That the Gualtieri's daughter is charming I can easily imagine,&quot; said
+the virtuoso, and there came suddenly into his eyes an expression of
+dreamy passion to which they were quite unaccustomed, &quot;but that a man
+would want to marry the Gualtieri's daughter, I cannot understand.
+Perhaps you do not know who the Gualtieri was.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa bit his lip.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;She made my foster-father happy.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;So--hm! Made him happy! He was mad as we all were. To have been
+permitted to black her shoes would have made him happy. I know the
+history of Delileo's marriage. It is a legend which they still relate
+in artist circles, only they have got the names wrong. I know the right
+names because ... Delileo interests me for your sake, and--and--because
+the Gualtieri ... was my first love!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa shrank back. &quot;Your first love!&quot; he repeated, breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The virtuoso passed his hand over his forehead and smiled bitterly.
+&quot;Yes! I became acquainted with her in the salon of the d'Agoult. I
+looked like a girl myself then, was scarcely eighteen years old, and in
+love! Oh! in love! She laughed at me--I fretted myself with vain
+desire, she would never notice me. I cannot hear her name now after
+twenty years without feeling as I did then. Heavens! How beautiful she
+was! Form, smile, tresses! Dark hair with auburn lights in neck and
+temples--as if powdered with gold dust. Withal a certain grand
+carriage....&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The virtuoso ceased and gazed musingly into vacancy. The remembrance of
+the Gualtieri was a sore spot in his heart. Gesa looked, deeply moved,
+into the changed countenance of his friend.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How could such a woman consent to marry Delileo?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How? Yes--how? She had lost her voice, her lovers, her health. She was
+thirty-eight years old. He was of a good family, and still possessed
+the remains of a handsome fortune, of which he had already squandered
+the greater part in philanthropic enterprises. He spoiled and pampered
+her as if she were a princess, and she ... she ran away from him one
+year and a half after the birth of her child, your bride,--with an
+obscure Polish adventurer. Delileo discovered her afterward in the
+greatest misery, dying of consumption, in a garret; he took her home
+and nursed her till she died. Poor devil! He had united himself to her
+against the will of his family, and the counsel of his friends, he was
+at the end of his money--so he buried himself in the Rue Ravestein. His
+lot is hard; but--at least he lived a year and a half at her side!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Alphonse de Sterny ceased, and looked down, brooding.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa laid a hand on his arm.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The memory of this woman lives so powerfully in you still, and yet you
+marvel that I want her daughter for my wife--her daughter, who inherits
+all the mother's charm, without her sinfulness?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">De Sterny smiled, no pleasant smile. &quot;How old is she then--sixteen or
+seventeen, if I reckon rightly is she not?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa nodded.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ah! So! And you will judge already of her temperament?&quot; He drummed a
+march on the table. Gesa colored. &quot;De Sterny!&quot; he cried after a pause.
+&quot;Much as I love you I will not bear to hear you speak in that way. Do
+me a favor and learn to know the little one--then judge yourself. Come
+sometime in the evening and drink tea with us, unless you are afraid of
+the Rue Ravestein!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;When you will, big child! to-morrow, day after!--You always keep early
+hours there. I can come before I have to go into society!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A few minutes later Gesa took leave. De Sterny accompanied him to the
+door of the apartment, and called gaily after him, over the banisters.
+&quot;The day after to-morrow then, about eight! I am curious to see your
+Capua!&quot;--</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>XIII</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Great excitement reigned in Rue Ravestein No. 10. An odor of freshly
+baked tea cakes pervaded the stairs and halls. Annette with constantly
+changing color settled the furniture, now in this place, now in that,
+trying to hide its deficiencies, her beautiful eyes rested on the green
+carpet, and she murmured faint-heartedly--&quot;how will it look to him
+here?&quot; Gesa only smiled, kissed her on the forehead, gave her a
+confident little pat on the cheek, and said, &quot;He comes to make your
+acquaintance, my treasure, not to criticize our dwelling.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Even more excited than his daughter was the old Delileo. He had exhumed
+from a worm-eaten chest an ancient frock with a mighty collar in the
+ponderous taste of the citizen-king, and attired in this garment, and
+smelling strongly of camphor, he wandered restlessly from one little
+chamber to another, dusting off a picture frame with his pocket
+handkerchief, casting a half-shamed glance into the dull mirror, and
+pulling with trembling fingers at his imposing silk neck kerchief,
+which with his beautifully embroidered but rather yellow cambric shirt,
+had been young under the umbrella-sceptre of Louis Philippe.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa joked at the agitation of his little family, but nevertheless felt
+it to be perfectly justifiable, in anticipation of the great event.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At eight o'clock every heart beat; five minutes after eight Delileo
+remarked &quot;perhaps he won't come&quot;; at a quarter past Annette turned a
+surprised look on her lover, and said, &quot;but he promised you positively,
+Gesa!&quot; at half past eight a stir was heard on the floor below. &quot;It is
+an excuse from de Sterny,&quot; said Delileo, going to meet disappointment,
+as was his custom.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Shall I find Monsieur Delileo here?&quot; a very cultivated voice was heard
+asking, on the stairs. Gesa rushed out. The old journalist passed a
+thumb and fore finger over his cheeks--to give himself an unembarrassed
+air, Annette disappeared.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A few seconds later the door opened, and into the shabby green salon
+there came an aristocratic-looking blonde man, who was a little
+embarrassed by the fact that he had not been able to lay aside his fur
+coat in the hall. This did not last a moment, however. Scarcely had
+Gesa relieved him of the heavy garment than he held out his hand
+cordially to the master of the house, whom Gesa formally presented, and
+said &quot;we are old acquaintances!&quot; and when the &quot;droewige Herr&quot; would
+have set aside this compliment with a deprecating wave of the hand, de
+Sterny continued, &quot;You perhaps may not remember the love-sick dreamer
+whom you met in old times at the Countess d'Agoult's. But I have not
+forgotten your sympathizing kindness. It did me good. We had then, as I
+believe, the same trouble--only&quot;--with a glance at the Gualtieri's
+picture which his quick searching eye had already discovered--&quot;later
+you were happier than I!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then verily tears filled the eyes of the &quot;droewigen Herrn,&quot; and he
+pressed the virtuoso's hand.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well?&quot; de Sterny glanced merrily at Gesa, &quot;I was promised something
+more than a meeting with old friends,--a new acquaintance?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa looked around. &quot;Oh, the little goose, she has hidden.&quot; He hurried
+into the next room--they heard his tender reassuring &quot;<i>vollons
+fillette</i>, don't be a child!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">On Gesa's arm, timid, abashed, pale from excitement, deep feverish red
+on her lips, she came toward the virtuoso, and laid her little ice-cold
+fingers in his offered hand.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">As if bewitched he stared at the young girl, then collecting himself,
+he kissed her soft child-hand, chivalrously and said, &quot;You must pardon
+me this, Fräulein, I am a very old friend of your betrothed, and was
+once an obscure, but intense admirer of your mother.&quot; Then turning to
+Delileo, he added &quot;the resemblance is perfectly startling--it is a
+resurrection!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">No one could be more amiable than de Sterny was in the Rue Ravestein,
+and moreover his amiability cost him not the slightest effort. Like
+other grand gentlemen he took pleasure in making small excursions into
+spheres where it would have been frightful for him if he had been
+obliged to live.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Toward old Delileo he adopted a tone of modest deference, toward Gesa,
+as always heretofore, one of half boon-companion, half paternal banter.
+He drank two cups of tea, boasted of his hunger, and praised the dainty
+tea cakes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Delileo poured out reminiscences which dated as far back as his frock,
+and were just as much in accordance with modern taste. Silent and pale
+the Gualtieri's daughter sat before the guest. She did not raise her
+eyes to him once, yet no detail of his appearance escaped her. As he
+expected that evening to return from the Rue Ravestein into the world,
+he wore evening dress which became him well. His white cravat, his open
+waistcoat and carefully arranged hair, were for her a revelation.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He addressed her repeatedly, but she only answered in monosyllables.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Is not mademoiselle musical?&quot; he asked, turning from these laborious
+attempts at conversation to Delileo.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, she sings a little!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Has her voice any resemblance to--to&quot;--de Sterny stopped short.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Say, will you sing something for us, Bijou?&quot; whispered Gesa to the
+girl, &quot;we will not urge you, but if....&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You would give me such great pleasure!&quot; said de Sterny.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Making no answer, with a heavy movement, as if walking in sleep, the
+young girl rose, went to the spinet, and laid a sheet of music on the
+desk. It was the fine old romance of Martini--&quot;plaisir d'Amour.&quot; The
+virtuoso instantly offered to accompany her. She nodded shyly. Softly
+and sadly through the shabby green chamber sounded the immortal love
+song, a song which the united efforts of all the female pupils in the
+Conservatories of Europe have not succeeded in killing.</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<p class="t0">
+Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un instant,<br>
+Chagrin d 'amour dure tonte la vie!--</p>
+</div>
+
+<p class="normal">She held her hands, as she had been taught, lightly laid in one
+another, but the delicate head, contrary to regulation, was inclined
+toward the right shoulder--as if it had suddenly grown heavy. Her voice
+sounded hollow and mournful; it trembled as if with suppressed sobs.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;She is afraid of you,&quot; said Gesa, who had come up to her side, &quot;I
+don't know in the least what ails her. Usually she does not want
+courage. <i>Pauvre petite chat</i>&quot;--and he stroked her hair gently.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The virtuoso's brow fell, as if it hurt him to witness these innocent
+caresses. He turned to Delileo.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It is the same voice, absolutely the same voice! A wonderful likeness!
+Now, mademoiselle, you will grant me just one more trifle, will you
+not?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa brought out from a pile of music a written sheet, and laid it on
+the rack. &quot;Just do this, Annette,&quot; he urged, taking up his violin. &quot;The
+song is for voice and violin,&quot; he said--&quot;Please give me an A, de
+Sterny.&quot; De Sterny struck the note.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It was the &quot;Nessun maggior dolore&quot; from his own music to Dante's
+Inferno, which Gesa had laid on the music desk. A strange composition,
+in which the human voice swelled from soft half audible revery to
+bitter despairing utterance of pain, while the violin gave out a melody
+of penetrating sweetness, like the torturing memory of long vanished
+joy. Gesa's cheeks were burning as he finished the performance of this
+his favorite composition. De Sterny let his hands glide from the
+keyboard, and fixed the violinist with a sharp look, &quot;That is yours?&quot;
+he asked.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa nodded.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then let yourself be embraced on the spot. It is simply superb!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It was toward eleven o'clock before de Sterny remembered that duty
+called him back into &quot;the world.&quot; Gesa had shown him several more of
+his own compositions, and in everything the virtuoso had taken the
+liveliest interest.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa accompanied his friend from the Rue Ravestein into the region of
+civilization. De Sterny was absent and silent. &quot;Well, what do you say?&quot;
+urged his disciple, pressingly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You will have very great success.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;In what--in my marriage?&quot; laughed Gesa.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ah your marriage!&quot; The virtuoso started--&quot;yes, your marriage.
+Well--she is the most enchanting creature I have met since her mother.
+What a voice--she could become a Malibran.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And?&quot;--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">They were standing now at the Place Royale. &quot;<i>Dieu merci</i>--there
+comes a carriage--I despaired of finding one,&quot; cried de Sterny.
+&quot;Adieu,--bring me the whole of your 'Inferno' to-morrow,--auf
+Wiedersehen!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">With this he sprang into the fiacre which had stopped at a sign from
+him, and rolled away.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In the Rue Ravestein that evening there was a great deal to talk about.
+Old Delileo, whose cheeks glowed as if he had been drinking champagne,
+was very loquacious. Gesa confided to Annette word for word, de
+Sterny's flattering judgment upon her, but she showed herself nervous
+and irritable like a child too early waked from sleep. She complained
+that she had sung badly. She who had always so kindly indulged the
+garrulity of her poor old father, scarcely listened to him, even made
+impatient little grimaces, and said his way of walking up and down put
+her beside herself. When the old man sat down with a hurt air, then she
+broke into tears and begged his forgiveness.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa drew her onto his knees, dried her tears, and quieted her with
+playful caresses. &quot;She lives too isolated; the least thing excites her,
+father?&quot; said he, stroking her cheek. &quot;We must find some amusement for
+her.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The &quot;droewige Herr,&quot; looked down gloomily.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">About three o'clock de Sterny mounted the stairs of his hotel. He had
+been honored and flattered exactly as much as ever, but he felt out of
+spirits.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Every street urchin knows my name now, and the crossing sweepers show
+each other the celebrated de Sterny when I pass. But when I die, what
+will remain of me! Nothing but a few wretched piano pieces, which they
+will laugh at after my death.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The songs of the violinist rang in his ears. He shivered. He thought of
+the beautiful girl, and passed his hand across his forehead.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Hm!--the danger of a quiet family life does not threaten him from that
+quarter. She sleeps as yet; but she has inherited all the
+passionateness of her mother and all the nervousness of her father. How
+beautiful she is! How beautiful!&quot;</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>XIV</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">It was about this time that de Sterny began to be restlessly ambitious.
+His playing changed. He began to take on affectations. He began to
+pound. This enraptured the masses; the critics pronounced it &quot;a
+magnificent development,&quot; and he himself was disgusted.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">An icy crust covered the gutter in the Rue Ravestein, long icicles hung
+from the arms of the great crucifix, and on the windows of the little
+green salon the frost painted his chilly flowers; but Annette's hands
+were always hot now, and her lips burning red. Her walk had grown slow
+and careless, her movements dreamy and gliding. Her eyes gazed into the
+distance. Instead of teasing wilfulness, or childlike winningness, she
+met her lover with apathetic compliance, sometimes with repellent
+irritation. Then would come hours when she hung upon him passionately,
+begged him with tears not to be angry with her, and seemed as though
+she could not show him love and tenderness enough.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He did not ponder very deeply over her strange contradictory nature,
+but simply forgave her, as a sick child.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">One evening, when he and his foster-father were involved in one of
+their endless talks about music and literature, Annette, who had sat
+meanwhile, reserved and silent, leaning back in a corner of the stiff
+horse-hair sofa, suddenly raised her head and listened. Some one
+knocked at the door: neither Gesa nor Delileo paid any attention.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Entrez,&quot; cried Annette, breathlessly. The door opened. &quot;Do I disturb
+you?&quot;--said an amiable voice, and Alphonso de Sterny entered.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Several days later, Gesa, returning from his lessons to the Rue
+Ravestein, remarked, &quot;Strange, Annette, it smells of amber,--has de
+Sterny been here?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He brought us tickets for his next concert,&quot; she replied without
+looking at her lover.</p>
+<br>
+<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:10px">* * * * *</p>
+<br>
+<p class="normal"><p class="normal">&quot;<span class="sc">Dear Friend</span>:--I have something to say to you--come to me to-morrow, if
+possible.</p>
+
+<p style="text-indent:50%">&quot;<span class="sc">Sterny</span>.&quot;</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa found this note one evening in his apartment. Next morning, when
+he dutifully presented himself at the Hotel de Flandres, de Sterny
+received him with the question--&quot;Would you like to earn a great deal of
+money?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How can you doubt it! You know how pressingly I need money. Can it be
+an opportunity offers for disposing of my 'Inferno,'&quot; cried Gesa.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not yet--but something else offers. I received a telegram yesterday.
+Winansky has broken an arm--Marinski, in consequence, needs a violinist
+of the first rank and offers ten thousand francs a month and expenses.
+Would that suit you?&quot; Gesa's head sank. &quot;How long must I remain away?&quot;
+he murmured.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Six--eight months. You must decide by tomorrow. Are you afraid of
+seasickness?&quot; laughed the virtuoso.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That?--No! but--Well I will ask the little one. Six or eight
+months--it is long--and so far. She will not have the courage. However,
+I thank you heartily!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The servant announced an illustrious amateur and Gesa left.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">To his great astonishment Annette exulted and rejoiced when he told her
+of Marinksi's offer. &quot;I did not know that you were already such a great
+man in the world,&quot; she cried, triumphantly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Shall I accept?&quot; asked Gesa, with a trembling voice, tears standing in
+his eyes. She looked at him amazed. &quot;Would you refuse? Gesa, only think
+when you come back from America, a rich man!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He sighed once deeply, then he bent over her, kissed her forehead, and
+quietly said, &quot;You are right, Annette. I was cowardly!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He accepted Marinski's offer.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A few days later, a little dinner was served in the Rue Ravestein,
+which was very elaborate for the surroundings, and at which Gesa left
+all his favorite dishes untouched, and old Delileo exerted himself to
+talk very rapidly about the most indifferent things, shook pepper into
+his marmalade, and finally raised his glass with a trembling hand and
+gave a toast to Gesa's speedy, happy return. Annette, who up to this
+time had regarded Gesa's departure with the most frivolous gaiety,
+became every moment more painfully excited. She ate nothing, said not a
+word, and looked wretched, pain and terror were in her eyes. When Gesa
+drew her to him, and kindly stroked her pallid cheeks, she broke into
+immoderate weeping, clung to him convulsively, and begged him again and
+again &quot;do not leave me alone--do not leave me alone!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He made no answer to her unreasonable words, only pitied her most
+tenderly, called her a thousand sweet names, and said, turning to
+Delileo, &quot;Try to divert her a little, father--take her sometimes to the
+theatre, and as soon as pleasant weather comes, take her to the
+country. And read with her a little,--none of the complicated old trash
+that we delight in, but something simple, entertaining, to suit a
+spoiled little girl.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Is there any one in the world, better than he is, papa?&quot; sobbed
+Annette. The servant entered and announced that the carriage was
+waiting at the Place Royale, and the porter was there to take Monsieur
+Gesa's luggage, at the same time clutching his traveling bag and violin
+case. Gesa looked at the clock. &quot;It is time,&quot; said he, quietly, &quot;be
+reasonable, Annette!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But she sobbed incessantly, &quot;do not leave me alone,&quot; and he was
+forced to unclasp her dear, soft arms from his neck. He pressed his
+foster-father's hand in silence, and hastened away. From the street, he
+heard the sound of a window opening above, and Annette's voice. He
+stood still, looked back--cried &quot;Auf Wiedersehen!&quot;--and hurried on to
+the Place Royale.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Before the train puffed off, a slender, blonde man rushed onto the
+platform. &quot;De Sterny!&quot; cried Gesa, deeply moved.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, well, you expected me I hope. I slipped away from the X's in
+order to catch you. You understand that I did not want to let you go
+without wishing you 'bonne chance' for the last time.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The conductor opened the door of the coupé--Gesa entered it.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Bonne chance! it can't fail you&quot;--cried de Sterny.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa bent out of the coach window. &quot;Thousand thanks for all your
+kindness,&quot; he cried, &quot;and if it is not too tiresome for you,--then
+to-morrow look in a moment, to see how it is with her.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I will take her your last greeting,&quot; said de Sterny.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The virtuoso beckoned smilingly, while the train steamed away.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Thus, smiling, kind, sympathetic, Gesa lost sight of his friend. Thus
+he remained in Gesa's memory.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>XV</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Thanks to a sudden outbreak of yellow fever in the South, Marinski's
+troupe left America earlier than had been agreed upon.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">With salary somewhat diminished by this circumstance, a bundle of
+bombastic critiques, and some very pretty ornaments from Tiffany's in
+New York for Annette, Gesa went on board the &quot;Arcadia,&quot; in which
+Marinski's troupe were to sail for old Europe. How he rejoiced for his
+&quot;little one!&quot; She had looked so badly when he left Brussels, was so
+inconsolable at parting. He resolved to give her a surprise by his
+sudden return. What great eyes she would make! Sometimes at night he
+started from sleep--a cry of joy and her name on his lips.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The whole troupe knew why he was hurrying home. He never grew weary of
+telling about Annette. About Annette and de Sterny. He was much beloved
+by all his traveling companions, and they all felt a lively interest in
+Annette; but of de Sterny they would not hear a word; and an old basso,
+who had taken Gesa especially to his heart, said warningly--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Take care! he will play you a trick--he is a villain, monsieur!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa took the caution very ill, and starting up rebuked the basso
+severely.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The basso smiled to himself.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Among the female forces of the troupe was a certain Guiseppina D----.
+Pale, with rich red hair that when she uncoiled it reached to her
+heels, her enormous black eyes, short nose, and large mouth lent her
+some likeness to a death's head. Yet, she was not without a certain
+charm, especially in her smile, and she smiled constantly, as people do
+whom nothing can any longer rejoice. To her Gesa talked oftenest about
+his beloved. She listened to him most kindly and sometimes she wept.
+She was the soprano of the troupe, and lived in the bitterest enmity
+with the Alto, who was married to the Tenor, immensely jealous, and
+very proud of her own virtue.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In Paris, when the troupe broke up, the Guiseppina at parting put both
+arms around Gesa's neck and kissed him. This the virtuous Alto
+certainly would not have done. But the Guiseppina whispered at the same
+time,</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The kiss is for thee, with my good wishes, and this&quot;--she gave him a
+little gold cross--&quot;this is for the bride, with my mother's blessing
+that clings to it yet. It belonged to my First Communion, and is the
+only one of my possessions which is worthy a bride of yours.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">They all promised to come to his wedding, and at last he had bidden
+them farewell, and had left Paris for Brussels.</p>
+
+<br>
+<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:10px">* * * * *</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">It was in the second half of June and Corpus Christi day. At all the
+stations groups of girls in white were to be seen. Now and then
+white-robed processions passed in the distance, and softly as from a
+spirit choir their Catholic hymns floated to the traveler's ear.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It was late in the afternoon when he arrived in Brussels, sprang into a
+fiacre, and directed it to the Rue Ravestein. The hack, with all the
+vexatious phlegm of a Brussels' vehicle, jogged slowly toward its
+destination.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The moist, heavy sultriness of a northern summer brooded over the town.
+The air had something oppressive, stifling, like that of a hot room.
+Above the earth all was motionless, except that in the very topmost
+branches of the linden trees on the Boulevard there was a light
+rustling. From the ground steamed the moisture of yesterday's showers;
+in the sky the clouds were piling up for another thunderstorm, with
+muttered growl along the horizon. The atmosphere was heavy and sad with
+the odor of incense, burning wax, candles, and withering flowers, the
+odor of Corpus Christi Day. Against the walls of the houses still
+leaned the altars that had been erected, surmounted by shriveled
+foliage, and dead blossoms. Luxuriant roses, tender heliotrope and
+modest reseda lay trodden and soiled on the pavement.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">As Gesa alighted at the Place Royale a woman in a battered hat, gaudily
+be-ribboned, and a red shawl, stooped down after some of the faded
+flowers. She was one of those who hide themselves when the Corpus
+Christi procession passes by. She lived in the Rue Ravestein, and Gesa
+knew her. Always pitiful, he took a twenty-france piece from his pocket
+and gave it to her. She glanced up, looked at him sharply and suddenly
+turned away her painted face.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He entered the Rue Ravestein. Sickening miasmas rose from the drain; a
+cloud of midges hovered in the air;--the crucified Saviour looked down
+more sadly than ever.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Familiar things greeted his eyes as he passed: the lean hyena-like dogs
+wagged their tails, and some of them came and shoved cold moist noses
+into his hand.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No one is at home!&quot; cried the woman who sold vegetables in the shop on
+the ground floor of Delileo's dwelling. &quot;No one. Neither the old
+gentleman, nor the young lady.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Have they gone on a journey?&quot; asked Gesa, blankly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No, I think not. Unless I am mistaken the young lady has gone to
+church. Perhaps monsieur will find her yet in St. Gudule.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa was already hastening down the street toward the Cathedral. Behind
+him little groups collected. The gossips of Rue Ravestein laughed.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>XVI</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">On an irregular square, from which numberless streets and alleys spread
+themselves out like rays, rises the Cathedral of St. Gudule. Light and
+transparent in architecture, bearing herself proudly--the church towers
+above the city where the ghosts of Horn and Egmont walk. Her walls are
+blackened as if they wore mourning for the crimes which men have
+committed here in God's name; and through her cool aisles sighs the
+mouldy breath of a vault. Gesa entered. It was dusky within; thick
+shadows covered the feet of the brown, worm-eaten benches. Only a few
+people still remained. In vain the violinist looked around for his
+bride. A couple of old women he saw: a child in a blue apron,
+stretching on tiptoe to reach the holy water, two beggars near the
+door--that was all. No priest was at the altar: service was over.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The child had tripped away: the old woman had hobbled off; for the last
+time Gesa's eye searched the church, then he went on to the high altar
+and kneeled down to say a prayer. In spite of the fantastic pantheism
+in which Delileo had brought him up, Gesa had always retained a strong
+leaning toward Catholic devotion. Suddenly he heard a sound,--a sigh.
+In the deepest shadow, almost at his feet, crouched a dark form. A
+tender trouble overcame him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Annette!&quot; he whispered--&quot;Annette!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She rose up out of the shadow. She stared at him, gave a short cry, and
+clung shuddering to a pillar.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Annette! What ails you!&quot; he cried, shocked, almost angry. &quot;Are you
+afraid of me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She shook her head. Was it the dusk that made her look so ashen pale?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You come so suddenly, and I am ill;&quot; she said.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ill, poor heart! Then truly I must have appeared to you like a ghost.
+And I wanted to enjoy your surprise! Foolish egotist that I am! Forgive
+me!&quot; Thus he stammered, and forgetting where he was would have drawn
+her to him. She motioned him from her. &quot;Not here!&quot; she cried. Looking
+around at the sacred walls, with an intense gaze--&quot;Not here!&quot; Leaning
+on his arm she passed out of the church door.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The air was moist and sultry, clouds hung low, a swallow fluttered
+anxiously across the square. In comparison with the dusky gloom of the
+church it was still quite light here. Gesa raised questioning, longing
+eyes to the face of his beloved. It was deathly pale, the cheek
+thinner, the eyes larger, the lips darker than formerly; little lines
+about the mouth and nose, melancholy shadows around the eyes idealized
+its heretofore purely material beauty.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I had quite forgotten how charming thou art,&quot; he murmured, in a voice
+stifled with passion. She smiled at him, a wild strange smile, in which
+she grew still more beautiful, and the shadows around her eyes
+deepened.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It suddenly seemed to him that she reminded him of some one, of
+something, but he searched his soul in vain. It could not be
+of the pale Malmaison roses whose tender heads drooped, on the
+pavement,--or,--no,--and yet--yes,--a little,--Annette reminded him of
+Guiseppina!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Her hand, which she had left to him passively in the beginning, nestled
+now more tenderly on his arm. When they would have turned their steps
+toward the Rue Ravestein, she held him back.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What if we should make a detour,&quot; she whispered, &quot;take me to the park,
+to all your favorite places, will you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;My heart! My treasure!&quot; he murmured, drunk with the rapture of her
+presence.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">An odor of withering flowers impregnated the air, mixed with the faint
+breath of fresh acacia blossoms. They entered the park. It was as if
+dead. Through the dark crowns of the trees there passed, from time to
+time, something like a shudder of fear.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And you are really ill, Annette?&quot; he asked.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes,&quot; and her voice sounded hollow, like a suppressed cry of anguish:
+then she burst out passionately, &quot;Why did you leave me alone!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You sent me away yourself,&quot; he replied, half playfully, &quot;and then I
+had to go.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That is true,&quot; she said, simply.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">They were silent. It grew darker. All at once she stood still. &quot;Here
+was a mire last autumn and you used to carry me over. Do you remember?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He nodded smiling. They went a few steps further. The white reflection
+of the evening light played over the water of a reservoir.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And here you told me about Nice and the Angers Bay.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Again he smiled, and they went on. They came to a statue. &quot;There you
+gave me a villa in Bordighera. Have you forgotten how we built air
+castles?&quot; said the girl.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The shuddering in the tree tops grew stronger.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She bent back her head and gazed up at her lover as if in a dream. &quot;No
+one sees us,&quot; she whispered. &quot;Kiss me!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He kissed her long and passionately. &quot;Again!&quot; she whispered, so softly
+that her voice sounded like the rustling of the leaves.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He kissed her again, murmuring, &quot;I never knew how fair life was until
+to-day!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A long sobbing sigh passed through the trees. &quot;Come home, or the
+thunderstorm will overtake us,&quot; she said--her voice had suddenly grown
+harsh. They turned back.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>XVII</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I will not expect you to wear it, but you must keep it sacred, as a
+relic. It was the best thing she possessed,&quot; said Gesa to Annette, when
+he gave her Guiseppina's cross.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He had told the girl about the pale singer and the touching manner in
+which she had offered her gift. Annette had kissed the cross on the
+threshold of the house, when she stood to take leave of him. &quot;My father
+will not be home before midnight&quot;--she whispered &quot;farewell&quot;--whereupon
+at first he looked most longingly in her face, and then yielding
+to her decision, said quietly--&quot;To-morrow.&quot; And now he sat in his old
+attic room, opposite, and mused the evening through. His veins throbbed
+with a happiness that was painfully sweet. Never had Annette appeared
+to him so enchantingly beautiful, never had she met him with such
+heart-winning gentleness. The memory of her tender smile, of her great
+dark eyes softened his heart like a caress.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But she was ill. A cold shudder broke his warm dream. She was very ill.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A fearful anxiety overcame him. The heavy, sultry air of the coming
+tempest brooded without, and from the street below rose an odor of
+filth and decay.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He looked across at Annette's window; it was open. A delicate head
+appeared there, listening. Against the wall in the pale moonlight a
+dainty silhouette was thrown.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Annette!&quot; cried Gesa, across the sleeping street.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Through the dusk he saw her smile.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Good-night!&quot; she breathed, laid both hands on her lips and sent him
+one kiss. Then she disappeared. A heavy silence settled down on the Rue
+Ravestein.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Dizzy and drunk with happiness, that smile in his heart, Gesa von
+Zuylen laid himself down and fell asleep.</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">It was not yet five o'clock in the morning when a mysterious stir in
+the little street awoke him. Excited voices and hasty steps sounding
+confusedly together. Was it fire? The confusion increased. Something
+had happened. He hurried on his clothes and went down. The air was raw.
+In the lustreless morning light there was a pale, reddish shimmer. The
+sparrows on the roofs twittered over loud. Under Delileo's window stood
+a few people; untidy women rubbing the sleep out of their eyes, some
+men in blouses, on their way to work. Like a little flock of vultures,
+with greedy eyes and outstretched heads, they jostled one another.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The woman of the green grocer shop was speaking. Her face expressed
+pride at having assisted at some awful event Gesa heard her say:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I tell you they have just sent my boy to the apothecary. But it's too
+late--much too late!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Has Monsieur Delileo had a stroke?&quot; cried Gesa, breathlessly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Mon-sieur De-lileo?&quot; repeated the women. A few of them turned away.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Annette!&quot; he reeled. &quot;What! What!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Half beside himself he rushed up the stairs, and burst open the door of
+his promised bride's chamber. He knew the room well. It was the same
+which years ago he had occupied with his mother. Only now it was more
+daintily furnished.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Old Delileo sat on the edge of the little bed, and gazed in tearless
+despair at something which the white curtains hid.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Father!&quot; cried Gesa.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then the old man rose trembling in every limb, passed his hand across
+his brow--his poor yellow face working....</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Have pity!&quot; he said in a broken voice, &quot;Have pity, she has repented,
+she is dead!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa tore back the curtains. There on the white pillow, waxen pale, but
+beautiful as ever, the parting smile upon her lips, lay Annette.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She had put on the blue dress in which he had first seen her, fourteen
+months ago--Guiseppina's little cross lay on her breast.</p>
+
+<br>
+<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:10px">* * * * *</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">There is a suffering so painful that no hand is tender enough to touch
+it, and so deep that no heart is brave enough to fathom it. Dumbly we
+sink the head, as before something sacred.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Never could he reproach her, lying there before him, clad in the
+blue dress, of which every fold, so dear to him, cried &quot;Forgive!
+Not to our desecrated love do I appeal, but to our sweet caressing
+friendship,--forgive the sister what the bride has done!&quot; How could he
+reproach her, with her parting kiss still on his lips?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She had drawn off her betrothal ring, and laid it on the coverlet
+enclosed in a folded letter, where in her large, unskilled, childish
+hand, she had written the words: &quot;To my dear, dear brother Gesa. God
+bless him a thousand times!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He placed the ring again on her finger, and kissed her cold hand.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The fearful mystery which separates us from our dead is so
+incomprehensible that we never realize our loss in all its fulness
+while the beloved form yet lies before us. Involuntarily we feel as if
+the dead knew of every little service we render--and this thought
+hovers around us as a comfort. The whole bitterness of our anguish is
+first felt when we have buried our happiness, and life with its sterile
+uses and requirements reenters, and commands: &quot;What have you to do
+longer dallying with death? I will have my right!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And so with Gesa, the bitterest pang of all overcame him when,
+returning home with his foster-father from the churchyard where they
+had laid the poor &quot;little one&quot; to rest, he found the old green salon
+all in order. Annette's favorite trifles removed, and the table laid
+for--two.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">They sat down opposite one another, the old journalist and the young
+musician. Neither ate; Gesa was dumb. Delileo stroked his hand from
+time to time and murmured, &quot;My poor boy, my poor boy!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Suddenly Gesa raised his eyes to the old man's face. &quot;Who was it,
+father?&quot; he asked in a hollow voice.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The &quot;droewige Herr&quot; dropped his eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I--I do not know&quot;--he stammered.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Father!&quot; cried Gesa, starting up.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Nay, I knew nothing. She never confided in me. Very lately I had a
+suspicion, a fear&quot;--the old father grew more and more distressed.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You must have remarked it, if Annette was interested in any one?&quot;
+cried Gesa, anger in his eyes and shame on his cheeks.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ah! she fell under the spell of a demon&quot;--the father stopped, and shut
+his lips tightly together, and said no more.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">One day followed another in monotonous sadness. The &quot;droewige Herr&quot;
+went to his daily work: Gesa sat in the green salon and brooded. He
+said nothing of any more engagement, nothing of going on any more
+journeys. He dreaded every meeting with acquaintances, with all to whom
+he had talked of his happiness. There was one single human being for
+whom he longed, and that was de Sterny. De Sterny had such a rare,
+almost feminine art of understanding and sympathizing! And then, he
+would not be surprised like the others--he had foretold it all!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa learned de Sterny's whereabouts. The virtuoso was in England. Gesa
+wrote him a simple, heartfelt letter, in which he confided to his
+friend the sudden death of Annette, and ended with the words &quot;Let me
+know when you are to be in Paris. I will remove there, in order to work
+near you. Intercourse with you is the only thing in the world that
+could afford me any comfort now.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">To this letter he received no answer. He removed to Delileo's and
+occupied Annette's chamber.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">One day, as he sat at the poor girl's little desk, and searched a
+drawer for an envelope, he found wedged in a crack the half of a torn
+note. He knew the writing. &quot;... wild with bliss. At one o'clock in the
+Rue de la Montague</p>
+
+<p style="text-indent:50%">Thy S.&quot;</p>
+<br>
+<p class="normal">The violinist read this note twice, then he looked around with a dull,
+stupefied gaze, stretched his arms on high as those do who are shot
+through the heart, and sank senseless to the floor.</p>
+
+<br>
+<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:10px">* * * * *</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">A lingering nervous fever broke his constitution, and destroyed the
+little energy he had still possessed. When he began to creep about his
+chamber, a weary convalescent, with thinned hair, he sought at once for
+pen and ink. Every day he wrote a letter to de Sterny, and tore it in
+pieces. When Delileo, who had nursed him through the sickness like a
+mother, begged him not to excite himself, he only answered, &quot;I must
+have it off my heart!&quot; and wrote a fresh letter,--but never sent any.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">One day he said to himself that it did not become him to write, that he
+must demand satisfaction from de Sterny face to face. But before that
+could happen he must recover his health. From that time he wrote no
+more. He lived his brooding life, idle, and melancholy. His grief was
+mingled with a burning shame. He constantly feared that he should meet
+some one who would ask him about his bride, or his friend. At the
+thought the blood rushed into his cheek, and even when he was quite
+alone he turned his face to the wall. He trembled in every limb, a wild
+rage possessed him when he thought of the betrayer. Then--then he
+remembered the thousand kindnesses to which the virtuoso had accustomed
+him, his amiability, the cordial tone of his voice. He pressed his
+hands to his temples and groaned.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He could not understand.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And the days went by, and he did not seek de Sterny. A wild fear of men
+mastered him. By day he almost never left Delileo's dwelling, but, as
+his health improved, he gradually accustomed himself to go out at
+night. He was still young. He felt a vehement desire to deaden the
+power of feeling. In the midst of the wildest orgies, he sat pale and
+dumb, with fixed expressionless face. This joyless dissipation he soon
+gave up, but his wound still craved relief--and slowly, gradually, he
+gave himself to drink. Music he neglected altogether. Every note awoke
+a memory. If he had been obliged to earn his bread by his profession,
+he would probably not have gone so utterly to ruin, but the money which
+he had brought back from America permitted him to live.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When old Delileo, whom it cut to the heart to see his dear one's
+hopeless suffering, and his splendid talents so sadly wasted, asked him
+questions in regard to the future, Gesa answered, &quot;I will work again,
+but leave me alone now for a while--it is too hard yet.&quot; And his fear
+of mankind more and more sought concealment in Rue Ravestein. In all
+large cities there are alleys like the Rue Ravestein. Paris has many of
+them. A man flies thither when he has suffered a fiasco, or a great
+sorrow, hides himself there from the derision of enemies and the pity
+of friends ... pity which at the best seems to him but a sentimental
+form of contempt! He has no intention of passing his whole life in that
+unwholesome obscurity, he will only give his wounds time to heal.
+Meanwhile he forges many plans in this voluntary exile; and dreams how
+he will go back to the world sometime and retrieve all by a grand
+success. The dreams never see fulfilment. For such streets are graves,
+and whoever after long years seeks to flee from that solitude, wanders
+among men like a risen corpse. Superannuated ideas surround and cling
+to him like the mouldy air of the sepulchre. He speaks a dead language.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>XVIII</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The 'satan' is one of the most beautiful of modern musical
+compositions,&quot; announces the <i>Indépendence Belge</i>. &quot;The 'satan'
+contains numbers of classic beauty,&quot; confess the artists. &quot;Have you
+heard? The 'satan' is a tremendous success!&quot; says the fashionable world
+to itself. &quot;Satan's&quot; renown penetrates even as far as the Rue
+Ravestein, and reaches the ear of a starving fiddler there.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Although Delileo has long been dead Gesa still lives in the old house.
+The remains of his little savings went during his foster-father's long
+and weary last illness. Now Gesa supports life as best he can. A dozen
+years ago every one was comparing him to Paganini; now he is counted
+among the most obscure members of the &quot;Monnaie&quot; orchestra. Benumbed in
+melancholy indolence, given over to drink, he feels nevertheless from
+time to time the longing for creative effort. But something always
+comes between him and his purpose.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When he hears of the approaching performance, under de Sterny's
+personal direction, he is shaken with a sudden wild rage.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">How dare de Sterny venture on coming to Brussels, in face of the chance
+that they may meet?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then he mutters bitterly. &quot;He thinks I am dead. He says to himself, 'If
+Gesa von Zuylen were still alive the world would have heard of him!'&quot; A
+fearful pang harrows his very soul. Not the death of his bride, not the
+treachery of his friend had inflicted a pang like that. The spectre of
+his great, degraded talent stands suddenly before him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He has weighed de Sterny's powers of composition. He remembers with
+triumphant contempt the &quot;transcriptions&quot; and &quot;fantasias&quot; of former
+times. He recalls the pianist's painful labors over the little
+&quot;Countess-ballet,&quot; until in the full swing of their friendship Gesa
+took the thing in hand and finished it for him. And now? <i>Could</i> de
+Sterny have developed into a composer of any importance? He examines
+his violin part with feverish curiosity, but it contains more rests
+than notes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The day of the second rehearsal arrived. Gesa had intended to report
+himself ill again, but a feeling of breathless anxiety that he could
+not explain urged him to the music hall. This time it was not the
+friend of Rossini and the piano teacher alone who had come to hear the
+rehearsal. The foremost dilettante of Brussels crowded around the
+stage, all the musical ladies in society sat together in the front rows
+of the parquet. There was a fever of curiosity and expectation. At the
+same time that sort of opposition made itself felt which attends upon
+all novelties that have been immoderately praised.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;<i>Il parait que c'est epatant</i>&quot;--said the Count de Sylva, a gentleman
+who was resting from the fatigues of a laborious diplomatic career, and
+employed all the time not absorbed by his social duties in studying the
+violincello. &quot;Epatant,&quot; he repeated, walking up to the ladies, &quot;I must
+confess I do not esteem de Sterny's talent for composition so very
+highly.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Nor I either, most decidedly,&quot; growled the friend of Rossini. &quot;How he
+ever contrived to write the 'Satan,' I cannot understand. But that it
+is a masterpiece is not to be denied. These melodies!--they tyrannize
+over me! they creep into every nerve, they creep into the blood!
+Spectres walk abroad in this music!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It is true that great powers require time to ripen,&quot; observed Prince
+L----, &quot;wonderful children seldom come to anything. You may perhaps
+remember such a case, ladies--the little gypsy whom de Sterny brought
+to us one evening.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Hm--a little hunch back in a braided jacket?&quot; asked a lady.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No--no--that was another--this was a handsome youth from the Rue
+Ravestein.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">None of the ladies remembered. &quot;What of him?&quot; they asked.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Nothing remarkable. I only cited him apropos of wonder children. Never
+have I heard finer improvisation than his and what has come of it?&quot; At
+this moment there was a slight stir, de Sterny stepped upon the
+platform. They clapped applause, they bowed before him, they pressed
+his hands.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He stood at the conductor's desk and let his eye run over his musical
+forces--they were all there. Suddenly he turned pale, the baton sank at
+his side, he longed to flee, the eyes of his aristocratic friends were
+shining all around him; he rapped on the desk, and the bombastic
+introduction to &quot;Satan&quot; sounded through the hall.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">There was disappointed shrugging of shoulders in the audience. Gesa von
+Zuylen's mouth showed deep mocking corners. Slowly, painfully, but with
+increasing confidence he raised his eyes to the director's face, the
+face that had once been to him as the countenance of a god. He smiled
+bitterly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And now the Alto is singing her first song. The audience rouses up as
+if from an electric shock--and listens amazed, but none listens with
+such intentness as Gesa von Zuylen.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A strange, strange feeling trembles through him, the feeling of warm
+young delight, of joyful intoxication with which he wrote that song.
+Indignation had no chance to be heard, so mighty is the bliss of
+hearing his own work. It is as if some one had given him back his lost
+soul. The applause grows louder and louder. As if in a dream he plays
+on, sometimes he shrinks when some blatant interlude of de Sterny's
+disfigures his own composition.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Now comes the most beautiful of all,&quot; they whisper in the audience,
+&quot;the duet of the Outcasts.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In mournful lament are heard the exile's voices, softly, lightly
+floating, the violin's Angel song mingles with theirs, above, around
+them, whispering memories of joys forever lost.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa listens--listens--his bow stops, he sees the little green chamber,
+the smiling friend at the old spinet, and beside him the lovely maiden,
+her hands clasped in one another, her delicate head slightly bent
+toward the shoulder, as if it were grown too heavy. &quot;Nessun maggior
+dolore,&quot; he murmurs. The whole audience shouts. The orchestra applauds
+standing--the amateurs crowd round the stage. But there!--what is this?
+Panting, breathless, foam on his lips, rage in his eyes, the violinist
+presses forward through the ranks of the orchestra, up to the director.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Wretch! Murderer!&quot; he shrieks and strikes him with his bow across the
+face, then sinks unconscious to the floor. De Sterny passes a hand
+across his brow, and while the violinist is being carried out, he turns
+to the capelmeister, who is hurrying up and says with that practiced
+presence of mind which teaches a man of the world heroism on the
+scaffold.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;A sudden attack of delirium tremens. You really might have taken pains
+to spare me such a painful scene!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The rehearsal proceeded. Gesa was taken home. As soon as he recovered
+consciousness he sought in all the closets and chests for the original
+score of his &quot;Inferno&quot; of which he had lent a copy to de Sterny. He
+never found the manuscript. All he discovered were the disconnected
+parts of his unfinished opera.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>XIX</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Between the Boulevard exterieur, &quot;Boulevard des Crimes&quot; as the popular
+voice has named it, and the Buttes Montmartre, stretches a quarter of
+Paris which is behind the Rue Ravestein in remoteness from the world,
+but far surpasses it in wretchedness. No mournful redeemer here
+stretches out his crucified arms to mankind, as if he would say: &quot;I
+would have warmed you all in my bosom, but you have nailed my hands
+fast!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">No colored church windows glimmer changefully here, amidst misery and
+depravity. The old Montmartre church is broken up,--they are building
+on the new one!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In a temporary wooden tower on the Buttes Montmartre, hangs a shrill
+bell that sounds like the bell of a railroad or a factory, and at
+certain hours of the day, it tinkles a little despairing Catholicism
+down into the empty republican clatter below.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">One junk shop crowds another here, and wooden booths full of
+second-hand rubbish and guarded mostly by poodle dogs stand in the
+wind.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">One thing is especially noticeable in the Faubourg Montmartre. Every
+article one buys there is handed to him wrapped in old drawings, old
+manuscripts, or old copied music. On everything lies the mould and dust
+of defunct artist existences, and the debris of fallen air castles. The
+countless miserable lodgings swarm with young artists who never will
+accomplish anything, with old ones who never have accomplished
+anything. Against a background of impudent vice and grumbling poverty
+are drawn the relaxed figures of enthusiasts weary into death.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In his &quot;<i>petits poems en prose</i>,&quot; Bandelaire described three people
+sinking from fatigue, yet without revolting against their burdens,
+carrying on their backs three enormous, grinning chimeras, whose claws
+are fastened in their patient shoulders. Every artist in the Faubourg
+Montmartre bears his chimera. His burden holds him upright; when
+that disappears he disappears with it. Whole troops of pretentious
+non-geniuses are to be met there, but also here and there among these
+eccentric jack fools, a really great, although long ruined artist
+nature making its last attempt to live and writing its name with
+trembling hand in the dust. There they dream, and peer across to the
+Boulevard, the high road of fortune, listening and waiting, with the
+vigor-and reason-devouring hope of the gambler.</p>
+
+<br>
+<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:10px">* * * * *</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">One morning a man climbed up to the humblest lodging of Rue de
+Steinkerque in the Faubourg Montmartre; Gesa von Zuylen. He had come to
+Paris partly to escape from the Rue Ravestein, and partly because Paris
+is supposed to be the California of artists.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A tenor, whom he met on the railroad gave him the address of this
+lodging; he said it was a place where a man could work.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And Gesa wanted to work! He had a thousand francs in his pocket, the
+price of an Amati, once presented him by a distinguished patron. The
+violin was thrown away at a thousand francs. But what of that? He
+needed money and would have sold the blood from his veins to compass
+this sojourn in Paris.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He still heard the thundering tribute of applause paid to his work, and
+saw de Sterny's complacent bows. His clenched nails dug into the palms,
+but he forced himself back to calmness. He would work, he must work,
+that he might tear away his stolen royal mantle from the shoulders of
+the traitor! Surely for every genuine talent the hour of triumph
+strikes at least once in a life time, and he, he was no man of talent,
+he was a genius! How freely he breathed after that first day after his
+arrival in Paris. His new acquaintance, the tenor, had asked him &quot;if he
+would like to take a walk to the real Boulevard.&quot; He meant the
+Boulevard between the New Opera House and the Madeleine. But Gesa
+shrank from the bustle and confusion--and while the tenor, with the
+haste of a newly-arrived provincial hurried off into the heart of
+Paris, Gesa crept slowly up the hill of Montmartre. There was a shabby
+public garden on the top, with newly set forlorn vegetation, a slippery
+flight of wooden steps led up to it. Lean, badly nurtured children, not
+in the least resembling the elves in the Champs Elysées and the Park
+Monceau, tumbled about in the crowded walks. Behind the garden was some
+waste land where grass covered with chalky dust stretches up to the
+doors of some miserable little huts. Paris seemed far away.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He seated himself on a bench. Shrill children's voices, in whose
+strident tones could already be heard the curse of the factory hand,
+and the coarse laugh of the paissarde surrounded him. He was deadly
+tired. In other times he had not even noticed the little journey from
+Brussels to Paris. His head sank on his breast. He dreamed that he was
+walking under the sleepy rustling trees of the park in Brussels,
+Annette Delileo was on his arm. The blue sky mirrored itself in an
+enormous pool, whereon some red poppy leaves were floating, and he told
+Annette how that &quot;he was a genius, and was going to do something
+great.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He felt the tender nestling of her warm young form against him.
+Suddenly he started up. Little cold fingers touched his, a small
+girl in a white cap and large blue apron stood beside him, and
+said--&quot;Monsieur, they are closing the garden.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The Angelus was tinkling through the air as Gesa descended. Damp odors
+pervaded the slippery hill; great ragged streaks of fog settled slowly
+down on the wretchedness of Montmartre.</p>
+
+<br>
+<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:10px">* * * * *</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Once more in his apartment, Gesa made a light, and looked around
+him, shivering a little at the comfortless room. In the grey marble
+chimney-place, stood an iron stove. The orange and blue flowers of the
+carpet had long taken on a uniform covering of dirt. Two offensive
+terra-cotta images stood on the mantelpiece. The tenor who was well
+acquainted in the Rue Steinkerque, and had mounted to the lodging with
+Gesa before, had explained that these were the work of a certain
+Vaudreuil, a second Michael Angelo, whose genius was broken in pieces
+against the hard stupidity of the public.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Genius!&quot; How the misuse of the word angered him! &quot;Genius! The man has
+no trace even of talent,&quot; Gesa had cried, looking at the disgusting
+figures.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Si! Si!&quot; rejoined the tenor. &quot;He spent all his means in trying to
+convert the world to 'high art,' chiseled and ecce homo--but what
+will you have? Marble is dear--he grew melancholy, took to drink--and
+then--<i>il a fini par faire cela</i>.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Whereat Gesa asked shuddering, &quot;What became of him, did he kill
+himself?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No, but he works no longer--his daughter supports him, <i>vous savez!
+Les filles d'artistes! cela a quelquechose dans le sang</i>. At one time
+he cursed her and turned her out of doors. But he does not remember
+that any more, he doesn't remember anything any more. So long as he has
+his warm room, his game of billiards and his glass of absynthe, he is
+contented. He lives in the Hotel de Nancy, here on the corner. You can
+make his acquaintance to-morrow if you like. The young artists treat
+him sometimes, to hear him spout about art,--it is very funny!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The Michael Angelo of the Hotel de Nancy was the first thing that
+occurred to Gesa when he returned to his miserable room. His look
+sought the two terra-cotta statuettes. He examined them with a morbid
+curiosity. He took one of them and held it close to his dimly burning
+lamp in order to see it more distinctly. His artist eye recognized in
+the figure the traces of very great powers gone astray.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A terrible sob unmanned him, the figure shook in his trembling hand. He
+let it fall and it broke into a thousand pieces. But they did not
+charge it in his weekly reckoning. It had no value for any one.</p>
+
+<br>
+<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:10px">* * * * *</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">He drank no longer. A nameless dread clutched his heart; red clouds
+floated before his vision, a fearful lassitude enervated him--but he
+drank no more and he worked.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And at first it seemed as if the completion of his opera would be
+accomplished with perfect ease. He covered piles of music paper with
+great celerity, and when his power of invention suddenly ceased it did
+not frighten him, for he remembered that, even in his best days, the
+inspiration had suffered such moments. He proposed while waiting for a
+fresh impulse, to polish that which was already written; but when he
+came to examine it, it was a chaos, which even he himself could not
+understand. Whole bars were wanting, the accompaniment was perfectly
+incoherent. Here and there certainly, were places of striking beauty,
+quite isolated however, like splendid ruins in heaps of rubbish.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Another thing disquieted him. Many of the technical signs of
+orchestration had escaped him, he could no longer write a regular
+score. He spent the whole night in looking over a work on composition.
+Next morning he began his work anew.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">To carry out with perfect clearness one miserable little phrase caused
+him the most painful effort. The faculty of concentration seemed lost
+to him. But he shirked no pains, no fatigue--&quot;Patience! Patience! It
+will all come!&quot; he said to himself, and at the same time his tears fell
+on the paper.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He imposed the most fearful privations upon himself in order to
+eke out his means to the farthest possible extent. He moved from the
+orange-yellow room to an attic--he ate once a day.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He grew grey, his hands trembled and he stammered in his speech. The
+children on the hill, whither he crept, of an afternoon, for air, all
+knew him and tripped in a friendly way up to the bench where he
+cowered, muttering to himself, a note-book on his knees, a pencil in
+his hand, and wished him good-day. He stroked their cheeks, took them
+on his lap and rejoiced that they were not afraid of him. He would
+gladly have told them stories--but the words would not come.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">One day he brought his violin up to the Buttes Montmartre. Anxious to
+please the children's taste, he played them little dances. His fingers
+had grown stiff since he had so suddenly renounced the inspiring
+indulgence of drink. The bow wavered in his trembling hand. He was
+ashamed before the children. But for them his playing was exactly
+right. Soon a large audience had assembled around him. Some of the
+little people gazed at him with earnest attention, their heads slightly
+thrown back, their hands clasped behind them--others danced gaily with
+one another.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">This pleased him. He held up his head before the children. He felt as
+if he would like to improvise; then it seemed to him as if the tune
+that sprung from under his fingers was strangely familiar--it was the
+same which he had played nearly thirty years before in the circus on
+the &quot;Sablon.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And now every day he shuffled with his violin up to the shabby garden.
+The poor children's applause had become a necessity.</p>
+
+<br>
+<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:10px">* * * * *</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">He grew more and more intimate with the Tenor. The latter, after having
+been refused at the opera--thanks to a vile conspiracy--had arrived at
+the practical conviction that this Grand Opera was a decaying
+institution, with which he would scorn to have any relations, and had
+accepted an engagement in a café chantant of the Faubourg Montmartre,
+where he earned a comfortable subsistence.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At first Gesa would not hear of playing anything from his opera to the
+Tenor, but later, when he began to despair in secret over his work, an
+urgent desire to confide in some one overcame him. He played for hours
+to the Tenor after that, on a lamentable old piano, and wheezed the
+Arias at times, in a ghostly, hollow voice, only for the sake of
+hearing from some one the assurance, &quot;cela sera superbe!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then he would talk himself into an unnatural excitement, his eyes would
+flash, and he would cry, flourishing his clenched fist in the air--&quot;It
+has the grand manner, has it not?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Once he had been so modest!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">His means were almost exhausted. He sold his books, his watch. He
+always treated the Tenor patronizingly, like a dependant--and the Tenor
+indulged him as one whose mind was weak.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But once, as the two were sitting opposite each other before the fire
+in the singer's room, the latter said, passing his fingers through his
+hair, &quot;My dear friend, <i>ton genie ne te fera pas vivre!</i>&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa stared gloomily at the speaker.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, well,&quot; said the Tenor, hastening to pacify him, &quot;I only mean
+that the mere inception of such a grand work must require a long time.
+How would it be if you should occupy yourself a little hereabouts,
+meanwhile?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa sighed. &quot;I could compose something small,&quot; said he. &quot;Romances, for
+example.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Unhappily that would amount to nothing unless you allied yourself
+with a singer or an actress, who would bring you into fashion. And
+then--even so it would be a dreadful pity to divert you from your chief
+end--to fritter you away. No, you ought to seek a place in an
+orchestra.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, at the opera,&quot; said Gesa, and thought of his stiff fingers with a
+shudder. However, as he would on no consideration have confessed this
+infirmity he added, with some embarrassment. &quot;Everything is so
+complicated there,--so many rehearsals,--one is busy till late at
+night.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No!&quot; replied the other, &quot;you should not undertake such absorbing work
+as that. That would be treason to your muse. I was thinking of a
+comfortable place in an orchestra that makes no big flourishes and does
+not rehearse a great deal.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well!&quot; muttered Gesa.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I made the acquaintance lately at the Hotel de Nancy, of a clown, a
+splendid fellow, who works in a circus on the Boulevard Rochechonart.
+Not a first-class circus, but a very respectable circus for all
+that. I told the clown about you. They just happen to need a first
+violin and&quot;--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Gesa sprang hastily up and left the room. From that moment he never
+spoke to the Tenor again.</p>
+
+<br>
+<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:10px">* * * * *</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">His lassitude and weakness increased with every day. The blood crept in
+his veins like cold lead--there was always a mist before his eyes, and
+in his ears a sound like the flapping of an exhausted butterfly. The
+miserable nourishment which was all he could afford himself, did not
+suffice to keep him up any longer, he could not leave his room, then he
+took to his bed.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Because he was universally liked his fellow lodgers did him all the
+kindnesses they could, and even the hostess herself brought him food,
+made his bed, and borrowed newspapers for him. He thanked them all with
+the same timid smile, the same far-off look, and spent nearly the whole
+day in a sad, drowsy condition, falling from one light slumber into
+another.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But one afternoon it seemed to him as if a soft hand passed tenderly
+over his forehead. He opened his eyes. Above him bent a handsome old
+face, decently framed in grey hair, and a voice that sounded from the
+far distance murmured &quot;Gesa!&quot; He roused himself. &quot;Gesa!&quot; she cried
+again. It was his mother!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Yes, his mother, whom he had not seen for nearly five and twenty years.
+She had married the acrobat Fernando. The circus on the Boulevard
+Rochechonart belonged to them--they were prosperous. The light-minded
+woman was not so bad as one might have thought her. She had kept
+herself secretly informed about Gesa for a long time after leaving him,
+and convinced herself that he was well cared for and &quot;among quality
+people,&quot; as she said, and this latter circumstance had deprived her of
+courage to approach him. But she had often rejoiced at the sight of him
+from a distance. Then, slowly he disappeared from her horizon. And now
+the Tenor, Monsieur Augusti, whose acquaintance she had lately made,
+after talking a great deal of his friend, had only yesterday spoken his
+name. All this Margaretha imparted to her son, weeping the while,
+straightening his miserable pillow and smoothed the bed clothes. He
+suffered it all quietly, murmuring sometimes a grateful word, and
+observing her, half stupefied, half astray. He could not realize this
+sudden meeting.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But when she, embarrassed by his passiveness, went on--&quot;I heard you
+play, years ago,--long years ago,--at Nice. Oh! I was proud of you! And
+I bought your piece, the one where your picture is on the cover:--such
+a handsome picture!&quot;--then the violinist buried his face in the pillow
+and groaned like a dying man. His anguish overcame the shyness which
+held his mother back--&quot;Poor boy!&quot; she whispered, caressingly, stroking
+the rough grey hair of the broken man, as in times long past she had
+smoothed the child's soft locks.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You must not take your trouble so to heart. I know all, what a great
+genius you are, and how cruelly the world has used you. We will nurse
+you well again, and then all will be right. You shall come to us; we
+will not disturb you; not one of us; only take care of you. You shall
+have a little room of your own where you can work as much as you will.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He looked up slowly, a heavy cough shook his sunken breast. The mother
+passed her arm under his thin shoulders and raised him up a little to
+ease his breath, his tired head rested on her bosom.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How fallen away you are,&quot; she said, half weeping, &quot;and your poor
+shirt, all in pieces. To-morrow I must bring you fresh linen. And now
+try to take something; you must get strong.&quot; And she gave him a
+cup of broth that she had warmed for him. He did as she bade him,
+silently,--he even relished the broth. His bitter grief, his deep
+degradation were forgotten in the feeling of being once more cared for.
+Drowsy, quiet, lazy contentment overcame him. Dumb, but grateful, he
+kissed his mother's hand.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Her eyes lighted up. &quot;I must go now,&quot; she said. &quot;The ticket-office of
+the circus opens at six; I must be there. Good-bye. I shall get free
+about eight and can come to you then. Now you will sleep a little.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She pressed her lips to his temples and disappeared.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The violinist fell asleep. A memory glided into his soul, a long
+forgotten memory,--not of his dead bride, his faithless friend,--no, a
+painless memory of his first return to the Rue Ravestein.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A dreamy, narcotic odor hovered around him, and he saw a bunch of
+brilliant-hued poppies. He heard the light rustle of the dying leaves
+as they fell on the marble gueridon.--He sprang up. His heart beat as
+if it would burst his breast.--A nameless terror seized him, as of one
+who finds himself sinking contentedly into a bog.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He collected himself--he would flee--he would seek death. He seized his
+clothes,--but the garments slipped from his hands,--he reeled and sank
+back powerless on his bed. The resignation, the sleepy intoxication of
+ruined souls, who are grown too weary for despair, mastered him. A dark
+genius hovered for a moment in the bare attic, the genius of the
+hopeless. He carried a cluster of red poppies in his hand.</p>
+
+<br>
+<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:10px">* * * * *</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Days passed, weeks, months. On the Boulevards Rochechonart and Clichy,
+peopled by artist workers of all kinds, one often meets a tall, elderly
+man with grey hair, that hangs disorderly about his cheeks.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It is Gesa von Zuylen.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">His face is still handsome--but the expression is dull. Sometimes he
+stops, places his hand to his ear, as if listening to something at a
+distance. Then he shakes his head, sighs impatiently and goes his way.
+He lives with his mother, and is treated by her and by his stepfather,
+and his half-brothers with much deference.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Carefully tended, neatly dressed, and well fed, he does not feel
+himself unhappy. He enjoys his meals and every one calls him, &quot;Le Raté
+de Montmartre.&quot;</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h1>THE NOBL' ZWILK</h1>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2><a name="div1_02" href="#div1Ref_02">The Nobl' Zwilk</a></h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">It was in Vienna, in the Ring-Strasse, at the house of Frau Von ---- I
+forget her name, but they used to call her &quot;Madame Necker,&quot; because she
+was married to a banker, thought a great deal of her manners, had a
+weakness for celebrities, and two <i>jours fixes</i> every week. Wednesday
+was for the <i>gens d'esprit</i>, and Friday was for the <i>gens bêtes</i>.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It was Wednesday evening, and the salon of &quot;Madame Necker&quot; was almost
+empty. Excepting her husband, who, to provide against possible
+misunderstandings, always showed himself there on the clever peoples'
+day, there was no one present but a celebrated poet, a celebrated
+poetess, a celebrated orientalist, and a harmless little freethinking
+idealist, not at all celebrated but much in fashion.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The conversation turned on social prejudices, and the hostess, whose
+fad for the moment was for belles-lettres pure and simple, and who took
+no account of aristocracy, could not think of enough scornful words for
+a certain Frau von Sterzl, who was spending her life in the vain effort
+to balance a seven-pointed coronet, to which she had no right, on her
+worried head.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The orientalist looked thoughtful. He was a retired cavalry officer.
+Some years before he had accompanied a friend to Cairo, and on the
+strength of that, had sent some articles about the Museum of Bulac to
+an illustrated journal.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Not to come of a good family,&quot; said he, &quot;is no misfortune and yet,
+under certain circumstances, it can cause a social discomfort, which
+those who suffer from, deny, and for which not one of them is
+consoled.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;This discomfort is shared with so many famous men that I should be
+inclined to regard it as a distinction,&quot; cried the young idealist, with
+much ardor and little logic, as usual.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That's as much as to say you would like to be descended from a tailor
+because Goethe was,&quot; said the general, dryly. Not thinking of any
+answer to this, the young man said &quot;Hem!&quot; and pulled his moustache.
+&quot;And you would like to wear a hump, because Æsop did,&quot; smiled the
+general.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;My dear general,&quot; put in the poet, &quot;what has a hump to do with low
+birth?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Nothing intrinsically, and yet these two things do meet at one point.
+The first is an imaginary evil, while the other is a positive one; but
+they are alike in the bad influence which they may exert on the
+character.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, general!&quot; laughed the hostess.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;With your permission,&quot; he went on, &quot;I will tell you a story to
+illustrate my paradox, which I see you don't accept at present: a very
+simple story, of something which I witnessed myself.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;We are all ears,&quot; simpered the host, and passed a fat hand over the
+two pomaded cupid's wings, which stuck up on either side his head.
+&quot;Very interesting, I am sure,&quot; said the hostess, in the politely
+condescending manner of her great prototype. The poet and the poetess
+made satirical faces, the idealist craned his neck forward, eager to
+listen.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The general gazed thoughtfully before him for a while, then he began,
+speaking slowly:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He went by the name of Zwilk: by rights it was Zwilch; but after he
+was promoted for some brilliant deed of arms or other, he never called
+himself anything but Zwilk von Zwilneck. He liked the title so much
+that he wrote it on all his books, and bought books that he never read,
+in order to write it on them.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No one knew anything about his origin. Sometimes he passed for the son
+of a crowned head and a dancer. I think he set this story going
+himself. Sometimes he passed for the son of a sacristan in Reichenhall.
+He never mentioned his family; he never went home; he received no
+letters, excepting those which came from comrades in the regiment. Only
+once did a letter arrive for him, which was plainly not from a brother
+officer. It was a narrow, greenish, forlorn-looking missive, with the
+address written zigzag, and the sealing wax spattered all over the
+cover. They brought it to him in the coffeehouse, and he turned quite
+red when the waiter presented it 'Ah, yes,' he said, stiffly, through
+his nose. 'A letter from my old nurse.' Heaven knows why we didn't
+believe much in that old nurse.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Whatever Zwilk's origin might have been, his tastes were severely
+aristocratic. He never would let himself be introduced to a woman
+unless she belonged in 'Society.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Others of the corps recognized his exclusiveness by nicknaming him the
+'Countess's Zwilk,' 'the Nobl' Zwilk,' and 'Batiste.' These were not
+very good jokes, but they never lost their charm for us, and we laughed
+at them just as much the hundredth time as the first. Zwilk laughed
+with us: his laugh used to make me nervous; it sounded like a bleat,
+and seemed to come out of his nose and ears. He was undeniably a
+handsome man, tall, blonde, broad-shouldered, stiff and slender, with a
+regular profile and a thick blonde beard.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He had great success with women: that is, with young widows and
+elderly pensioners, and the blowsy provincial beauties, to whom, as I
+said, he would never be presented, but with whom he danced, all the
+same, at balls in the early morning hours.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You might think these ladies would consider his pompous impertinence
+an insult. On the contrary they were greatly impressed by his
+'exclusiveness,' and when he waltzed with one of them she talked about
+it for a fortnight afterward.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He wore his uniforms too tight, and his cuffs too long, and he used to
+pull the latter down over his knuckles. Those hands of his were
+incurably coarse, in spite of all the care they got, and he was always
+fussing with them. Sometimes he trimmed the flat, uneven nails in
+public; sometimes he crooked the little fingers with graceful ease. His
+manners were stiff, and his German was florid, but ungrammatical. He
+spoke like a dancing master, who, having 'had a great deal to do with
+society,' feels obliged, for that reason, to pronounce the most
+teutonic words with a French accent.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He was at home in danger. Not only did he distinguish himself by
+reckless bravery in the field, but he showed in duels a cold
+indifference, which gave him great advantage over those of his
+opponents, who, though his equals in courage and his superiors in
+skill, were yet unable wholly to control a certain sentimental
+nervousness. The superior officers all praised him, for he was able,
+and he knew how to obey as well as to command. But he was very
+unpopular with his subordinates, to whom he showed himself extremely
+harsh, and with whom he never exchanged a joke, or a bit of friendly
+chat about their families, as the rest of us liked to do.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;As much audacity as he showed in great matters, just so little did he
+possess in small ones. Nothing could have induced him to tell a prince
+who said a horse had five legs, that it only had four.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am aware that this manner of judging him is retrospective. In those
+days, while we were in service together it hardly occurred to us, with
+our Austrian good humor, easy going, and perhaps a little bit
+superficial, to examine critically him or his failings. If we found him
+uncongenial, we hardly confessed it among ourselves, still less would
+we have acknowledged it to a civilian.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He had one pronounced enemy in the corps, and that was little Toni
+Truyn, cousin of Count Erich Truyn, the Truyn von Rantschin. Poor Toni!
+He was the black sheep, the Karl Moor of his distinguished family, and
+if he never got so far as to turn incendiary and robber-chief, that was
+from lack of energy and of genius. The requisite number of paternal
+letters were not wanting.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;His family had a right to lecture Toni, for he had cruelly
+disappointed all their hopes. Destined from infancy to the Church, he
+suddenly, in his eighteenth year, developed religious scruples. His
+family regarded these as a symptom of nervous derangement, arising from
+too rapid growth, and they sent him to Rome to be scared back into an
+orthodox frame of mind by the hierarchy. To help matters, they provided
+him with an Abbé as a traveling companion.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;In less than a month, Toni, having quarreled with his Abbé, was going
+up and down in Rome, proclaiming his contempt for Popish superstitions,
+and raving about heathen gods and goddesses like a Renaissance
+Cardinal. He neither presented himself at the Austrian Embassy, nor
+sought the customary Papal blessing: he wandered about with mad
+artist-folk, ate in hostelries, danced extravagantly at models' balls,
+where he gave the Italian females lessons in Austrian Choregraphy,
+which caused them to open their eyes, and ended by falling in love with
+a market-girl from the Trastevere. When he came home, he brought his
+Trasteverina along, with the naïve intention of marrying her. His
+father, not unnaturally declined this connection, Toni had still less
+mind to the Church, so they put him in the army.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Found fault with by his superiors, idolized by his subordinates,
+cordially liked by the rest of us, he remained to the end, a middling
+officer and a splendid comrade. He rode round-shouldered and was
+incurably careless about his accoutrements, and because of his harmless
+cynicism, and his easy-going, half rustic unmannerliness, we christened
+him the Peasant Count and Farmer Toni.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;There was a legend that his Majesty, one day at a hunt or a race, or
+some one of those occasions that serve to bring the monarch a little
+nearer to his subjects, condescended to ask Toni's father, old Count
+Hugo, 'How is your family, and what are your sons doing?' 'The eldest,'
+said Count Truyn, 'is serving your Majesty in the Foreign Office, and
+the second is in the army.' 'He is here,' added the count, looking
+about for Toni. He discovered him not far off, leaning against a tree,
+whistling, his hands in his pockets, his cap dragged down over his
+ears, oblivious of kaisers.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The old count was so upset by this sight, that he pointed out another
+man, in a great hurry, and that man happened to be Zwilk. The kaiser
+asked no more questions, and nothing came of it, but when the
+peasant-count told us this story afterward, amid shouts of laughter, he
+added, 'Now you know why I can't bear Zwilk. I envy him his
+distinction.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;One hot summer day,--it was in Vienna, and we were riding home from
+the man&#339;uvres, through a suburb,--in a deserted street, full of
+sweepings and gamins, smelling of soap boiling and leather curing,
+Farmer Toni's eyes fell on the dirty sign of a miserable little shop,
+'Anton Zwilch, Tin-man.' Resting one hand on his horse's croup, Toni
+leaned over, and said with that soft, winning voice of his, which was
+in such true aristocratic contrast to his rough-and-ready manners,
+'Batiste, is that your cousin?' And Zwilk replied with a forced smile,
+through his nose, 'Non, mon cher, that must be another line. We write
+our name with a k: Zwilk von Zwilnek.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Next day in Café Daum, the farmer-count perfidiously seized on a
+general lull in the conversation, and called across several tables to
+his particular friend. First Lieutenant Schmied.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Du, Schmied! Is the brewer at Hitzing, a relative of yours?' And the
+other called back affectedly, 'Non, mon cher, that must be another
+line, we spell ourselves with an <i>ie</i>.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;This feeble joke was repeated at intervals after that, to the
+edification of Toni and his friend, and the great embarrassment of all
+the rest. Zwilk pretended not to hear it.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;About this time our corps was enriched by the arrival of Count Erich
+Truyn, Toni's cousin. He had got himself exchanged from the Cuirassiers
+because of some love affair or other. He was blonde, handsome as a
+picture, chivalrous, aristocrat through and through. Like all the
+Truyns, excepting Toni, Erich was conservative, even reactionary.
+Nevertheless, perhaps exactly for that reason, he was most considerate
+toward people who were less well born than himself. When Toni and
+Schmied served up their stale joke about 'the other line,' Count Erich
+always grew restless, and at last, one day when I was present, he
+remonstrated with his cousin. 'You are really too unfeeling, Toni,' he
+said. 'How is it possible for you to jeer at a poor devil who can't
+help his extraction, and no doubt has to suffer enough from it. Look
+here--I--Hm--it would annoy me very much to have this go any further,
+but I have heard that poor Zwilk was once a waiter at Lamm.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Whatever he was would make no difference if he were a decent man now,
+but he isn't!' broke out Toni. 'He's a low fellow; heartless canaille!'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'You ought not to speak that way of a comrade,' said Count Erich, much
+shocked, 'of a man with whom you stand on terms of <i>Du</i> and <i>Du</i>.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'I say <i>Du</i> to his uniform, not to him,' muttered Toni. Count Erich
+burst out laughing,--'And I took <i>you</i> for a Red!' he cried.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Soon after this we were sent to Salzburg; there Zwilk saw his best
+days. He became the intimate friend of Prince Bonbon Liscat, a very
+limited person, between ourselves, whom they had shoved into the army
+to keep him occupied, until they could arrange a marriage for him, to
+provide his line with heirs.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Spoiled by priests and women, like so many scions of our highest
+nobility, wrapped in cotton from his birth, nurtured in arrogance,
+Prince Liscat as a child could never endure the equally pampered
+arrogance of his young peers, and always chose his playmates from among
+the toadies and fags. Now, true to this taste of his youth, he liked no
+company so well as that of Zwilk. Zwilk must dine with him, must drive
+with him, Zwilk must accompany him on the piano while he poured forth
+elegies on the French horn,--on the tortoise-shell comb, for anything I
+know.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;As for Zwilk, he existed for Bonbon: he bathed in aromatic vinegar
+like Bonbon: he went to confession; he abused the liberal journals; he
+raved about Salvioni's legs, all like Bonbon. He acquired a complete
+aristocratic jargon, talking of 'Bougays,' 'Table <i>do</i>,' and
+'Orschestre.' Prince Liscat was the last to correct him. It would have
+been quite too revolutionary for Zwilk to pronounce French as well as
+he did himself.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Zwilk's Bonbon had an ancient uncle, Prince Schirmberg, who lived in a
+curious old rococo Chateau, about an hour out of Salzburg. He was a
+bachelor, once very gay, now very pious; the first in accordance with
+family tradition, the latter from fear of future punishment. He
+suffered from spinal complaint, and, being paralyzed in both legs, he
+spent his time between a rolling chair and a landau. Before the latter
+walked four large cream-colored steeds, in slow solemnity, as if it was
+a funeral.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;All the cab drivers and private coachmen reined in as soon as they
+overtook the serene equipage, and fell behind, the whole cavalcade then
+proceeding at a snail's pace. It would never do to pass the prince, and
+it would never do to stir up the princely cream colors by a too lively
+example, lest evil befall the princely spinal column.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Only Toni Truyn wickedly rushed past now and then, at the full
+speed of his thoroughbreds. Then the big cream colors before the
+old-fashioned landau would give an excited jump or two, and poor Prince
+Schirmberg would call out, 'Damn that Truyn!'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;His serene highness certainly hated Toni, who returned it with
+good-natured contempt and a number of bad jokes. Some one came and told
+Prince Schirmberg that Toni had said he was nothing but a bundle of
+prejudices done up in old parchment. This the prince took very ill,
+without in the least understanding it. 'Prejudice,' he knew, from
+reading the 'Neue Freie Presse' was the liberal word for principles:
+and 'Parchment' was simply an aristocratic kind of leather.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The prince had a sister, Auguste. All the little girl babies in
+Salzburg were named after her. We used to call her the May-Beetle,
+because she had a little head and a broad, round back, and always
+dressed in a black cap and a frock of Carmelite brown.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;She occupied herself with heraldry and charity. That is, she painted
+the Schirmberg coat-of-arms on every object that would hold it, and she
+engaged all their evening visitors, who were not playing whist with her
+brother, in cutting little strips of paper to stuff hospital pillows.
+For their reward she used to have them served at ten o'clock with weak
+tea and hard biscuits, but, as even the best families in Salzburg still
+keep up the barbarous custom of dining at one o'clock, the guests found
+their supper rather meagre.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;When she wanted to give them a special treat, she read to them in a
+thin voice out of an old Chronicle about the deeds of the Schrimbergs.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;She had a marked weakness for Zwilk. He cut papers with enthusiasm: he
+listened to the Chronicles with ecstasy: he fell on one knee to kiss
+her hand when she graciously extended it at leave-taking.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It was Sylvester Day, in the yard of the Riding School. The cold
+winter sun fell dazzlingly on the hard, white snow. Long, strangely
+twisted icicles hung from the snow-covered roofs, against the gloomy
+sides of the buildings which surrounded the court.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;We had given our recruits a good dressing down in the Riding School,
+and now we were standing about in little groups chatting, cheerful and
+hungry, in the cold court. I heard Erich Truyn behind me, speaking in
+that polite, pleasant tone which he kept especially for poor country
+priests, and scared women of the lower classes. He was saying, 'I'm
+sorry, but First Lieutenant Zwilch is engaged at present. Shall I send
+for him?' I turned round. There in the old, grey archway stood handsome
+Truyn, blonde, slender, careless, easy, correct without pedantry; from
+head to foot what a cavalier ought to be. Beside him, square, clumsy,
+tufts of grey hair over his ears, a grey beard under his chin, face
+mottled red and blue from the cold, mouth and eyes surrounded by
+fine wrinkles, cheeks rough and seamed like the shell of an English
+walnut,--an old man, a stranger.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He wore very poor clothes, half town, half country make, a short
+sheepskin, high boots, from which green worsted stockings protruded, a
+long faded scarf with a grey fringe twisted round his neck. He had a
+little bundle tied up in a red handkerchief squeezed under one arm, and
+he was kneading nervously in his two hands a shabby old fur cap, as he
+looked up with an expression half frightened, half confiding to Count
+Erich.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That usually so self-possessed young gentleman was much embarrassed,
+and was making visible efforts to hide it, while he strove at the same
+time to encourage the old stranger.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Shall I send for him?' he asked a second time. 'Oh! please, I
+can wait, please,'--stammered the old man in his <i>gemüthlich</i>
+Upper-Austrian dialect.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I took him for a small mechanic; he was too diffident for a peasant,
+and not shabby enough for a day laborer.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'I can wait,' he repeated. 'Have already waited, long, very long, Herr
+Lieutenant.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'As you will, but won't you sit down?' said Erich, hesitating, divided
+between fear of giving the old man a cold, and fear of not showing him
+proper attention.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Right and left of me our comrades were chatting. 'Sylvester,' cried
+Schmied, 'it's the stupidest day of the year. It makes me think of
+punch, and cakes, and cousins.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'It makes me think of my tailor and my governor,' laughed Farmer Toni.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The peasant-count was sitting on a bale of hay: Schmied stood over
+against him, leaning on the side of a forage wagon. Toni wore a short
+white riding coat; his chin was in his hands, his elbows were on his
+knees.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'To the first I owe a bill,' he went on, 'And to the latter I owe
+congratulations. Schmied, do you think he'd be satisfied with &quot;Best
+Wishes for the New Year,&quot; on a card?'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">'&quot;Are you going to Schirmberg's to-night?' asked another officer coming
+up.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Must,' said Toni, laconically. 'And you?'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'I don't know. Perhaps I can plead another engagement. It will be
+deadly dull at Schirmberg's.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'I hear they are going to serve champagne and a prince of the blood,'
+said Schmied.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Hello! What's old Gusti up to?' laughed Toni: 'Big soirées are not in
+her line.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'It's all for Zwilk,' answered Schmied. 'You know he is going to be
+made adjutant to Prince Schirmberg.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Adjutant to a prince!' It was the old stranger who cried out, proud,
+excited, turning his head from one to the other.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Erich had continued to do the honors with all the courtesy of your
+true aristocrat to the plebeian who has not as yet stretched out a hand
+toward any of his prerogatives. The little old man had grown quite
+confiding: he looked up now in Erich's face and asked, 'You know him
+well?'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'He is my comrade,' answered Truyn. 'I wish I could call myself as
+admirable an officer as he is. He is one of the best in the service,
+and he has a brilliant career before him.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Truyn liked Zwilk as little as the rest of us, but he wanted to give
+the old man pleasure, and that he could do without falsehood.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The stranger stripped off his mittens, and put his knuckles to his wet
+eyes.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'I thank you, I thank you,' he sobbed like a child. 'He's my son. I
+wanted to see him, long, long, but he was so far away and he never
+could come home,--but he wrote,--such beautiful letters. The priest,
+himself, couldn't beat them; and,--and--now, I was going to surprise
+him, but--will he--will he like it, Herr Lieutenant, after all? Look
+you,--I'm afraid,--he such a grand gentleman, and I'--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Zwilk's voice sounded from within, hard and merciless, rating a common
+soldier: then he walked into the yard.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Arm in arm with Prince Liscat, varnished, laced, buckled, strapped,
+affected and arrogant, one hand on his moustache, he simpered through
+his teeth:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'You're much too good, Bonbon. You don't know how to treat the
+<i>canaille</i>. The Pleb must be trodden on, else he will grow up over our
+heads.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then his eyes met those of the old stranger. He turned deathly pale;
+the old man shook in every limb. Handsome Truyn, very red in the face,
+stammered:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Your father has come to see you: it gives me much pleasure to make
+his acquaintance,' or some well-meant awkwardness of that kind.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;But Zwilk smiled, his upper lip drawing tight under his nose, showing
+his teeth, large, square and white, like piano keys.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Der papa?' he simpered, elegantly, looking all over the court, as if
+searching for him; then, as the old man, stretching out his trembling
+hands, 'Loisl!' Zwilk fixed him with a cold stare and said, 'I don't
+know the man; he must be crazy.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ashamed, confused, the stranger let fall his hands; he caught his
+breath, then looking anxiously from one to the other of us, he
+stammered:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'It is not my son. I was mistaken: a very grand gentleman. Not my
+son.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Never mind,' strutted Zwilk, and clapped him jovially on the
+shoulder. 'There, drink my health,' and he reached him a silver gulden.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The old man took it with an indescribable, hesitating gesture; looked
+again in a scared way around on us all, lifted his eyes sadly, as if
+begging forgiveness, to the face of the Nobl' Zwilk, and turned away,
+repeating, 'Not my son!'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He was blind with grief. He struck against the sharp corner of the
+stone gatepost, recoiled, felt about with his hands for support, and
+disappeared.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;We were dumb. There came the ring of a coin on the pavement without, a
+half-choked sob, then nothing more.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Dost thou dine at the Austrian Court to-day?' inquired Zwilk, with
+cheerful effrontery of his friend Bonbon, whose arm he took.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Farmer Toni hawked and spat slowly and deliberately at Zwilk's feet,
+but Zwilk had the presence of mind not to see it, and left the place on
+Liscat's arm, still smiling.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;We looked at each other. Count Erich's eyes were full of tears.
+Schmied's fists were clenched, and his lip trembled. All of us felt a
+tightness in our throat. We longed to rush after the disowned man; to
+surround him with respectful attentions; to pour out kind words and
+consolation,--if we could have found consolation. But it was one of
+those moments when fine feeling lays a restraining hand on sympathy,
+and we pass the sufferer blindly by, not daring even to uncover our
+heads.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;In the square before the barracks, a silver gulden sparkled on the
+pavement in the cold winter sun.</p>
+
+<br>
+<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:10px">* * * * *</p>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;New Year had come in when the party broke up at Prince Schirmberg's,
+and we rode homeward by a narrow, snow-covered path across the fields,
+a short cut, by which the heavy equipages of the other guests could not
+follow us.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The soirée had been a great success. The prince of the blood had shown
+himself, as usual, all affability, and Zwilk, warmly recommended to
+favor, had been graciously distinguished by His Royal Highness.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The slightly faded Countess Schnick had looked very pretty. Zwilk had
+been courting her since autumn, and to-night she had been very
+encouraging to the future adjutant of Prince Schirmberg. And Zwilk,
+after the departure of His Royal Highness, had beamed and twinkled, and
+shone as if varnished all over with good fortune, patronizing
+everybody, even his friend Bonbon. Now he rode, sunk in pleasant
+reveries, a little apart from us, at the head of our cavalcade.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The moon shone clear. Sown with countless stars, the sky blue and
+cloudless arched above an endless expanse of snow. Everything around us
+was of a blinding whiteness, an unearthly purity, and still as death.
+Only now and again, at long intervals, a light shudder trembled through
+the silence, a swift rushing, a deep sigh,--then once more silence.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'It is a parting soul,' said Erich Truyn, listening, much moved. Erich
+was a little superstitious.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Nonsense,' grumbled Schmied, 'it is a tree letting fall its burden of
+snow.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Everything is so strangely pure, one is afraid of meeting an angel,'
+said Toni.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Yes, it makes one ashamed of being a man,' muttered Schmied. Then we
+all ceased talking. We thought of home. The New Year's night, so still
+and peaceful, brought us all memories of long-forgotten childhood.
+Presently Schmied spoke out in his deep bass voice, to Toni.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'I must see if I can't get leave and give my old governor a surprise
+for Twelfth Night. He's awfully pleased when Hopeful turns up.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Wish I could say the same of my Herr Papa,' sighed Toni. 'But it's
+all up in that quarter. I'm simply a lightning rod for him. When his
+steward bothers him, he sits down and writes me an abusive letter. But
+it's partly my own fault,' he added, regretfully.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Count Erich, who had lost his father shortly before, looked straight
+ahead, his brows meeting, his eyes winking unsteadily.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Proudly the Nobl' Zwilk rode at the head of our little troop, rocking
+himself in dreams of gratified vanity. All at once his horse reared, so
+violently and unexpectedly that he was thrown. He kept hold of the
+bridle, and was back in the saddle next moment, punishing his horse
+furiously, and cursing so loud that Schmied, who rode nearest him,
+called out 'Restrain yourself': and pointed to a small wayside shrine,
+on the edge of the path. It held an image of the Virgin, and a half
+extinguished lamp, burning dimly before it, sent a red ray into the
+blue white of the moonbeams.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then, on the spot where Zwilk's horse had shied, Schmied's Gaudeamus
+began to back and tremble, to our amazement, for Schmied's horses were
+reputed as phlegmatic as their master. Next Truyn's Coquette jumped to
+one side, and Toni's Lucretia began swinging herself backward and
+forward like a wooden rocking horse.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'I think the brutes have entered into a conspiracy to make us stop
+here and say our prayers,' said Toni. But Schmied sprang down.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'What is it?' we called. 'Some one frozen,' he answered. 'Perhaps some
+one drunk,' lisped Prince Liscat. Erich and his cousin with the rest of
+us were already dismounted. Two sleepy grooms held our horses.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;There on the chapel steps, crouched a human form, in the attitude of
+one who has fled to God with a great burden.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;We stretched him out on the snow. His limbs cracked gruesomely. His
+hands were hard as stone: he must have been dead for hours. The cold
+moon shone on his face. It was old and wrinkled, the frost of frozen
+tears glimmered on his cheeks and around his mouth. The dead drawn
+mouth kept the expression of weeping.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'It's the poor devil who came to us yesterday morning in the
+Riding-School,' said Erich, and bowed his head reverently.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'Better so,' muttered Schmied, in a shaky voice. 'Better for him.' The
+little peasant-count kneeled in the snow, rubbing the stiff hands and
+sobbing.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;'We had better take ourselves off. We can't do any good here, and
+there will be trouble with the police.'</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It was Zwilk who spoke, standing by with white, strangely smiling
+face: his voice was hoarse and hurried.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Then Toni sprang to his feet. 'You hound!' he cried, and struck him
+across the face with a riding-whip.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The speaker paused a few seconds, then went on quietly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Of course Zwilch left the army. He and Toni fought with pistols.
+Zwilch came off extremely well, and Toni extremely ill, being badly
+wounded in the hip. He lay in bed six months, but during that time he
+was reconciled to his family, and shortly after he got well he married
+a pretty little cousin. He lives in the country, overseeing an estate
+of his father's. He has grown steady, has a great many children and
+preserves the most touching affection for his old comrades.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;We gave the poor old stranger a grand funeral, which the whole
+officer's corps attended. We buried him in St. Peter's Churchyard, and
+put him up a fine monument.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The Nobl' Zwilk vanished utterly. For a long time I expected to see
+him turn up as a fencingmaster somewhere. But far from it: I ran across
+him lately in Venice, married to a rich widow from Odessa. His servants
+call him Eccelenza; things prosper with him.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The old general paused, and looked about him. He had told his story in
+a voice of much feeling, and now he evidently looked for some signs of
+sympathy.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The celebrated poet remarked, with a grin, that the story would make a
+good subject for a comedy, if you changed the ending a little. The
+celebrated poetess said she didn't feel much interest in stories that
+hadn't any love in them. The hostess inquired if the widow whom Zwilch
+married was a person of good reputation. The host remarked that that
+was what came of letting the rabble into the same regiment with
+respectable people.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Only the youthful idealist had been so much moved that he was afraid to
+speak for fear of showing it. But at last he pulled himself together
+and broke out with these enigmatical words--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;After all, it's our own fault.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;How do you mean?&quot; asked the hostess.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He blushed and stammered. &quot;I mean, that if there were no Prince Liscat,
+there would be no Nobl' Zwilk.&quot;</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h1>WHAT HAPPENED<br>
+TO HOLY SAINT PANCRAS OF EVOLO</h1>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2><a name="div1_03" href="#div1Ref_03">What Happened to Holy Saint Pancras
+of Evolo</a></h2>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>I</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Down with him! Into the sea with the old pig-head! Let him come to
+reason among the crabs and cuttle-fish! Now he touches water,--now he
+swims,--now he goes under! There, Evoluccio, may you find it cool and
+pleasant!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He who made all this shouting and ranting was the little
+broad-shouldered Cesare Agresta, ship-trader, and he stood in the midst
+of a noisy crowd on the outermost edge of the cliffs which descend
+steeply to the sea before Evolo. They who moved about with turbulent
+cries, and still more turbulent behavior, among the gnarled olive trees
+on the rocks where the old chapel stands, were his fellow citizens, the
+entire population of the little Sicilian town of Roccastretta--men and
+women, children and aged people, rich and poor, even including the
+reverend Padre Atanasio, and the equally reverend Syndic. These two,
+withdrawn a few steps apart, watched the crowd's activity with a
+curiously sly expression of mischievous amusement.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Around the stem of an ancient olive tree some handy, half-naked fellows
+had slung a thick rope, whose length reached over the rocks down to the
+sea, and which, with many tugs and jerks, as if attached to a heavy,
+uneven weight that pitched about, made the old trunk shake from lowest
+root to topmost branch. Don Cesare held the chief command over this
+tumultuous mob. He ran, he gesticulated, he ordered, he swore, he
+laughed, he blustered, and they all obeyed him to the letter.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Just why little Don Cesare exerts himself so much about it I can't
+make out,&quot; said the well-nourished padre, in his neighbor's ear. &quot;The
+old Evolino, or, as they call him in despite to-day, Evoluccio, has
+never done any harm to Don Cesare. It must be all one to him whether it
+rains or not, since he doesn't possess the smallest bit of land, and
+not one single lemon tree can he call his property.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The Syndic shrugged his shoulders like a man at loss for an answer, and
+said, slightly nodding toward a youthful pair, half hidden behind the
+chapel, who seemed to be excellent company for one another:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;While Don Cesare bestows his attention upon the old, his pretty sister
+occupies herself with the young.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I have long remarked that there was something between those two,&quot; said
+the padre with a half envious side glance, in which rebellion,
+contending in the heart's depths with resignation, was plainly
+manifest; &quot;but what will come of it? The wealthy Nino will never
+content himself with the sister of a ship-trader.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Nay, Father Atanasio, one need not always be thinking of marriage,&quot;
+answered the other, smiling slyly on the stout padre.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I know that very well,&quot; replied the holy man, without taking the least
+offence at the Syndic's light-mindedness; &quot;but if it comes to Don
+Cesare's knowledge, let Nino beware of his knife.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That is Nino's business. Between my neighbor's door and its hinge I
+never put my fingers,&quot; cried the Syndic with a laugh.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">They were interrupted by the crowd streaming back from the cliffs
+toward the chapel.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;This pleases you. Father Atanasio,&quot; cried a lank sailor, who looked
+out from beneath his Calabrian cap like a bandit. &quot;You never were on
+good terms with the old Evoluccio. Well, he's fixed for one while!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He'll stay down there till he gets reasonable,&quot; said another, shaking
+his fist at the sea; &quot;and if that won't do,--something else will!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, yes!&quot; howled a third; &quot;if water fails he shall feel fire. Only
+that Don Cesare talked us down to-day, we'd have built a blaze under
+the old one's feet that would have made him remember us forever! The
+villain! the lump! the old heathen!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At these words, a little smile, like a flash, shimmered in the eye of
+Father Atanasio, but it was very brief, and remarked by no one; then he
+said, slowly, waving his hand to those who were passing, and clothing
+his words in an unctuous sort of conciliatory chant:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That is enough. It will certainly work this time. Malicious the
+Evolino never was. He only needs to have his old memory jogged a bit.
+If you were as old as he you would forget too, sometimes.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then the bystanders all broke into loud laughter, and cried to each
+other:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The padre is always right The Evoluccio is an old fellow--older than
+any of us can think--and one must be considerate with age.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Carmela! Carmela!&quot; suddenly sounded from the midst of the confused
+throng descending the side of the cliff toward the little town; and
+from his higher point of observation the padre saw Don Cesare's short
+figure powerfully fighting against the stream of people, and remarked
+with edification how he stretched his neck, how he jumped off his
+little legs, and stood on his little toes, making strenuous efforts to
+climb the hill again, or, at least to look over the heads of his fellow
+citizens. &quot;Carmela,&quot; he cried, &quot;where are you?&quot; But Carmela appeared to
+have just reached a highly interesting clause of her conversation with
+the smart and enterprising Nino, who was pushing his suit gaily with
+the listening girl.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;See,&quot; he said, pointing to where, close at the foot of the promontory
+a country house lay hidden among the groves of lemon trees, &quot;yonder is
+my Casina. Last year I inherited it, and now in a few days it will be
+all ready to live in. How pretty it looks! Everything new, and ready
+for daily life. And it is so cool and pleasant sitting there on a hot
+summer evening, with the fresh, silvery spring that trickles out of the
+rock into an old Greek marble basin; it is a stone from the temple, you
+know, that used to stand here, with images of gods, and wonderful
+animals. Only come there with me, and see how much pleasanter it is
+than in the dark street under your window.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The pretty girl's look followed his gesture. She shaded her eyes with
+her hand, and a rosy smile rested on her delicately cut mouth.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, yes,&quot; she said, half aloud, to herself, &quot;it may well be cool and
+pleasant there.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then she heard her brother's voice.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I am coming,&quot; she cried; and, hastily turning to Nino, &quot;shall I see
+you this evening at the usual hour?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, if you will promise to come out here with me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, yes,&quot; she cried, hastily, and ran away toward the others, who
+were descending the hill. Nino stroked his slender moustache, and a
+mocking little smile shot from his eyes after the pretty girl who had
+so thoughtlessly thrown him this momentous promise.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When Padre Atanasio found himself alone by the chapel under the olive
+trees he walked with much deliberation to the edge of the cliff and
+looked over; a most peculiar, condoling, bantering smile hovered on his
+lips, as his glance fell on the rope, and glided down to the place
+where it plunged into the sea. Down there, several feet deep under
+water, dashed over by the foaming waves, floated something heavy, that
+looked like a human body--a helpless lump, which the waves tossed
+hither and thither, and across which the fish, like silver arrows, shot
+back and forth in lightning darts. Occasionally the thing would bounce
+against a rock, roll back on itself, and then resume its regular motion
+in the water. If the dashing of the waves ceased for a little, and a
+sunbeam fell upon the clear flood, one could have sworn that a corpse
+was floating there--the corpse of an old man with snow-white hair and
+beard, in a faded red-brown mantle; the rope was knotted strongly
+around his hips, and his arms were closely bound by it also. He lay
+there, the poor old man, stretched out stiffly, and let the waves drive
+him, and Padre Atanasio looked down at him so queerly, and queer
+sounded the words which the holy man threw him over his shoulder at
+parting:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Serves you rights Evoluccio! What? You wanted to keep up a sinful
+competition with the blessed Mother of God? You must have the finest
+presents, the handsomest wax candles, the gayest festivals! And what
+is there so extraordinary about you, then? You're nothing but a
+half-converted old heathen!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But the poor old man with the snow-white beard and hair, and the
+red-brown mantle, over whom the jolly fishes were swimming, was not a
+murderer's victim; he was not even a corpse; he was not even a poor old
+man. He was nothing more nor less than the especial patron saint of the
+little town and surrounding country. Holy Saint Pancras of Evolo--the
+Evolino, as the people were accustomed, after their familiar fashion,
+to call him for short--the Evoluccio, as they injuriously named him
+when his conduct didn't please them.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The good saint might well have wondered what had happened to him on
+that fine spring morning, when the entire population of Roccastretta
+broke into his sanctuary on the Promontory of Evolo, tore him from his
+pedestal, carried him out from the cool twilight of his chapel into the
+glaring day, tied a rope around his body, dragged him, amid the most
+intolerable cursing and abuse, to the edge of the rocks, and pitched
+him over, like a dead cat, into the sea.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Hardly two days before, all Roccastretta had assembled in his chapel,
+and words of the most passionate devotion had risen like a cloud of
+grateful incense to the niche in whose depths he had made his dwelling
+for more years than any one there could count.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Holy Pancrazio of Evolo, dear good Saint Pancras,&quot; prayed this pious
+people, &quot;you love us like children and we love you like a father. Every
+Sunday we bring you fragrant nosegays, and when, as at present, the
+burning drought kills our flowers, then we bring bunches of gold and
+silver tinsel, and thick yellow wax candles to light before your image.
+Father Atanasio, who never honored you as he ought, and always calls
+you a half-converted heathen, he is of opinion that we give his Madonna
+nothing but miserable tallow dips, and keep the best of everything for
+you. So, you see, best, dearest Evolino, that we don't grudge you
+anything, and our children shall be just like us; for you are our own,
+only honored patron saint. Only, now, bethink you of your office,
+dearest, kindest Evolino. For three months not a drop of rain has
+fallen on our fields, trees, vines. Look around you! The figs are
+drying up, the olives will not swell, the wheat fields look like a
+desert. If you don't send rain, Evolino, it is all over with our
+harvest, and nothing will be left for your people but to save
+themselves from starvation by catching fishes and crabs. Be good, then,
+holy Saint Pancras, and send rain. You know very well it is not a
+tempest we want, but a good, long, mild, soaking rain, such as you know
+how to send when you will. To-morrow, or next day, at the latest. Do
+this for us, dear Saint Pancras, and you know how we will deck your
+image beautifully, and honor you above all the other saints; yes, even
+before the blessed Madonna herself, who is such a busy Queen of Heaven
+and Earth that she has no time to think about our little place. But
+you, Evolino, belong to us alone, and have no one else to look after!
+Care for us then, dearest Evolino, and we will bless you to all
+eternity.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Thus they prayed and besought him, and the ancient Evolino in his niche
+listened without stirring an eye or a hand, as became a saint that was
+cut out of wood, and plastered over with paint; and presently they all
+trooped out and locked the door, leaving the honest old fellow to his
+dreams in the cool, cozy chapel. Long and many were the Christian years
+that he had stood up here in the sanctuary of Evolo; but his dim
+confused remembrance looked wistfully back into the twilight of a still
+older time. There was a shrine here then, too--not a chapel, but a
+temple; other priests came and went before his image, other songs were
+sung and other gods were honored. The ancient sculpture had hewn him
+out of stout knotty wood, and beneath the various crusts deposited
+by the lapse of centuries, the old image was still hidden, as it came
+from that hand, now long moldering in dust; defaced, however, by
+strange gaudy daubs of color, with a red mantle, over a blue tunic,
+silver-white beard and hair, cherry-red lips, black brows in two even
+arches above the neatly painted eyes, and a round saintly nimbus,
+behind his head, that glistened as if he had a pure gold sailor's hat
+on the nape of his neck. Truly he didn't look like that in the old
+times, yet they honored him then much as he was honored now, not like
+one of the high mighty ones, who are only to be addressed with fear and
+trembling; like a dear old friend rather, with whom a man can exchange
+the familiar &quot;thee and thou&quot;--older, certainly, and doubtless of higher
+degree, but who has dwelled so long in our midst that he seems like one
+of our own people. This feeling increased with the lapse of years, and
+a most confidential relation had sprung up between the patron saint and
+his flock--a relation of mutual service and mutual indulgence, as of
+friendly neighbors who like to do each other a brotherly good turn when
+they can.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">It was Saint Pancras' duty to take care of the little town, and its
+surrounding country; but the honest patron was so old and brittle, that
+no one could blame him if his head was not always in the right place,
+and his thoughts sometimes went wool gathering, so the weakness of age
+was helped for Evolino by various friendly hints; if that had no
+effect, the duties of a patron saint were set before him seriously but
+kindly; if this did not serve, then the standpoint was made clear in
+coarse but unmistakable fashion,--and thus it happened that on this
+fine spring morning, after he had failed to supply the longed-for rain,
+in spite of prayers and entreaties, he was lowered at the end of a rope
+into the sea, like a common malefactor, for his punishment and his
+reformation.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And so he lay down there at the end of his rope, and saw how the crowd,
+when their work was accomplished, took the way to the town, and saw how
+Padre Atanasio, who hated him for a dangerous rival, in the bottom of
+his heart, wept crocodile tears over him, and then he saw how his
+chapel stood above among the olive trees, lonely and forsaken, and how
+the open door swung to and fro in the wind,--and he may have turned
+back in his dim memory to that fair, long past time when the warm
+sea-winds blew through the breezy colonnades, when the bright sunbeams
+played over his youthful godlike figure, when he looked down from his
+pedestal upon the coast, the purple sea, and the high-beaked ships with
+their great oars. Then, when he was a young god, when they brought
+grapes and figs, and pomegranates to lay at his feet! Gayer than now
+sounded the songs of the priests, and lustily streamed up the clouds of
+incense from the golden vessels. He was not Saint Pancras of Evolo
+then, yet it was under a very similar sounding name that he was honored
+by the believing crowd, and none then would have dared to snatch from
+his pedestal the beautiful God of the Winds, and throw him down among
+the fibrous polyps, a mock for women and children.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In dull, humming tones sang these ancient, half-smothered memories
+through his drowsy thoughts, and duller, and still further off, were
+the voices of the noisy folk, who had just left him, and in crisp
+softly-splashing wavelets the eternal sea, like a tender mother with
+her sleeping child, rocked holy Saint Pancras of Evolo.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>II</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Father Atanasio could not explain satisfactorily to his own mind why
+Don Cesare had been able to work himself into such a violent rage
+against the poor Saint Pancras, and with every one whom he came across
+on the way home, and with every one whom he encountered during the day
+on the street, or in the wine-shop, he began the subject over again.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I can understand very well,&quot; said the father, to his
+devoutly-attentive listeners--&quot;I understand perfectly--that you, Don
+Ciccio, and you, Don Pasquale, and you, Don Geronimo, and many others,
+are angry in your hearts with our patron saint. You need rain, you need
+it as mankind needs air, and fishes water. That is to say, your fields
+need it, your lemon trees, figs, pomegranates, olives, and almond
+plantations. You are landed people, you cultivate your acres, and wet
+them with the sweat of your brows. But the sweat of your brows,
+ha-ha-ha! That is only a dewdrop or two, and won't answer instead of
+rain.&quot; Here the father laughed, and all the others laughed at their
+priest's joke.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Well, then, if your patron forgets his duty, and neglects to send the
+rain&quot;--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;He doesn't want to send it!&quot; cried one.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Whether he doesn't want to, or whether he forgets it, that I don't
+know--I am not at liberty to discuss the question since you credit me
+with an evil-disposed jealousy toward the good old St. Pancras. Well,
+then, never mind that; I know what I know. But what was I going
+to say? Oh, yes, if you, being injured in your property through
+your patron saint's--let us say, carelessness--if you show him in your
+way--which--well--your way is--I don't know exactly what to call it.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It's the way to deal with him,&quot; they shouted from every side. &quot;We know
+him. Praying is no good unless we discipline him too. This isn't the
+first time. Fifty years ago our fathers had to do the same thing, and
+he had not been three days under water before it rained. It's his old
+heathenish obstinacy that must be broken now and then.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Father Atanasio turned right and left, behind, before, defending
+himself from the pelting of angry words, with hands and feet, his head
+wagging from side to side, hands and shoulders raised protestingly;
+after a while, when they let him speak once more, he was quite
+breathless, as if it were he who had been raging and shouting.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Be peaceable, I beg,&quot; he gasped. &quot;I know well that you understand this
+matter better than I. It is nothing to me. I only have to read mass in
+church before the blessed Madonna, and your Saint Pancras and his
+chapel do not belong to my parish. But this is not what I wanted to
+talk about. What I would say is: Don Cesare owns neither a tree nor a
+blade of grass. It is all one to him if it rains or shines. He is a
+ship-trader. What has he to do with rain? And yet it was Don Cesare who
+took the saint from his pedestal and carried him down to the rocks. He
+it was who slung the rope over the olive tree, and let Evolino down
+into the water. And Don Cesare is a wise man, the wisest of us--of you
+all. He knows what he does, and why he does it; and therefore I, Father
+Atanasio, say something is wrong--something is hidden that must be
+revealed.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">In vain did the bystanders, charmed by Don Censure's heroic deed, seek
+to make the father understand that the little ship-trader had simply
+shared the feelings of his fellow tradesmen; that he had not acted from
+personal motives, and it was exactly this unselfishness which deserved
+to be admired and respected. All these explanations and assurances
+rebounded from the father's sceptical smile without effect.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;My dear friends,&quot; said the stout, smiling father, &quot;I know you and all
+your kin. You were all hatched out of the same shell. Unselfishness? We
+will seek that elsewhere. When it comes into your heads to praise a
+fellow creature for his unselfishness it is because you somehow find it
+to your own advantage. And Don Cesare, above all others, is far too
+wise to be unselfish. He had his sufficient reasons for letting himself
+be compromised with Saint Pancras, like the rest of you. Yes, Don
+Ciccio, compromised you are, thoroughly, and if I were the Evolino,
+Santo Diav--that is, I would say. Holy Madonna--I know what I would do.
+However, that is not the question. I was talking of Don Cesare. He
+knows on which side his bread is buttered, and how to squeeze in time
+out of a tight place. He will set himself right with Saint Pancras,
+take care of his own interests, and leave you all sitting in the mire,
+never doubt it. Cesare Agresta, the clever trader, will look after his
+own advantage.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The padre was not far wrong, for Don Cesare was a stirring, driving,
+scheming little man; and as to the present question, it was certainly
+true that, in the morning, when he took the saint down from his
+pedestal and carried him, like a baby, out of the chapel, he had
+whispered lightly, quite lightly, so that no one else could hear:
+&quot;Don't be angry, dear Pancrazio. What I do I must do. I will make it up
+to you.&quot; Certainly no one heard this, not even Father Atanasio,
+although he was standing close by, and looking on with silent,
+malicious delight, while they made life so hard for the Holy Madonna's
+hated rival; and still less was it observed by the bystanders, for the
+face which Don Cesare made didn't match his words at all, and whoever
+had seen him at that moment must have said to himself: &quot;Poor St.
+Pancras! it's lucky you are made of wood; for if alive you were, alive
+you would never come out of the hands of this raving maniac, with the
+glaring eyes and bristling hair.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Quite another face, the most unconcerned face in the world, was that
+with which, toward evening of the same day, Don Cesare, in the
+gathering twilight, walked into the room where his sister sat sewing by
+the flickering, smoking tallow candle; and, with the most indifferent
+tone in the world, he said to the girl looking up at him with the most
+unconcerned as well as the handsomest and brightest of black eyes:
+&quot;Close up the house with care, Carmela. I am going to Salvatore's, and
+shall not return till late.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At the door he turned and added: &quot;And, Carmela, I may as well say, take
+care of your eyes, little Mouse; they are remarkably bright these days.
+And, you know, I would be well pleased with Nino, but he must take you
+before the altar. If he will not do that--tell him from me--then let
+him keep away from you, or it may be the worse for him. Good-night,
+little Mouse!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Whereupon Carmela, demurely bending her head over her work, replied:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Go on, Cesare, and be easy. Carmela comes from good stock.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She was from the same stock as her brother, at any rate, for she added,
+in exactly the same tone as that in which Don Cesare has whispered to
+the saint:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;That Nino shall marry Carmela and none other will scarcely be
+accomplished by your aid, Cesare. I must see to that.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Her eyes sparkled over her work, as if she knew very well indeed what
+she was thinking about. And she did, too, the petite witch, with the
+fine finger tips, and the raven black curly hair; for her brother was
+no sooner out of the house than she sprang up lightly, ran to the door,
+drew the bolt, and then stepped softly, softly, to a window that opened
+on the street, stuck her little head through a narrow opening, and
+looked quietly after Don Cesare for a while, then, when she had seen
+him disappear through the darkness in the direction of Salvatore's
+house, she threw the window wide open, leaned out, laid her right hand
+above her eyes, and gazed steadily in the opposite direction, as if
+searching for something in the thick gloom. She found what she was
+looking for very soon. It appeared in the shape of a young, slender
+man, who kept himself in the shadow of the houses, cautiously and
+noiselessly approached the window, and suddenly stood before her,
+grasping her hands in his, and whispering:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I have waited long. I have kept my word. Will you keep yours,
+Carmela?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Cesare's small house lay at the outermost end of a little street that
+led to the harbor. Whoever came up that way was certain not to be seen
+by any one, and that was exactly the way the young man had come. The
+night was dark. The moon was yet far below the horizon. It was easy to
+chat quietly and unobserved between window and street, and this the two
+did. They were far past the rudimentary stage of love-making, for
+Carmela promptly resigned her hand to the caresses of Nino, who
+confidently pressed upon it a long, passionate kiss.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Only come this evening with me to my Casina,&quot; he whispered; &quot;we can be
+alone there, and we can't go on forever talking from window to street
+like this.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Carmela smiled under cover of the night.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It is so far,&quot; said she; &quot;if my brother should come back before I&quot;--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You will be home long before your brother. The way is very short along
+the shore, under the Promontory of Evolo.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It is too far, Nino; the moon will rise soon, and then we shall be
+discovered.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">They talked together a long time. The moon rose, and poured its
+peaceful light into the gloomy streets; but only for a little while,
+then the sky darkened again, and black clouds rose slowly from the
+west.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;See,&quot; laughed Nino, &quot;the holy Pancrazio is getting tired of his bath.
+And see, too, Carmela, he favors our love. He is hiding the clear
+moonlight. Will you come now? Come then!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She hesitated a moment Then she whispered. &quot;Wait, I will fetch my
+mantle,&quot; and disappeared.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">While the pair were holding their rendezvous before Don Cesare's house,
+that worthy was proceeding to his, after another fashion. At a
+leisurely pace, as if addressed to an evening's gossip with a friend,
+he had slowly departed down the street, never doubting that Carmela
+would look after him; all girls did so, and his sister was like the
+others, of course. Women were women, he opined, smiling quietly to
+himself; one must treat them like children, pretend immense confidence,
+but be mighty vigilant, and always preserve one's masculine
+independence. This he certainly did, and carried out his theory with
+much precision by making a sudden turn the moment a bend in the road
+hid him from Carmela, and starting off at an amazing gait in the
+opposite direction. First he took a side circuit through the crooked
+little streets, and then hurried off toward the Promontory of Evolo.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">There must have been something extraordinary in the busy little man's
+brain, for he ran as fast as his short legs would let him. Tali Ciccio,
+whom he met outside the ruined gate of the town, looking for Heaven
+knows what in that lonely place, he never once noticed; on the
+contrary, when he saw him from a distance, he seized the blue hood
+which every one on the coast of Sicily wears winter and summer, in sun,
+wind, and rain, fastened Bedouin fashion around his neck, and drew it
+far over his face, raised his broad shoulders, and sunk his head
+between them. He passed his astonished fellow citizen without looking
+around, and the latter stood gazing after him, and muttered: &quot;The devil
+knows who that is, and where he is going;--I know every one in
+Roccastretta, but I never saw <i>him</i> before;&quot; and shook his head after
+him for a long while, like an honest member of society who has met with
+something to reflect upon.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Don Cesare, meantime, hurried on, smiling slyly to himself. &quot;By you, my
+stupid Ciccio, I, Don Cesare, am not going to let myself be
+overreached. What you are doing at this hour outside the town Heaven
+knows. Some sort of love adventure, perhaps. Or have you been stealing
+fruits and grain, and hiding them somewhere in a ruinous cassine? Or
+are you engaged in smuggling? Saints have mercy on us! who could thrive
+at smuggling these days, when not a ship runs into our harbor? For
+three months, exactly as long as the rain has failed, not a sail has
+this poor deserted harbor looked upon. Smuggling! Yes, that business
+paid once on a time, but not now.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And the honest Don Cesare thought, with satisfaction, of that happy
+time when, at least twice every month, a foreign sailing vessel came in
+his way. What pleasant times! And now, for three long months, he had
+stood day after day near the chapel of Evolo, which he now saw before
+him on the heights above, and he had looked with his trusty spyglass in
+all four quarters of the heavens to see if he could not discover a
+white sail making for the harbor of Roccastretta, and showing the
+well-known flag of Norway, or of England, or of Germany. From thence
+came the vessels which supplied themselves in this vicinity with
+southern fruits, olive oil, sulphur, and pumice stone, and brought
+hither various things which Don Cesare secretly purchased for little
+money and sold again for much--tobacco and cigars, woolen and cotton
+goods, gay ribbons, gaudily-painted saints, and freshly-varnished
+Madonnas, apostles, evangelists, and all sorts of wares, for which the
+customhouse inspectors were especially greedy. These Don Cesare
+understood how to convey into his house without discovery, and
+undiscovered to sell afterward at a comfortable profit. Close by his
+house, tied to an old broken pile, year in and year out, his boat lay
+ready, and when a sail appeared in the distance, he was the first to
+row out and offer his assistance to the captain; for he could jabber a
+mixture of every known tongue with the greatest fluency, and the ship
+had not come to anchor before Don Cesare was the confidential friend of
+every one and the trusted adviser of the whole crew. Yes, insignificant
+as he was in figure, Don Cesare was an enterprising fellow, and had his
+head in the right place; and that thick, round skull, covered with
+close-cut hair, with big, prominent, ring-bedecked ears, and wide mouth
+stretched in an everlasting smile, was stuffed full of stratagems and
+trader's tricks that brought him many a pretty sum, and at which the
+honest foreign sailors did not complain; for, without Don Cesare's
+help, they must have paid far dearer, and how did it cheat them that he
+made a hundred per cent, on the fiery wine which he furnished them, and
+that he obtained their fruits and meal and fresh meat from his
+neighbors at a ridiculously low price? Oh, those good honest people!
+They paid so willingly whatever he asked; they found everything so
+cheap in this beautiful land; and when the ship was once more under
+sail they all thanked him who went away, and those who remained, they
+thanked him, too, for they all had done a good business; but he had
+done better than any one! Yes, pleasant time! thought Don Cesare, as he
+wandered along through the night and looked out on the black sailless
+sea. Directly before him lay the Promontory of Evolo, with its old
+olive trees. The chapel showed clearly through the darkness; last year
+they had whitewashed it, to the honor of the saint who now lay in the
+water. Don Cesare shook his head. &quot;You poor, dear Evolino, what must
+you think of me, that I could help them treat you so? And yet, you know
+as well as I do, how much good it would have done for me to interfere.
+If I had opposed them they would, maybe, have used you far worse; and
+that, instead of water, you did not have to stand the scorching fire,
+you may thank me. Sometimes one serves a friend better by howling with
+the wolves than letting himself be torn to pieces by them in his
+friend's company. Only wait. I will make it all right, good Evolino.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He had arrived at the foot of the Promontory. The little path wound off
+among the rocks. A few steps further and it turned to the left, toward
+the other side of the cliffs where Nino's country house lay silently
+hid in thick groves of orange and lemon.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Don Cesare stood still. Suddenly a puff of wind passed over the water
+which foamed up to his feet.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, oh!&quot; said the little ship-trader, &quot;from the west! The wind for
+rain! No, dear San Pancrazio, you will not be so obliging to those
+people who threw you into the water?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then he looked cautiously on every side, listened carefully to right
+and left, and believing himself secure stepped down to the shore where
+he knew the saint lay, felt around among the stones till he found the
+rope, and then one might have seen the little man, slowly pulling the
+line toward him, with the exertion of his whole strength. But the
+holy Pancrazio didn't come so easily. One arm stuck on a sharp rock,
+his halo got caught between two stones, and when there came a hard
+pull it seemed as if something cracked in poor Saint Pancras' ancient
+worm-eaten neck, and as if a very critical wabbling seized his old
+heathen head.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ei, ei!&quot; the poor saint must have thought, &quot;how careless these human
+beings are with their saints! First one is tied and thrown in the
+water, and then knocked to pieces against the stones, for some one is
+pulling the rope I see. What is <i>he</i> going to do with me?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And the shiny varnished eyes of Evolino tried to recognize the man, and
+when he found that it was Don Cesare, he sighed in his wooden bosom,
+but he patiently resigned himself to his fate. Only the wabbling of his
+head made him anxious; for he liked his old head. Suppose he should
+lose it, and they should put him on a new one?--a new head on the old
+trunk! or if they should order a whole new saint from the best modern
+wood-carver, what would become then of him, the only real, true,
+ancient, genuine San Pancrazio of Evolo?</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But Don Cesare pulled and pulled, and turned and twisted, and at last,
+there lay the saint at his feet on the dry sand.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Now, God be gracious to you, poor Evolino!&quot; thought that ill-used
+person. What then was his surprise, when Don Cesare, without speaking a
+word, dragged him across the footpath, set him carefully up in a cleft
+of the rock, brushed and cleaned him from slime and dirt, and dropping
+on his knees, with folded hands, thus addressed him:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;There you are again on dry land, dear, good, holy Pancrazio, and are
+rescued from the neighborhood of sea-crabs and polyps. And, do you see,
+me, me alone, you have to thank for it, Don Cesare, who loves and
+honors you! I told you so when I was bringing you down from the chapel.
+The others have treated you shockingly, poor patron, but I, I rescued
+you. Don't forget it, dear old San Pancrazio. Now I know well enough
+what you would say: Don Cesare! Don Cesare! you were there too, and
+slung the rope over the olive tree! Alas, yes! I had to be there! But
+only think what would have happened if I had not been there, those
+others were in such a rage with you!--on account of the rain! But what
+do I care about the rain? You may leave them for weeks longer without
+rain for all I care! they deserve it, and that tall, lean Ciccio, whom
+I just met outside the walls, he it was who blustered most shockingly
+about fire, and I it was who silenced him by slinging you into the
+water. Yes, Evolino, and it is I again who drew you out. And now,
+Evolino, be good to me, you who are also an ancient God of the Winds.
+Weren't you called Æolus before you became the Saint of Evolo? Surely
+you have not forgotten that,--and the winds will certainly listen to
+you still. Blow, then, a good strong wind into the sails of a foreign
+ship and guide it to our harbor, so that I may earn something once
+more! See, I am not a rich man&quot;--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He broke off suddenly. A clear, white beam of light had fallen upon the
+saint and a strange smile seemed to play over his features. Don Cesare
+looked around him in fright But it was only the moon that had just
+risen from the ocean, and threw its first beams upon the image.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It is clearing,&quot; said Don Cesare, as he rose, and brushed the sand
+from his knees. &quot;I must go now, for you understand, Evolino, only you
+alone know that I have drawn you out of the sea. Now stand quietly, and
+dry yourself, and get over your fright. But don't forget that you have
+me to thank, me alone! and don't forget to send me the ship--soon! very
+soon! Then I will dress your altar, and you shall have a new halo.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He stopped again in his discourse; for suddenly the image grew dark.
+What was that? a cloud? rain? He looked around. In the west it had
+grown black and heavy from the horizon up. &quot;West wind?&quot; said Don
+Cesare. &quot;Rain wind?--yes. But a favorable wind for ships that come from
+the ocean into the Mediterranean. San Pancrazio, San Pancrazio--only
+remember me!&quot; He clambered slowly up the steep path, that led between
+rubble, sharp-pointed cactus and aloes, to the chapel, but on the way
+he often paused and looked around to see if any gleam of white sail
+flashed across the blackness of the waves; for now he knew certainly
+that Evolino had listened to him, and once the wind came to blowing,
+the ships could not long fail. Thicker and thicker the huge clouds
+massed themselves on the horizon. When he reached the top he sat down
+under an olive tree to take breath. In the distance he thought he heard
+a noise. Was it a ship in whose cordage the wind whistled its song, and
+which was hastening to the protecting harbor? &quot;Then Carmela may wait
+till I come home,&quot; murmured Don Cesare. &quot;I shall stay up here.&quot; And,
+his eye immovably fixed on the water, Don Cesare remained sitting under
+his olive tree.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Not from the sea, however, did the sound come which held the listening
+trader spellbound on his lookout. With her narrow mantle drawn far over
+her face, glancing on every side, secretly trembling from fear and joy,
+Carmela ran beside Nino along the shore, jumped, with a beating heart,
+from stone to stone, and at every noise that reached her ears from the
+sea or the dark lemon trees, she clung closer and faster to her
+companion.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;It is too far,&quot; she whispered, and already repented that she had
+listened to his persistent entreaties, and left the safe walls of her
+own home to follow him on this dangerous expedition.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Calm yourself, child,&quot; answered Nino; &quot;it is not a hundred steps
+further, and your brother will not return before midnight--to-day
+especially, they will have so much to tell about the fate of San
+Pancrazio--and meanwhile we will tell other stories yonder in my cozy
+Casina.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, Nino, it frightens me. Why did we not stay and chat at my window?
+The street is so lonesome. Let us turn back. Really it is not right for
+me.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What are you saying, Carmela? The street lonesome? Oh, yes, and
+suppose that old Francisca, your servant, looks out of the window on a
+sudden, and sets all the dogs on the midnight marauder, as she did last
+time? In my Casina there is nothing of that kind to dread. We shall be
+alone there, and we have never been alone together yet since we
+plighted our love to one another.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Carmela stood still.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Nino,&quot; she said, &quot;you risk nothing; but I risk everything. If any one
+should find me here--or yonder.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Who should find you?&quot; broke in Nino. &quot;No one wanders around out here
+at this hour, and you are as safe as&quot;--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She started suddenly, shrank back, and laid her hand, with an impetuous
+gesture, on his mouth. They were standing directly in front of the
+Promontory, where its outermost point juts forth and descends sheer to
+the sea, and where the path crowds narrowly between this rocky wall and
+the water.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What is it?&quot; asked Nino, softly.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yonder!&quot; whispered Carmela, and her finger pointed through the night
+to a rock close by the path, where, silent and motionless. <i>One</i> stood.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Santo Diavolo!&quot; muttered Nino, darkly, to himself, and all his
+Sicilian jealousy rushed like flame to his head. Hastily bending down,
+he picked up a sharp heavy stone, and, without turning his eye from the
+mysterious figure, he added, hastily: &quot;The way is watched. Here is the
+path that leads up to the chapel. Quick, Carmela, before he sees us.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">By this time the rushing wind had driven the heavy clouds high up into
+the zenith. Suddenly, through a rift, a beam of bright moonlight fell
+upon the rocks. A wild scream broke from the girl, staring with wide
+eyes at the motionless figure.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The saint!&quot; she cried, and held out her arms as if in self-defence
+against the fearful sight. &quot;The saint! ascended from the sea! Blessed
+Madonna, protect me!&quot; And, without knowing what she did, as if fleeing
+from Divine judgment, she rushed up the path to the chapel in
+breathless haste.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At first Nino was as if spellbound at the unexpected and, even for him,
+mysteriously terrible vision.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;San Pancrazio!&quot; came brokenly from his lips. But when he heard his
+beloved's cry, and saw her fleeing through the darkness as if bereft of
+reason, then the wild blind rage of the Sicilian whose love is
+threatened seized him.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Santo Diavolo, accursed saint, you shall pay for this!&quot; he screamed,
+fiercely, and at the same moment the stone flew, sent by a strong,
+young hand, toward the Evolino. Nino watched it go, strike; then
+something solid and heavy rolled, with a dull sound, over the rocks.
+&quot;May you smash your heathen skull to pieces on the cliffs, old idol!&quot;
+cried Nino to the tottering saint, and followed his beloved. &quot;Carmela!&quot;
+he called, without regard to the danger of being heard and discovered.
+&quot;Carmela, stop! What are you doing?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">But Carmela rushed on like a frightened deer, over stones and roots of
+trees, whither she knew not, what she sought she could not have told.
+She fled, in order to flee--fled from the image of the threatening
+saint, who had appeared in the white shimmering moonlight, as a
+messenger of God, with the rod of avenging justice in his hand, or
+perhaps as a guardian angel set in the way of temptation and
+destruction.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">She did not hear Nino's shouts, and she was deaf also to another voice
+that suddenly called her name. As if all the lost souls from perdition
+were at her heels, she flew up the cliff's side, and ran under the old
+olive trees to the chapel.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Carmela! Carmela!&quot; shouted Nino, following close in breathless haste;
+a gust of wind swung open the door of the deserted sanctuary; like a
+child seeking its father's protection, Carmela sprang within; close
+behind her followed Nino, and at the same moment, propelled by a
+powerful hand, the door fell to with a loud bang; a hasty rattling
+followed, and from the fast-made lock some one drew out the key.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Don Cesare it was who stood before the chapel, motionless, the key in
+his hand, his eyes fastened on the door. Convulsively his hand sought
+his knife, and he muttered a few half-stifled words. He stood there a
+long time, seemingly in violent conflict with himself, and as if he
+strove in vain for a decision. At last he seemed to find what he
+sought.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;You won't escape me,&quot; he said to himself, and shoved the key into his
+pocket; and after another pause he added: &quot;Herein I recognize thy hand,
+holy Pancrazio.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He clambered hurriedly down the path to the cliff once more, and a very
+grim smile indeed passed over his face, for a saying which Father
+Atanasio loved to bring into his sermons came suddenly, he could not
+tell how, into his head--about ancient Saul, and how he went forth to
+seek his she ass. Had he not also, like Saul, found something better
+than he sought? The bold Nino was in his power. The blood shot up into
+his head. He almost turned back to the chapel, but he was master of his
+own will, and let the knife go again. The thieving villain! He had
+taken advantage of his absence to chatter, Heaven knew what, misleading
+nonsense in his favorite sister's ears, and had enticed her out of the
+house onto that lonely path. She had fled before him, but yet she had
+followed him. And now the two were sitting up there, caught, behind
+lock and bolt, and he, Don Cesare, held the key in his hand, and,
+except as true and honorable husband of Carmela, that rascal should
+never come out of the chapel. And now Don Cesare laughed aloud, and
+said:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Whom have you to thank for this, Don Cesare? Whom but the good, dear
+Evolino, whom you drew out of the water with your own hand--to whom you
+will go now, this moment, and, throwing yourself on your knees, will&quot;--</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Hold! what was that? Evolino was no longer standing in the rocky niche,
+and what did he see? Yonder he lay across the path; and, holy Madonna!
+without a head! and in his breast a gaping wound, as if something had
+crushed in poor Evolino's worm-eaten side. Don Cesare looked all
+around. There lay the stone. Now he understood it all. Nino must have
+thrown it at the saint when Carmela's scream startled him; yes, yes,
+and now Evolino was revenging himself. He had hunted the two into his
+chapel, and delivered the key into Don Cesare's hand! And see! there
+lay the head. It had rolled close to the shore; but ah! in what a
+condition it was, and what a change in Evolino's countenance! There was
+the strangest mixture of godlike, cheerful youth, and shrivelled old
+age, the shape, the forehead, the crown, the chin, were those of a
+youth, but there were painted wrinkles on them, and scars had engraved
+themselves deep in the old wood, and close beside these deep seams
+which time had made in the once youthful face, the gaudy new varnished
+colors showed like rouge on the face of a dead boy. Don Cesare felt
+quite overcome by the sight. &quot;Evolino! San Pancrazio!&quot; said he, half
+aloud to the head, which he held in his trembling hand. &quot;Evolino, is it
+you? or, is it not you? I don't know you any longer--and yet I know you
+well, poor old friend!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And with great fervor, as if he were carrying something very sacred, he
+bore the head of San Pancrazio to where his body lay, raised the latter
+from the ground, set it once more in the rocky niche, and carefully
+laid the mutilated, unrecognizable head in the crossed arms, then he
+kneeled on the sharp stones, folded his hands, and thanked his patron
+in a prayer of much devoutness, for the favor which he had shown him
+that day. He prayed a long time, and did not mark how the clouds
+lowered ever nearer on land and sea--did not mark how the wind swept
+cooler and cooler over the rocks. Not until the soft raindrops wet his
+arms and shoulders did he arouse from his pious devotion.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Evolino--dear Evolino!&quot; said he silently to himself. &quot;It is you who
+put this into my head; you who led me hither, and in your hands I leave
+the fortunes of my house. Rule it as seems best to you. To-morrow you
+will find me at your chapel, ready for anything; for atonement, and
+bridal rejoicing, or for a bloody avenging of my injured honor.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">As he said this, he drew the key slowly out of his pocket, hung it on
+one of the saint's hands, as if it were a hook, kissed Evolino's robe
+once more in humble confidence, and departed with strong, rapid steps
+through the night.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<h2>III</h2>
+<br>
+
+<p class="normal">Next day, in the early morning, there was a great stir, calling,
+laughing, and rejoicing in the little town of Roccastretta. Men, in
+Capuchin-like hoods, stood in the doors, women wrapped in their
+mantles, leaned out of the windows; and from one house to another, and
+one street to another, the laughing dialogue ran: &quot;Ha, ha! what did we
+say yesterday?&quot; &quot;He has come to reason over night!&quot; &quot;Only since
+yesterday he has lain in the sea, and last evening he sent the rain!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And what a heavenly rain!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, yes, the Evolino is a brave patron, we could not ask a better.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">As Father Atanasio, who, any one could see, didn't know what sort of a
+face to put upon the matter, slowly crossed the large open square where
+the men were accustomed to idle about when they had no work to do, all
+sorts of taunting salutations flew at his head:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, oh! Father Atanasio, but it <i>did</i> help!&quot; The father, who was a
+discreet man, assumed an open, cheerful expression, returned the
+greetings of his fellow townsmen with pompous nods and smiles, and
+answered unctuously:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No one ever addresses himself to the saints in vain: and even if this
+time it was done after a rude fashion, Saint Pancras loves this town
+and people too well to resent it. Besides, good for evil is the rule of
+the saints.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Very fine; yes, yes!&quot; came back from the mocking house doors and
+windows, &quot;we know you are obliged to talk that way; but we know just as
+well that the 'rude fashion' was necessary, and long live Don Cesare,
+who put it into our heads!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And who saved you from putting the good Evolino to the test of fire?&quot;
+answered the little ship-trader, with a loud voice, as he came out of a
+side street, and advanced toward his friends, receiving the praises and
+congratulations that poured upon him from every side with dignified
+self-approval, as if it were he, and not Saint Pancras, who had wrapped
+the horizon in clouds, and caused the fruitful rain to descend over
+fields and gardens. A quite extraordinary seriousness pervaded his
+features and demeanor; he spoke with calm majesty, as his distinguished
+namesake might have done after a victory over the Gauls. But whoever
+had observed him closely could not have failed to detect the feverish
+wandering of his glance, and a certain convulsive movement that now and
+then overcame his right hand, causing it, without visible occasion, to
+clutch itself into a fist, and to lay hasty hold on the handle of his
+knife.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Only for a short time did Don Cesare feast upon the enthusiasm of his
+fellow citizens. Turning toward Father Atanasio, he suddenly cried:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And now, friends, not another moment's delay! Not an hour longer must
+our good patron saint remain in the water. He has heard us, sooner than
+we hoped, and we must be equally prompt in assuring him of our
+gratitude, and in replacing him with all honor in his chapel. Come,
+Father Atanasio, and call the Syndic also, for whoever helped yesterday
+must help to-day, if he would not have the saint bear him a grudge!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">The wisdom of Don Cesare's words was obvious, even to Father Atanasio
+and the Syndic;--though as to the latter, he never ventured to wish for
+anything until the majority had first willed it; --and thus the whole
+community set forth once more for the Promontory of Evolo, in spite of
+wind and rain, feet in the wet sand, hands in pockets, cowls and gay
+kerchiefs over their heads and necks. Don Cesare opened the procession,
+between the Syndic and the priest.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Where is your little sister Carmela?&quot; asked the latter, after a while,
+smiling cunningly, and glancing aside at his neighbor.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Oh, father, I am not anxious about her,&quot; answered Don Cesare; &quot;she was
+on her feet early this morning, and gave me no peace trying to catch
+the rain in her hands. A real child.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, yes,&quot; said the padre, politely; &quot;Carmela is a fine girl, and
+pretty. Nay, that is nothing to me, but others have remarked the same.
+It would be a joy to me, Don Cesare, if I could see the two before the
+altar. I speak of Nino, Don Cesare, who is courting her as if she were
+the only girl in Sicily.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Behind the amiable tone in which these words were spoken, lay hidden a
+quiet laugh at the thrust he delighted in being able to give his
+neighbor. But the little ship-trader did not appear to notice it, and
+replied quite seriously:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And that will soon happen, Father Atanasio. In the chapel above they
+will be betrothed before the image of the good Evolino.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">His two comrades stared at him in astonishment.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Nay, nay, my good Don Cesare,&quot; said the Syndic, &quot;I would gladly see it
+too, but Nino seems to us a little bit too rich.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Don Cesare caught him up quickly: &quot;I thought so myself yesterday.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;And what has happened since yesterday?&quot; asked the amazed padre.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I may tell you now, my excellent Father Atanasio,&quot; answered Don
+Cesare, and a knavish smile might have been seen to flash for one
+instant from his eyes: &quot;Yesterday, when we let down the good Evolino
+from the rocks into the sea, everybody was crying for rain! rain! What
+was the rain to me? I shouted with them because I wished them well, but
+as for me, in the depths of my heart I asked for something quite
+different.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;So, so!&quot; said Father Atanasio, and poked the Syndic in the side behind
+Don Cesare's back. He looked triumphantly around at those who followed,
+winked at them with pompous, victorious eyes, and seemed suddenly to
+grow a head taller than all the others, in the consciousness of
+possessing such penetrating power of divining the hidden secrets of the
+human breast.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Yes, that is allowed to every one,&quot; continued Don Cesare, &quot;and look!
+the good Evolino has fulfilled the others' wish, and so I think to
+myself; yours, too, will be fulfilled, Don Cesare, for there is not one
+in the whole community that treats him as well as I do.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">He thought about the foreign ships all the time he was speaking, and
+gave a hasty glance toward the horizon, but nothing was to be seen
+there, and he was forced to confine his hopes and longings to Carmela
+and Nino. They had arrived at the foot of the promontory.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I think we will remain below,&quot; said the Syndic; &quot;the rope will be hard
+to draw from the cliff, and, besides, some harm might easily happen to
+the saint.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">No one made any objection to this wise precaution, and on they went
+over the steep path, in a long single file, as a flock of geese
+marches, one behind the other--first the Syndic, then the padre, then
+Don Cesare, then the rest. The rocks had grown very slippery from the
+wet; every time a cowled figure lost footing and tumbled, more or less
+ridiculously, into the sand, or caught at a neighbor's arm, or dress,
+or leg, then arose a great laughing and screaming, and so the whole
+company by degrees was brought into the best possible humor and
+unanimity of mind.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Suddenly the procession came to a stop. The Syndic had turned pale as
+chalk, and stood rooted to the ground. They could see his fat cheeks
+shake, and his knees tremble, and were uncertain whether it was the
+strong wind, or a terrible fright that made his hair rise up and stand
+stiffly out all round his head.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Holy Madonna!&quot; they heard him gasp; &quot;holy Madonna!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;What is it? what is the matter?&quot; they cried from every side, crowding
+forward, and pitching over the rocks and through the water. But they
+one and all stiffened with horror when they saw Saint Pancras, whom
+they had thrown into the sea the day before, standing in the hollow of
+the rocks, and, oh, fearful sight! holding his head in his arms! and,
+oh, inconceivable miracle! the key of his chapel which they had left in
+the door, now hung from the saint's finger!</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Dumb from terror, old and young, men and women, remained as if
+spellbound; cold shivers ran down their backs; they pressed closer
+together, every hand made the sign of the cross on forehead and breast
+at the same moment, every mouth murmured the prayer to the blessed
+Madonna.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Even the wily Don Cesare, who had very distinct information concerning
+the history of this miracle, felt himself agitated and overcome by the
+general consternation; he, too, felt his knees knock together and his
+blood congeal, and he made the sign of the cross and muttered, without
+hypocrisy, &quot;Holy Madonna, protect us!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Father Atanasio was the first to venture forward, as belonged to his
+office. Trembling in every limb, he pushed the Syndic aside, advanced
+with hands raised and eyes directed toward heaven, to the headless
+saint and sank, shaking, upon his knees, his example followed by the
+whole company. His eyes at first sought the place where saints and men
+are generally accustomed to carry their heads; there his glance found
+nothing but the grewsome wooden stump, out of which ragged splinters
+were sticking up in place of a neck, and, shuddering. Father Atanasio
+lowered his gaze to Evolino's breast, where the head lay on the crossed
+arms. But a new terror overcame him when he beheld the wild strange
+alteration of that countenance, and he had to support himself with both
+hands on the earth in order not to fall forward as if stunned by a
+blow. But the others thought their padre was engaged in fervent
+devotion, and muttered their litanies with lowered eyes and increased
+zeal.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;San Pancrazio, dear, only Evolino,&quot; prayed the sly Don Cesare, in the
+silence of his heart, &quot;now remember me, and send Father Atanasio a
+lucky thought. Don't forget that my little sister is up there in your
+chapel with that cursed hound Nino; and, dear Evolino, send this wanton
+coxcomb Nino a lucky thought, too, lest something unlucky befall this
+day!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Thinking, hearing, and the sending of lucky thoughts were perhaps a
+trifle more difficult to the poor beheaded saint than formerly, when he
+was whole, at any rate it was a long time before Father Atanasio awoke
+from his stupor. But all at once it seemed as if a bright beam of light
+fell upon his mind, and he gathered himself together.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;I understand the sign,&quot; murmured he, kissing the saint's feet; &quot;be
+thou blessed forever, San Pancrazio of Evolo.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then he rose, turned to the anxiously-gazing crowd, spread out his
+arms, and said:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The saint has worked a miracle upon us. A miracle hath he wrought upon
+himself. The long-desired rain he sent us by night, and he has
+ascended, victorious over human devices, from the sea in which you had
+sunk him, and here he stands, as a saint should, upon dry ground. And
+behold him! for a sign that henceforth a new and a purer tie exists
+between the patron and his people; with his own hands he has taken from
+his shoulders that ancient heathen head, which he formerly wore to your
+harm, and in defiance of the blessed Madonna. And as a sign of that
+which he requires from you he has brought down the key of his chapel
+and hung it on his finger, that you shall set up a new image for him
+there; that you may know the old Evolino, as you have been wont to call
+him, in remembrance of past times, dies to-day and a new San Pancrazio
+enters into his place, a true and blessed saint, who will love and
+protect you, and will never more allow the old heathen who hides under
+these venerable garments to afflict your town and fields with drought,
+bad harvests, and deadly pestilence.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Thus spake the honest father. The Syndic nodded applause, and Don
+Cesare, of course, did the same. Then the saint was lifted with careful
+hands and laid on the shoulders of several stout fellows; but the head
+Father Atanasio placed with solemn importance in Don Cesare's hands;
+then, holding the chapel key aloft in his own right hand, he led the
+procession, which slowly and in deep silence moved toward the heights
+above and the little sanctuary under the olive trees.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">There was a couple there already, who had passed a bad night. Like one
+bereft of reason, Carmela had thrown herself on the earth before the
+altar.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;The saint! the saint!&quot; sobbed the girl wildly. &quot;It was he; he called
+my name. I saw him as he came sweeping up the steep precipice. He
+followed me; his halo streamed angry light through the darkness. Holy
+Mother of God, I beseech thee defend and forgive thy sinful child!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Nino tried in vain to quiet her.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;No,&quot; she cried, pushing him from her, as he sought to raise her from
+the ground, &quot;I followed you on an evil path, Nino; the saint has warned
+us, and he will punish us. Did you not hear how he threw the door to
+behind us? Nino, Nino, there is but one atonement--that you acknowledge
+me as your true and honorable wife before this altar.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Nino faltered. The image of San Pancrazio stood before his own eyes,
+and he could not shut it out. He, too, felt a tremor in his very soul,
+for, however secure and sceptical he might represent himself, in the
+depths of his consciousness there always remained the inherited fear of
+the unknown--the secret dread of heaven and hell. In his heightened
+pulse-beats, which he could distinctly hear, this feeling knocked
+loudly at his heart.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A close, sultry air filled the chapel. Through the one little round
+window over the altar a dusky glimmer fell, scarce brighter than the
+surrounding darkness. Nino reached up and tried the door. He wanted to
+open it, to let in the fresh night air, to scare away the fantasies
+which were slowly surrounding his senses. But the door lay fast in bolt
+and hinge and would not yield to his straining. He sought the latch
+with groping fingers, and found that the key had been turned and drawn
+out.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Santo Diavolo!&quot; he cried, ice-cold shivers running through every limb.
+&quot;The door is locked!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Locked, yes, locked,&quot; cried Carmela, springing from her knees, and
+throwing herself on the threshold. &quot;I saw him, how he followed at our
+heels, and how he raised his hand with threatening gesture. Yes, I
+heard him, and I saw him, and it is he who has locked us in his
+sanctuary, that our deed may be expiated.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Thus the poor child raved in feverish terror. Nino listened without a
+word. What should he do? What would come of all this? It was no use to
+think of flight. The old stones lay fast one upon another, and fast lay
+the old oaken doors on their hinges. In the morning all Roccastretta
+would come to replace the saint on his pedestal, for he had sent the
+rain without a doubt. Nino could hear the big drops pattering against
+the window-panes. And they would find him here with Carmela. Alone with
+Carmela in the chapel! And then? When Don Cesare stepped across the
+threshold? Nino knew Don Cesare and what he had to expect from him. It
+would be a battle for life and death, and all the men and women, Father
+Atanasio and the Syndic--every one would be on the side of Carmela's
+injured brother. Verily this was not the ending he had imagined for his
+love adventure when he tempted Carmela to follow him to his quiet
+Casina.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Ever blacker lowered the night, heavier and closer hung the clouds,
+thicker poured the rain. And as Nino heard the rush of heavy drops on
+the roof, and felt the moist breath of the drinking earth which came in
+through the little window, it seemed as if something broke within his
+heart, and a voice cried from the depths: &quot;Every drop of rain that
+falls from heaven proclaims the power of the saint, and can you doubt
+the miracle which he has worked on you?&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Next morning, when the procession, led by Father Atanasio, stopped,
+with the mutilated image of the patron saint, before his chapel, and
+when the key entered in the lock, and the lock creaked, and the door,
+swollen by moisture, turned slowly and heavily on its hinges, there was
+one there whose heart beat violently, and whose blood boiled at fever
+heat, one whose hand lay carelessly as if toying but none the less fast
+and grimly on the handle of his knife--for who could foresee what was
+going to happen? But Don Cesare breathed more freely, and let his knife
+go, and with difficulty retained composure enough to play out the
+<i>rôle</i> he had assumed, when the padre stood still on the threshold with
+a cry of astonishment, while out of the dusk from the foot of the altar
+two figures advanced, kneeled with clasped hands before the good
+father, and amid the astounded silence that fell upon them all, Nino's
+voice was heard saying humbly:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Saint Pancras has wrought a miracle not on our fields and gardens
+alone; upon me and upon Carmela in the last night another has fallen.
+How it happened, ask me not. The saint led us into this chapel with his
+own hand, with his own hand closed the door and took away the key. At
+the foot of his altar we have pledged each other our wedded troth, and
+at the foot of his altar we beg you, Father Atanasio, to bless the
+banns.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Then the little Don Cesare exulted aloud:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Ha!&quot; he cried, waving his little hands in the air, &quot;that was what I
+prayed yesterday of the good, dear Evolino for myself. That was it.
+Father Atanasio! He gave you rain, and me he gave a brother-in-law.
+Long live Evolino!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">And in his heart he added something more, which he did not think it
+necessary to say aloud:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;Evolino,&quot; thought he, &quot;you were wiser than I, and led me to a kingdom,
+when I only looked for a she ass. The ships will come to the harbor of
+themselves, but of himself never would this rascal Nino have taken my
+little sister for his wife.&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">A few weeks later, when the wedding of Carmela and Nino was celebrated
+with great pomp in the chapel of Evolo, a new image of the saint stood
+on the altar, a gay, brand new image, which Don Cesare, with divers
+other matters, had brought from a foreign ship that lay at anchor in
+the harbor of Roccastretta, and had placed in the chapel in remembrance
+of this day of miracles. The old Evolino, however, he claimed for
+himself, and no one grudged him that worm-eaten and broken relic.</p>
+
+<p class="normal">At the foot of the rocks of Evolo, in a cool arbor, searched through by
+sun, and moonbeams, at the Casina, where Nino and Carmela were to make
+their home, Don Cesare had set up the image--mended, and decently
+restored by his own hand. It stood in a niche of stone under a roof of
+fragrant orange trees, beside the ivy-wreathed Greek marble basin into
+which the crystal spring of Evolo poured; and almost it seemed as if
+the Evolino felt himself far more at ease amid these surroundings, near
+the finely-cut bas-reliefs from his ancient temple, with the free winds
+sighing around him, than above in his musty chapel. A singular
+peacefulness seemed to have settled down upon his old head, stripped of
+beard, and hair, and halo; he looked with Olympian smile upon the
+youthful pair, gaily pursuing a frolicsome existence at his feet, on
+this their wedding evening, and a faint spark gleamed in his painted
+eyes, as Nino, who must have learned some lore of the ancient gods,
+poured a goblet of fragrant Muscatel upon the ground before him, and
+laughingly cried:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;To the gods belong the first drops; honor and glory to the gods and
+the saints!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">When they had all departed, and even Don Cesare had taken leave of him
+with a friendly, confidential nod, and when at last the Evolino stood
+alone in the silent moonlight, a soft whisper fell from his lips:</p>
+
+<p class="normal">&quot;In spite of all, you feel yourselves drawn back again to the ancient
+heathen gods, you dear gay heathen folk; and though new names have
+taken the place of the old ones, in you, my cheerful, good-natured,
+grown-up children, I recognize my early worshippers once more. In spite
+of time and change you are they who used to lay fragrant wreaths on the
+old god's altar, in the pillared temple on the cliff, and singing, and
+laughing, and shouting, passed their shouting, singing, laughing life
+away!&quot;</p>
+
+<p class="normal">Silently gleaming, the eternal stars beckoned, softly splashing, the
+rippling spring murmured a kindly, comforting answer to the poor
+forgotten God of the Winds.</p>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of a Genius, by Ossip Schubin
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF A GENIUS ***
+
+***** This file should be named 35590-h.htm or 35590-h.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/5/9/35590/
+
+Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
+
+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 1.F.3.  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.
+
+
+</pre>
+
+</body>
+</html>
+
+
diff --git a/35590.txt b/35590.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..745c64d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/35590.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,5140 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of a Genius, by Ossip Schubin
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Story of a Genius
+
+Author: Ossip Schubin
+
+Translator: E. H. Lockwood
+
+Release Date: March 16, 2011 [EBook #35590]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF A GENIUS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+   1. Page scan source:
+      http://www.archive.org/details/storyageniusfro00lockgoog
+
+   2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
+
+   3. There are three stories included in this volume:
+
+      (a) The Story of a Genius
+      (b) The Nobl' Zwilk
+      (c) What Happened to Holy Saint Pancras of Evolo
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+
+                           STORY OF A GENIUS
+
+
+
+                           FROM THE GERMAN OF
+                             OSSIP SCHUBIN
+
+
+
+                              ENGLISHED BY
+                             E. H. LOCKWOOD
+
+
+
+
+
+                   R. F. FENNO & COMPANY: 9 and 11 E.
+                   SIXTEENTH STREET    ::    NEW YORK
+                                  1898
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                            Copyright, 1898
+                                   BY
+                         R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
+
+
+
+
+
+
+_The Story of a Genius_
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                         The Story of a Genius
+
+
+
+
+                                   I
+
+
+Monsieur Alphonse de Sterny will come to Brussels in November and
+conduct his Oratoria of "Satan."
+
+This short notice in the _Independence Belge_ created a general
+sensation. The musicians shrugged, bit their lips, and sneered about
+the public's injustice toward home talent. The "great world,"--between
+ourselves the most unmusical "world" in the universe,--very nearly
+stepped out of its aristocratic apathy. This is something which seldom
+happens to it in artistic matters, but now, for a whole week it talked
+nothing but de Sterny: of his octave playing a little, and of his love
+affairs a great deal. In autumn Brussels has so little to talk about!
+
+Alphonse de Sterny had been in his day a great virtuoso and a social
+lion. Reigning belles had contended for his favor; George Sand was said
+to have written a book about him, nobody knew exactly which one; the
+fair Princess G---- was supposed to have taken poison on his account.
+But five years before the appearance of this notice in the
+_Independence Belge_, de Sterny had suddenly withdrawn from the world.
+During that time he had not given any concerts, nor had he produced any
+new piano pieces, in his well-known style, paraphrases and fantasies on
+favorite airs.
+
+Now, for the first in that long interval his name emerged, and in
+connection with an Oratorio!
+
+De Sterny and an Oratorio!
+
+The world found that a little odd. The artists thought it a great joke.
+
+
+
+
+                                   II
+
+
+It is November fifth, the day on which the first rehearsal of "Satan"
+is to be held, under the composer's own direction.
+
+In the concert hall of the "Grand Harmonic" the performers are already
+assembled. In honor of the distinguished guest half a dozen more gas
+jets are burning than is usual at rehearsals, yet the large hall with
+its dark auditorium and the dim flickering light on its stage, has a
+desolate, ghostly air. A smell of gas, dust and moist cloth pervades
+the atmosphere.
+
+A grey rime of congealed mist clings to and trickles down the clothes
+of the latest arrivals. One sees within the hall how bad the weather
+must be without. The lusty male chorus, with their pear-shaped Flemish
+faces, their picturesquely soiled linen, and their luxuriant growth of
+hair, knock off the clay from their boots and turn down the legs of
+their trousers. The disheveled female chorus, on whose shoulders the
+locks are hanging out of curl, complain of indisposition, and exchange
+cough lozenges. The members of the orchestra work away sulkily on their
+instruments. Across the dissonance of the thrilling fiddles darts the
+sharp sound of a string that breaks.
+
+Two dilettanti have slipped in by favor. One is a young piano teacher
+of German extraction, who raves about the music of the future. The
+other is an amateur, well known in Brussels by the nickname of "l'ami
+de Rossini."
+
+The instruments are tuned; here and there a violin practices a scale.
+The gas jets chirp faintly. The male chorus stamp their feet to keep
+warm, and rub their red knuckles together. De Sterny is letting himself
+be waited for.
+
+The friend of Rossini makes up to the lady soloists.
+
+"Madame," he says to the Alto, whose engagement at the "Monnaie" he had
+helped to bring about, "Madame, I pity you. De Sterny is an exponent of
+this new music of the future. His compositions are among the most
+ungrateful tasks ever set the human throat. One only needs to sing them
+to expiate by penance all one's musical pleasures."
+
+"You are too severe, monsieur," said the Alto. "No one can wonder at
+the 'friend of Rossini' for hating the music of the future, and I grant
+that some numbers of this Oratorio are quite astonishingly dull. But
+with some of the others, monsieur, I predict that you will have to
+confess yourself in sympathy."
+
+"_I_, confess myself in sympathy with the music of the future!"
+
+"Well, well," said the Alto, soothingly, "up to a certain point I agree
+with your aversion, but you must grant all the same that Wagner and
+Berlioz are composers of genius, and that the music of the future has
+opened new regions of art."
+
+"What has it opened? A parade ground for pretentious mediocrity! I'll
+grant this much, that Wagner and Berlioz are ill-doers of genius. But
+the 'school!' and this new invention they call descriptive music! An
+insurrection of fiddles screaming over against one another! and they
+give it names. 'Battleo of the Horatii'--'Eruption of Vesuvius'--so
+that the audience may have something to think about since they can't
+feel anything, except headache!"
+
+L'ami de Rossini laughed very much at his own joke.
+
+"H'm!-m! and this fine work of de Sterny's," he began again, "I suppose
+it consists of splendid paraphrases upon poverty of thought."
+
+"The 'Satan' contains pearls which will enchant you," replied the Alto.
+"But see--here comes de Sterny! I commend the 'Duet of the Outcasts' to
+your attention."
+
+Followed by the capellmeister and a little group of intimate admirers,
+Alphonse de Sterny stepped upon the platform. The German pianist
+started and raised a pair of rapture dilated eyes. De Sterny, who was
+well accustomed to create that sort of excitement, smiled faintly,
+threw her an encouraging glance, and nodding to the bowing orchestra
+took his place before the conductor's desk. Then he let his keen eyes
+run over the ranks of his musical forces. The violin rows were not
+even.
+
+"Who is absent?" he asked, pointing to the vacant place.
+
+The violins looked at one another, murmured a name indistinctly, and
+some one said, "He is excused."
+
+"He is only just out of the hospital," explained the capellmeister, "he
+often is irregular about rehearsals."
+
+"And you permit that?" asked de Sterny, with his deliberate smile.
+
+"He--he--never spoils anything at the concerts, and I have
+consideration for him because, because,"--the capellmeister stammered,
+embarrassed, and stopped short. "But certainly it is an inexcusable
+irregularity and should be punished," he added.
+
+De Sterny shrugged his shoulders. "Don't disturb yourself," he said,
+"but next time I hope I shall find my musical forces all together." He
+rapped on the desk.
+
+His manner of conducting was characteristic. It recalled neither the
+fiery contortions of Verdi, nor the demoniac energy of Berlioz. His
+movements at first were quiet, almost weary, his countenance wore an
+expression of fixed concentration; suddenly his eyes lighted up, his
+lip quivered, his breast heaved as an exciting climax approached, he
+raised his arms higher and higher, like wings with which he would
+wrench himself free from earth; then all at once he collapsed with a
+look of dejected exhaustion.
+
+"He is killing himself!" sighed the pianist, in a gush of sympathy. But
+the friend of Rossini said testily:
+
+"He is an incarnate phrase like his own music, and just as full of
+grimaces!" The introductory figure had confirmed his aversion to de
+Sterny. "A pretentious fuss!" he muttered grimly, while the pianist
+with her hand on her heart declared she had "heard the fall of
+Avalanches!" The figure was repeated and left for future study, and
+then the Alto laid aside her furs, rose, threw the "friend of Rossini"
+one glance, drew her mouth into the regulation Oratorio smile, and
+began.
+
+Upon a somewhat dramatic recitation there followed a meltingly sweet,
+inexpressibly mournful melody! Yes, really a _melody_! As simple,
+genuine and tender as a melody of Mozart, but adapted to the
+requirements of our modern pain craving ears by a few bitter-melancholy
+modulations. The friend of Rossini could scarcely believe his senses.
+
+And now with every number,--a few bombastic interludes excepted--the
+beauties of "Satan" increased until at last at the "Duet of the
+Outcasts," a duet wherein the whole human race seems to weep for its
+lost heaven, the orchestra rose and broke into enthusiastic applause.
+De Sterny shed tears, assured them it was the happiest moment of his
+life, and the execution of the orchestra surpassed all his hopes, the
+pianiste fell into raptures, and the friend of Rossini growled, while
+he mechanically moved his hands in applause, "Where did he get that
+now? A plagiarism--a mass of plagiarism--but from whence?"
+
+The duet was followed by a really hateful finale, which the more
+experienced among the musicians forgave for the sake of the Oratorio's
+otherwise uncommon beauties. The musical craft generally put their envy
+in their pockets, didn't understand, but made their bows as became them
+before a great mystery.
+
+Next morning, de Sterny, in the coupe of the Countess C---- drove up
+the steep street Montague de la Cour. He was going to be served with an
+exquisite breakfast, by gold laced lackeys, and to let himself be
+buzzed about by mind perverting flatteries uttered in soft aristocratic
+voices. Suddenly he saw something that interested--that startled him.
+
+Before one of the large red posters which announced the approaching
+Oratorio performance, stood a broad-shouldered man with worn-out boots,
+shabby clothes, and a soft felt hat dragged down over his ears.
+
+A crowd of wagons blocked the way, and the coupe was obliged to stop.
+Again the virtuoso glanced at the shabby man; this time he saw him in
+profile. Strange! De Sterny turned pale as a corpse and leaned back
+shuddering in the soft green satin cushions of the carriage. Could it
+be that he knew the shabby man, or had known him before the brutalizing
+stamp of drink had disfigured his face?
+
+Who knows? For the matter of that there was enough in the stranger's
+appearance to draw a glance and a shudder from any passer-by.
+
+Round shoulders, a loose carriage, a slouching walk, and yet in the
+whole person and expression of broken-down vigor, and burned-out fire.
+A handsome face, with somewhat too full red lips, a short nose,
+powerful brow and eyes, the latter contracting and peering out like
+those of a wild animal that shuns the light, or like those of a man who
+will see nothing but the narrow path in which he is condemned to walk,
+or, perhaps, where he has condemned himself to walk, for life: in the
+whole countenance the marks of past anguish and present degradation.
+
+Meanwhile the jam has given way, and while C---- cream colors, striking
+out to regain lost time, bring the great man rapidly up to the
+countess's palace, the shabby stranger enters one of those butter shops
+out of which, in the rear, a liquor shop usually opens, and calls for a
+glass of gin.
+
+
+
+
+                                  III
+
+
+Who was he? What was he?
+
+One of those riddles that heaven sends from time to time down to earth
+to be solved. But the earth occasionally finds the task too difficult
+and buries the riddle unread in her bosom.
+
+He was born in Brussels, the son of a chorus singer in the theatre "de
+la Monnaie," and of one of those Hungarian Gipsy musicians, who appear
+now here now there in the capitals and small towns of Europe, always in
+bands, like troops of will-o'-the-wisps, carrying on their unwarranted
+and unjustifiable but bewitching musical nonsense. The mother,
+Margaretha von Zuylen, she was called, gave the boy the first name of
+his Hungarian father, who had disappeared before the child saw the
+light. The Flemish woman's son was named Gesa, Gesa von Zuylen. He had
+a dark-eyed face, framed by black curls; at the same time he was
+somewhat rounded in feature, and heavily built, indicating that he was
+a son of his flat, canal-intersected fatherland. His temperament was a
+strange mixture of dreamy inertness and fitful fire. The alley in which
+he grew up was called the Rue Ravestein, and stretched itself crooked
+and uneven, dirty and neglected, behind the Rue Montagne de la Cour,
+out toward St. Gudule. The nooks and corners of that region, albeit
+close to the brilliant centre of urban civilization, have an ill name,
+are picturesquely disreputable, and quite unrecognized by the good
+society of Brussels. No carriage can pass here, partly because the
+alleys are too narrow, partly because their original unevenness--no
+country in the world has a more hilly capital than flat Belgium--is
+increased here and there by a few rickety steps. Consequently nearly
+all the inhabitants extend their domestic establishments into the open
+air.
+
+The active life and the dirt remind one of southern cities. Decaying
+vegetables, squirrel skins, paper flowers, old ball gloves, ashes, and
+other trash make themselves comfortable on the large irregular stones
+of the pavement, and through the middle slowly creep the dull and
+stagnant waters of the drain. Long-legged hyena-like dogs, with crooked
+backs and rough hides, that remind the visitor of Constantinople,
+belonging to nobody, snuff amongst the refuse; scissors-grinders, and
+other roofless vagabonds, lie, according to the time of year, in the
+shade or the sunshine; untidy women in dirty wrappers, with slovenly
+hair caught up on pins, lean out of windows and carry on endless
+conversations; others stand in the house doors, a puffy red fist on
+either hip, and look forth, blinking at time creeping by.
+
+The houses are not alike, some are narrow and tall, some broad and low,
+as if crowded into the ground by their monstrous red-green roofs. In a
+few windows are flower pots, others are closely curtained. Small, not
+particularly tempting drinking shops, with dark red woodwork, on which
+is written in white letters, "Hier verkoopt men drank," frequently
+break the rows of dwellings. Any one of these alleys, in Gesa's youth,
+might have passed for all the rest, only the Rue Ravestein perhaps was
+still more disreputably picturesque than the others. With the lazy hum
+of its vagabond life there mingled the sound of the coffin maker's
+hammer and the sharp stroke of the stone mason's chisel. Against the
+rear wall of an ancient grey church there leaned an enormous crucifix,
+and from beneath the time-blackened halo around his head, the Redeemer
+looked sadly down on the shame and misery that he had not been able to
+banish from the world. Two narrow church windows mirrored themselves in
+the waters of the drain, that is, on days when the drain was clear
+enough.
+
+In these surroundings Gesa grew up. His mother belonged among those
+females who stood in the house doors and blinked at time creeping by.
+She was a type of a handsome Fleming, tall, somewhat heavy, with
+powerful limbs and a red and white complexion. Her red lips parted
+indolently over very white teeth, a delicate pink played about her
+nostrils. She had the prominent eyes and the richly waving, luxuriant,
+tawny hair with which Rubens liked to adorn his Magdalens. When she was
+not engaged at the theatre, or standing in the house door, she was
+lounging on her straw bed in the gaunt room, reading robber stories out
+of old journals, that were bought from an antiquary in a rag shop near
+by, and circulated from hand to hand among the gossips of the Rue
+Ravestein.
+
+Lazy to sleepiness, good-humored to weakness, she had ever a caress for
+Gesa, and a merry frolic for the big grey cat. She lived only in the
+moment. In the beginning of the month, she fed the boy with dainties,
+toward the end she ran in debt.
+
+From his earliest youth Gesa was musical. Before he could speak, he
+would look up with great dark eyes to his mother, enchanted when she
+rocked him in her arms and sang a cradle song.
+
+A friend of Margaretha taught the little one to play on the violin.
+Gesa learned extraordinarily fast. The chorus singer's financial
+condition growing constantly more and more unfortunate, led her to make
+use of her son's talent, and she actually procured him an engagement,
+when he was hardly nine years old, in the band of a circus that had
+erected its temporary booths on the "Grand Sablon," and whose company
+consisted of an acrobat of conspicuous beauty, a particularly
+unpleasant dwarf named Molaro, four monkeys and a pony, the height of
+whose accomplishments it was to stand on three legs, though that might
+have been due to infirmity rather than art.
+
+Gesa's orchestral duties consisted in supporting, along with an old
+flutist, the musical disorders of a narrow-chested, long-haired youth,
+who hammered waltzes and polkas on a tired old spinnet, while at the
+same time, as he confessed to little Gesa with a sigh, he had vainly
+longed all his life to be entrusted with the execution of a funeral
+march!
+
+The circus gave its performances from two to four in the afternoon, and
+was always empty. While Gesa, behind the orchestra rails, fiddled his
+simple part mechanically, his childish eyes peered out into the ring
+beyond. There he saw the acrobat, bedizened in paint and tinsel, with
+pink tights and green silk hose, a gold circlet on his head, throwing
+somersaults in the air, and contorting his limber body on a trapeze. He
+saw the dwarf, with his big red bristly head, and his tights, yellow on
+one side and blue on the other, making disgusting jokes. The dwarf was
+always applauded. The little monkeys tremblingly played their bits of
+tricks. The smell of sawdust, gas, orange peel and monkeys crept into
+the little fiddler's nostrils, he sneezed. Then he grew sleepy, and his
+bow stopped. "Allons donc!" wheezed the pianist, stamping his foot.
+Gesa opened his eyes, and met those of his mother, who sat blonde and
+phlegmatic at the edge of the ring. She smiled and nodded to him; he
+fiddled on. When the chorus singer was not hindered by rehearsals at
+the theatre, she never omitted a performance of the circus. Gesa
+imagined she came to hear him play.
+
+But one fine day Gesa was rude to the dwarf Molaro, and paid for it
+with his place in the orchestra. Margaretha, however, still continued a
+regular visitor at the circus.
+
+And then there came an April afternoon with cold showers of rain and
+violent blustering wind. Winter and spring waged war without. Gesa, who
+since he had ceased to have a regular occupation, read incessantly in
+the knight and robber romances of his mother, sat bent over the faded
+and tattered leaves of an old journal, completely lost in a tale of
+terror, both elbows planted on the shaky table and a finger in each
+ear. Margaretha entered, and came up to him.
+
+"Your supper stands already prepared in the cupboard," she said,
+stammering and hesitating. "You--you need not wait for me. I shall come
+home late. Adieu, my treasure!"
+
+"Adieu, mama," said he, indifferently. He was used to her coming home
+late and scarcely looked up from his reading. She went. Five minutes
+later she returned.
+
+"Have you forgotten something, mother?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," muttered his mother. She was flushed, and searched about
+aimlessly, now here, now there. At last she came and bent over the boy,
+kissed him once, twice, thrice, pressing his head to her breast. "God
+guard thee," she murmured, and went away. Gesa read on. Presently, he
+was obliged to brush away something bright that obscured the already
+indistinct print of the journal. It was a tear of his mother.
+
+Gesa lay down that night as usual, when Margaretha was engaged at the
+theatre, without fastening the door. When he awoke next morning, he
+found his mother's bed empty. Frightened he cried "Mother! mother!" He
+knew she could not hear him; he cried out to relieve the oppression at
+his heart. Slipping into his clothes he ran down into the street. The
+gutter, brimming full from the melted snow, quivered in the morning
+wind. Slanting red sunbeams shimmered in the church windows. A few
+melancholy organ tones sounded through the grey walls out into the
+empty street. Gesa wept bitterly. "Mother!" he cried, louder and more
+pitifully than ever--"Mother!" She had always been kind to him.
+
+He looked up and down. The whole world had grown empty for him. He
+understood that his mother had deserted him. The children in the Rue
+Ravestein understand so quickly! A long thin hand was laid on his
+shoulder. He looked up, beside him stood a gentleman whom he knew. The
+gentleman lived on the first floor of the house where Margaretha's
+garret was. He was pale as the Christ on the great Crucifix, and looked
+down almost as sadly. "Poor fellow!" he murmured, "she has left thee?"
+Gesa bit his teeth into his under lip, turned very red and shook off
+the stranger's hand. He felt for the first time that pity can
+humiliate. The strange gentleman, however, stroked him very softly on
+the head, and said once more, "Poor fellow! You must not blame her.
+Love is like that!"
+
+"What is love?" asked Gesa, looking at him steadily.
+
+The stranger cleared his throat. "A sickness, a fever," said he,
+hastily, "a fever in which one dreams beautiful things--and does
+hateful ones."
+
+
+
+
+                                   IV
+
+
+M. Gaston Delileo was the stranger's name, but in the Rue Ravestein
+they never called him anything but "the sad gentleman,"--the "droevige
+Herr." He might have been between forty and fifty years old, had a
+yellow face that reminded one of a carving in old ivory, wore a full
+beard, and long straight black hair parted in the middle of his
+forehead. Except in the hottest summer weather he never went on the
+street otherwise than wrapped in an old dark blue, red-lined Carbonari
+cloak.
+
+About seven months before, he had moved into the Rue Ravestein, stroked
+the children's heads, greeted the women in passing, was generally liked
+and associated with no one.
+
+Before Margaretha's flight she had secretly placed a letter in the
+otherwise empty letter-box before his door, begging that he would adopt
+the boy, thereby showing some shrewd knowledge of character in trusting
+to his benevolence. His wife was dead: his only child, a little
+daughter, at that time hardly seven years old, was being brought up by
+relatives in France, as his bachelor housekeeping would have made it
+difficult for him to give the child proper care. Thus widowed and
+solitary, afflicted moreover with a great heart that needed love, and
+had never all his life long been satisfied, he took the boy to himself
+without any overnice reasoning upon the subject.
+
+"Come to breakfast," he said quite simply, took the orphan by the hand
+and led him into his own dwelling.
+
+When the meal was over, and while M. Delileo, with that rage for
+systematizing which often distinguishes especially unpractical people,
+was bending over his writing table, making out a plan of education, a
+division of hours, and finally a long list of things which Gesa might
+possibly need within the next ten years, the boy slipped curiously
+around in the little room, and examined its arrangement. The furniture
+was a decayed mixture of stiff, military Empire, and pretentious,
+crooked Louis-Philippe. On the walls hung a few sketches by once
+celebrated masters, with dedications "a mon chere ami, etc.," a few
+poet's autographs in little black frames, and besides these the rapidly
+executed portrait of a very beautiful woman, in a white satin dress
+with a great many strings of pearls around her neck, and a little crown
+on her head. "Is that the queen?" asked Gesa of his new protector.
+
+Whereupon the "droevige Herr," rising up from his occupation, answered,
+not without a certain solemnity, "That, my child, that was the
+Gualtieri!"
+
+"Ah!" said Gesa, and was exactly as wise as before. How indeed was he
+to know that the Gualtieri in her time had been one of the most famous,
+and alas! one of the most infamous artistes in the world?
+
+"She was a queen too,--a queen of song," added Delileo after a pause.
+
+"And did you know her?" asked Gesa, still absorbed in staring at the
+romantically costumed lady.
+
+"She was my wife," answered Delileo with emphasis, and an eloquent
+gesture.
+
+"Ah! then she must have loved you very much," observed Gesa, seriously,
+wishing to say something pleasant. But Delileo shrank and turned away
+his head.
+
+Beneath this portrait, day after day, on a shabby black marble-top
+table, stood fresh flowers in a crumbling blue delft pitcher.
+
+
+
+
+                                   V
+
+
+Immediately upon the beginning of their life together, Delileo made a
+correct estimate of his protege's musical gifts, and thanks to some
+artist connections that still remained to him, he procured instruction
+for Gesa from one of the most famous violinists at that time
+established in the Brussels Conservatory. He cared for the rest of
+Gesa's education himself. A curious education, truly! "Correct spelling
+and an extensive knowledge of literature," he would assert, "are two
+absolute necessities of a gentleman's culture, further than that he
+needs nothing." Gesa's orthography, in spite of his instructor's
+praiseworthy efforts, remained somewhat uncertain, his knowledge of
+literature on the contrary made astonishing progress, and soon reached
+from the "Essais de Montaigne," Delileo's first hobby, to Delileo's own
+romance--his second hobby.
+
+This romance, which was called "The Twilight of the Gods," and had been
+waiting ten years in vain for a publisher, formed a striking
+counterpart to Delileo's Carbonari cloak. Like that romantic article of
+apparel it smelled of mould, and the breath of superannuated
+philanthropic theories hovered about it. It began with a legend and
+ended with an ode. Many an evening the elder spent in reading this
+nondescript production to his protege, Gesa always attending with the
+devout fervor which believing natures bring to mysteries they do not
+understand.
+
+An odd couple they made, the broken man with his nervous restlessness,
+the restlessness of one who has accomplished nothing, and who sees the
+grave before him--and the vigorous young fellow, with his healthy
+laziness, the self-confident laziness of one who feels a great talent
+within him and to whom life seems as if it could never end. The weary
+spirit of one strayed constantly back, from the hopeless insipidity of
+his present, to an Utopia of the year thirty: the other's imagination,
+meanwhile, crippled by no sort of experience, galloped confidently out
+into the future, behind a double team of fresh young chimeras!
+Enthusiasts were they both,--Delileo the more unpractical of the two.
+
+Poor Gaston Delileo! He belonged in the category of universal geniuses;
+for which reason he had brought his genius to the attainment of
+absolutely nothing in the universe! Music, painting, literature,
+political economy,--he had pursued them all, one after the other or
+simultaneously, just as it happened, and all with the greatest zeal. He
+had believed with devout idealism in the capacity of society for
+improvement. He had adopted the theories of St. Simon, and had worn
+with enthusiasm the vest laced up behind of that brotherhood, and a
+headband on which his name was embroidered. History relates that the
+St. Simonian Brotherhood, with their practical division of labor,
+limited his activity in the beginning to the contribution of money and
+the brushing of boots! Later they enrolled him the memorable "Three
+hundred," who set forth to seek the mother of the sect in foreign
+lands, after Madame de Stael had declined that post of honor.
+
+His money was gone, his illusion had changed to disgust. He had
+withdrawn in melancholy from the world, seeking to hide himself and his
+disappointment. He wished nothing but to forget and be forgotten:--that
+is in the present; from the future, a far-off, misty future, he still
+hoped something--for his romance. Meanwhile he supported existence by
+copying notes,--like Rousseau. Two, three years passed by, Gesa became
+as handsome as a youth in a picture. At Delileo's side he could not
+fail to gain cultivation of mind and heart, but associated with the
+eccentric St. Simonian he remained a stranger to all discipline of
+character. More and more there was revealed a want of concentration,
+and a vague dreaminess in his nature which to a practiced observer,
+would have boded no good for his future. He could never maintain a
+medium between relaxed indolence and exhausting ardor: in tough,
+persistent capacity for work he failed altogether, and whatever did not
+come to him by inspiration, he acquired with greater difficulty than
+did the most commonplace pupil of the conservatory.
+
+Upon all this, however, his violin-professor made no reflections. Gesa
+not only played his instrument with a skill unheard of for his years,
+but he also improvised with wonderful originality, at least, so said
+the professor--who marked nothing but the gigantic strides of the boy's
+progress, was proud of his pupil and presented him to one amateur after
+another.
+
+The phlegmatic Brusselers were enchanted by his musical extravagances,
+because he was named Gesa, had a handsome brunette face, and was said
+to have sprung from Hungarian origin. Their enthusiasm at his
+performance always culminated in the same words--"how gipsy-like!
+_Comme c'est tsigane!_"
+
+At last came a day when Gesa was to play for the first time at a public
+concert. With the colossal conceit of youth, he rejoiced at the thought
+of his debut The apprehensive Gaston Delileo on the contrary, lost
+appetite and sleep.
+
+Anxiously anticipating a disappointment for the boy, he spent most of
+his time in exhorting Gesa not to care much for a fiasco; an
+exhortation which the young musician took very impatiently, and ran
+away from it. With his hat dragged down self-assertingly over his ears,
+he stamped fuming up and down the Rue Ravestein, while the sad elder
+crept back and forth in his chamber above, and foreboded.
+
+On the concert evening, Delileo could not be moved to enter the music
+hall. Breathless and panting, he stood before the performer's entrance,
+and held his fingers in his ears. Suddenly, in spite of his efforts to
+exclude every sound, he heard a strange tumult. He let his hands fall.
+Was it a fire alarm? No, it was clapping from hundreds of hands and
+shouting from hundreds of throats. The next moment he had burst sobbing
+into the green-room, and held his nurseling in his arms.
+
+All the other performers pressed the young fellow's hands, praised him,
+and promised him a brilliant future. With that naive arrogance
+which one so easily pardons in young gods, even while it provokes a
+pitying smile, he received all these compliments as if they were his
+proper tribute; but even his unabashed self-possession gave way when
+the door opened and an elegant young man entered holding out both
+hands--Alphonse de Sterny.
+
+"My dear young friend," he cried, "I could not let the evening pass
+without knowing you--without congratulating you." Then the young
+violinist's head sank, he trembled from head to foot, and his hands
+grew ice cold in those of the great virtuoso.
+
+
+
+
+                                   VI
+
+
+Alphonse de Sterny! The name in those days exercised an enchantment
+that was mingled with awe upon the ears of every one, be he artist or
+amateur, who cared for music. In our coldly critical times we can form
+no idea of the insane idolatry that was addressed, during the decade of
+the fifties to one or two piano virtuosos. De Sterny was among the most
+famous of these. The Sterny craze appeared like an epidemic in every
+town where he gave his concerts. At the same time the riddle of his
+power was hard to solve. His envious contemporaries asserted bluntly
+that he owed his triumphs not so much to the artistic excellence of his
+playing as to his agreeable person and gracious manners. He was the
+perfection of a _homme a succes_. Gloved and cravated with just
+precision enough for elegance, sufficiently careless to appear
+distinguished, ready and malicious enough to pass for witty, dissipated
+and extravagant enough to be credited with genius, he was also very
+handsome, wore his hair parted low in the middle of his forehead, and
+always dressed with quiet correctness in the latest fashion but one, as
+became a person of the best gentility, avoiding all artist
+eccentricities. His conversation was amusing, his manners
+unimpeachable. He was the natural son of a French diplomat, called
+himself de Sterny after his birthplace, and had inherited an income of
+twenty-five thousand francs, as the world knew; from an Italian
+princess--as the world did not know. His piano playing was beautifully
+finished, a shower of pearls, a chain of flowers, with a masterly
+balanced technique, carried out in a dignified execution, never one
+false note, never any vulgar pounding.
+
+Certainly the great Hungarian pianist, to whose performance a handful
+of false notes belonged as part of the effect, was wont to remark
+bitingly that "de Sterny played like a countess." But de Sterny, to
+whom the speech was brought by kind friends, only smiled amiably, and
+continued, at least in the beginning of his career, to delicately
+caress an instrument which the other pianists maltreated, and
+electrified a public satiated with musical orgies, by his moderation.
+He moved almost exclusively in the best social circles, yet he always
+showed himself ready to do a service for a fellow artist.
+
+Altogether he was, when Gesa first became acquainted with him, a
+perfectly shallow, perfectly selfish, uncommonly talented, very
+good-humored, very vain man who loved to hear himself talked about.
+Charlatan he only became later, in order to maintain himself upon the
+pedestal whither public adulation had driven him. The pedestal was too
+high! Many another might have found himself growing dizzy up there.
+
+He loved to patronize, and for that reason did not content himself with
+pressing Gesa's hands, but gave him his address, and invited him to
+call upon him next morning at the Hotel de Flandres, "so that we can
+talk over your future," said he, cheeringly. Then he was very amiable
+to the other artists assembled in the green-room, then he held out his
+hand to Delileo, over whose cheeks the tears were running down, then he
+clapped the debutant on the shoulder, wished him "good luck!" and
+disappeared.
+
+At the little artist supper, which the manager had arranged for the
+performers, Gesa sat, ate not a mouthful, and spoke not a word. With
+pale cheeks and fixed eyes he gazed before him into the future,--a
+future in which the trees bore golden leaves, and their fruit sparkled
+like diamonds--a future in which dust and mold were unknown things,
+where forms of radiant beauty wandered among thickets of thornless
+roses, and the laurel trees bowed before him.
+
+In those days Gesa von Zuylen's eyes were not contracted like the eyes
+of a wild beast that shuns the light; they were wide open, like a young
+eagle's whom the sun itself does not blind.
+
+
+
+
+                                  VII
+
+
+No one could take up a gifted but obscure beginner more cordially than
+did the great de Sterny the little Von Zuylen. He invited the boy to
+breakfast, two, three times in succession, and Gesa became a familiar
+part of the furniture, perhaps rather a favorite ornament in the
+virtuoso's elegant hotel apartments. He was always obliged to bring his
+violin, and to improvise for de Sterny, who accompanied him on the
+piano, with the ready skill in following another's feeling, which was
+his peculiar gift. Then he would draw Gesa into conversation and laugh
+immoderately at the boy's original notions. Soon he could not meet an
+acquaintance without crying out to him, "Have you seen my little Gipsy?
+I must make you acquainted with my Gipsy. He improvises like Chopin,
+only quite otherwise. Yesterday he quoted Shakespeare to me, and to-day
+he discovered that Marsala is not so good as Tokay. And he is
+handsome,--'_a croquer_.'"
+
+In Brussels society the rumor of an "Eighth Wonder of the World" began
+to spread, and at last the Princess L---- arranged a musical soiree for
+his benefit, on which occasion truly the "eighth wonder" came very near
+losing his prestige altogether. De Sterny took charge with amiable
+pedantry, of all the details of his protege's appearance, had him
+measured for a pair of patent leather shoes, and on the eventful
+evening tied the boy's white cravat with his own hands, and brought him
+in his own carriage to the L---- palace. But already in the brilliant
+vestibule, adorned with old weapons, and two mysterious black suits of
+armor, Gesa's robust self-conceit vanished completely. He who had faced
+the public at a concert with a lion's courage now clung with almost
+childish anxiety to de Sterny.
+
+"Have you brought the 'eighth wonder'?" cried the princess to de
+Sterny, as he entered. She was a blonde lady, uncommonly good-natured,
+very lively, and very short-sighted, for which reason she always held
+her glass to her eyes. "Have you brought the 'eighth wonder'?" cried
+she, in a tone as if that were something comic.
+
+"Of course--here it is,--it is named Gesa von Zuylen--Gesa von Zuylen,
+_c'est droll_--is it not, princess? May I beg that you will deal a
+little carefully with my 'eighth wonder'--it is a little sensitive!"
+
+"So--really! That is charming. I am glad when a young artist displays a
+certain pride, it is always becoming. What eyes he has,"--staring at
+Gesa through her glass--"my husband told me about his eyes. A real
+true gipsy.--They say he quoted Shakespeare of late--I laughed so at
+that!"-- Then, as other guests entered, "pray, endeavor to make the
+'eighth wonder' comfortable, de Sterny, you are entirely at home here."
+This was the princess's manner of dealing carefully with a sensitive
+"eighth wonder."
+
+De Sterny placed the boy temporarily in a corner, out of which he soon
+drew him forth to be presented to several ladies and gentlemen. Gesa
+assumed a haughty bearing. The ladies especially were very friendly,
+and very patronizing, only it scarcely occurred to one of them to
+address a word to the boy himself. They all talked about him, in his
+presence, as if he were a picture, or as if he could not understand
+French. They wondered, and praised and then forgot him while he stood
+before them, and talked among themselves of other things. It grew more
+and more uncomfortable for him, and as his embarrassment increased he
+felt as if he were walking painfully upon smooth thin ice. He shivered
+a little. Everything around him was so bright and cold. The soft, fine,
+flute-like voices of good society hurt him. Light and stinging as
+snowflakes, their words flew against his burning cheeks. He would have
+liked to weep. He was an "eighth world-wonder"--they stared at him
+through a lorgnette, discussed him,--and cared for him no further.
+Listening he heard the words "comes from the Rue Ravestein."--"What is
+that, the Rue Ravestein?" "What is it? That is difficult to explain to a
+lady,"--"_vraiment_?" "But he gives a perfectly amazing impression of
+good breeding." "_Il n'a pas du tout e' air peuple!_" "But since he is
+a gipsy,"--Gesa felt his throat tighten.
+
+"Shall we not hear you to-day?" asked the ladies who crowded around de
+Sterny.
+
+"Me?" he replied, with a laugh, "me? I am only manager to-day--and
+besides I suffer horribly from stage fright."
+
+The moment had come! Gesa must play: his heart beat to suffocation. It
+was not he, but a stolid clod stiffened with bashfulness who stood up
+and laid his fingers on the strings. In the middle of Mendelssohn's G
+minor Concerto he stuck fast, stumbled over himself, picked up, and
+scrambled painfully through to the end. The composition was never worse
+played. De Sterny was beside himself. Gesa would have liked to sink
+through the floor.
+
+A few people applauded because they did not know any better, and a few
+others because they had not been listening at all. But the greater part
+shrugged their shoulders, and said "de Sterny is an enthusiast."
+
+And when the virtuoso tried to say a word in excuse for his protege and
+declared he had never heard him play so ill, they answered "Bah! we
+don't blame you for anything, de Sterny. We know you are an
+enthusiast."
+
+The company chatted and laughed, and nibbled a little refreshment in
+their careless fashion. Then came a deputation of the handsomest women
+and begged de Sterny to play, whereupon he seated himself at the piano
+with his usual good-humored readiness, and smiling consciousness of
+success. After he had played he went to Gesa and said:
+
+"My dear boy, collect yourself! Could you not forget that any one heard
+you but me, and improvise something? Try to remember the theme you last
+played to me. Your future depends upon it. And I would so like to be
+proud of you!"
+
+These last words worked a miracle.
+
+"I will play--only--only--that I may not shame you!" murmured Gesa.
+
+The boy was deathly pale, and trembled all over as he raised his
+violin, his eyes lighted up--and then hid themselves behind their dark
+lashes.
+
+A rain of fire fell before his vision, a whirl of emotion filled his
+breast, wild passionate melodies sounded in his ears. Had he dreamed
+them, or had a complaining autumn storm driven them hither from the
+land of his father? Were they echoes of the songs his mother had
+listened to from her lover, and later had hushed her child to sleep
+with them, as she rocked him on the threshold of the house in the
+shabby little street, where the sad Saviour looked hopelessly down from
+the Crucifix on the grey church wall? Who knows! His violin sang and
+sobbed as only a Hungarian gipsy-violin can; harsh modulations,
+piercing melodies, a mad tempest of passion,--then one last burst of
+wild, reckless hilarity--and he broke off, breathless, and gazing
+fixedly before him. He knew he had done his best. His ears listened
+greedily. If they expected a storm of applause as at his public debut,
+they were disappointed. Only a little hum, like the dry leaves that an
+east wind is rustling, buzzed through the room, and as if afar off he
+heard the words "_Charmant, magnifique_, original, tsigane"--His head
+sank, a black cloud floated before his eyes. De Sterny came up and
+clapped him on the shoulder. "Bravo! Bravo!" he cried, "we are
+rehabilitated!" and turning to the company with a triumphant smile,
+
+"Now did I exaggerate?"
+
+But Gesa listened no longer for the answer of the salon. He pressed de
+Sterny's hand to his hot lips, and burst into tears. The virtuoso was
+his heaven, his God. "Mais voyons! grand enfant!" said his patron
+soothingly. And the "world" was enchanted, even more of course by the
+generosity of the great pianist than by the talent of his protege!
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+"What is a chimera?" asked the little Gipsy of his great friend one
+day.
+
+It was in the forenoon. Gesa had been turning over the leaves of a
+French book which he did not understand, "Les Fleurs du Mal," by
+Baudelaire. De Sterny meanwhile had been writing letters. He wore a
+yellow dressing gown of Japanese silk, in which he looked like a large
+mullein. He yawned and stretched himself, looked pale and used up. That
+he had not slept regularly for fifteen years was very evident from his
+appearance.
+
+"What is a chimera?" asked Gesa.
+
+"A chimera--a chimera--it is a siren with wings," defined the virtuoso,
+turning round.
+
+"H'm!" Gesa lowered his eyes thoughtfully, then raised them
+inquiringly. "An ennobled siren then?"
+
+"Yes,--as one takes it."
+
+De Sterny sat down by the chimney to warm his feet. "Deuced cold!--hand
+me the chartreuse, so--Yes, a refined siren if you like," he continued.
+"The siren has soft human arms with which she draws us into destructive
+pleasures, the chimera has claws with which she tears our heart.
+The siren entices us into the mire, the chimera lures us toward
+heaven,--only we don't reach the heaven, and we often find ourselves
+very well off in the mire,--deucedly well off! But _saperment_! you
+don't understand that yet." And he pulled Gesa's ear.
+
+The boy looked rather confused: he certainly had not understood a word
+of his patron's tirade. "But some of us reach heaven, the heaven of
+Art, the Walhalla, the Pantheon," cried he, eagerly, with the bombast
+of a very young person who has read more than he has understood, and
+likes to display his little knowledge--"If only one sets out early
+enough on the way."
+
+"Oh yes, a few!" murmured the virtuoso with a queer smile.
+
+"Michael Angelo, Raphael, Beethoven," cried the boy.
+
+"Shakespeare, Milton, Mozart, Leonardo da Vinci," de Sterny laughed
+aloud as he continued the litany. "But I assure you a man must have
+quite astounding powers to reach that heaven, and lungs constructed
+expressly for the purpose in order to feel comfortable after he gets
+there." The pianist yawned slightly. He belonged among those who amuse
+themselves with the sirens without permitting them to acquire too much
+power, and who avoid chimeras on principle. But Gesa was not yet
+satisfied.
+
+"Have all chimeras wings?" he asked, thoughtfully.
+
+"God forbid!" cried de Sterny.
+
+"But"--
+
+"My dear," cried his patron, laughingly, "if you have any more
+questions to ask, say so, and I will ring for the waiter to bring up an
+encyclop[oe]dia--I am at the end of my Latin!"
+
+
+
+
+                                  VIII
+
+
+Eleven years later, in the middle of May, Gesa came back to Brussels
+after a long absence. Alphonse de Sterny had known how to make
+practical use of the enthusiasm in Brussels society. Gesa had been sent
+on a government pension and supported, moreover, by the favor of
+several eminent persons, to study under one of the most famous
+violinists of the time, then settled in Paris.
+
+He had studied a little, dissipated a great deal, then studied again;
+had been much admired, much envied; had learned to empty his champagne
+glass, and to distinguish in women between a coquette and one who will
+repel an impertinence. He had made his first professional tour, with a
+famous Italian staccato singer, and a still more famous Moravian
+impressario, had earned many laurels, had finally quarreled at Nice
+with the violincellist of the troupe on the singer's account, had
+challenged the cellist, and insulted the manager. The latter was a
+reasonable being, however, who did not stand on trifles of that sort,
+and two months later in Paris, when he was engaging a company for his
+American tour he made Gesa a brilliant offer. But the young violinist
+was rich in the possession of a few thousand francs that remained to
+him from his last enterprise, and he curtly declined the great
+Marinsky's proposal, saying "the career of a soloist bored him, he
+wished to devote himself to composition." He was twenty-four years old.
+At that age many musicians have produced their greatest works. He had
+published nothing as yet, except a "Reverie" that appeared nearly seven
+years before, with a handsome vignette of the young composer on the
+title page, in all the pomp of a dilettante production, was bought by
+the whole Faubourg St. Germaine, and by hardly any one else. Since that
+time he had scribbled a great deal, but had finished nothing,--and yet
+he felt so rich! He had only not willed it as yet. He needed quiet for
+composing. But quiet in Paris is an article of luxury that none but
+very great gentlemen can compel. Brussels rose in his memory, Brussels
+with her Gothic churches and crooked streets, her zealous Catholicism,
+her luxuriant vegetation and stagnant life. A sort of homesickness
+overcame him,--he started for Brussels.
+
+It was the middle of May; May is beautiful in Brussels. No long war,
+only gay skirmishes between sun and rain clear the air. Undulating
+golden vapors weave a dreamy halo, like the atmosphere of old legends,
+over the perspective of ancient streets that lose themselves in the far
+distance; they shimmer like luminous shadows around the Gothic lace
+work of St. Gudule, and spread their blonde veil over the green pomp of
+the park. There is something quite mysterious in this hazy light, this
+mist of dissolved sunbeams, this metallic vibrating and shimmering that
+illumines sober, grey old Brussels in the springtime, like a saint's
+nimbus. The statues in the park have lost their winter cowls of straw;
+through the trees, whose feathery foliage gives out a pleasant pungent
+spring odor, glide the sunbeams, outline the edge of a gnarled black
+bough with a streak of silver, paint broad spots of light on a mighty
+bole, slip gaily into the moist grass and play hide-and-seek among the
+transparent leaf-shadows. Around the house of the Prince of Orange
+luxuriant blooming lilac bushes toss their white and pale purple
+plumes; before the Koenigsgarten dreamily waves a sea of violet
+rhododendrons; and heavy with fragrance, warmly enervating, a scarcely
+perceptible breath of wind stirs the air, the Sirocco of the North.
+
+Gesa went with vigorous strides from the Gare du Midi, across the
+Boulevard, to the Rue Ravestein. Everything interested him, everything
+seemed like home. He stood still, looked about him, smiled, went a
+little further, and again stood still, in his foolish absent fashion.
+Now he turned off from the Montagne de la Cour--before his eyes
+stretched the Rue Ravestein. A strange nameless feeling overcame him, a
+feeling of agitation and anxiety. He could have turned and fled, yet he
+drew nearer and nearer. Soft golden haze wove itself over everything.
+The strange little alley, with its architecture of the Middle Ages, and
+its crucifix leaning against the black church wall, looked like an old
+picture painted on a gold background.
+
+"Is Monsieur Delileo at home?" asked Gesa at the door of the well-known
+dwelling. The unaccustomed Flemish words fell haltingly from his lips.
+The maid, who was busied (unexampled waste of time!) in cleaning the
+threshold, looked up at him somewhat astonished, and nodded. His heart
+beat as he entered the vestibule, and hastily cleared the old wooden
+stairs that groaned under the storming of his impatient young feet. He
+knocked at the door but received no answer, and he entered the chamber,
+which still contained the old green carpet. It was much cleaner than
+when he and Delileo had lived there together; even a little coquettish
+in its arrangement. A strange narcotic, dreamy odor streamed to meet
+him. Under the portrait of the Gualtieri, in the crumbling delft
+pitcher, stood a large bouquet of tempting iris-hued poppies,--those
+bewitching, beautiful, enormous flowers that are known by the name of
+"_pavots de Nice_."
+
+The door of this first room was open; on the outer wall of the farther
+chamber was a glass enclosed balcony. There at a little round table,
+opposite one another, sat Delileo--and his daughter! Gesa started, and
+looked at the maiden dumb with admiration. Nowhere except in Italy had
+he seen features with at once such regular and such peculiarly rounded
+lines. The girl's little head rested upon a pair of strong classic
+shoulders, her colorless face was lighted by a pair of mysterious, dark
+eyes, and scarlet lips. Delileo's daughter, notwithstanding she
+scarcely counted seventeen years, had nothing of the angular grace that
+belongs to Northern maidens: her whole being breathed an enchanting,
+luxuriant ripeness.
+
+While Gesa stood there, lost in this unexpected vision, Delileo looked
+up, winked as if dazzled, stretched out his head, the young musician
+smiled and stepped forward.
+
+"Gesa! Thou!" and in the next moment the "droevige Herr" held his
+foster son in his arms. The two shed some pleasant tears, then Delileo
+pushed the young man away from him, the better to see him, then he
+embraced him again. "And will you stay with us for a little while?" he
+asked, and his voice trembled.
+
+"As long as you will let me, father," replied Gesa. "I want to work in
+quiet near you; that is, I know that here is no place for me, but I
+will lodge in your neighborhood. But"--he looked around at the young
+girl, "make me acquainted with my sister!"
+
+"Ah! right! Well, Annette, this is Gesa von Zuylen, of whom I have so
+often told you. Tell him he is welcome, and you, Gesa, give her a kiss,
+as a brother should!"
+
+The evening meal was over, the long grey May twilight had extinguished
+all the golden shimmer. Only one slender red ray fell from a street
+lamp along the alley, and a second glistened in the colored glass of
+the church window.
+
+Gesa sat comfortably leaning back in the softest armchair the
+establishment afforded, and explained to the attentive Gaston his
+numerous plans for composition.
+
+Annette was silent: her large eyes shone in the twilight.
+
+Gesa talked and talked and the "droevige Herr" only interrupted him
+from time to time to cry "cela sera superbe!"
+
+Rhythmically scanned, mystically blended, the far-off sounds of the
+city penetrated to the Rue Ravestein like a monotonous slumber song.
+The dreamy relaxing smell of the poppies grew stronger with the
+incoming night, and from time to time there was the rustle of a leaf
+that detached itself and fell dying onto the cold marble of the
+gueridon.
+
+
+
+
+                                   IX
+
+
+The poppies lay in the gutter and many other fresh and gracious flowers
+had withered under the portrait of the Gualtieri. May had become June,
+and June July. Every evening Gesa explained his projects to his
+foster-father, played one and another melody on his violin, or
+sketched the whole of an ensemble movement for him on the old spinet,
+received Gaston's assurance "_cela cera superbe!_" improvised a great
+deal, listened dreamily to the singing and ringing in his soul,
+and--accomplished nothing. He had lodged himself in a neighboring
+attic, at a washerwoman's, but spent the whole day in the home of
+Delileo, now made still more attractive by the gracious presence of
+Annette.
+
+The "droewige Herr" had found a regular situation, probably for his
+daughter's sake. He busied himself as secretary of the theatre and also
+as _feuilletonist_ of a newspaper. This procured him steady employment.
+His housekeeping now bore the stamp, not of limited means, but of
+slovenly comfort, the comfort of the Rue Ravestein.
+
+Gesa felt at home in this disorder. He always found a comfortable sofa
+on whose arms he could rest his hands while he talked about the future,
+and in whose cushions he could lean back his head while he searched for
+the outlines of impending fortune among the smoke-clouds from his
+cigarette; and he always found a bottle of good Bordeaux on the table
+when he seated himself at dinner.
+
+He loved the long idling meal times, which lifted from him the
+necessity of doing anything, and furnished such a plausible excuse for
+his beloved laziness: he loved to sit and dally with his coffee, while
+Annette sat opposite and occasionally sipped a little out of his cup.
+He loved to rummage among the notes of old composers whom no one had
+ever heard of and to rush through the works of half-forgotten poets.
+When a verse pleased him, then his eyes glowed, and he would thunder
+forth the most colossal adjectives, and read the lines two, three, yes
+twenty times to the little Annette. He might just as well have read to
+the Flemish servant outside, only she would not, perhaps, have smiled
+so prettily. Then he would seize note paper and set the verse to music,
+try his hasty composition on the old spinet, that gave back the stormy
+melodies of his foaming, effervescing youth in a broken, trembling
+little voice, like a grandmother on the edge of the grave who sings a
+love song for the last time. Then Annette must try the verse. She had a
+splendid contralto voice, and spared no pains to give him pleasure with
+her singing. But he was never contented. "More expression Annette, more
+passion!" he would cry. "Do you feel nothing then, absolutely nothing
+here!" and he tapped her on the heart with his finger. She smiled,
+colored, and turned her face away.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+Gaston Delileo had resolved to look upon Annette and Gesa as sister and
+brother; that cut short all other thoughts, and was very comfortable.
+He would not notice how much Annette was occupied with her "brother,"
+to what flattering little attentions she accustomed him, with what an
+expression her large dark eyes sometimes rested upon him. He only
+noticed that in the beginning Gesa's bearing was perfectly cool,
+cordial and brotherly. Toward the end of July the latter began to
+neglect Rue Ravestein a little, and entangled himself in some sort of
+relation with a Paris actress who, playing an engagement at the Galerie
+St. Hubert, found herself bored in Brussels. Annette was consumed by
+jealousy without Gesa's guessing the cause of her disquiet.
+
+"What ails you, Bichette?" he asked, anxiously, stroking her thin cheek
+with a caressing hand. "What makes you sad? It is this pestilential
+city air that does not agree with you. Send her to the seashore for a
+while, father!" The old man shrugged his shoulders--
+
+"Alas!" he murmured. "I have not the means."
+
+"The means! the means!" cried Gesa, "then permit me to advance them. I
+have lived so long on your generosity!" Gesa forgot how much his little
+attentions to Mlle. Irma had cost! When he hurried over to his
+apartment to get a couple of bank notes, he found in his pocketbook
+just one solitary twenty-franc piece. At first he rubbed his head and
+stared, then he burst out laughing, and carried his used up purse
+across to Delileo, "There, laugh at me and my big promises," he cried.
+"Here, see, this is my whole wealth! But wait, only wait! My hands and
+my head are full of gold. If only once the right feeling for work would
+come--the real fever! Do you happen to know where I have laid the
+libretto for my opera?"
+
+Toward the end of August, Mlle. Irma left Brussels, Gesa became morose,
+and the mood was favorable to industry.
+
+One morning he felt "the fever." He spread some music paper before him,
+smoothed it with his hand, cut a pen, planted his elbows on the one
+shaky table his attic contained, wrote a line, struck it out, stretched
+himself, and twisted himself--a feeling of physical unrest tormented
+him. He resolved to go out for a little, and wandered into the park,
+where he stood still from time to time as if listening to an inward
+voice, jostling absently against passers-by, and at last sat down upon
+a bench, thinking deeply. Suddenly a gust of wind passed, lightly at
+first, then howling loudly through the tree tops overhead. Gesa
+started, pressed his hands to his temples, a flood of music streamed
+through his soul. He hurried back to his attic, and wrote and wrote.
+
+The hour at which he was accustomed to find himself at lunch with
+Annette,--Delileo seldom came home for this meal,--was long past, the
+late supper time had come--Gesa still bent over his music paper. Single
+leaves lay strewn around him on the floor. Some one knocked at the
+door--he did not hear. Delileo entered. "What are you doing, my boy,
+that one sees nothing of you to-day. Are you sick?"
+
+Gesa stared at him as if awakened from a strange dream. "No," he
+answered, simply, "I am working."
+
+He was very pale and his hands trembled. Delileo insisted that he must
+interrupt his work at least long enough to take some nourishment. Gesa
+followed him unwillingly. He sat at table, ate nothing, did not speak,
+but gazed steadily at one spot like a ghost seer. After supper he
+wandered up and down the sitting-room, humming disconnected melodies to
+himself, clutched from time to time at the keys of the old spinet,
+threw out with short lips a single tone in which some sort of grand
+finale seemed to culminate, lashed about him urging on an imaginary
+orchestra, stamped suddenly on the floor and cried "Bravo!"
+
+Delileo, who had had plenty to do, in his day, with poets and
+composers, let him quietly alone; treating him with the forbearance
+which is accorded to the unhappy, the weak-minded, and geniuses. But
+Annette could not understand this strange behavior, and at last she
+broke out in a gay laugh.
+
+Strange to say Gesa took this childishness very ill, and left the
+chamber with a hastily muttered "good-night."
+
+Until the grey of morning he was working at his opera.
+
+Several days went by, days during which Gesa neither ate nor slept,
+looked excited and irritable, yet at the same time enjoyed an
+indescribable painful happiness, a condition of supreme exaltation. In
+vain Delileo warned him, "Don't overwork, one can strain the creative
+faculty as well as the voice, be moderate!" Gesa only shook his
+handsome head and smiled to himself with eyes half shut. Perhaps he had
+not heard a word his foster-father had been saying.
+
+And then, suddenly, when, shouting an exultant Eureka to himself, he
+finished the finale of the fifth act,--the third and fourth were not
+even begun yet,--his inspiration failed. Pegasus threw him, as an
+overworked and maltreated Pegasus will,--threw him from the Spheres of
+Light down into the regions of Earthly Misery.
+
+Painful headaches, and fathomless melancholy tormented him, his own
+performance seemed suddenly repulsive to him: where at first he had
+only seen the beauties of his work, he now recognized nothing but its
+deficiencies, compared it with the works of other masters, ground his
+teeth, and beat his brow. He condemned his own composition
+unmercifully, as overstrained and absurdly romantic. He could only
+endure the coldest, dryest musical fare. A Nocturne of Chopin threw him
+into a nervous excitement. He practiced the "Chaconne" by Bach
+incessantly. He looked like one who was convalescing from a severe
+illness. With neglected dress and dragging step he lounged about
+aimlessly, or brooded by the hour, all in a heap, head on hand, in the
+darkest corner of the green sitting-room. Once after he had been trying
+a new composition, in careless fashion on his violin, he put the
+instrument away with nervous haste, threw himself into the great
+leather armchair that was regarded as his by all the family, bit
+restlessly at his nails a moment, and then suddenly broke into
+convulsive sobbing. Then came Annette shyly to him, stroked his hair
+pityingly, and whispered, "Poor Gesa, does it hurt so to be a Genius?"
+He drew her onto his knee, kissed her often and ardently on hair, eyes,
+mouth, and when half glad, half frightened, she drew away, he allowed
+her to slip from his arms, but took both her hands and said softly,
+looking up at her with true-hearted eyes, "Annette, my good little
+Annette, can you endure me? Will you be my wife? Not now, but when I am
+become a great artist. Perhaps I may yet, for your sake."
+
+She blushed, and stammered, "What can you want of such a foolish girl
+as I am?"
+
+"But if she just happens to please me," he jested, much moved.
+
+She bent her young head over his hand and kissed it, then she nestled
+down on a stool at his feet. When Gaston came home he found them thus,
+and gave his blessing upon the betrothal.
+
+
+
+
+                                   X
+
+
+Gesa's affection for his betrothed grew ever day more tender, and more
+devoted. Her behavior toward him changed, in that she laid aside
+something of her bashfulness, and adopted a tone of teasing perversity.
+
+Since it was no longer possible to regard his children as brother and
+sister, Gaston resolved to beg that Gesa would limit his intercourse
+with Annette to evening visits, and a daily walk. O those daily walks!
+Annette liked the frequented streets, and loved to stand before the
+show windows of the shops where finery was kept, while she asked her
+lover if he would give her this or that pretty thing if he were a great
+artist. Her fancies, as yet, were not very expensive, and seldom rose
+above a dainty ribbon or a coquettish pair of bronze slippers. He
+smiled at her questions and usually sent her the desired object next
+morning, accompanied by a pretty, cordial, unpretending little note. A
+few lessons which he was giving enabled him to indulge in this
+lover-like extravagance.
+
+Unlike Annette, he had a disinclination for frequented streets, and
+strolled more willingly with her in the park, at this time quite
+desolate, and deserted of human kind. Dreaming and forgetful of all the
+world, he walked beside her under the trees that sighed in the November
+wind. Here and there the paths were broken by large puddles, and when
+no one was looking he lifted the maiden lightly over. Annette did not
+care for a little splashing, and leaned all the more heavily on her
+lover's arm. Sometimes, when he went along quite too dumb and absent at
+her side, she gave his arm a little pinch to arouse him, and cried
+"Wake up, tell me something." Then he would look down at her with wet,
+happy eyes and murmur, "I love you." He was beyond all bounds in love,
+and beyond all measure tiresome. But he composed at this time very
+industriously although more collectedly, and with less exaltation. He
+had postponed the completion of his opera for the present, and had
+nearly finished instead a dramatic work, in oratorio form, founded on
+Dante's Inferno.
+
+
+
+
+                                   XI
+
+
+"Annette!" cried Gesa, one evening in the end of November, bursting
+breathless into the green sitting-room. "Annette! Father!"
+
+"What is it, my boy?" asked Delileo.
+
+"De Sterny has written to me. He is coming next week to Brussels."
+
+"Oh!" said Annette, irritated and disappointed, "I certainly thought
+you had drawn the great lottery prize or had come to astonish us with
+an engagement at five thousand francs a month."
+
+"Why! Annette!" cried Gesa.
+
+"No wonder that you rejoice," said the tender and sympathetic Delileo,
+and seeing that Gesa kept his great tragic eyes fixed on Annette's
+face, with an expression of reproachful surprise, he added soothingly,
+"You must not take her indifference to heart, she does not know what
+'de Sterny' is."
+
+So Gesa spent that evening in explaining to his betrothed bride what de
+Sterny had been to him for the last ten years, and what the virtuoso's
+name meant to his grateful heart.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XII
+
+
+She had understood--the virtuoso's nimbus had become quite visible to
+her. Gesa need fear no longer that she would not know how to value his
+great friend sufficiently. How could it be otherwise? His name was to
+be encountered everywhere. All the newest bon-bons, patent leathers,
+pocket handkerchiefs were named after him, and the children played at
+"Concert and Virtuoso," just as in the earliest youth of our century
+they had played "Consul and Battle of Marengo." Annette was taking
+singing lessons now. Another little luxury that Gesa had provided for
+her, and at her singing teacher's house the girls whom she met there
+talked of nothing but de Sterny. The uncle of one pupil was conductor
+at the "Monnaie" de Sterny had called upon him, and had forgotten his
+gloves on going away. The said pupil brought those gloves to the next
+singing lesson; they were cut in pieces and divided among Signor
+Martini's feminine pupils. Years afterward, more than one of these
+gushers wore a bit of leather round her neck, sewed up in a little silk
+bag!
+
+At this time de Sterny had reached the zenith of his fame. His last
+tour through Russia had resembled a triumph. In Odessa they had
+received him with the discharge of cannon, in Moscow a procession had
+gone to meet him, huzzahing students had unhitched the horses from his
+coach and the fairest women had showered down flowers from the windows
+upon his illustrious head, as the cortege passed through the principal
+streets; in Petersburg a grand duchess had insisted upon his lodging in
+her palace; sable furs, laurel wreaths, diamond rings, casks of
+caviare, and a golden samovar, had all been humbly laid at his feet by
+Russian enthusiasm. All this Gesa related to his beloved. What he
+failed to tell her was that the greatest ladies had contended for de
+Sterny's favor, and that a princess cruelly scorned by him had shot
+herself at one of his concerts while he was playing! But these things
+she learned from the girls in the singing class. They interested her
+much more than de Sterny's other triumphs.
+
+Of course Gesa went to meet the virtuoso at the station. But as half
+Brussels besides were assembled at the "gare du nord," for the same
+purpose, de Sterny could only dismiss his protege with a cordial
+pressure of the hand, and an invitation to visit him next morning at
+the Hotel de Flandres.
+
+When Gesa entered at the appointed hour, he found de Sterny sitting at
+his desk, with his head on one hand and a pen in the other: a sheet of
+music paper, covered with notes, and full of corrections, lay before
+him. In his nervous, precise, mechanically polite bearing, that
+uncomfortable something betrayed itself, which a man contracts from
+constant association with his superiors. One remarked in him that he
+had accustomed himself, so to speak, to sleep with open eyes, like
+hares,--and courtiers.
+
+"Well, how are you? I am truly rejoiced to see you," he cried to Gesa,
+"it makes me downright young to look in your eyes. I was much
+astonished to hear of your prolonged stay in Brussels. What the devil
+are you going to do here? I thought you were with Manager Marinski, on
+the other side of the world long ago."
+
+"My engagement was broken off--that is I have no desire to bind
+myself," said Gesa, blushing a little.
+
+"So--here--and meantime you are knocking around"--de Sterny treated the
+young musician in his old cordial, patronizing manner. "Sapristi! You
+look splendidly, too well for a young artist. Look me in the face. And
+what are you really doing? Plans? Eh?"
+
+"O, I am very industrious, I give lessons."
+
+"Oh! lessons! _You_--lessons! _Nom d'un chien!_ I should think it would
+have been more amusing to dig for gold in America with Marinski.
+Lessons! And so few pretty women learn the violin! Well, and besides
+lessons, how do you busy yourself?"
+
+"I compose. You seem also"--
+
+"Certainly, certainly," replied de Sterny, pushing the music paper into
+his portfolio. "But how can a man compose in such a life as I lead?
+Bah! I have had enough of squandering my existence in railroad cars and
+concert halls! Oh for four weeks rest, beefsteak and potatoes, country
+air, flowers and one friend!"
+
+Some one knocked, the virtuoso's servant entered. "I am not at home!"
+cried de Sterny.
+
+"But it is Count S----"
+
+"I am not at home. Animal! to any one--do you hear!"
+
+The valet vanished.
+
+"You see how it is," grumbled de Sterny, "before another quarter
+strikes ten persons will have been announced. It is a stale life,
+always to play the same fool's tricks, always to be applauded for
+them...."
+
+"Do you perhaps desire to be hissed by way of variety?" laughed Gesa.
+At this quite innocent repartee the virtuoso changed color a little,
+and glanced suspiciously first at Gesa and then at the portfolio where
+he had hidden his composition. But the young violinist's eyes convinced
+him that no harm was intended. If de Sterny ever had a believing
+disciple it was Gesa Van Zuylen.
+
+"It is really a shame," earnestly observed the young musician after a
+while, "that you allow yourself so little time for composition. I have
+never heard anything of yours but transcriptions--perhaps you will
+sometime trust me with your more serious work."
+
+De Sterny's brows met. "Hm!" growled he--"I can't show the things
+around. They might take wings. It spoils their eclat if one confides
+them to all sorts of people before they are published." The blood
+mounted in Gesa's cheek.
+
+"All sorts of people," he repeated.
+
+But de Sterny burst out laughing and cried, "Still so sensitive! I did
+not mean it in that way. We know you are an exceptional being. Sacre
+bleu! I am the last who would deny it! As soon as I have completed an
+important work I will lay it before you. But that"--with a glance at
+the writing desk, "that is nothing, just nothing--the sketch of some
+ballet music. Princess L----, you remember her, surely, has asked for
+it. Already at Vienna she wrote me about it--you understand. I couldn't
+put it off. _C'est assomant_. A Countess-ballet!
+
+"And now be so good as to ring, that they may bring in the breakfast.
+During the meal you shall confide to me what it really is that holds
+you fast chained in Brussels, for that you remain solely in order to
+find leisure for composition I don't believe!"
+
+Over the breakfast Gesa confided his great secret to his friend.
+
+De Sterny started up. "So that is it. Well you could not have contrived
+anything more stupid for yourself!" cried he. "I suspected something,
+some long drawn out liaison, from which I should have to extricate you.
+But a betrothal! Oh, yes! What are you thinking of? To marry and become
+a paterfamilias at your age! It is ruin! It is the grave! The grave of
+your genius mind, not of your body, that will flourish in the
+atmosphere of sleek morality. You'll grow fat. You'll celebrate a
+christening every year. You'll run from one street to another with your
+trousers turned up and a music book under one arm, giving lessons. And
+your ambition will culminate in obtaining the post of first violin in
+some orchestra, or perhaps if it soars very high in becoming conductor
+of the same. Sapristi! You need the whip of the manager over your back,
+and not the feather bolster of family life under your head! What is
+more _this_ bolster which you are stuffing for yourself will contain
+few feathers. But that is all one to you. You only need a pretext for
+laziness, and would go to sleep on a potato sack!"
+
+"You speak like a heretic, like a regular atheist in love," cried Gesa,
+who had not outgrown his passion for large words. "Who told you I was
+going to be married the day after to-morrow? I shall not receive her
+hand until I have secured a position."
+
+"Ah--so! Well--that is some comfort. But who is she? One of your
+pupils? The blonde daughter of a square-built burgher?"
+
+"She is the daughter of my foster-father."
+
+"O--h! The Gualtieri's daughter. And her you will marry? Marry?"
+
+"You cannot possibly imagine how charming she is," murmured Gesa.
+
+"That the Gualtieri's daughter is charming I can easily imagine," said
+the virtuoso, and there came suddenly into his eyes an expression of
+dreamy passion to which they were quite unaccustomed, "but that a man
+would want to marry the Gualtieri's daughter, I cannot understand.
+Perhaps you do not know who the Gualtieri was."
+
+Gesa bit his lip.
+
+"She made my foster-father happy."
+
+"So--hm! Made him happy! He was mad as we all were. To have been
+permitted to black her shoes would have made him happy. I know the
+history of Delileo's marriage. It is a legend which they still relate
+in artist circles, only they have got the names wrong. I know the right
+names because ... Delileo interests me for your sake, and--and--because
+the Gualtieri ... was my first love!"
+
+Gesa shrank back. "Your first love!" he repeated, breathlessly.
+
+The virtuoso passed his hand over his forehead and smiled bitterly.
+"Yes! I became acquainted with her in the salon of the d'Agoult. I
+looked like a girl myself then, was scarcely eighteen years old, and in
+love! Oh! in love! She laughed at me--I fretted myself with vain
+desire, she would never notice me. I cannot hear her name now after
+twenty years without feeling as I did then. Heavens! How beautiful she
+was! Form, smile, tresses! Dark hair with auburn lights in neck and
+temples--as if powdered with gold dust. Withal a certain grand
+carriage...."
+
+The virtuoso ceased and gazed musingly into vacancy. The remembrance of
+the Gualtieri was a sore spot in his heart. Gesa looked, deeply moved,
+into the changed countenance of his friend.
+
+"How could such a woman consent to marry Delileo?"
+
+"How? Yes--how? She had lost her voice, her lovers, her health. She was
+thirty-eight years old. He was of a good family, and still possessed
+the remains of a handsome fortune, of which he had already squandered
+the greater part in philanthropic enterprises. He spoiled and pampered
+her as if she were a princess, and she ... she ran away from him one
+year and a half after the birth of her child, your bride,--with an
+obscure Polish adventurer. Delileo discovered her afterward in the
+greatest misery, dying of consumption, in a garret; he took her home
+and nursed her till she died. Poor devil! He had united himself to her
+against the will of his family, and the counsel of his friends, he was
+at the end of his money--so he buried himself in the Rue Ravestein. His
+lot is hard; but--at least he lived a year and a half at her side!"
+
+Alphonse de Sterny ceased, and looked down, brooding.
+
+Gesa laid a hand on his arm.
+
+"The memory of this woman lives so powerfully in you still, and yet you
+marvel that I want her daughter for my wife--her daughter, who inherits
+all the mother's charm, without her sinfulness?"
+
+De Sterny smiled, no pleasant smile. "How old is she then--sixteen or
+seventeen, if I reckon rightly is she not?"
+
+Gesa nodded.
+
+"Ah! So! And you will judge already of her temperament?" He drummed a
+march on the table. Gesa colored. "De Sterny!" he cried after a pause.
+"Much as I love you I will not bear to hear you speak in that way. Do
+me a favor and learn to know the little one--then judge yourself. Come
+sometime in the evening and drink tea with us, unless you are afraid of
+the Rue Ravestein!"
+
+"When you will, big child! to-morrow, day after!--You always keep early
+hours there. I can come before I have to go into society!"
+
+A few minutes later Gesa took leave. De Sterny accompanied him to the
+door of the apartment, and called gaily after him, over the banisters.
+"The day after to-morrow then, about eight! I am curious to see your
+Capua!"--
+
+
+
+
+                                  XIII
+
+
+Great excitement reigned in Rue Ravestein No. 10. An odor of freshly
+baked tea cakes pervaded the stairs and halls. Annette with constantly
+changing color settled the furniture, now in this place, now in that,
+trying to hide its deficiencies, her beautiful eyes rested on the green
+carpet, and she murmured faint-heartedly--"how will it look to him
+here?" Gesa only smiled, kissed her on the forehead, gave her a
+confident little pat on the cheek, and said, "He comes to make your
+acquaintance, my treasure, not to criticize our dwelling."
+
+Even more excited than his daughter was the old Delileo. He had exhumed
+from a worm-eaten chest an ancient frock with a mighty collar in the
+ponderous taste of the citizen-king, and attired in this garment, and
+smelling strongly of camphor, he wandered restlessly from one little
+chamber to another, dusting off a picture frame with his pocket
+handkerchief, casting a half-shamed glance into the dull mirror, and
+pulling with trembling fingers at his imposing silk neck kerchief,
+which with his beautifully embroidered but rather yellow cambric shirt,
+had been young under the umbrella-sceptre of Louis Philippe.
+
+Gesa joked at the agitation of his little family, but nevertheless felt
+it to be perfectly justifiable, in anticipation of the great event.
+
+At eight o'clock every heart beat; five minutes after eight Delileo
+remarked "perhaps he won't come"; at a quarter past Annette turned a
+surprised look on her lover, and said, "but he promised you positively,
+Gesa!" at half past eight a stir was heard on the floor below. "It is
+an excuse from de Sterny," said Delileo, going to meet disappointment,
+as was his custom.
+
+"Shall I find Monsieur Delileo here?" a very cultivated voice was heard
+asking, on the stairs. Gesa rushed out. The old journalist passed a
+thumb and fore finger over his cheeks--to give himself an unembarrassed
+air, Annette disappeared.
+
+A few seconds later the door opened, and into the shabby green salon
+there came an aristocratic-looking blonde man, who was a little
+embarrassed by the fact that he had not been able to lay aside his fur
+coat in the hall. This did not last a moment, however. Scarcely had
+Gesa relieved him of the heavy garment than he held out his hand
+cordially to the master of the house, whom Gesa formally presented, and
+said "we are old acquaintances!" and when the "droewige Herr" would
+have set aside this compliment with a deprecating wave of the hand, de
+Sterny continued, "You perhaps may not remember the love-sick dreamer
+whom you met in old times at the Countess d'Agoult's. But I have not
+forgotten your sympathizing kindness. It did me good. We had then, as I
+believe, the same trouble--only"--with a glance at the Gualtieri's
+picture which his quick searching eye had already discovered--"later
+you were happier than I!"
+
+Then verily tears filled the eyes of the "droewigen Herrn," and he
+pressed the virtuoso's hand.
+
+"Well?" de Sterny glanced merrily at Gesa, "I was promised something
+more than a meeting with old friends,--a new acquaintance?"
+
+Gesa looked around. "Oh, the little goose, she has hidden." He hurried
+into the next room--they heard his tender reassuring "_vollons
+fillette_, don't be a child!"
+
+On Gesa's arm, timid, abashed, pale from excitement, deep feverish red
+on her lips, she came toward the virtuoso, and laid her little ice-cold
+fingers in his offered hand.
+
+As if bewitched he stared at the young girl, then collecting himself,
+he kissed her soft child-hand, chivalrously and said, "You must pardon
+me this, Fraeulein, I am a very old friend of your betrothed, and was
+once an obscure, but intense admirer of your mother." Then turning to
+Delileo, he added "the resemblance is perfectly startling--it is a
+resurrection!"
+
+No one could be more amiable than de Sterny was in the Rue Ravestein,
+and moreover his amiability cost him not the slightest effort. Like
+other grand gentlemen he took pleasure in making small excursions into
+spheres where it would have been frightful for him if he had been
+obliged to live.
+
+Toward old Delileo he adopted a tone of modest deference, toward Gesa,
+as always heretofore, one of half boon-companion, half paternal banter.
+He drank two cups of tea, boasted of his hunger, and praised the dainty
+tea cakes.
+
+Delileo poured out reminiscences which dated as far back as his frock,
+and were just as much in accordance with modern taste. Silent and pale
+the Gualtieri's daughter sat before the guest. She did not raise her
+eyes to him once, yet no detail of his appearance escaped her. As he
+expected that evening to return from the Rue Ravestein into the world,
+he wore evening dress which became him well. His white cravat, his open
+waistcoat and carefully arranged hair, were for her a revelation.
+
+He addressed her repeatedly, but she only answered in monosyllables.
+
+"Is not mademoiselle musical?" he asked, turning from these laborious
+attempts at conversation to Delileo.
+
+"Yes, she sings a little!"
+
+"Has her voice any resemblance to--to"--de Sterny stopped short.
+
+"Say, will you sing something for us, Bijou?" whispered Gesa to the
+girl, "we will not urge you, but if...."
+
+"You would give me such great pleasure!" said de Sterny.
+
+Making no answer, with a heavy movement, as if walking in sleep, the
+young girl rose, went to the spinet, and laid a sheet of music on the
+desk. It was the fine old romance of Martini--"plaisir d'Amour." The
+virtuoso instantly offered to accompany her. She nodded shyly. Softly
+and sadly through the shabby green chamber sounded the immortal love
+song, a song which the united efforts of all the female pupils in the
+Conservatories of Europe have not succeeded in killing.
+
+
+            Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un instant,
+            Chagrin d'amour dure tonte la vie!--
+
+
+She held her hands, as she had been taught, lightly laid in one
+another, but the delicate head, contrary to regulation, was inclined
+toward the right shoulder--as if it had suddenly grown heavy. Her voice
+sounded hollow and mournful; it trembled as if with suppressed sobs.
+
+"She is afraid of you," said Gesa, who had come up to her side, "I
+don't know in the least what ails her. Usually she does not want
+courage. _Pauvre petite chat_"--and he stroked her hair gently.
+
+The virtuoso's brow fell, as if it hurt him to witness these innocent
+caresses. He turned to Delileo.
+
+"It is the same voice, absolutely the same voice! A wonderful likeness!
+Now, mademoiselle, you will grant me just one more trifle, will you
+not?"
+
+Gesa brought out from a pile of music a written sheet, and laid it on
+the rack. "Just do this, Annette," he urged, taking up his violin. "The
+song is for voice and violin," he said--"Please give me an A, de
+Sterny." De Sterny struck the note.
+
+It was the "Nessun maggior dolore" from his own music to Dante's
+Inferno, which Gesa had laid on the music desk. A strange composition,
+in which the human voice swelled from soft half audible revery to
+bitter despairing utterance of pain, while the violin gave out a melody
+of penetrating sweetness, like the torturing memory of long vanished
+joy. Gesa's cheeks were burning as he finished the performance of this
+his favorite composition. De Sterny let his hands glide from the
+keyboard, and fixed the violinist with a sharp look, "That is yours?"
+he asked.
+
+Gesa nodded.
+
+"Then let yourself be embraced on the spot. It is simply superb!"
+
+It was toward eleven o'clock before de Sterny remembered that duty
+called him back into "the world." Gesa had shown him several more of
+his own compositions, and in everything the virtuoso had taken the
+liveliest interest.
+
+Gesa accompanied his friend from the Rue Ravestein into the region of
+civilization. De Sterny was absent and silent. "Well, what do you say?"
+urged his disciple, pressingly.
+
+"You will have very great success."
+
+"In what--in my marriage?" laughed Gesa.
+
+"Ah your marriage!" The virtuoso started--"yes, your marriage.
+Well--she is the most enchanting creature I have met since her mother.
+What a voice--she could become a Malibran."
+
+"And?"--
+
+They were standing now at the Place Royale. "_Dieu merci_--there
+comes a carriage--I despaired of finding one," cried de Sterny.
+"Adieu,--bring me the whole of your 'Inferno' to-morrow,--auf
+Wiedersehen!"
+
+With this he sprang into the fiacre which had stopped at a sign from
+him, and rolled away.
+
+In the Rue Ravestein that evening there was a great deal to talk about.
+Old Delileo, whose cheeks glowed as if he had been drinking champagne,
+was very loquacious. Gesa confided to Annette word for word, de
+Sterny's flattering judgment upon her, but she showed herself nervous
+and irritable like a child too early waked from sleep. She complained
+that she had sung badly. She who had always so kindly indulged the
+garrulity of her poor old father, scarcely listened to him, even made
+impatient little grimaces, and said his way of walking up and down put
+her beside herself. When the old man sat down with a hurt air, then she
+broke into tears and begged his forgiveness.
+
+Gesa drew her onto his knees, dried her tears, and quieted her with
+playful caresses. "She lives too isolated; the least thing excites her,
+father?" said he, stroking her cheek. "We must find some amusement for
+her."
+
+The "droewige Herr," looked down gloomily.
+
+About three o'clock de Sterny mounted the stairs of his hotel. He had
+been honored and flattered exactly as much as ever, but he felt out of
+spirits.
+
+"Every street urchin knows my name now, and the crossing sweepers show
+each other the celebrated de Sterny when I pass. But when I die, what
+will remain of me! Nothing but a few wretched piano pieces, which they
+will laugh at after my death."
+
+The songs of the violinist rang in his ears. He shivered. He thought of
+the beautiful girl, and passed his hand across his forehead.
+
+"Hm!--the danger of a quiet family life does not threaten him from that
+quarter. She sleeps as yet; but she has inherited all the
+passionateness of her mother and all the nervousness of her father. How
+beautiful she is! How beautiful!"
+
+
+
+
+                                  XIV
+
+
+It was about this time that de Sterny began to be restlessly ambitious.
+His playing changed. He began to take on affectations. He began to
+pound. This enraptured the masses; the critics pronounced it "a
+magnificent development," and he himself was disgusted.
+
+An icy crust covered the gutter in the Rue Ravestein, long icicles hung
+from the arms of the great crucifix, and on the windows of the little
+green salon the frost painted his chilly flowers; but Annette's hands
+were always hot now, and her lips burning red. Her walk had grown slow
+and careless, her movements dreamy and gliding. Her eyes gazed into the
+distance. Instead of teasing wilfulness, or childlike winningness, she
+met her lover with apathetic compliance, sometimes with repellent
+irritation. Then would come hours when she hung upon him passionately,
+begged him with tears not to be angry with her, and seemed as though
+she could not show him love and tenderness enough.
+
+He did not ponder very deeply over her strange contradictory nature,
+but simply forgave her, as a sick child.
+
+One evening, when he and his foster-father were involved in one of
+their endless talks about music and literature, Annette, who had sat
+meanwhile, reserved and silent, leaning back in a corner of the stiff
+horse-hair sofa, suddenly raised her head and listened. Some one
+knocked at the door: neither Gesa nor Delileo paid any attention.
+
+"Entrez," cried Annette, breathlessly. The door opened. "Do I disturb
+you?"--said an amiable voice, and Alphonso de Sterny entered.
+
+Several days later, Gesa, returning from his lessons to the Rue
+Ravestein, remarked, "Strange, Annette, it smells of amber,--has de
+Sterny been here?"
+
+"He brought us tickets for his next concert," she replied without
+looking at her lover.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+"Dear Friend:--I have something to say to you--come to me to-morrow, if
+possible.
+
+                             "Sterny."
+
+
+Gesa found this note one evening in his apartment. Next morning, when
+he dutifully presented himself at the Hotel de Flandres, de Sterny
+received him with the question--"Would you like to earn a great deal of
+money?"
+
+"How can you doubt it! You know how pressingly I need money. Can it be
+an opportunity offers for disposing of my 'Inferno,'" cried Gesa.
+
+"Not yet--but something else offers. I received a telegram yesterday.
+Winansky has broken an arm--Marinski, in consequence, needs a violinist
+of the first rank and offers ten thousand francs a month and expenses.
+Would that suit you?" Gesa's head sank. "How long must I remain away?"
+he murmured.
+
+"Six--eight months. You must decide by tomorrow. Are you afraid of
+seasickness?" laughed the virtuoso.
+
+"That?--No! but--Well I will ask the little one. Six or eight
+months--it is long--and so far. She will not have the courage. However,
+I thank you heartily!"
+
+The servant announced an illustrious amateur and Gesa left.
+
+To his great astonishment Annette exulted and rejoiced when he told her
+of Marinksi's offer. "I did not know that you were already such a great
+man in the world," she cried, triumphantly.
+
+"Shall I accept?" asked Gesa, with a trembling voice, tears standing in
+his eyes. She looked at him amazed. "Would you refuse? Gesa, only think
+when you come back from America, a rich man!"
+
+He sighed once deeply, then he bent over her, kissed her forehead, and
+quietly said, "You are right, Annette. I was cowardly!"
+
+He accepted Marinski's offer.
+
+A few days later, a little dinner was served in the Rue Ravestein,
+which was very elaborate for the surroundings, and at which Gesa left
+all his favorite dishes untouched, and old Delileo exerted himself to
+talk very rapidly about the most indifferent things, shook pepper into
+his marmalade, and finally raised his glass with a trembling hand and
+gave a toast to Gesa's speedy, happy return. Annette, who up to this
+time had regarded Gesa's departure with the most frivolous gaiety,
+became every moment more painfully excited. She ate nothing, said not a
+word, and looked wretched, pain and terror were in her eyes. When Gesa
+drew her to him, and kindly stroked her pallid cheeks, she broke into
+immoderate weeping, clung to him convulsively, and begged him again and
+again "do not leave me alone--do not leave me alone!"
+
+He made no answer to her unreasonable words, only pitied her most
+tenderly, called her a thousand sweet names, and said, turning to
+Delileo, "Try to divert her a little, father--take her sometimes to the
+theatre, and as soon as pleasant weather comes, take her to the
+country. And read with her a little,--none of the complicated old trash
+that we delight in, but something simple, entertaining, to suit a
+spoiled little girl."
+
+"Is there any one in the world, better than he is, papa?" sobbed
+Annette. The servant entered and announced that the carriage was
+waiting at the Place Royale, and the porter was there to take Monsieur
+Gesa's luggage, at the same time clutching his traveling bag and violin
+case. Gesa looked at the clock. "It is time," said he, quietly, "be
+reasonable, Annette!"
+
+But she sobbed incessantly, "do not leave me alone," and he was
+forced to unclasp her dear, soft arms from his neck. He pressed his
+foster-father's hand in silence, and hastened away. From the street, he
+heard the sound of a window opening above, and Annette's voice. He
+stood still, looked back--cried "Auf Wiedersehen!"--and hurried on to
+the Place Royale.
+
+Before the train puffed off, a slender, blonde man rushed onto the
+platform. "De Sterny!" cried Gesa, deeply moved.
+
+"Well, well, you expected me I hope. I slipped away from the X's in
+order to catch you. You understand that I did not want to let you go
+without wishing you 'bonne chance' for the last time."
+
+The conductor opened the door of the coupe--Gesa entered it.
+
+"Bonne chance! it can't fail you"--cried de Sterny.
+
+Gesa bent out of the coach window. "Thousand thanks for all your
+kindness," he cried, "and if it is not too tiresome for you,--then
+to-morrow look in a moment, to see how it is with her."
+
+"I will take her your last greeting," said de Sterny.
+
+The virtuoso beckoned smilingly, while the train steamed away.
+
+Thus, smiling, kind, sympathetic, Gesa lost sight of his friend. Thus
+he remained in Gesa's memory.
+
+
+
+
+                                   XV
+
+
+Thanks to a sudden outbreak of yellow fever in the South, Marinski's
+troupe left America earlier than had been agreed upon.
+
+With salary somewhat diminished by this circumstance, a bundle of
+bombastic critiques, and some very pretty ornaments from Tiffany's in
+New York for Annette, Gesa went on board the "Arcadia," in which
+Marinski's troupe were to sail for old Europe. How he rejoiced for his
+"little one!" She had looked so badly when he left Brussels, was so
+inconsolable at parting. He resolved to give her a surprise by his
+sudden return. What great eyes she would make! Sometimes at night he
+started from sleep--a cry of joy and her name on his lips.
+
+The whole troupe knew why he was hurrying home. He never grew weary of
+telling about Annette. About Annette and de Sterny. He was much beloved
+by all his traveling companions, and they all felt a lively interest in
+Annette; but of de Sterny they would not hear a word; and an old basso,
+who had taken Gesa especially to his heart, said warningly--
+
+"Take care! he will play you a trick--he is a villain, monsieur!"
+
+Gesa took the caution very ill, and starting up rebuked the basso
+severely.
+
+The basso smiled to himself.
+
+Among the female forces of the troupe was a certain Guiseppina D----.
+Pale, with rich red hair that when she uncoiled it reached to her
+heels, her enormous black eyes, short nose, and large mouth lent her
+some likeness to a death's head. Yet, she was not without a certain
+charm, especially in her smile, and she smiled constantly, as people do
+whom nothing can any longer rejoice. To her Gesa talked oftenest about
+his beloved. She listened to him most kindly and sometimes she wept.
+She was the soprano of the troupe, and lived in the bitterest enmity
+with the Alto, who was married to the Tenor, immensely jealous, and
+very proud of her own virtue.
+
+In Paris, when the troupe broke up, the Guiseppina at parting put both
+arms around Gesa's neck and kissed him. This the virtuous Alto
+certainly would not have done. But the Guiseppina whispered at the same
+time,
+
+"The kiss is for thee, with my good wishes, and this"--she gave him a
+little gold cross--"this is for the bride, with my mother's blessing
+that clings to it yet. It belonged to my First Communion, and is the
+only one of my possessions which is worthy a bride of yours."
+
+They all promised to come to his wedding, and at last he had bidden
+them farewell, and had left Paris for Brussels.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+It was in the second half of June and Corpus Christi day. At all the
+stations groups of girls in white were to be seen. Now and then
+white-robed processions passed in the distance, and softly as from a
+spirit choir their Catholic hymns floated to the traveler's ear.
+
+It was late in the afternoon when he arrived in Brussels, sprang into a
+fiacre, and directed it to the Rue Ravestein. The hack, with all the
+vexatious phlegm of a Brussels' vehicle, jogged slowly toward its
+destination.
+
+The moist, heavy sultriness of a northern summer brooded over the town.
+The air had something oppressive, stifling, like that of a hot room.
+Above the earth all was motionless, except that in the very topmost
+branches of the linden trees on the Boulevard there was a light
+rustling. From the ground steamed the moisture of yesterday's showers;
+in the sky the clouds were piling up for another thunderstorm, with
+muttered growl along the horizon. The atmosphere was heavy and sad with
+the odor of incense, burning wax, candles, and withering flowers, the
+odor of Corpus Christi Day. Against the walls of the houses still
+leaned the altars that had been erected, surmounted by shriveled
+foliage, and dead blossoms. Luxuriant roses, tender heliotrope and
+modest reseda lay trodden and soiled on the pavement.
+
+As Gesa alighted at the Place Royale a woman in a battered hat, gaudily
+be-ribboned, and a red shawl, stooped down after some of the faded
+flowers. She was one of those who hide themselves when the Corpus
+Christi procession passes by. She lived in the Rue Ravestein, and Gesa
+knew her. Always pitiful, he took a twenty-france piece from his pocket
+and gave it to her. She glanced up, looked at him sharply and suddenly
+turned away her painted face.
+
+He entered the Rue Ravestein. Sickening miasmas rose from the drain; a
+cloud of midges hovered in the air;--the crucified Saviour looked down
+more sadly than ever.
+
+Familiar things greeted his eyes as he passed: the lean hyena-like dogs
+wagged their tails, and some of them came and shoved cold moist noses
+into his hand.
+
+"No one is at home!" cried the woman who sold vegetables in the shop on
+the ground floor of Delileo's dwelling. "No one. Neither the old
+gentleman, nor the young lady."
+
+"Have they gone on a journey?" asked Gesa, blankly.
+
+"No, I think not. Unless I am mistaken the young lady has gone to
+church. Perhaps monsieur will find her yet in St. Gudule."
+
+Gesa was already hastening down the street toward the Cathedral. Behind
+him little groups collected. The gossips of Rue Ravestein laughed.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XVI
+
+
+On an irregular square, from which numberless streets and alleys spread
+themselves out like rays, rises the Cathedral of St. Gudule. Light and
+transparent in architecture, bearing herself proudly--the church towers
+above the city where the ghosts of Horn and Egmont walk. Her walls are
+blackened as if they wore mourning for the crimes which men have
+committed here in God's name; and through her cool aisles sighs the
+mouldy breath of a vault. Gesa entered. It was dusky within; thick
+shadows covered the feet of the brown, worm-eaten benches. Only a few
+people still remained. In vain the violinist looked around for his
+bride. A couple of old women he saw: a child in a blue apron,
+stretching on tiptoe to reach the holy water, two beggars near the
+door--that was all. No priest was at the altar: service was over.
+
+The child had tripped away: the old woman had hobbled off; for the last
+time Gesa's eye searched the church, then he went on to the high altar
+and kneeled down to say a prayer. In spite of the fantastic pantheism
+in which Delileo had brought him up, Gesa had always retained a strong
+leaning toward Catholic devotion. Suddenly he heard a sound,--a sigh.
+In the deepest shadow, almost at his feet, crouched a dark form. A
+tender trouble overcame him.
+
+"Annette!" he whispered--"Annette!"
+
+She rose up out of the shadow. She stared at him, gave a short cry, and
+clung shuddering to a pillar.
+
+"Annette! What ails you!" he cried, shocked, almost angry. "Are you
+afraid of me?"
+
+She shook her head. Was it the dusk that made her look so ashen pale?
+
+"You come so suddenly, and I am ill;" she said.
+
+"Ill, poor heart! Then truly I must have appeared to you like a ghost.
+And I wanted to enjoy your surprise! Foolish egotist that I am! Forgive
+me!" Thus he stammered, and forgetting where he was would have drawn
+her to him. She motioned him from her. "Not here!" she cried. Looking
+around at the sacred walls, with an intense gaze--"Not here!" Leaning
+on his arm she passed out of the church door.
+
+The air was moist and sultry, clouds hung low, a swallow fluttered
+anxiously across the square. In comparison with the dusky gloom of the
+church it was still quite light here. Gesa raised questioning, longing
+eyes to the face of his beloved. It was deathly pale, the cheek
+thinner, the eyes larger, the lips darker than formerly; little lines
+about the mouth and nose, melancholy shadows around the eyes idealized
+its heretofore purely material beauty.
+
+"I had quite forgotten how charming thou art," he murmured, in a voice
+stifled with passion. She smiled at him, a wild strange smile, in which
+she grew still more beautiful, and the shadows around her eyes
+deepened.
+
+It suddenly seemed to him that she reminded him of some one, of
+something, but he searched his soul in vain. It could not be
+of the pale Malmaison roses whose tender heads drooped, on the
+pavement,--or,--no,--and yet--yes,--a little,--Annette reminded him of
+Guiseppina!
+
+Her hand, which she had left to him passively in the beginning, nestled
+now more tenderly on his arm. When they would have turned their steps
+toward the Rue Ravestein, she held him back.
+
+"What if we should make a detour," she whispered, "take me to the park,
+to all your favorite places, will you?"
+
+"My heart! My treasure!" he murmured, drunk with the rapture of her
+presence.
+
+An odor of withering flowers impregnated the air, mixed with the faint
+breath of fresh acacia blossoms. They entered the park. It was as if
+dead. Through the dark crowns of the trees there passed, from time to
+time, something like a shudder of fear.
+
+"And you are really ill, Annette?" he asked.
+
+"Yes," and her voice sounded hollow, like a suppressed cry of anguish:
+then she burst out passionately, "Why did you leave me alone!"
+
+"You sent me away yourself," he replied, half playfully, "and then I
+had to go."
+
+"That is true," she said, simply.
+
+They were silent. It grew darker. All at once she stood still. "Here
+was a mire last autumn and you used to carry me over. Do you remember?"
+
+He nodded smiling. They went a few steps further. The white reflection
+of the evening light played over the water of a reservoir.
+
+"And here you told me about Nice and the Angers Bay."
+
+Again he smiled, and they went on. They came to a statue. "There you
+gave me a villa in Bordighera. Have you forgotten how we built air
+castles?" said the girl.
+
+The shuddering in the tree tops grew stronger.
+
+She bent back her head and gazed up at her lover as if in a dream. "No
+one sees us," she whispered. "Kiss me!"
+
+He kissed her long and passionately. "Again!" she whispered, so softly
+that her voice sounded like the rustling of the leaves.
+
+He kissed her again, murmuring, "I never knew how fair life was until
+to-day!"
+
+A long sobbing sigh passed through the trees. "Come home, or the
+thunderstorm will overtake us," she said--her voice had suddenly grown
+harsh. They turned back.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XVII
+
+
+"I will not expect you to wear it, but you must keep it sacred, as a
+relic. It was the best thing she possessed," said Gesa to Annette, when
+he gave her Guiseppina's cross.
+
+He had told the girl about the pale singer and the touching manner in
+which she had offered her gift. Annette had kissed the cross on the
+threshold of the house, when she stood to take leave of him. "My father
+will not be home before midnight"--she whispered "farewell"--whereupon
+at first he looked most longingly in her face, and then yielding
+to her decision, said quietly--"To-morrow." And now he sat in his old
+attic room, opposite, and mused the evening through. His veins throbbed
+with a happiness that was painfully sweet. Never had Annette appeared
+to him so enchantingly beautiful, never had she met him with such
+heart-winning gentleness. The memory of her tender smile, of her great
+dark eyes softened his heart like a caress.
+
+But she was ill. A cold shudder broke his warm dream. She was very ill.
+
+A fearful anxiety overcame him. The heavy, sultry air of the coming
+tempest brooded without, and from the street below rose an odor of
+filth and decay.
+
+He looked across at Annette's window; it was open. A delicate head
+appeared there, listening. Against the wall in the pale moonlight a
+dainty silhouette was thrown.
+
+"Annette!" cried Gesa, across the sleeping street.
+
+Through the dusk he saw her smile.
+
+"Good-night!" she breathed, laid both hands on her lips and sent him
+one kiss. Then she disappeared. A heavy silence settled down on the Rue
+Ravestein.
+
+Dizzy and drunk with happiness, that smile in his heart, Gesa von
+Zuylen laid himself down and fell asleep.
+
+
+It was not yet five o'clock in the morning when a mysterious stir in
+the little street awoke him. Excited voices and hasty steps sounding
+confusedly together. Was it fire? The confusion increased. Something
+had happened. He hurried on his clothes and went down. The air was raw.
+In the lustreless morning light there was a pale, reddish shimmer. The
+sparrows on the roofs twittered over loud. Under Delileo's window stood
+a few people; untidy women rubbing the sleep out of their eyes, some
+men in blouses, on their way to work. Like a little flock of vultures,
+with greedy eyes and outstretched heads, they jostled one another.
+
+The woman of the green grocer shop was speaking. Her face expressed
+pride at having assisted at some awful event Gesa heard her say:
+
+"I tell you they have just sent my boy to the apothecary. But it's too
+late--much too late!"
+
+"Has Monsieur Delileo had a stroke?" cried Gesa, breathlessly.
+
+"Mon-sieur De-lileo?" repeated the women. A few of them turned away.
+
+"Annette!" he reeled. "What! What!"
+
+Half beside himself he rushed up the stairs, and burst open the door of
+his promised bride's chamber. He knew the room well. It was the same
+which years ago he had occupied with his mother. Only now it was more
+daintily furnished.
+
+Old Delileo sat on the edge of the little bed, and gazed in tearless
+despair at something which the white curtains hid.
+
+"Father!" cried Gesa.
+
+Then the old man rose trembling in every limb, passed his hand across
+his brow--his poor yellow face working....
+
+"Have pity!" he said in a broken voice, "Have pity, she has repented,
+she is dead!"
+
+Gesa tore back the curtains. There on the white pillow, waxen pale, but
+beautiful as ever, the parting smile upon her lips, lay Annette.
+
+She had put on the blue dress in which he had first seen her, fourteen
+months ago--Guiseppina's little cross lay on her breast.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+There is a suffering so painful that no hand is tender enough to touch
+it, and so deep that no heart is brave enough to fathom it. Dumbly we
+sink the head, as before something sacred.
+
+Never could he reproach her, lying there before him, clad in the
+blue dress, of which every fold, so dear to him, cried "Forgive!
+Not to our desecrated love do I appeal, but to our sweet caressing
+friendship,--forgive the sister what the bride has done!" How could he
+reproach her, with her parting kiss still on his lips?
+
+She had drawn off her betrothal ring, and laid it on the coverlet
+enclosed in a folded letter, where in her large, unskilled, childish
+hand, she had written the words: "To my dear, dear brother Gesa. God
+bless him a thousand times!"
+
+He placed the ring again on her finger, and kissed her cold hand.
+
+The fearful mystery which separates us from our dead is so
+incomprehensible that we never realize our loss in all its fulness
+while the beloved form yet lies before us. Involuntarily we feel as if
+the dead knew of every little service we render--and this thought
+hovers around us as a comfort. The whole bitterness of our anguish is
+first felt when we have buried our happiness, and life with its sterile
+uses and requirements reenters, and commands: "What have you to do
+longer dallying with death? I will have my right!"
+
+And so with Gesa, the bitterest pang of all overcame him when,
+returning home with his foster-father from the churchyard where they
+had laid the poor "little one" to rest, he found the old green salon
+all in order. Annette's favorite trifles removed, and the table laid
+for--two.
+
+They sat down opposite one another, the old journalist and the young
+musician. Neither ate; Gesa was dumb. Delileo stroked his hand from
+time to time and murmured, "My poor boy, my poor boy!"
+
+Suddenly Gesa raised his eyes to the old man's face. "Who was it,
+father?" he asked in a hollow voice.
+
+The "droewige Herr" dropped his eyes.
+
+"I--I do not know"--he stammered.
+
+"Father!" cried Gesa, starting up.
+
+"Nay, I knew nothing. She never confided in me. Very lately I had a
+suspicion, a fear"--the old father grew more and more distressed.
+
+"You must have remarked it, if Annette was interested in any one?"
+cried Gesa, anger in his eyes and shame on his cheeks.
+
+"Ah! she fell under the spell of a demon"--the father stopped, and shut
+his lips tightly together, and said no more.
+
+One day followed another in monotonous sadness. The "droewige Herr"
+went to his daily work: Gesa sat in the green salon and brooded. He
+said nothing of any more engagement, nothing of going on any more
+journeys. He dreaded every meeting with acquaintances, with all to whom
+he had talked of his happiness. There was one single human being for
+whom he longed, and that was de Sterny. De Sterny had such a rare,
+almost feminine art of understanding and sympathizing! And then, he
+would not be surprised like the others--he had foretold it all!
+
+Gesa learned de Sterny's whereabouts. The virtuoso was in England. Gesa
+wrote him a simple, heartfelt letter, in which he confided to his
+friend the sudden death of Annette, and ended with the words "Let me
+know when you are to be in Paris. I will remove there, in order to work
+near you. Intercourse with you is the only thing in the world that
+could afford me any comfort now."
+
+To this letter he received no answer. He removed to Delileo's and
+occupied Annette's chamber.
+
+One day, as he sat at the poor girl's little desk, and searched a
+drawer for an envelope, he found wedged in a crack the half of a torn
+note. He knew the writing. "... wild with bliss. At one o'clock in the
+Rue de la Montague
+
+                        Thy S."
+
+The violinist read this note twice, then he looked around with a dull,
+stupefied gaze, stretched his arms on high as those do who are shot
+through the heart, and sank senseless to the floor.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+A lingering nervous fever broke his constitution, and destroyed the
+little energy he had still possessed. When he began to creep about his
+chamber, a weary convalescent, with thinned hair, he sought at once for
+pen and ink. Every day he wrote a letter to de Sterny, and tore it in
+pieces. When Delileo, who had nursed him through the sickness like a
+mother, begged him not to excite himself, he only answered, "I must
+have it off my heart!" and wrote a fresh letter,--but never sent any.
+
+One day he said to himself that it did not become him to write, that he
+must demand satisfaction from de Sterny face to face. But before that
+could happen he must recover his health. From that time he wrote no
+more. He lived his brooding life, idle, and melancholy. His grief was
+mingled with a burning shame. He constantly feared that he should meet
+some one who would ask him about his bride, or his friend. At the
+thought the blood rushed into his cheek, and even when he was quite
+alone he turned his face to the wall. He trembled in every limb, a wild
+rage possessed him when he thought of the betrayer. Then--then he
+remembered the thousand kindnesses to which the virtuoso had accustomed
+him, his amiability, the cordial tone of his voice. He pressed his
+hands to his temples and groaned.
+
+He could not understand.
+
+And the days went by, and he did not seek de Sterny. A wild fear of men
+mastered him. By day he almost never left Delileo's dwelling, but, as
+his health improved, he gradually accustomed himself to go out at
+night. He was still young. He felt a vehement desire to deaden the
+power of feeling. In the midst of the wildest orgies, he sat pale and
+dumb, with fixed expressionless face. This joyless dissipation he soon
+gave up, but his wound still craved relief--and slowly, gradually, he
+gave himself to drink. Music he neglected altogether. Every note awoke
+a memory. If he had been obliged to earn his bread by his profession,
+he would probably not have gone so utterly to ruin, but the money which
+he had brought back from America permitted him to live.
+
+When old Delileo, whom it cut to the heart to see his dear one's
+hopeless suffering, and his splendid talents so sadly wasted, asked him
+questions in regard to the future, Gesa answered, "I will work again,
+but leave me alone now for a while--it is too hard yet." And his fear
+of mankind more and more sought concealment in Rue Ravestein. In all
+large cities there are alleys like the Rue Ravestein. Paris has many of
+them. A man flies thither when he has suffered a fiasco, or a great
+sorrow, hides himself there from the derision of enemies and the pity
+of friends ... pity which at the best seems to him but a sentimental
+form of contempt! He has no intention of passing his whole life in that
+unwholesome obscurity, he will only give his wounds time to heal.
+Meanwhile he forges many plans in this voluntary exile; and dreams how
+he will go back to the world sometime and retrieve all by a grand
+success. The dreams never see fulfilment. For such streets are graves,
+and whoever after long years seeks to flee from that solitude, wanders
+among men like a risen corpse. Superannuated ideas surround and cling
+to him like the mouldy air of the sepulchre. He speaks a dead language.
+
+
+
+
+                                 XVIII
+
+
+"The 'satan' is one of the most beautiful of modern musical
+compositions," announces the _Independence Belge_. "The 'satan'
+contains numbers of classic beauty," confess the artists. "Have you
+heard? The 'satan' is a tremendous success!" says the fashionable world
+to itself. "Satan's" renown penetrates even as far as the Rue
+Ravestein, and reaches the ear of a starving fiddler there.
+
+Although Delileo has long been dead Gesa still lives in the old house.
+The remains of his little savings went during his foster-father's long
+and weary last illness. Now Gesa supports life as best he can. A dozen
+years ago every one was comparing him to Paganini; now he is counted
+among the most obscure members of the "Monnaie" orchestra. Benumbed in
+melancholy indolence, given over to drink, he feels nevertheless from
+time to time the longing for creative effort. But something always
+comes between him and his purpose.
+
+When he hears of the approaching performance, under de Sterny's
+personal direction, he is shaken with a sudden wild rage.
+
+How dare de Sterny venture on coming to Brussels, in face of the chance
+that they may meet?
+
+Then he mutters bitterly. "He thinks I am dead. He says to himself, 'If
+Gesa von Zuylen were still alive the world would have heard of him!'" A
+fearful pang harrows his very soul. Not the death of his bride, not the
+treachery of his friend had inflicted a pang like that. The spectre of
+his great, degraded talent stands suddenly before him.
+
+He has weighed de Sterny's powers of composition. He remembers with
+triumphant contempt the "transcriptions" and "fantasias" of former
+times. He recalls the pianist's painful labors over the little
+"Countess-ballet," until in the full swing of their friendship Gesa
+took the thing in hand and finished it for him. And now? _Could_ de
+Sterny have developed into a composer of any importance? He examines
+his violin part with feverish curiosity, but it contains more rests
+than notes.
+
+The day of the second rehearsal arrived. Gesa had intended to report
+himself ill again, but a feeling of breathless anxiety that he could
+not explain urged him to the music hall. This time it was not the
+friend of Rossini and the piano teacher alone who had come to hear the
+rehearsal. The foremost dilettante of Brussels crowded around the
+stage, all the musical ladies in society sat together in the front rows
+of the parquet. There was a fever of curiosity and expectation. At the
+same time that sort of opposition made itself felt which attends upon
+all novelties that have been immoderately praised.
+
+"_Il parait que c'est epatant_"--said the Count de Sylva, a gentleman
+who was resting from the fatigues of a laborious diplomatic career, and
+employed all the time not absorbed by his social duties in studying the
+violincello. "Epatant," he repeated, walking up to the ladies, "I must
+confess I do not esteem de Sterny's talent for composition so very
+highly."
+
+"Nor I either, most decidedly," growled the friend of Rossini. "How he
+ever contrived to write the 'Satan,' I cannot understand. But that it
+is a masterpiece is not to be denied. These melodies!--they tyrannize
+over me! they creep into every nerve, they creep into the blood!
+Spectres walk abroad in this music!"
+
+"It is true that great powers require time to ripen," observed Prince
+L----, "wonderful children seldom come to anything. You may perhaps
+remember such a case, ladies--the little gypsy whom de Sterny brought
+to us one evening."
+
+"Hm--a little hunch back in a braided jacket?" asked a lady.
+
+"No--no--that was another--this was a handsome youth from the Rue
+Ravestein."
+
+None of the ladies remembered. "What of him?" they asked.
+
+"Nothing remarkable. I only cited him apropos of wonder children. Never
+have I heard finer improvisation than his and what has come of it?" At
+this moment there was a slight stir, de Sterny stepped upon the
+platform. They clapped applause, they bowed before him, they pressed
+his hands.
+
+He stood at the conductor's desk and let his eye run over his musical
+forces--they were all there. Suddenly he turned pale, the baton sank at
+his side, he longed to flee, the eyes of his aristocratic friends were
+shining all around him; he rapped on the desk, and the bombastic
+introduction to "Satan" sounded through the hall.
+
+There was disappointed shrugging of shoulders in the audience. Gesa von
+Zuylen's mouth showed deep mocking corners. Slowly, painfully, but with
+increasing confidence he raised his eyes to the director's face, the
+face that had once been to him as the countenance of a god. He smiled
+bitterly.
+
+And now the Alto is singing her first song. The audience rouses up as
+if from an electric shock--and listens amazed, but none listens with
+such intentness as Gesa von Zuylen.
+
+A strange, strange feeling trembles through him, the feeling of warm
+young delight, of joyful intoxication with which he wrote that song.
+Indignation had no chance to be heard, so mighty is the bliss of
+hearing his own work. It is as if some one had given him back his lost
+soul. The applause grows louder and louder. As if in a dream he plays
+on, sometimes he shrinks when some blatant interlude of de Sterny's
+disfigures his own composition.
+
+"Now comes the most beautiful of all," they whisper in the audience,
+"the duet of the Outcasts."
+
+In mournful lament are heard the exile's voices, softly, lightly
+floating, the violin's Angel song mingles with theirs, above, around
+them, whispering memories of joys forever lost.
+
+Gesa listens--listens--his bow stops, he sees the little green chamber,
+the smiling friend at the old spinet, and beside him the lovely maiden,
+her hands clasped in one another, her delicate head slightly bent
+toward the shoulder, as if it were grown too heavy. "Nessun maggior
+dolore," he murmurs. The whole audience shouts. The orchestra applauds
+standing--the amateurs crowd round the stage. But there!--what is this?
+Panting, breathless, foam on his lips, rage in his eyes, the violinist
+presses forward through the ranks of the orchestra, up to the director.
+
+"Wretch! Murderer!" he shrieks and strikes him with his bow across the
+face, then sinks unconscious to the floor. De Sterny passes a hand
+across his brow, and while the violinist is being carried out, he turns
+to the capelmeister, who is hurrying up and says with that practiced
+presence of mind which teaches a man of the world heroism on the
+scaffold.
+
+"A sudden attack of delirium tremens. You really might have taken pains
+to spare me such a painful scene!"
+
+The rehearsal proceeded. Gesa was taken home. As soon as he recovered
+consciousness he sought in all the closets and chests for the original
+score of his "Inferno" of which he had lent a copy to de Sterny. He
+never found the manuscript. All he discovered were the disconnected
+parts of his unfinished opera.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XIX
+
+
+Between the Boulevard exterieur, "Boulevard des Crimes" as the popular
+voice has named it, and the Buttes Montmartre, stretches a quarter of
+Paris which is behind the Rue Ravestein in remoteness from the world,
+but far surpasses it in wretchedness. No mournful redeemer here
+stretches out his crucified arms to mankind, as if he would say: "I
+would have warmed you all in my bosom, but you have nailed my hands
+fast!"
+
+No colored church windows glimmer changefully here, amidst misery and
+depravity. The old Montmartre church is broken up,--they are building
+on the new one!
+
+In a temporary wooden tower on the Buttes Montmartre, hangs a shrill
+bell that sounds like the bell of a railroad or a factory, and at
+certain hours of the day, it tinkles a little despairing Catholicism
+down into the empty republican clatter below.
+
+One junk shop crowds another here, and wooden booths full of
+second-hand rubbish and guarded mostly by poodle dogs stand in the
+wind.
+
+One thing is especially noticeable in the Faubourg Montmartre. Every
+article one buys there is handed to him wrapped in old drawings, old
+manuscripts, or old copied music. On everything lies the mould and dust
+of defunct artist existences, and the debris of fallen air castles. The
+countless miserable lodgings swarm with young artists who never will
+accomplish anything, with old ones who never have accomplished
+anything. Against a background of impudent vice and grumbling poverty
+are drawn the relaxed figures of enthusiasts weary into death.
+
+In his "_petits poems en prose_," Bandelaire described three people
+sinking from fatigue, yet without revolting against their burdens,
+carrying on their backs three enormous, grinning chimeras, whose claws
+are fastened in their patient shoulders. Every artist in the Faubourg
+Montmartre bears his chimera. His burden holds him upright; when
+that disappears he disappears with it. Whole troops of pretentious
+non-geniuses are to be met there, but also here and there among these
+eccentric jack fools, a really great, although long ruined artist
+nature making its last attempt to live and writing its name with
+trembling hand in the dust. There they dream, and peer across to the
+Boulevard, the high road of fortune, listening and waiting, with the
+vigor-and reason-devouring hope of the gambler.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+One morning a man climbed up to the humblest lodging of Rue de
+Steinkerque in the Faubourg Montmartre; Gesa von Zuylen. He had come to
+Paris partly to escape from the Rue Ravestein, and partly because Paris
+is supposed to be the California of artists.
+
+A tenor, whom he met on the railroad gave him the address of this
+lodging; he said it was a place where a man could work.
+
+And Gesa wanted to work! He had a thousand francs in his pocket, the
+price of an Amati, once presented him by a distinguished patron. The
+violin was thrown away at a thousand francs. But what of that? He
+needed money and would have sold the blood from his veins to compass
+this sojourn in Paris.
+
+He still heard the thundering tribute of applause paid to his work, and
+saw de Sterny's complacent bows. His clenched nails dug into the palms,
+but he forced himself back to calmness. He would work, he must work,
+that he might tear away his stolen royal mantle from the shoulders of
+the traitor! Surely for every genuine talent the hour of triumph
+strikes at least once in a life time, and he, he was no man of talent,
+he was a genius! How freely he breathed after that first day after his
+arrival in Paris. His new acquaintance, the tenor, had asked him "if he
+would like to take a walk to the real Boulevard." He meant the
+Boulevard between the New Opera House and the Madeleine. But Gesa
+shrank from the bustle and confusion--and while the tenor, with the
+haste of a newly-arrived provincial hurried off into the heart of
+Paris, Gesa crept slowly up the hill of Montmartre. There was a shabby
+public garden on the top, with newly set forlorn vegetation, a slippery
+flight of wooden steps led up to it. Lean, badly nurtured children, not
+in the least resembling the elves in the Champs Elysees and the Park
+Monceau, tumbled about in the crowded walks. Behind the garden was some
+waste land where grass covered with chalky dust stretches up to the
+doors of some miserable little huts. Paris seemed far away.
+
+He seated himself on a bench. Shrill children's voices, in whose
+strident tones could already be heard the curse of the factory hand,
+and the coarse laugh of the paissarde surrounded him. He was deadly
+tired. In other times he had not even noticed the little journey from
+Brussels to Paris. His head sank on his breast. He dreamed that he was
+walking under the sleepy rustling trees of the park in Brussels,
+Annette Delileo was on his arm. The blue sky mirrored itself in an
+enormous pool, whereon some red poppy leaves were floating, and he told
+Annette how that "he was a genius, and was going to do something
+great."
+
+He felt the tender nestling of her warm young form against him.
+Suddenly he started up. Little cold fingers touched his, a small
+girl in a white cap and large blue apron stood beside him, and
+said--"Monsieur, they are closing the garden."
+
+The Angelus was tinkling through the air as Gesa descended. Damp odors
+pervaded the slippery hill; great ragged streaks of fog settled slowly
+down on the wretchedness of Montmartre.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+Once more in his apartment, Gesa made a light, and looked around
+him, shivering a little at the comfortless room. In the grey marble
+chimney-place, stood an iron stove. The orange and blue flowers of the
+carpet had long taken on a uniform covering of dirt. Two offensive
+terra-cotta images stood on the mantelpiece. The tenor who was well
+acquainted in the Rue Steinkerque, and had mounted to the lodging with
+Gesa before, had explained that these were the work of a certain
+Vaudreuil, a second Michael Angelo, whose genius was broken in pieces
+against the hard stupidity of the public.
+
+"Genius!" How the misuse of the word angered him! "Genius! The man has
+no trace even of talent," Gesa had cried, looking at the disgusting
+figures.
+
+"Si! Si!" rejoined the tenor. "He spent all his means in trying to
+convert the world to 'high art,' chiseled and ecce homo--but what
+will you have? Marble is dear--he grew melancholy, took to drink--and
+then--_il a fini par faire cela_."
+
+Whereat Gesa asked shuddering, "What became of him, did he kill
+himself?"
+
+"No, but he works no longer--his daughter supports him, _vous savez!
+Les filles d'artistes! cela a quelquechose dans le sang_. At one time
+he cursed her and turned her out of doors. But he does not remember
+that any more, he doesn't remember anything any more. So long as he has
+his warm room, his game of billiards and his glass of absynthe, he is
+contented. He lives in the Hotel de Nancy, here on the corner. You can
+make his acquaintance to-morrow if you like. The young artists treat
+him sometimes, to hear him spout about art,--it is very funny!"
+
+The Michael Angelo of the Hotel de Nancy was the first thing that
+occurred to Gesa when he returned to his miserable room. His look
+sought the two terra-cotta statuettes. He examined them with a morbid
+curiosity. He took one of them and held it close to his dimly burning
+lamp in order to see it more distinctly. His artist eye recognized in
+the figure the traces of very great powers gone astray.
+
+A terrible sob unmanned him, the figure shook in his trembling hand. He
+let it fall and it broke into a thousand pieces. But they did not
+charge it in his weekly reckoning. It had no value for any one.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+He drank no longer. A nameless dread clutched his heart; red clouds
+floated before his vision, a fearful lassitude enervated him--but he
+drank no more and he worked.
+
+And at first it seemed as if the completion of his opera would be
+accomplished with perfect ease. He covered piles of music paper with
+great celerity, and when his power of invention suddenly ceased it did
+not frighten him, for he remembered that, even in his best days, the
+inspiration had suffered such moments. He proposed while waiting for a
+fresh impulse, to polish that which was already written; but when he
+came to examine it, it was a chaos, which even he himself could not
+understand. Whole bars were wanting, the accompaniment was perfectly
+incoherent. Here and there certainly, were places of striking beauty,
+quite isolated however, like splendid ruins in heaps of rubbish.
+
+Another thing disquieted him. Many of the technical signs of
+orchestration had escaped him, he could no longer write a regular
+score. He spent the whole night in looking over a work on composition.
+Next morning he began his work anew.
+
+To carry out with perfect clearness one miserable little phrase caused
+him the most painful effort. The faculty of concentration seemed lost
+to him. But he shirked no pains, no fatigue--"Patience! Patience! It
+will all come!" he said to himself, and at the same time his tears fell
+on the paper.
+
+He imposed the most fearful privations upon himself in order to
+eke out his means to the farthest possible extent. He moved from the
+orange-yellow room to an attic--he ate once a day.
+
+He grew grey, his hands trembled and he stammered in his speech. The
+children on the hill, whither he crept, of an afternoon, for air, all
+knew him and tripped in a friendly way up to the bench where he
+cowered, muttering to himself, a note-book on his knees, a pencil in
+his hand, and wished him good-day. He stroked their cheeks, took them
+on his lap and rejoiced that they were not afraid of him. He would
+gladly have told them stories--but the words would not come.
+
+One day he brought his violin up to the Buttes Montmartre. Anxious to
+please the children's taste, he played them little dances. His fingers
+had grown stiff since he had so suddenly renounced the inspiring
+indulgence of drink. The bow wavered in his trembling hand. He was
+ashamed before the children. But for them his playing was exactly
+right. Soon a large audience had assembled around him. Some of the
+little people gazed at him with earnest attention, their heads slightly
+thrown back, their hands clasped behind them--others danced gaily with
+one another.
+
+This pleased him. He held up his head before the children. He felt as
+if he would like to improvise; then it seemed to him as if the tune
+that sprung from under his fingers was strangely familiar--it was the
+same which he had played nearly thirty years before in the circus on
+the "Sablon."
+
+And now every day he shuffled with his violin up to the shabby garden.
+The poor children's applause had become a necessity.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+He grew more and more intimate with the Tenor. The latter, after having
+been refused at the opera--thanks to a vile conspiracy--had arrived at
+the practical conviction that this Grand Opera was a decaying
+institution, with which he would scorn to have any relations, and had
+accepted an engagement in a cafe chantant of the Faubourg Montmartre,
+where he earned a comfortable subsistence.
+
+At first Gesa would not hear of playing anything from his opera to the
+Tenor, but later, when he began to despair in secret over his work, an
+urgent desire to confide in some one overcame him. He played for hours
+to the Tenor after that, on a lamentable old piano, and wheezed the
+Arias at times, in a ghostly, hollow voice, only for the sake of
+hearing from some one the assurance, "cela sera superbe!"
+
+Then he would talk himself into an unnatural excitement, his eyes would
+flash, and he would cry, flourishing his clenched fist in the air--"It
+has the grand manner, has it not?"
+
+Once he had been so modest!
+
+His means were almost exhausted. He sold his books, his watch. He
+always treated the Tenor patronizingly, like a dependant--and the Tenor
+indulged him as one whose mind was weak.
+
+But once, as the two were sitting opposite each other before the fire
+in the singer's room, the latter said, passing his fingers through his
+hair, "My dear friend, _ton genie ne te fera pas vivre!_"
+
+Gesa stared gloomily at the speaker.
+
+"Well, well," said the Tenor, hastening to pacify him, "I only mean
+that the mere inception of such a grand work must require a long time.
+How would it be if you should occupy yourself a little hereabouts,
+meanwhile?"
+
+Gesa sighed. "I could compose something small," said he. "Romances, for
+example."
+
+"Unhappily that would amount to nothing unless you allied yourself
+with a singer or an actress, who would bring you into fashion. And
+then--even so it would be a dreadful pity to divert you from your chief
+end--to fritter you away. No, you ought to seek a place in an
+orchestra."
+
+"Yes, at the opera," said Gesa, and thought of his stiff fingers with a
+shudder. However, as he would on no consideration have confessed this
+infirmity he added, with some embarrassment. "Everything is so
+complicated there,--so many rehearsals,--one is busy till late at
+night."
+
+"No!" replied the other, "you should not undertake such absorbing work
+as that. That would be treason to your muse. I was thinking of a
+comfortable place in an orchestra that makes no big flourishes and does
+not rehearse a great deal."
+
+"Well!" muttered Gesa.
+
+"I made the acquaintance lately at the Hotel de Nancy, of a clown, a
+splendid fellow, who works in a circus on the Boulevard Rochechonart.
+Not a first-class circus, but a very respectable circus for all
+that. I told the clown about you. They just happen to need a first
+violin and"--
+
+Gesa sprang hastily up and left the room. From that moment he never
+spoke to the Tenor again.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+His lassitude and weakness increased with every day. The blood crept in
+his veins like cold lead--there was always a mist before his eyes, and
+in his ears a sound like the flapping of an exhausted butterfly. The
+miserable nourishment which was all he could afford himself, did not
+suffice to keep him up any longer, he could not leave his room, then he
+took to his bed.
+
+Because he was universally liked his fellow lodgers did him all the
+kindnesses they could, and even the hostess herself brought him food,
+made his bed, and borrowed newspapers for him. He thanked them all with
+the same timid smile, the same far-off look, and spent nearly the whole
+day in a sad, drowsy condition, falling from one light slumber into
+another.
+
+But one afternoon it seemed to him as if a soft hand passed tenderly
+over his forehead. He opened his eyes. Above him bent a handsome old
+face, decently framed in grey hair, and a voice that sounded from the
+far distance murmured "Gesa!" He roused himself. "Gesa!" she cried
+again. It was his mother!
+
+Yes, his mother, whom he had not seen for nearly five and twenty years.
+She had married the acrobat Fernando. The circus on the Boulevard
+Rochechonart belonged to them--they were prosperous. The light-minded
+woman was not so bad as one might have thought her. She had kept
+herself secretly informed about Gesa for a long time after leaving him,
+and convinced herself that he was well cared for and "among quality
+people," as she said, and this latter circumstance had deprived her of
+courage to approach him. But she had often rejoiced at the sight of him
+from a distance. Then, slowly he disappeared from her horizon. And now
+the Tenor, Monsieur Augusti, whose acquaintance she had lately made,
+after talking a great deal of his friend, had only yesterday spoken his
+name. All this Margaretha imparted to her son, weeping the while,
+straightening his miserable pillow and smoothed the bed clothes. He
+suffered it all quietly, murmuring sometimes a grateful word, and
+observing her, half stupefied, half astray. He could not realize this
+sudden meeting.
+
+But when she, embarrassed by his passiveness, went on--"I heard you
+play, years ago,--long years ago,--at Nice. Oh! I was proud of you! And
+I bought your piece, the one where your picture is on the cover:--such
+a handsome picture!"--then the violinist buried his face in the pillow
+and groaned like a dying man. His anguish overcame the shyness which
+held his mother back--"Poor boy!" she whispered, caressingly, stroking
+the rough grey hair of the broken man, as in times long past she had
+smoothed the child's soft locks.
+
+"You must not take your trouble so to heart. I know all, what a great
+genius you are, and how cruelly the world has used you. We will nurse
+you well again, and then all will be right. You shall come to us; we
+will not disturb you; not one of us; only take care of you. You shall
+have a little room of your own where you can work as much as you will."
+
+He looked up slowly, a heavy cough shook his sunken breast. The mother
+passed her arm under his thin shoulders and raised him up a little to
+ease his breath, his tired head rested on her bosom.
+
+"How fallen away you are," she said, half weeping, "and your poor
+shirt, all in pieces. To-morrow I must bring you fresh linen. And now
+try to take something; you must get strong." And she gave him a
+cup of broth that she had warmed for him. He did as she bade him,
+silently,--he even relished the broth. His bitter grief, his deep
+degradation were forgotten in the feeling of being once more cared for.
+Drowsy, quiet, lazy contentment overcame him. Dumb, but grateful, he
+kissed his mother's hand.
+
+Her eyes lighted up. "I must go now," she said. "The ticket-office of
+the circus opens at six; I must be there. Good-bye. I shall get free
+about eight and can come to you then. Now you will sleep a little."
+
+She pressed her lips to his temples and disappeared.
+
+The violinist fell asleep. A memory glided into his soul, a long
+forgotten memory,--not of his dead bride, his faithless friend,--no, a
+painless memory of his first return to the Rue Ravestein.
+
+A dreamy, narcotic odor hovered around him, and he saw a bunch of
+brilliant-hued poppies. He heard the light rustle of the dying leaves
+as they fell on the marble gueridon.--He sprang up. His heart beat as
+if it would burst his breast.--A nameless terror seized him, as of one
+who finds himself sinking contentedly into a bog.
+
+He collected himself--he would flee--he would seek death. He seized his
+clothes,--but the garments slipped from his hands,--he reeled and sank
+back powerless on his bed. The resignation, the sleepy intoxication of
+ruined souls, who are grown too weary for despair, mastered him. A dark
+genius hovered for a moment in the bare attic, the genius of the
+hopeless. He carried a cluster of red poppies in his hand.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+Days passed, weeks, months. On the Boulevards Rochechonart and Clichy,
+peopled by artist workers of all kinds, one often meets a tall, elderly
+man with grey hair, that hangs disorderly about his cheeks.
+
+It is Gesa von Zuylen.
+
+His face is still handsome--but the expression is dull. Sometimes he
+stops, places his hand to his ear, as if listening to something at a
+distance. Then he shakes his head, sighs impatiently and goes his way.
+He lives with his mother, and is treated by her and by his stepfather,
+and his half-brothers with much deference.
+
+Carefully tended, neatly dressed, and well fed, he does not feel
+himself unhappy. He enjoys his meals and every one calls him, "Le Rate
+de Montmartre."
+
+
+
+
+
+                            THE NOBL' ZWILK
+
+
+
+
+
+                            The Nobl' Zwilk
+
+
+It was in Vienna, in the Ring-Strasse, at the house of Frau Von ---- I
+forget her name, but they used to call her "Madame Necker," because she
+was married to a banker, thought a great deal of her manners, had a
+weakness for celebrities, and two _jours fixes_ every week. Wednesday
+was for the _gens d'esprit_, and Friday was for the _gens betes_.
+
+It was Wednesday evening, and the salon of "Madame Necker" was almost
+empty. Excepting her husband, who, to provide against possible
+misunderstandings, always showed himself there on the clever peoples'
+day, there was no one present but a celebrated poet, a celebrated
+poetess, a celebrated orientalist, and a harmless little freethinking
+idealist, not at all celebrated but much in fashion.
+
+The conversation turned on social prejudices, and the hostess, whose
+fad for the moment was for belles-lettres pure and simple, and who took
+no account of aristocracy, could not think of enough scornful words for
+a certain Frau von Sterzl, who was spending her life in the vain effort
+to balance a seven-pointed coronet, to which she had no right, on her
+worried head.
+
+The orientalist looked thoughtful. He was a retired cavalry officer.
+Some years before he had accompanied a friend to Cairo, and on the
+strength of that, had sent some articles about the Museum of Bulac to
+an illustrated journal.
+
+"Not to come of a good family," said he, "is no misfortune and yet,
+under certain circumstances, it can cause a social discomfort, which
+those who suffer from, deny, and for which not one of them is
+consoled."
+
+"This discomfort is shared with so many famous men that I should be
+inclined to regard it as a distinction," cried the young idealist, with
+much ardor and little logic, as usual.
+
+"That's as much as to say you would like to be descended from a tailor
+because Goethe was," said the general, dryly. Not thinking of any
+answer to this, the young man said "Hem!" and pulled his moustache.
+"And you would like to wear a hump, because AEsop did," smiled the
+general.
+
+"My dear general," put in the poet, "what has a hump to do with low
+birth?"
+
+"Nothing intrinsically, and yet these two things do meet at one point.
+The first is an imaginary evil, while the other is a positive one; but
+they are alike in the bad influence which they may exert on the
+character."
+
+"Oh, general!" laughed the hostess.
+
+"With your permission," he went on, "I will tell you a story to
+illustrate my paradox, which I see you don't accept at present: a very
+simple story, of something which I witnessed myself."
+
+"We are all ears," simpered the host, and passed a fat hand over the
+two pomaded cupid's wings, which stuck up on either side his head.
+"Very interesting, I am sure," said the hostess, in the politely
+condescending manner of her great prototype. The poet and the poetess
+made satirical faces, the idealist craned his neck forward, eager to
+listen.
+
+The general gazed thoughtfully before him for a while, then he began,
+speaking slowly:
+
+"He went by the name of Zwilk: by rights it was Zwilch; but after he
+was promoted for some brilliant deed of arms or other, he never called
+himself anything but Zwilk von Zwilneck. He liked the title so much
+that he wrote it on all his books, and bought books that he never read,
+in order to write it on them.
+
+"No one knew anything about his origin. Sometimes he passed for the son
+of a crowned head and a dancer. I think he set this story going
+himself. Sometimes he passed for the son of a sacristan in Reichenhall.
+He never mentioned his family; he never went home; he received no
+letters, excepting those which came from comrades in the regiment. Only
+once did a letter arrive for him, which was plainly not from a brother
+officer. It was a narrow, greenish, forlorn-looking missive, with the
+address written zigzag, and the sealing wax spattered all over the
+cover. They brought it to him in the coffeehouse, and he turned quite
+red when the waiter presented it 'Ah, yes,' he said, stiffly, through
+his nose. 'A letter from my old nurse.' Heaven knows why we didn't
+believe much in that old nurse.
+
+"Whatever Zwilk's origin might have been, his tastes were severely
+aristocratic. He never would let himself be introduced to a woman
+unless she belonged in 'Society.'
+
+"Others of the corps recognized his exclusiveness by nicknaming him the
+'Countess's Zwilk,' 'the Nobl' Zwilk,' and 'Batiste.' These were not
+very good jokes, but they never lost their charm for us, and we laughed
+at them just as much the hundredth time as the first. Zwilk laughed
+with us: his laugh used to make me nervous; it sounded like a bleat,
+and seemed to come out of his nose and ears. He was undeniably a
+handsome man, tall, blonde, broad-shouldered, stiff and slender, with a
+regular profile and a thick blonde beard.
+
+"He had great success with women: that is, with young widows and
+elderly pensioners, and the blowsy provincial beauties, to whom, as I
+said, he would never be presented, but with whom he danced, all the
+same, at balls in the early morning hours.
+
+"You might think these ladies would consider his pompous impertinence
+an insult. On the contrary they were greatly impressed by his
+'exclusiveness,' and when he waltzed with one of them she talked about
+it for a fortnight afterward.
+
+"He wore his uniforms too tight, and his cuffs too long, and he used to
+pull the latter down over his knuckles. Those hands of his were
+incurably coarse, in spite of all the care they got, and he was always
+fussing with them. Sometimes he trimmed the flat, uneven nails in
+public; sometimes he crooked the little fingers with graceful ease. His
+manners were stiff, and his German was florid, but ungrammatical. He
+spoke like a dancing master, who, having 'had a great deal to do with
+society,' feels obliged, for that reason, to pronounce the most
+teutonic words with a French accent.
+
+"He was at home in danger. Not only did he distinguish himself by
+reckless bravery in the field, but he showed in duels a cold
+indifference, which gave him great advantage over those of his
+opponents, who, though his equals in courage and his superiors in
+skill, were yet unable wholly to control a certain sentimental
+nervousness. The superior officers all praised him, for he was able,
+and he knew how to obey as well as to command. But he was very
+unpopular with his subordinates, to whom he showed himself extremely
+harsh, and with whom he never exchanged a joke, or a bit of friendly
+chat about their families, as the rest of us liked to do.
+
+"As much audacity as he showed in great matters, just so little did he
+possess in small ones. Nothing could have induced him to tell a prince
+who said a horse had five legs, that it only had four.
+
+"I am aware that this manner of judging him is retrospective. In those
+days, while we were in service together it hardly occurred to us, with
+our Austrian good humor, easy going, and perhaps a little bit
+superficial, to examine critically him or his failings. If we found him
+uncongenial, we hardly confessed it among ourselves, still less would
+we have acknowledged it to a civilian.
+
+"He had one pronounced enemy in the corps, and that was little Toni
+Truyn, cousin of Count Erich Truyn, the Truyn von Rantschin. Poor Toni!
+He was the black sheep, the Karl Moor of his distinguished family, and
+if he never got so far as to turn incendiary and robber-chief, that was
+from lack of energy and of genius. The requisite number of paternal
+letters were not wanting.
+
+"His family had a right to lecture Toni, for he had cruelly
+disappointed all their hopes. Destined from infancy to the Church, he
+suddenly, in his eighteenth year, developed religious scruples. His
+family regarded these as a symptom of nervous derangement, arising from
+too rapid growth, and they sent him to Rome to be scared back into an
+orthodox frame of mind by the hierarchy. To help matters, they provided
+him with an Abbe as a traveling companion.
+
+"In less than a month, Toni, having quarreled with his Abbe, was going
+up and down in Rome, proclaiming his contempt for Popish superstitions,
+and raving about heathen gods and goddesses like a Renaissance
+Cardinal. He neither presented himself at the Austrian Embassy, nor
+sought the customary Papal blessing: he wandered about with mad
+artist-folk, ate in hostelries, danced extravagantly at models' balls,
+where he gave the Italian females lessons in Austrian Choregraphy,
+which caused them to open their eyes, and ended by falling in love with
+a market-girl from the Trastevere. When he came home, he brought his
+Trasteverina along, with the naive intention of marrying her. His
+father, not unnaturally declined this connection, Toni had still less
+mind to the Church, so they put him in the army.
+
+"Found fault with by his superiors, idolized by his subordinates,
+cordially liked by the rest of us, he remained to the end, a middling
+officer and a splendid comrade. He rode round-shouldered and was
+incurably careless about his accoutrements, and because of his harmless
+cynicism, and his easy-going, half rustic unmannerliness, we christened
+him the Peasant Count and Farmer Toni.
+
+"There was a legend that his Majesty, one day at a hunt or a race, or
+some one of those occasions that serve to bring the monarch a little
+nearer to his subjects, condescended to ask Toni's father, old Count
+Hugo, 'How is your family, and what are your sons doing?' 'The eldest,'
+said Count Truyn, 'is serving your Majesty in the Foreign Office, and
+the second is in the army.' 'He is here,' added the count, looking
+about for Toni. He discovered him not far off, leaning against a tree,
+whistling, his hands in his pockets, his cap dragged down over his
+ears, oblivious of kaisers.
+
+"The old count was so upset by this sight, that he pointed out another
+man, in a great hurry, and that man happened to be Zwilk. The kaiser
+asked no more questions, and nothing came of it, but when the
+peasant-count told us this story afterward, amid shouts of laughter, he
+added, 'Now you know why I can't bear Zwilk. I envy him his
+distinction.'
+
+"One hot summer day,--it was in Vienna, and we were riding home from
+the man[oe]uvres, through a suburb,--in a deserted street, full of
+sweepings and gamins, smelling of soap boiling and leather curing,
+Farmer Toni's eyes fell on the dirty sign of a miserable little shop,
+'Anton Zwilch, Tin-man.' Resting one hand on his horse's croup, Toni
+leaned over, and said with that soft, winning voice of his, which was
+in such true aristocratic contrast to his rough-and-ready manners,
+'Batiste, is that your cousin?' And Zwilk replied with a forced smile,
+through his nose, 'Non, mon cher, that must be another line. We write
+our name with a k: Zwilk von Zwilnek.'
+
+"Next day in Cafe Daum, the farmer-count perfidiously seized on a
+general lull in the conversation, and called across several tables to
+his particular friend. First Lieutenant Schmied.
+
+"'Du, Schmied! Is the brewer at Hitzing, a relative of yours?' And the
+other called back affectedly, 'Non, mon cher, that must be another
+line, we spell ourselves with an _ie_.'
+
+"This feeble joke was repeated at intervals after that, to the
+edification of Toni and his friend, and the great embarrassment of all
+the rest. Zwilk pretended not to hear it.
+
+"About this time our corps was enriched by the arrival of Count Erich
+Truyn, Toni's cousin. He had got himself exchanged from the Cuirassiers
+because of some love affair or other. He was blonde, handsome as a
+picture, chivalrous, aristocrat through and through. Like all the
+Truyns, excepting Toni, Erich was conservative, even reactionary.
+Nevertheless, perhaps exactly for that reason, he was most considerate
+toward people who were less well born than himself. When Toni and
+Schmied served up their stale joke about 'the other line,' Count Erich
+always grew restless, and at last, one day when I was present, he
+remonstrated with his cousin. 'You are really too unfeeling, Toni,' he
+said. 'How is it possible for you to jeer at a poor devil who can't
+help his extraction, and no doubt has to suffer enough from it. Look
+here--I--Hm--it would annoy me very much to have this go any further,
+but I have heard that poor Zwilk was once a waiter at Lamm.'
+
+"'Whatever he was would make no difference if he were a decent man now,
+but he isn't!' broke out Toni. 'He's a low fellow; heartless canaille!'
+
+"'You ought not to speak that way of a comrade,' said Count Erich, much
+shocked, 'of a man with whom you stand on terms of _Du_ and _Du_.'
+
+"'I say _Du_ to his uniform, not to him,' muttered Toni. Count Erich
+burst out laughing,--'And I took _you_ for a Red!' he cried.
+
+"Soon after this we were sent to Salzburg; there Zwilk saw his best
+days. He became the intimate friend of Prince Bonbon Liscat, a very
+limited person, between ourselves, whom they had shoved into the army
+to keep him occupied, until they could arrange a marriage for him, to
+provide his line with heirs.
+
+"Spoiled by priests and women, like so many scions of our highest
+nobility, wrapped in cotton from his birth, nurtured in arrogance,
+Prince Liscat as a child could never endure the equally pampered
+arrogance of his young peers, and always chose his playmates from among
+the toadies and fags. Now, true to this taste of his youth, he liked no
+company so well as that of Zwilk. Zwilk must dine with him, must drive
+with him, Zwilk must accompany him on the piano while he poured forth
+elegies on the French horn,--on the tortoise-shell comb, for anything I
+know.
+
+"As for Zwilk, he existed for Bonbon: he bathed in aromatic vinegar
+like Bonbon: he went to confession; he abused the liberal journals; he
+raved about Salvioni's legs, all like Bonbon. He acquired a complete
+aristocratic jargon, talking of 'Bougays,' 'Table _do_,' and
+'Orschestre.' Prince Liscat was the last to correct him. It would have
+been quite too revolutionary for Zwilk to pronounce French as well as
+he did himself.
+
+"Zwilk's Bonbon had an ancient uncle, Prince Schirmberg, who lived in a
+curious old rococo Chateau, about an hour out of Salzburg. He was a
+bachelor, once very gay, now very pious; the first in accordance with
+family tradition, the latter from fear of future punishment. He
+suffered from spinal complaint, and, being paralyzed in both legs, he
+spent his time between a rolling chair and a landau. Before the latter
+walked four large cream-colored steeds, in slow solemnity, as if it was
+a funeral.
+
+"All the cab drivers and private coachmen reined in as soon as they
+overtook the serene equipage, and fell behind, the whole cavalcade then
+proceeding at a snail's pace. It would never do to pass the prince, and
+it would never do to stir up the princely cream colors by a too lively
+example, lest evil befall the princely spinal column.
+
+"Only Toni Truyn wickedly rushed past now and then, at the full
+speed of his thoroughbreds. Then the big cream colors before the
+old-fashioned landau would give an excited jump or two, and poor Prince
+Schirmberg would call out, 'Damn that Truyn!'
+
+"His serene highness certainly hated Toni, who returned it with
+good-natured contempt and a number of bad jokes. Some one came and told
+Prince Schirmberg that Toni had said he was nothing but a bundle of
+prejudices done up in old parchment. This the prince took very ill,
+without in the least understanding it. 'Prejudice,' he knew, from
+reading the 'Neue Freie Presse' was the liberal word for principles:
+and 'Parchment' was simply an aristocratic kind of leather.
+
+"The prince had a sister, Auguste. All the little girl babies in
+Salzburg were named after her. We used to call her the May-Beetle,
+because she had a little head and a broad, round back, and always
+dressed in a black cap and a frock of Carmelite brown.
+
+"She occupied herself with heraldry and charity. That is, she painted
+the Schirmberg coat-of-arms on every object that would hold it, and she
+engaged all their evening visitors, who were not playing whist with her
+brother, in cutting little strips of paper to stuff hospital pillows.
+For their reward she used to have them served at ten o'clock with weak
+tea and hard biscuits, but, as even the best families in Salzburg still
+keep up the barbarous custom of dining at one o'clock, the guests found
+their supper rather meagre.
+
+"When she wanted to give them a special treat, she read to them in a
+thin voice out of an old Chronicle about the deeds of the Schrimbergs.
+
+"She had a marked weakness for Zwilk. He cut papers with enthusiasm: he
+listened to the Chronicles with ecstasy: he fell on one knee to kiss
+her hand when she graciously extended it at leave-taking.
+
+"It was Sylvester Day, in the yard of the Riding School. The cold
+winter sun fell dazzlingly on the hard, white snow. Long, strangely
+twisted icicles hung from the snow-covered roofs, against the gloomy
+sides of the buildings which surrounded the court.
+
+"We had given our recruits a good dressing down in the Riding School,
+and now we were standing about in little groups chatting, cheerful and
+hungry, in the cold court. I heard Erich Truyn behind me, speaking in
+that polite, pleasant tone which he kept especially for poor country
+priests, and scared women of the lower classes. He was saying, 'I'm
+sorry, but First Lieutenant Zwilch is engaged at present. Shall I send
+for him?' I turned round. There in the old, grey archway stood handsome
+Truyn, blonde, slender, careless, easy, correct without pedantry; from
+head to foot what a cavalier ought to be. Beside him, square, clumsy,
+tufts of grey hair over his ears, a grey beard under his chin, face
+mottled red and blue from the cold, mouth and eyes surrounded by
+fine wrinkles, cheeks rough and seamed like the shell of an English
+walnut,--an old man, a stranger.
+
+"He wore very poor clothes, half town, half country make, a short
+sheepskin, high boots, from which green worsted stockings protruded, a
+long faded scarf with a grey fringe twisted round his neck. He had a
+little bundle tied up in a red handkerchief squeezed under one arm, and
+he was kneading nervously in his two hands a shabby old fur cap, as he
+looked up with an expression half frightened, half confiding to Count
+Erich.
+
+"That usually so self-possessed young gentleman was much embarrassed,
+and was making visible efforts to hide it, while he strove at the same
+time to encourage the old stranger.
+
+"'Shall I send for him?' he asked a second time. 'Oh! please, I
+can wait, please,'--stammered the old man in his _gemuethlich_
+Upper-Austrian dialect.
+
+"I took him for a small mechanic; he was too diffident for a peasant,
+and not shabby enough for a day laborer.
+
+"'I can wait,' he repeated. 'Have already waited, long, very long, Herr
+Lieutenant.'
+
+"'As you will, but won't you sit down?' said Erich, hesitating, divided
+between fear of giving the old man a cold, and fear of not showing him
+proper attention.
+
+"Right and left of me our comrades were chatting. 'Sylvester,' cried
+Schmied, 'it's the stupidest day of the year. It makes me think of
+punch, and cakes, and cousins.'
+
+"'It makes me think of my tailor and my governor,' laughed Farmer Toni.
+
+"The peasant-count was sitting on a bale of hay: Schmied stood over
+against him, leaning on the side of a forage wagon. Toni wore a short
+white riding coat; his chin was in his hands, his elbows were on his
+knees.
+
+"'To the first I owe a bill,' he went on, 'And to the latter I owe
+congratulations. Schmied, do you think he'd be satisfied with "Best
+Wishes for the New Year," on a card?'
+
+'"Are you going to Schirmberg's to-night?' asked another officer coming
+up.
+
+"'Must,' said Toni, laconically. 'And you?'
+
+"'I don't know. Perhaps I can plead another engagement. It will be
+deadly dull at Schirmberg's.'
+
+"'I hear they are going to serve champagne and a prince of the blood,'
+said Schmied.
+
+"'Hello! What's old Gusti up to?' laughed Toni: 'Big soirees are not in
+her line.'
+
+"'It's all for Zwilk,' answered Schmied. 'You know he is going to be
+made adjutant to Prince Schirmberg.'
+
+"'Adjutant to a prince!' It was the old stranger who cried out, proud,
+excited, turning his head from one to the other.
+
+"Erich had continued to do the honors with all the courtesy of your
+true aristocrat to the plebeian who has not as yet stretched out a hand
+toward any of his prerogatives. The little old man had grown quite
+confiding: he looked up now in Erich's face and asked, 'You know him
+well?'
+
+"'He is my comrade,' answered Truyn. 'I wish I could call myself as
+admirable an officer as he is. He is one of the best in the service,
+and he has a brilliant career before him.'
+
+"Truyn liked Zwilk as little as the rest of us, but he wanted to give
+the old man pleasure, and that he could do without falsehood.
+
+"The stranger stripped off his mittens, and put his knuckles to his wet
+eyes.
+
+"'I thank you, I thank you,' he sobbed like a child. 'He's my son. I
+wanted to see him, long, long, but he was so far away and he never
+could come home,--but he wrote,--such beautiful letters. The priest,
+himself, couldn't beat them; and,--and--now, I was going to surprise
+him, but--will he--will he like it, Herr Lieutenant, after all? Look
+you,--I'm afraid,--he such a grand gentleman, and I'--
+
+"Zwilk's voice sounded from within, hard and merciless, rating a common
+soldier: then he walked into the yard.
+
+"Arm in arm with Prince Liscat, varnished, laced, buckled, strapped,
+affected and arrogant, one hand on his moustache, he simpered through
+his teeth:
+
+"'You're much too good, Bonbon. You don't know how to treat the
+_canaille_. The Pleb must be trodden on, else he will grow up over our
+heads.'
+
+"Then his eyes met those of the old stranger. He turned deathly pale;
+the old man shook in every limb. Handsome Truyn, very red in the face,
+stammered:
+
+"'Your father has come to see you: it gives me much pleasure to make
+his acquaintance,' or some well-meant awkwardness of that kind.
+
+"But Zwilk smiled, his upper lip drawing tight under his nose, showing
+his teeth, large, square and white, like piano keys.
+
+"'Der papa?' he simpered, elegantly, looking all over the court, as if
+searching for him; then, as the old man, stretching out his trembling
+hands, 'Loisl!' Zwilk fixed him with a cold stare and said, 'I don't
+know the man; he must be crazy.'
+
+"Ashamed, confused, the stranger let fall his hands; he caught his
+breath, then looking anxiously from one to the other of us, he
+stammered:
+
+"'It is not my son. I was mistaken: a very grand gentleman. Not my
+son.'
+
+"'Never mind,' strutted Zwilk, and clapped him jovially on the
+shoulder. 'There, drink my health,' and he reached him a silver gulden.
+
+"The old man took it with an indescribable, hesitating gesture; looked
+again in a scared way around on us all, lifted his eyes sadly, as if
+begging forgiveness, to the face of the Nobl' Zwilk, and turned away,
+repeating, 'Not my son!'
+
+"He was blind with grief. He struck against the sharp corner of the
+stone gatepost, recoiled, felt about with his hands for support, and
+disappeared.
+
+"We were dumb. There came the ring of a coin on the pavement without, a
+half-choked sob, then nothing more.
+
+"'Dost thou dine at the Austrian Court to-day?' inquired Zwilk, with
+cheerful effrontery of his friend Bonbon, whose arm he took.
+
+"Farmer Toni hawked and spat slowly and deliberately at Zwilk's feet,
+but Zwilk had the presence of mind not to see it, and left the place on
+Liscat's arm, still smiling.
+
+"We looked at each other. Count Erich's eyes were full of tears.
+Schmied's fists were clenched, and his lip trembled. All of us felt a
+tightness in our throat. We longed to rush after the disowned man; to
+surround him with respectful attentions; to pour out kind words and
+consolation,--if we could have found consolation. But it was one of
+those moments when fine feeling lays a restraining hand on sympathy,
+and we pass the sufferer blindly by, not daring even to uncover our
+heads.
+
+"In the square before the barracks, a silver gulden sparkled on the
+pavement in the cold winter sun.
+
+                           *   *   *   *   *
+
+"New Year had come in when the party broke up at Prince Schirmberg's,
+and we rode homeward by a narrow, snow-covered path across the fields,
+a short cut, by which the heavy equipages of the other guests could not
+follow us.
+
+"The soiree had been a great success. The prince of the blood had shown
+himself, as usual, all affability, and Zwilk, warmly recommended to
+favor, had been graciously distinguished by His Royal Highness.
+
+"The slightly faded Countess Schnick had looked very pretty. Zwilk had
+been courting her since autumn, and to-night she had been very
+encouraging to the future adjutant of Prince Schirmberg. And Zwilk,
+after the departure of His Royal Highness, had beamed and twinkled, and
+shone as if varnished all over with good fortune, patronizing
+everybody, even his friend Bonbon. Now he rode, sunk in pleasant
+reveries, a little apart from us, at the head of our cavalcade.
+
+"The moon shone clear. Sown with countless stars, the sky blue and
+cloudless arched above an endless expanse of snow. Everything around us
+was of a blinding whiteness, an unearthly purity, and still as death.
+Only now and again, at long intervals, a light shudder trembled through
+the silence, a swift rushing, a deep sigh,--then once more silence.
+
+"'It is a parting soul,' said Erich Truyn, listening, much moved. Erich
+was a little superstitious.
+
+"'Nonsense,' grumbled Schmied, 'it is a tree letting fall its burden of
+snow.'
+
+"'Everything is so strangely pure, one is afraid of meeting an angel,'
+said Toni.
+
+"'Yes, it makes one ashamed of being a man,' muttered Schmied. Then we
+all ceased talking. We thought of home. The New Year's night, so still
+and peaceful, brought us all memories of long-forgotten childhood.
+Presently Schmied spoke out in his deep bass voice, to Toni.
+
+"'I must see if I can't get leave and give my old governor a surprise
+for Twelfth Night. He's awfully pleased when Hopeful turns up.'
+
+"'Wish I could say the same of my Herr Papa,' sighed Toni. 'But it's
+all up in that quarter. I'm simply a lightning rod for him. When his
+steward bothers him, he sits down and writes me an abusive letter. But
+it's partly my own fault,' he added, regretfully.
+
+"Count Erich, who had lost his father shortly before, looked straight
+ahead, his brows meeting, his eyes winking unsteadily.
+
+"Proudly the Nobl' Zwilk rode at the head of our little troop, rocking
+himself in dreams of gratified vanity. All at once his horse reared, so
+violently and unexpectedly that he was thrown. He kept hold of the
+bridle, and was back in the saddle next moment, punishing his horse
+furiously, and cursing so loud that Schmied, who rode nearest him,
+called out 'Restrain yourself': and pointed to a small wayside shrine,
+on the edge of the path. It held an image of the Virgin, and a half
+extinguished lamp, burning dimly before it, sent a red ray into the
+blue white of the moonbeams.
+
+"Then, on the spot where Zwilk's horse had shied, Schmied's Gaudeamus
+began to back and tremble, to our amazement, for Schmied's horses were
+reputed as phlegmatic as their master. Next Truyn's Coquette jumped to
+one side, and Toni's Lucretia began swinging herself backward and
+forward like a wooden rocking horse.
+
+"'I think the brutes have entered into a conspiracy to make us stop
+here and say our prayers,' said Toni. But Schmied sprang down.
+
+"'What is it?' we called. 'Some one frozen,' he answered. 'Perhaps some
+one drunk,' lisped Prince Liscat. Erich and his cousin with the rest of
+us were already dismounted. Two sleepy grooms held our horses.
+
+"There on the chapel steps, crouched a human form, in the attitude of
+one who has fled to God with a great burden.
+
+"We stretched him out on the snow. His limbs cracked gruesomely. His
+hands were hard as stone: he must have been dead for hours. The cold
+moon shone on his face. It was old and wrinkled, the frost of frozen
+tears glimmered on his cheeks and around his mouth. The dead drawn
+mouth kept the expression of weeping.
+
+"'It's the poor devil who came to us yesterday morning in the
+Riding-School,' said Erich, and bowed his head reverently.
+
+"'Better so,' muttered Schmied, in a shaky voice. 'Better for him.' The
+little peasant-count kneeled in the snow, rubbing the stiff hands and
+sobbing.
+
+"'We had better take ourselves off. We can't do any good here, and
+there will be trouble with the police.'
+
+"It was Zwilk who spoke, standing by with white, strangely smiling
+face: his voice was hoarse and hurried.
+
+"Then Toni sprang to his feet. 'You hound!' he cried, and struck him
+across the face with a riding-whip."
+
+The speaker paused a few seconds, then went on quietly.
+
+"Of course Zwilch left the army. He and Toni fought with pistols.
+Zwilch came off extremely well, and Toni extremely ill, being badly
+wounded in the hip. He lay in bed six months, but during that time he
+was reconciled to his family, and shortly after he got well he married
+a pretty little cousin. He lives in the country, overseeing an estate
+of his father's. He has grown steady, has a great many children and
+preserves the most touching affection for his old comrades.
+
+"We gave the poor old stranger a grand funeral, which the whole
+officer's corps attended. We buried him in St. Peter's Churchyard, and
+put him up a fine monument.
+
+"The Nobl' Zwilk vanished utterly. For a long time I expected to see
+him turn up as a fencingmaster somewhere. But far from it: I ran across
+him lately in Venice, married to a rich widow from Odessa. His servants
+call him Eccelenza; things prosper with him."
+
+The old general paused, and looked about him. He had told his story in
+a voice of much feeling, and now he evidently looked for some signs of
+sympathy.
+
+The celebrated poet remarked, with a grin, that the story would make a
+good subject for a comedy, if you changed the ending a little. The
+celebrated poetess said she didn't feel much interest in stories that
+hadn't any love in them. The hostess inquired if the widow whom Zwilch
+married was a person of good reputation. The host remarked that that
+was what came of letting the rabble into the same regiment with
+respectable people.
+
+Only the youthful idealist had been so much moved that he was afraid to
+speak for fear of showing it. But at last he pulled himself together
+and broke out with these enigmatical words--
+
+"After all, it's our own fault."
+
+"How do you mean?" asked the hostess.
+
+He blushed and stammered. "I mean, that if there were no Prince Liscat,
+there would be no Nobl' Zwilk."
+
+
+
+
+
+                             WHAT HAPPENED
+                     TO HOLY SAINT PANCRAS OF EVOLO
+
+
+
+
+
+                  What Happened to Holy Saint Pancras
+                                of Evolo
+
+
+
+
+                                   I
+
+
+"Down with him! Into the sea with the old pig-head! Let him come to
+reason among the crabs and cuttle-fish! Now he touches water,--now he
+swims,--now he goes under! There, Evoluccio, may you find it cool and
+pleasant!"
+
+He who made all this shouting and ranting was the little
+broad-shouldered Cesare Agresta, ship-trader, and he stood in the midst
+of a noisy crowd on the outermost edge of the cliffs which descend
+steeply to the sea before Evolo. They who moved about with turbulent
+cries, and still more turbulent behavior, among the gnarled olive trees
+on the rocks where the old chapel stands, were his fellow citizens, the
+entire population of the little Sicilian town of Roccastretta--men and
+women, children and aged people, rich and poor, even including the
+reverend Padre Atanasio, and the equally reverend Syndic. These two,
+withdrawn a few steps apart, watched the crowd's activity with a
+curiously sly expression of mischievous amusement.
+
+Around the stem of an ancient olive tree some handy, half-naked fellows
+had slung a thick rope, whose length reached over the rocks down to the
+sea, and which, with many tugs and jerks, as if attached to a heavy,
+uneven weight that pitched about, made the old trunk shake from lowest
+root to topmost branch. Don Cesare held the chief command over this
+tumultuous mob. He ran, he gesticulated, he ordered, he swore, he
+laughed, he blustered, and they all obeyed him to the letter.
+
+"Just why little Don Cesare exerts himself so much about it I can't
+make out," said the well-nourished padre, in his neighbor's ear. "The
+old Evolino, or, as they call him in despite to-day, Evoluccio, has
+never done any harm to Don Cesare. It must be all one to him whether it
+rains or not, since he doesn't possess the smallest bit of land, and
+not one single lemon tree can he call his property."
+
+The Syndic shrugged his shoulders like a man at loss for an answer, and
+said, slightly nodding toward a youthful pair, half hidden behind the
+chapel, who seemed to be excellent company for one another:
+
+"While Don Cesare bestows his attention upon the old, his pretty sister
+occupies herself with the young."
+
+"I have long remarked that there was something between those two," said
+the padre with a half envious side glance, in which rebellion,
+contending in the heart's depths with resignation, was plainly
+manifest; "but what will come of it? The wealthy Nino will never
+content himself with the sister of a ship-trader."
+
+"Nay, Father Atanasio, one need not always be thinking of marriage,"
+answered the other, smiling slyly on the stout padre.
+
+"I know that very well," replied the holy man, without taking the least
+offence at the Syndic's light-mindedness; "but if it comes to Don
+Cesare's knowledge, let Nino beware of his knife."
+
+"That is Nino's business. Between my neighbor's door and its hinge I
+never put my fingers," cried the Syndic with a laugh.
+
+They were interrupted by the crowd streaming back from the cliffs
+toward the chapel.
+
+"This pleases you. Father Atanasio," cried a lank sailor, who looked
+out from beneath his Calabrian cap like a bandit. "You never were on
+good terms with the old Evoluccio. Well, he's fixed for one while!"
+
+"He'll stay down there till he gets reasonable," said another, shaking
+his fist at the sea; "and if that won't do,--something else will!"
+
+"Yes, yes!" howled a third; "if water fails he shall feel fire. Only
+that Don Cesare talked us down to-day, we'd have built a blaze under
+the old one's feet that would have made him remember us forever! The
+villain! the lump! the old heathen!"
+
+At these words, a little smile, like a flash, shimmered in the eye of
+Father Atanasio, but it was very brief, and remarked by no one; then he
+said, slowly, waving his hand to those who were passing, and clothing
+his words in an unctuous sort of conciliatory chant:
+
+"That is enough. It will certainly work this time. Malicious the
+Evolino never was. He only needs to have his old memory jogged a bit.
+If you were as old as he you would forget too, sometimes."
+
+Then the bystanders all broke into loud laughter, and cried to each
+other:
+
+"The padre is always right The Evoluccio is an old fellow--older than
+any of us can think--and one must be considerate with age."
+
+"Carmela! Carmela!" suddenly sounded from the midst of the confused
+throng descending the side of the cliff toward the little town; and
+from his higher point of observation the padre saw Don Cesare's short
+figure powerfully fighting against the stream of people, and remarked
+with edification how he stretched his neck, how he jumped off his
+little legs, and stood on his little toes, making strenuous efforts to
+climb the hill again, or, at least to look over the heads of his fellow
+citizens. "Carmela," he cried, "where are you?" But Carmela appeared to
+have just reached a highly interesting clause of her conversation with
+the smart and enterprising Nino, who was pushing his suit gaily with
+the listening girl.
+
+"See," he said, pointing to where, close at the foot of the promontory
+a country house lay hidden among the groves of lemon trees, "yonder is
+my Casina. Last year I inherited it, and now in a few days it will be
+all ready to live in. How pretty it looks! Everything new, and ready
+for daily life. And it is so cool and pleasant sitting there on a hot
+summer evening, with the fresh, silvery spring that trickles out of the
+rock into an old Greek marble basin; it is a stone from the temple, you
+know, that used to stand here, with images of gods, and wonderful
+animals. Only come there with me, and see how much pleasanter it is
+than in the dark street under your window."
+
+The pretty girl's look followed his gesture. She shaded her eyes with
+her hand, and a rosy smile rested on her delicately cut mouth.
+
+"Oh, yes," she said, half aloud, to herself, "it may well be cool and
+pleasant there."
+
+Then she heard her brother's voice.
+
+"I am coming," she cried; and, hastily turning to Nino, "shall I see
+you this evening at the usual hour?"
+
+"Yes, if you will promise to come out here with me."
+
+"Yes, yes," she cried, hastily, and ran away toward the others, who
+were descending the hill. Nino stroked his slender moustache, and a
+mocking little smile shot from his eyes after the pretty girl who had
+so thoughtlessly thrown him this momentous promise.
+
+When Padre Atanasio found himself alone by the chapel under the olive
+trees he walked with much deliberation to the edge of the cliff and
+looked over; a most peculiar, condoling, bantering smile hovered on his
+lips, as his glance fell on the rope, and glided down to the place
+where it plunged into the sea. Down there, several feet deep under
+water, dashed over by the foaming waves, floated something heavy, that
+looked like a human body--a helpless lump, which the waves tossed
+hither and thither, and across which the fish, like silver arrows, shot
+back and forth in lightning darts. Occasionally the thing would bounce
+against a rock, roll back on itself, and then resume its regular motion
+in the water. If the dashing of the waves ceased for a little, and a
+sunbeam fell upon the clear flood, one could have sworn that a corpse
+was floating there--the corpse of an old man with snow-white hair and
+beard, in a faded red-brown mantle; the rope was knotted strongly
+around his hips, and his arms were closely bound by it also. He lay
+there, the poor old man, stretched out stiffly, and let the waves drive
+him, and Padre Atanasio looked down at him so queerly, and queer
+sounded the words which the holy man threw him over his shoulder at
+parting:
+
+"Serves you rights Evoluccio! What? You wanted to keep up a sinful
+competition with the blessed Mother of God? You must have the finest
+presents, the handsomest wax candles, the gayest festivals! And what
+is there so extraordinary about you, then? You're nothing but a
+half-converted old heathen!"
+
+But the poor old man with the snow-white beard and hair, and the
+red-brown mantle, over whom the jolly fishes were swimming, was not a
+murderer's victim; he was not even a corpse; he was not even a poor old
+man. He was nothing more nor less than the especial patron saint of the
+little town and surrounding country. Holy Saint Pancras of Evolo--the
+Evolino, as the people were accustomed, after their familiar fashion,
+to call him for short--the Evoluccio, as they injuriously named him
+when his conduct didn't please them.
+
+The good saint might well have wondered what had happened to him on
+that fine spring morning, when the entire population of Roccastretta
+broke into his sanctuary on the Promontory of Evolo, tore him from his
+pedestal, carried him out from the cool twilight of his chapel into the
+glaring day, tied a rope around his body, dragged him, amid the most
+intolerable cursing and abuse, to the edge of the rocks, and pitched
+him over, like a dead cat, into the sea.
+
+Hardly two days before, all Roccastretta had assembled in his chapel,
+and words of the most passionate devotion had risen like a cloud of
+grateful incense to the niche in whose depths he had made his dwelling
+for more years than any one there could count.
+
+"Holy Pancrazio of Evolo, dear good Saint Pancras," prayed this pious
+people, "you love us like children and we love you like a father. Every
+Sunday we bring you fragrant nosegays, and when, as at present, the
+burning drought kills our flowers, then we bring bunches of gold and
+silver tinsel, and thick yellow wax candles to light before your image.
+Father Atanasio, who never honored you as he ought, and always calls
+you a half-converted heathen, he is of opinion that we give his Madonna
+nothing but miserable tallow dips, and keep the best of everything for
+you. So, you see, best, dearest Evolino, that we don't grudge you
+anything, and our children shall be just like us; for you are our own,
+only honored patron saint. Only, now, bethink you of your office,
+dearest, kindest Evolino. For three months not a drop of rain has
+fallen on our fields, trees, vines. Look around you! The figs are
+drying up, the olives will not swell, the wheat fields look like a
+desert. If you don't send rain, Evolino, it is all over with our
+harvest, and nothing will be left for your people but to save
+themselves from starvation by catching fishes and crabs. Be good, then,
+holy Saint Pancras, and send rain. You know very well it is not a
+tempest we want, but a good, long, mild, soaking rain, such as you know
+how to send when you will. To-morrow, or next day, at the latest. Do
+this for us, dear Saint Pancras, and you know how we will deck your
+image beautifully, and honor you above all the other saints; yes, even
+before the blessed Madonna herself, who is such a busy Queen of Heaven
+and Earth that she has no time to think about our little place. But
+you, Evolino, belong to us alone, and have no one else to look after!
+Care for us then, dearest Evolino, and we will bless you to all
+eternity."
+
+Thus they prayed and besought him, and the ancient Evolino in his niche
+listened without stirring an eye or a hand, as became a saint that was
+cut out of wood, and plastered over with paint; and presently they all
+trooped out and locked the door, leaving the honest old fellow to his
+dreams in the cool, cozy chapel. Long and many were the Christian years
+that he had stood up here in the sanctuary of Evolo; but his dim
+confused remembrance looked wistfully back into the twilight of a still
+older time. There was a shrine here then, too--not a chapel, but a
+temple; other priests came and went before his image, other songs were
+sung and other gods were honored. The ancient sculpture had hewn him
+out of stout knotty wood, and beneath the various crusts deposited
+by the lapse of centuries, the old image was still hidden, as it came
+from that hand, now long moldering in dust; defaced, however, by
+strange gaudy daubs of color, with a red mantle, over a blue tunic,
+silver-white beard and hair, cherry-red lips, black brows in two even
+arches above the neatly painted eyes, and a round saintly nimbus,
+behind his head, that glistened as if he had a pure gold sailor's hat
+on the nape of his neck. Truly he didn't look like that in the old
+times, yet they honored him then much as he was honored now, not like
+one of the high mighty ones, who are only to be addressed with fear and
+trembling; like a dear old friend rather, with whom a man can exchange
+the familiar "thee and thou"--older, certainly, and doubtless of higher
+degree, but who has dwelled so long in our midst that he seems like one
+of our own people. This feeling increased with the lapse of years, and
+a most confidential relation had sprung up between the patron saint and
+his flock--a relation of mutual service and mutual indulgence, as of
+friendly neighbors who like to do each other a brotherly good turn when
+they can.
+
+It was Saint Pancras' duty to take care of the little town, and its
+surrounding country; but the honest patron was so old and brittle, that
+no one could blame him if his head was not always in the right place,
+and his thoughts sometimes went wool gathering, so the weakness of age
+was helped for Evolino by various friendly hints; if that had no
+effect, the duties of a patron saint were set before him seriously but
+kindly; if this did not serve, then the standpoint was made clear in
+coarse but unmistakable fashion,--and thus it happened that on this
+fine spring morning, after he had failed to supply the longed-for rain,
+in spite of prayers and entreaties, he was lowered at the end of a rope
+into the sea, like a common malefactor, for his punishment and his
+reformation.
+
+And so he lay down there at the end of his rope, and saw how the crowd,
+when their work was accomplished, took the way to the town, and saw how
+Padre Atanasio, who hated him for a dangerous rival, in the bottom of
+his heart, wept crocodile tears over him, and then he saw how his
+chapel stood above among the olive trees, lonely and forsaken, and how
+the open door swung to and fro in the wind,--and he may have turned
+back in his dim memory to that fair, long past time when the warm
+sea-winds blew through the breezy colonnades, when the bright sunbeams
+played over his youthful godlike figure, when he looked down from his
+pedestal upon the coast, the purple sea, and the high-beaked ships with
+their great oars. Then, when he was a young god, when they brought
+grapes and figs, and pomegranates to lay at his feet! Gayer than now
+sounded the songs of the priests, and lustily streamed up the clouds of
+incense from the golden vessels. He was not Saint Pancras of Evolo
+then, yet it was under a very similar sounding name that he was honored
+by the believing crowd, and none then would have dared to snatch from
+his pedestal the beautiful God of the Winds, and throw him down among
+the fibrous polyps, a mock for women and children.
+
+In dull, humming tones sang these ancient, half-smothered memories
+through his drowsy thoughts, and duller, and still further off, were
+the voices of the noisy folk, who had just left him, and in crisp
+softly-splashing wavelets the eternal sea, like a tender mother with
+her sleeping child, rocked holy Saint Pancras of Evolo.
+
+
+
+
+                                   II
+
+
+Father Atanasio could not explain satisfactorily to his own mind why
+Don Cesare had been able to work himself into such a violent rage
+against the poor Saint Pancras, and with every one whom he came across
+on the way home, and with every one whom he encountered during the day
+on the street, or in the wine-shop, he began the subject over again.
+
+"I can understand very well," said the father, to his
+devoutly-attentive listeners--"I understand perfectly--that you, Don
+Ciccio, and you, Don Pasquale, and you, Don Geronimo, and many others,
+are angry in your hearts with our patron saint. You need rain, you need
+it as mankind needs air, and fishes water. That is to say, your fields
+need it, your lemon trees, figs, pomegranates, olives, and almond
+plantations. You are landed people, you cultivate your acres, and wet
+them with the sweat of your brows. But the sweat of your brows,
+ha-ha-ha! That is only a dewdrop or two, and won't answer instead of
+rain." Here the father laughed, and all the others laughed at their
+priest's joke.
+
+"Well, then, if your patron forgets his duty, and neglects to send the
+rain"--
+
+"He doesn't want to send it!" cried one.
+
+"Whether he doesn't want to, or whether he forgets it, that I don't
+know--I am not at liberty to discuss the question since you credit me
+with an evil-disposed jealousy toward the good old St. Pancras. Well,
+then, never mind that; I know what I know. But what was I going
+to say? Oh, yes, if you, being injured in your property through
+your patron saint's--let us say, carelessness--if you show him in your
+way--which--well--your way is--I don't know exactly what to call it."
+
+"It's the way to deal with him," they shouted from every side. "We know
+him. Praying is no good unless we discipline him too. This isn't the
+first time. Fifty years ago our fathers had to do the same thing, and
+he had not been three days under water before it rained. It's his old
+heathenish obstinacy that must be broken now and then."
+
+Father Atanasio turned right and left, behind, before, defending
+himself from the pelting of angry words, with hands and feet, his head
+wagging from side to side, hands and shoulders raised protestingly;
+after a while, when they let him speak once more, he was quite
+breathless, as if it were he who had been raging and shouting.
+
+"Be peaceable, I beg," he gasped. "I know well that you understand this
+matter better than I. It is nothing to me. I only have to read mass in
+church before the blessed Madonna, and your Saint Pancras and his
+chapel do not belong to my parish. But this is not what I wanted to
+talk about. What I would say is: Don Cesare owns neither a tree nor a
+blade of grass. It is all one to him if it rains or shines. He is a
+ship-trader. What has he to do with rain? And yet it was Don Cesare who
+took the saint from his pedestal and carried him down to the rocks. He
+it was who slung the rope over the olive tree, and let Evolino down
+into the water. And Don Cesare is a wise man, the wisest of us--of you
+all. He knows what he does, and why he does it; and therefore I, Father
+Atanasio, say something is wrong--something is hidden that must be
+revealed."
+
+In vain did the bystanders, charmed by Don Censure's heroic deed, seek
+to make the father understand that the little ship-trader had simply
+shared the feelings of his fellow tradesmen; that he had not acted from
+personal motives, and it was exactly this unselfishness which deserved
+to be admired and respected. All these explanations and assurances
+rebounded from the father's sceptical smile without effect.
+
+"My dear friends," said the stout, smiling father, "I know you and all
+your kin. You were all hatched out of the same shell. Unselfishness? We
+will seek that elsewhere. When it comes into your heads to praise a
+fellow creature for his unselfishness it is because you somehow find it
+to your own advantage. And Don Cesare, above all others, is far too
+wise to be unselfish. He had his sufficient reasons for letting himself
+be compromised with Saint Pancras, like the rest of you. Yes, Don
+Ciccio, compromised you are, thoroughly, and if I were the Evolino,
+Santo Diav--that is, I would say. Holy Madonna--I know what I would do.
+However, that is not the question. I was talking of Don Cesare. He
+knows on which side his bread is buttered, and how to squeeze in time
+out of a tight place. He will set himself right with Saint Pancras,
+take care of his own interests, and leave you all sitting in the mire,
+never doubt it. Cesare Agresta, the clever trader, will look after his
+own advantage."
+
+The padre was not far wrong, for Don Cesare was a stirring, driving,
+scheming little man; and as to the present question, it was certainly
+true that, in the morning, when he took the saint down from his
+pedestal and carried him, like a baby, out of the chapel, he had
+whispered lightly, quite lightly, so that no one else could hear:
+"Don't be angry, dear Pancrazio. What I do I must do. I will make it up
+to you." Certainly no one heard this, not even Father Atanasio,
+although he was standing close by, and looking on with silent,
+malicious delight, while they made life so hard for the Holy Madonna's
+hated rival; and still less was it observed by the bystanders, for the
+face which Don Cesare made didn't match his words at all, and whoever
+had seen him at that moment must have said to himself: "Poor St.
+Pancras! it's lucky you are made of wood; for if alive you were, alive
+you would never come out of the hands of this raving maniac, with the
+glaring eyes and bristling hair."
+
+Quite another face, the most unconcerned face in the world, was that
+with which, toward evening of the same day, Don Cesare, in the
+gathering twilight, walked into the room where his sister sat sewing by
+the flickering, smoking tallow candle; and, with the most indifferent
+tone in the world, he said to the girl looking up at him with the most
+unconcerned as well as the handsomest and brightest of black eyes:
+"Close up the house with care, Carmela. I am going to Salvatore's, and
+shall not return till late."
+
+At the door he turned and added: "And, Carmela, I may as well say, take
+care of your eyes, little Mouse; they are remarkably bright these days.
+And, you know, I would be well pleased with Nino, but he must take you
+before the altar. If he will not do that--tell him from me--then let
+him keep away from you, or it may be the worse for him. Good-night,
+little Mouse!"
+
+Whereupon Carmela, demurely bending her head over her work, replied:
+
+"Go on, Cesare, and be easy. Carmela comes from good stock."
+
+She was from the same stock as her brother, at any rate, for she added,
+in exactly the same tone as that in which Don Cesare has whispered to
+the saint:
+
+"That Nino shall marry Carmela and none other will scarcely be
+accomplished by your aid, Cesare. I must see to that."
+
+Her eyes sparkled over her work, as if she knew very well indeed what
+she was thinking about. And she did, too, the petite witch, with the
+fine finger tips, and the raven black curly hair; for her brother was
+no sooner out of the house than she sprang up lightly, ran to the door,
+drew the bolt, and then stepped softly, softly, to a window that opened
+on the street, stuck her little head through a narrow opening, and
+looked quietly after Don Cesare for a while, then, when she had seen
+him disappear through the darkness in the direction of Salvatore's
+house, she threw the window wide open, leaned out, laid her right hand
+above her eyes, and gazed steadily in the opposite direction, as if
+searching for something in the thick gloom. She found what she was
+looking for very soon. It appeared in the shape of a young, slender
+man, who kept himself in the shadow of the houses, cautiously and
+noiselessly approached the window, and suddenly stood before her,
+grasping her hands in his, and whispering:
+
+"I have waited long. I have kept my word. Will you keep yours,
+Carmela?"
+
+Cesare's small house lay at the outermost end of a little street that
+led to the harbor. Whoever came up that way was certain not to be seen
+by any one, and that was exactly the way the young man had come. The
+night was dark. The moon was yet far below the horizon. It was easy to
+chat quietly and unobserved between window and street, and this the two
+did. They were far past the rudimentary stage of love-making, for
+Carmela promptly resigned her hand to the caresses of Nino, who
+confidently pressed upon it a long, passionate kiss.
+
+"Only come this evening with me to my Casina," he whispered; "we can be
+alone there, and we can't go on forever talking from window to street
+like this."
+
+Carmela smiled under cover of the night.
+
+"It is so far," said she; "if my brother should come back before I"--
+
+"You will be home long before your brother. The way is very short along
+the shore, under the Promontory of Evolo."
+
+"It is too far, Nino; the moon will rise soon, and then we shall be
+discovered."
+
+They talked together a long time. The moon rose, and poured its
+peaceful light into the gloomy streets; but only for a little while,
+then the sky darkened again, and black clouds rose slowly from the
+west.
+
+"See," laughed Nino, "the holy Pancrazio is getting tired of his bath.
+And see, too, Carmela, he favors our love. He is hiding the clear
+moonlight. Will you come now? Come then!"
+
+She hesitated a moment Then she whispered. "Wait, I will fetch my
+mantle," and disappeared.
+
+While the pair were holding their rendezvous before Don Cesare's house,
+that worthy was proceeding to his, after another fashion. At a
+leisurely pace, as if addressed to an evening's gossip with a friend,
+he had slowly departed down the street, never doubting that Carmela
+would look after him; all girls did so, and his sister was like the
+others, of course. Women were women, he opined, smiling quietly to
+himself; one must treat them like children, pretend immense confidence,
+but be mighty vigilant, and always preserve one's masculine
+independence. This he certainly did, and carried out his theory with
+much precision by making a sudden turn the moment a bend in the road
+hid him from Carmela, and starting off at an amazing gait in the
+opposite direction. First he took a side circuit through the crooked
+little streets, and then hurried off toward the Promontory of Evolo.
+
+There must have been something extraordinary in the busy little man's
+brain, for he ran as fast as his short legs would let him. Tali Ciccio,
+whom he met outside the ruined gate of the town, looking for Heaven
+knows what in that lonely place, he never once noticed; on the
+contrary, when he saw him from a distance, he seized the blue hood
+which every one on the coast of Sicily wears winter and summer, in sun,
+wind, and rain, fastened Bedouin fashion around his neck, and drew it
+far over his face, raised his broad shoulders, and sunk his head
+between them. He passed his astonished fellow citizen without looking
+around, and the latter stood gazing after him, and muttered: "The devil
+knows who that is, and where he is going;--I know every one in
+Roccastretta, but I never saw _him_ before;" and shook his head after
+him for a long while, like an honest member of society who has met with
+something to reflect upon.
+
+Don Cesare, meantime, hurried on, smiling slyly to himself. "By you, my
+stupid Ciccio, I, Don Cesare, am not going to let myself be
+overreached. What you are doing at this hour outside the town Heaven
+knows. Some sort of love adventure, perhaps. Or have you been stealing
+fruits and grain, and hiding them somewhere in a ruinous cassine? Or
+are you engaged in smuggling? Saints have mercy on us! who could thrive
+at smuggling these days, when not a ship runs into our harbor? For
+three months, exactly as long as the rain has failed, not a sail has
+this poor deserted harbor looked upon. Smuggling! Yes, that business
+paid once on a time, but not now."
+
+And the honest Don Cesare thought, with satisfaction, of that happy
+time when, at least twice every month, a foreign sailing vessel came in
+his way. What pleasant times! And now, for three long months, he had
+stood day after day near the chapel of Evolo, which he now saw before
+him on the heights above, and he had looked with his trusty spyglass in
+all four quarters of the heavens to see if he could not discover a
+white sail making for the harbor of Roccastretta, and showing the
+well-known flag of Norway, or of England, or of Germany. From thence
+came the vessels which supplied themselves in this vicinity with
+southern fruits, olive oil, sulphur, and pumice stone, and brought
+hither various things which Don Cesare secretly purchased for little
+money and sold again for much--tobacco and cigars, woolen and cotton
+goods, gay ribbons, gaudily-painted saints, and freshly-varnished
+Madonnas, apostles, evangelists, and all sorts of wares, for which the
+customhouse inspectors were especially greedy. These Don Cesare
+understood how to convey into his house without discovery, and
+undiscovered to sell afterward at a comfortable profit. Close by his
+house, tied to an old broken pile, year in and year out, his boat lay
+ready, and when a sail appeared in the distance, he was the first to
+row out and offer his assistance to the captain; for he could jabber a
+mixture of every known tongue with the greatest fluency, and the ship
+had not come to anchor before Don Cesare was the confidential friend of
+every one and the trusted adviser of the whole crew. Yes, insignificant
+as he was in figure, Don Cesare was an enterprising fellow, and had his
+head in the right place; and that thick, round skull, covered with
+close-cut hair, with big, prominent, ring-bedecked ears, and wide mouth
+stretched in an everlasting smile, was stuffed full of stratagems and
+trader's tricks that brought him many a pretty sum, and at which the
+honest foreign sailors did not complain; for, without Don Cesare's
+help, they must have paid far dearer, and how did it cheat them that he
+made a hundred per cent, on the fiery wine which he furnished them, and
+that he obtained their fruits and meal and fresh meat from his
+neighbors at a ridiculously low price? Oh, those good honest people!
+They paid so willingly whatever he asked; they found everything so
+cheap in this beautiful land; and when the ship was once more under
+sail they all thanked him who went away, and those who remained, they
+thanked him, too, for they all had done a good business; but he had
+done better than any one! Yes, pleasant time! thought Don Cesare, as he
+wandered along through the night and looked out on the black sailless
+sea. Directly before him lay the Promontory of Evolo, with its old
+olive trees. The chapel showed clearly through the darkness; last year
+they had whitewashed it, to the honor of the saint who now lay in the
+water. Don Cesare shook his head. "You poor, dear Evolino, what must
+you think of me, that I could help them treat you so? And yet, you know
+as well as I do, how much good it would have done for me to interfere.
+If I had opposed them they would, maybe, have used you far worse; and
+that, instead of water, you did not have to stand the scorching fire,
+you may thank me. Sometimes one serves a friend better by howling with
+the wolves than letting himself be torn to pieces by them in his
+friend's company. Only wait. I will make it all right, good Evolino."
+
+He had arrived at the foot of the Promontory. The little path wound off
+among the rocks. A few steps further and it turned to the left, toward
+the other side of the cliffs where Nino's country house lay silently
+hid in thick groves of orange and lemon.
+
+Don Cesare stood still. Suddenly a puff of wind passed over the water
+which foamed up to his feet.
+
+"Oh, oh!" said the little ship-trader, "from the west! The wind for
+rain! No, dear San Pancrazio, you will not be so obliging to those
+people who threw you into the water?"
+
+Then he looked cautiously on every side, listened carefully to right
+and left, and believing himself secure stepped down to the shore where
+he knew the saint lay, felt around among the stones till he found the
+rope, and then one might have seen the little man, slowly pulling the
+line toward him, with the exertion of his whole strength. But the
+holy Pancrazio didn't come so easily. One arm stuck on a sharp rock,
+his halo got caught between two stones, and when there came a hard
+pull it seemed as if something cracked in poor Saint Pancras' ancient
+worm-eaten neck, and as if a very critical wabbling seized his old
+heathen head.
+
+"Ei, ei!" the poor saint must have thought, "how careless these human
+beings are with their saints! First one is tied and thrown in the
+water, and then knocked to pieces against the stones, for some one is
+pulling the rope I see. What is _he_ going to do with me?"
+
+And the shiny varnished eyes of Evolino tried to recognize the man, and
+when he found that it was Don Cesare, he sighed in his wooden bosom,
+but he patiently resigned himself to his fate. Only the wabbling of his
+head made him anxious; for he liked his old head. Suppose he should
+lose it, and they should put him on a new one?--a new head on the old
+trunk! or if they should order a whole new saint from the best modern
+wood-carver, what would become then of him, the only real, true,
+ancient, genuine San Pancrazio of Evolo?
+
+But Don Cesare pulled and pulled, and turned and twisted, and at last,
+there lay the saint at his feet on the dry sand.
+
+"Now, God be gracious to you, poor Evolino!" thought that ill-used
+person. What then was his surprise, when Don Cesare, without speaking a
+word, dragged him across the footpath, set him carefully up in a cleft
+of the rock, brushed and cleaned him from slime and dirt, and dropping
+on his knees, with folded hands, thus addressed him:
+
+"There you are again on dry land, dear, good, holy Pancrazio, and are
+rescued from the neighborhood of sea-crabs and polyps. And, do you see,
+me, me alone, you have to thank for it, Don Cesare, who loves and
+honors you! I told you so when I was bringing you down from the chapel.
+The others have treated you shockingly, poor patron, but I, I rescued
+you. Don't forget it, dear old San Pancrazio. Now I know well enough
+what you would say: Don Cesare! Don Cesare! you were there too, and
+slung the rope over the olive tree! Alas, yes! I had to be there! But
+only think what would have happened if I had not been there, those
+others were in such a rage with you!--on account of the rain! But what
+do I care about the rain? You may leave them for weeks longer without
+rain for all I care! they deserve it, and that tall, lean Ciccio, whom
+I just met outside the walls, he it was who blustered most shockingly
+about fire, and I it was who silenced him by slinging you into the
+water. Yes, Evolino, and it is I again who drew you out. And now,
+Evolino, be good to me, you who are also an ancient God of the Winds.
+Weren't you called AEolus before you became the Saint of Evolo? Surely
+you have not forgotten that,--and the winds will certainly listen to
+you still. Blow, then, a good strong wind into the sails of a foreign
+ship and guide it to our harbor, so that I may earn something once
+more! See, I am not a rich man"--
+
+He broke off suddenly. A clear, white beam of light had fallen upon the
+saint and a strange smile seemed to play over his features. Don Cesare
+looked around him in fright But it was only the moon that had just
+risen from the ocean, and threw its first beams upon the image.
+
+"It is clearing," said Don Cesare, as he rose, and brushed the sand
+from his knees. "I must go now, for you understand, Evolino, only you
+alone know that I have drawn you out of the sea. Now stand quietly, and
+dry yourself, and get over your fright. But don't forget that you have
+me to thank, me alone! and don't forget to send me the ship--soon! very
+soon! Then I will dress your altar, and you shall have a new halo."
+
+He stopped again in his discourse; for suddenly the image grew dark.
+What was that? a cloud? rain? He looked around. In the west it had
+grown black and heavy from the horizon up. "West wind?" said Don
+Cesare. "Rain wind?--yes. But a favorable wind for ships that come from
+the ocean into the Mediterranean. San Pancrazio, San Pancrazio--only
+remember me!" He clambered slowly up the steep path, that led between
+rubble, sharp-pointed cactus and aloes, to the chapel, but on the way
+he often paused and looked around to see if any gleam of white sail
+flashed across the blackness of the waves; for now he knew certainly
+that Evolino had listened to him, and once the wind came to blowing,
+the ships could not long fail. Thicker and thicker the huge clouds
+massed themselves on the horizon. When he reached the top he sat down
+under an olive tree to take breath. In the distance he thought he heard
+a noise. Was it a ship in whose cordage the wind whistled its song, and
+which was hastening to the protecting harbor? "Then Carmela may wait
+till I come home," murmured Don Cesare. "I shall stay up here." And,
+his eye immovably fixed on the water, Don Cesare remained sitting under
+his olive tree.
+
+Not from the sea, however, did the sound come which held the listening
+trader spellbound on his lookout. With her narrow mantle drawn far over
+her face, glancing on every side, secretly trembling from fear and joy,
+Carmela ran beside Nino along the shore, jumped, with a beating heart,
+from stone to stone, and at every noise that reached her ears from the
+sea or the dark lemon trees, she clung closer and faster to her
+companion.
+
+"It is too far," she whispered, and already repented that she had
+listened to his persistent entreaties, and left the safe walls of her
+own home to follow him on this dangerous expedition.
+
+"Calm yourself, child," answered Nino; "it is not a hundred steps
+further, and your brother will not return before midnight--to-day
+especially, they will have so much to tell about the fate of San
+Pancrazio--and meanwhile we will tell other stories yonder in my cozy
+Casina."
+
+"Oh, Nino, it frightens me. Why did we not stay and chat at my window?
+The street is so lonesome. Let us turn back. Really it is not right for
+me."
+
+"What are you saying, Carmela? The street lonesome? Oh, yes, and
+suppose that old Francisca, your servant, looks out of the window on a
+sudden, and sets all the dogs on the midnight marauder, as she did last
+time? In my Casina there is nothing of that kind to dread. We shall be
+alone there, and we have never been alone together yet since we
+plighted our love to one another."
+
+Carmela stood still.
+
+"Nino," she said, "you risk nothing; but I risk everything. If any one
+should find me here--or yonder."
+
+"Who should find you?" broke in Nino. "No one wanders around out here
+at this hour, and you are as safe as"--
+
+She started suddenly, shrank back, and laid her hand, with an impetuous
+gesture, on his mouth. They were standing directly in front of the
+Promontory, where its outermost point juts forth and descends sheer to
+the sea, and where the path crowds narrowly between this rocky wall and
+the water.
+
+"What is it?" asked Nino, softly.
+
+"Yonder!" whispered Carmela, and her finger pointed through the night
+to a rock close by the path, where, silent and motionless. _One_ stood.
+
+"Santo Diavolo!" muttered Nino, darkly, to himself, and all his
+Sicilian jealousy rushed like flame to his head. Hastily bending down,
+he picked up a sharp heavy stone, and, without turning his eye from the
+mysterious figure, he added, hastily: "The way is watched. Here is the
+path that leads up to the chapel. Quick, Carmela, before he sees us."
+
+By this time the rushing wind had driven the heavy clouds high up into
+the zenith. Suddenly, through a rift, a beam of bright moonlight fell
+upon the rocks. A wild scream broke from the girl, staring with wide
+eyes at the motionless figure.
+
+"The saint!" she cried, and held out her arms as if in self-defence
+against the fearful sight. "The saint! ascended from the sea! Blessed
+Madonna, protect me!" And, without knowing what she did, as if fleeing
+from Divine judgment, she rushed up the path to the chapel in
+breathless haste.
+
+At first Nino was as if spellbound at the unexpected and, even for him,
+mysteriously terrible vision.
+
+"San Pancrazio!" came brokenly from his lips. But when he heard his
+beloved's cry, and saw her fleeing through the darkness as if bereft of
+reason, then the wild blind rage of the Sicilian whose love is
+threatened seized him.
+
+"Santo Diavolo, accursed saint, you shall pay for this!" he screamed,
+fiercely, and at the same moment the stone flew, sent by a strong,
+young hand, toward the Evolino. Nino watched it go, strike; then
+something solid and heavy rolled, with a dull sound, over the rocks.
+"May you smash your heathen skull to pieces on the cliffs, old idol!"
+cried Nino to the tottering saint, and followed his beloved. "Carmela!"
+he called, without regard to the danger of being heard and discovered.
+"Carmela, stop! What are you doing?"
+
+But Carmela rushed on like a frightened deer, over stones and roots of
+trees, whither she knew not, what she sought she could not have told.
+She fled, in order to flee--fled from the image of the threatening
+saint, who had appeared in the white shimmering moonlight, as a
+messenger of God, with the rod of avenging justice in his hand, or
+perhaps as a guardian angel set in the way of temptation and
+destruction.
+
+She did not hear Nino's shouts, and she was deaf also to another voice
+that suddenly called her name. As if all the lost souls from perdition
+were at her heels, she flew up the cliff's side, and ran under the old
+olive trees to the chapel.
+
+"Carmela! Carmela!" shouted Nino, following close in breathless haste;
+a gust of wind swung open the door of the deserted sanctuary; like a
+child seeking its father's protection, Carmela sprang within; close
+behind her followed Nino, and at the same moment, propelled by a
+powerful hand, the door fell to with a loud bang; a hasty rattling
+followed, and from the fast-made lock some one drew out the key.
+
+Don Cesare it was who stood before the chapel, motionless, the key in
+his hand, his eyes fastened on the door. Convulsively his hand sought
+his knife, and he muttered a few half-stifled words. He stood there a
+long time, seemingly in violent conflict with himself, and as if he
+strove in vain for a decision. At last he seemed to find what he
+sought.
+
+"You won't escape me," he said to himself, and shoved the key into his
+pocket; and after another pause he added: "Herein I recognize thy hand,
+holy Pancrazio."
+
+He clambered hurriedly down the path to the cliff once more, and a very
+grim smile indeed passed over his face, for a saying which Father
+Atanasio loved to bring into his sermons came suddenly, he could not
+tell how, into his head--about ancient Saul, and how he went forth to
+seek his she ass. Had he not also, like Saul, found something better
+than he sought? The bold Nino was in his power. The blood shot up into
+his head. He almost turned back to the chapel, but he was master of his
+own will, and let the knife go again. The thieving villain! He had
+taken advantage of his absence to chatter, Heaven knew what, misleading
+nonsense in his favorite sister's ears, and had enticed her out of the
+house onto that lonely path. She had fled before him, but yet she had
+followed him. And now the two were sitting up there, caught, behind
+lock and bolt, and he, Don Cesare, held the key in his hand, and,
+except as true and honorable husband of Carmela, that rascal should
+never come out of the chapel. And now Don Cesare laughed aloud, and
+said:
+
+"Whom have you to thank for this, Don Cesare? Whom but the good, dear
+Evolino, whom you drew out of the water with your own hand--to whom you
+will go now, this moment, and, throwing yourself on your knees, will"--
+
+Hold! what was that? Evolino was no longer standing in the rocky niche,
+and what did he see? Yonder he lay across the path; and, holy Madonna!
+without a head! and in his breast a gaping wound, as if something had
+crushed in poor Evolino's worm-eaten side. Don Cesare looked all
+around. There lay the stone. Now he understood it all. Nino must have
+thrown it at the saint when Carmela's scream startled him; yes, yes,
+and now Evolino was revenging himself. He had hunted the two into his
+chapel, and delivered the key into Don Cesare's hand! And see! there
+lay the head. It had rolled close to the shore; but ah! in what a
+condition it was, and what a change in Evolino's countenance! There was
+the strangest mixture of godlike, cheerful youth, and shrivelled old
+age, the shape, the forehead, the crown, the chin, were those of a
+youth, but there were painted wrinkles on them, and scars had engraved
+themselves deep in the old wood, and close beside these deep seams
+which time had made in the once youthful face, the gaudy new varnished
+colors showed like rouge on the face of a dead boy. Don Cesare felt
+quite overcome by the sight. "Evolino! San Pancrazio!" said he, half
+aloud to the head, which he held in his trembling hand. "Evolino, is it
+you? or, is it not you? I don't know you any longer--and yet I know you
+well, poor old friend!"
+
+And with great fervor, as if he were carrying something very sacred, he
+bore the head of San Pancrazio to where his body lay, raised the latter
+from the ground, set it once more in the rocky niche, and carefully
+laid the mutilated, unrecognizable head in the crossed arms, then he
+kneeled on the sharp stones, folded his hands, and thanked his patron
+in a prayer of much devoutness, for the favor which he had shown him
+that day. He prayed a long time, and did not mark how the clouds
+lowered ever nearer on land and sea--did not mark how the wind swept
+cooler and cooler over the rocks. Not until the soft raindrops wet his
+arms and shoulders did he arouse from his pious devotion.
+
+"Evolino--dear Evolino!" said he silently to himself. "It is you who
+put this into my head; you who led me hither, and in your hands I leave
+the fortunes of my house. Rule it as seems best to you. To-morrow you
+will find me at your chapel, ready for anything; for atonement, and
+bridal rejoicing, or for a bloody avenging of my injured honor."
+
+As he said this, he drew the key slowly out of his pocket, hung it on
+one of the saint's hands, as if it were a hook, kissed Evolino's robe
+once more in humble confidence, and departed with strong, rapid steps
+through the night.
+
+
+
+
+                                  III
+
+
+Next day, in the early morning, there was a great stir, calling,
+laughing, and rejoicing in the little town of Roccastretta. Men, in
+Capuchin-like hoods, stood in the doors, women wrapped in their
+mantles, leaned out of the windows; and from one house to another, and
+one street to another, the laughing dialogue ran: "Ha, ha! what did we
+say yesterday?" "He has come to reason over night!" "Only since
+yesterday he has lain in the sea, and last evening he sent the rain!"
+
+"And what a heavenly rain!"
+
+"Yes, yes, the Evolino is a brave patron, we could not ask a better."
+
+As Father Atanasio, who, any one could see, didn't know what sort of a
+face to put upon the matter, slowly crossed the large open square where
+the men were accustomed to idle about when they had no work to do, all
+sorts of taunting salutations flew at his head:
+
+"Oh, oh! Father Atanasio, but it _did_ help!" The father, who was a
+discreet man, assumed an open, cheerful expression, returned the
+greetings of his fellow townsmen with pompous nods and smiles, and
+answered unctuously:
+
+"No one ever addresses himself to the saints in vain: and even if this
+time it was done after a rude fashion, Saint Pancras loves this town
+and people too well to resent it. Besides, good for evil is the rule of
+the saints."
+
+"Very fine; yes, yes!" came back from the mocking house doors and
+windows, "we know you are obliged to talk that way; but we know just as
+well that the 'rude fashion' was necessary, and long live Don Cesare,
+who put it into our heads!"
+
+"And who saved you from putting the good Evolino to the test of fire?"
+answered the little ship-trader, with a loud voice, as he came out of a
+side street, and advanced toward his friends, receiving the praises and
+congratulations that poured upon him from every side with dignified
+self-approval, as if it were he, and not Saint Pancras, who had wrapped
+the horizon in clouds, and caused the fruitful rain to descend over
+fields and gardens. A quite extraordinary seriousness pervaded his
+features and demeanor; he spoke with calm majesty, as his distinguished
+namesake might have done after a victory over the Gauls. But whoever
+had observed him closely could not have failed to detect the feverish
+wandering of his glance, and a certain convulsive movement that now and
+then overcame his right hand, causing it, without visible occasion, to
+clutch itself into a fist, and to lay hasty hold on the handle of his
+knife.
+
+Only for a short time did Don Cesare feast upon the enthusiasm of his
+fellow citizens. Turning toward Father Atanasio, he suddenly cried:
+
+"And now, friends, not another moment's delay! Not an hour longer must
+our good patron saint remain in the water. He has heard us, sooner than
+we hoped, and we must be equally prompt in assuring him of our
+gratitude, and in replacing him with all honor in his chapel. Come,
+Father Atanasio, and call the Syndic also, for whoever helped yesterday
+must help to-day, if he would not have the saint bear him a grudge!"
+
+The wisdom of Don Cesare's words was obvious, even to Father Atanasio
+and the Syndic;--though as to the latter, he never ventured to wish for
+anything until the majority had first willed it; --and thus the whole
+community set forth once more for the Promontory of Evolo, in spite of
+wind and rain, feet in the wet sand, hands in pockets, cowls and gay
+kerchiefs over their heads and necks. Don Cesare opened the procession,
+between the Syndic and the priest.
+
+"Where is your little sister Carmela?" asked the latter, after a while,
+smiling cunningly, and glancing aside at his neighbor.
+
+"Oh, father, I am not anxious about her," answered Don Cesare; "she was
+on her feet early this morning, and gave me no peace trying to catch
+the rain in her hands. A real child."
+
+"Yes, yes," said the padre, politely; "Carmela is a fine girl, and
+pretty. Nay, that is nothing to me, but others have remarked the same.
+It would be a joy to me, Don Cesare, if I could see the two before the
+altar. I speak of Nino, Don Cesare, who is courting her as if she were
+the only girl in Sicily."
+
+Behind the amiable tone in which these words were spoken, lay hidden a
+quiet laugh at the thrust he delighted in being able to give his
+neighbor. But the little ship-trader did not appear to notice it, and
+replied quite seriously:
+
+"And that will soon happen, Father Atanasio. In the chapel above they
+will be betrothed before the image of the good Evolino."
+
+His two comrades stared at him in astonishment.
+
+"Nay, nay, my good Don Cesare," said the Syndic, "I would gladly see it
+too, but Nino seems to us a little bit too rich."
+
+Don Cesare caught him up quickly: "I thought so myself yesterday."
+
+"And what has happened since yesterday?" asked the amazed padre.
+
+"I may tell you now, my excellent Father Atanasio," answered Don
+Cesare, and a knavish smile might have been seen to flash for one
+instant from his eyes: "Yesterday, when we let down the good Evolino
+from the rocks into the sea, everybody was crying for rain! rain! What
+was the rain to me? I shouted with them because I wished them well, but
+as for me, in the depths of my heart I asked for something quite
+different."
+
+"So, so!" said Father Atanasio, and poked the Syndic in the side behind
+Don Cesare's back. He looked triumphantly around at those who followed,
+winked at them with pompous, victorious eyes, and seemed suddenly to
+grow a head taller than all the others, in the consciousness of
+possessing such penetrating power of divining the hidden secrets of the
+human breast.
+
+"Yes, that is allowed to every one," continued Don Cesare, "and look!
+the good Evolino has fulfilled the others' wish, and so I think to
+myself; yours, too, will be fulfilled, Don Cesare, for there is not one
+in the whole community that treats him as well as I do."
+
+He thought about the foreign ships all the time he was speaking, and
+gave a hasty glance toward the horizon, but nothing was to be seen
+there, and he was forced to confine his hopes and longings to Carmela
+and Nino. They had arrived at the foot of the promontory.
+
+"I think we will remain below," said the Syndic; "the rope will be hard
+to draw from the cliff, and, besides, some harm might easily happen to
+the saint."
+
+No one made any objection to this wise precaution, and on they went
+over the steep path, in a long single file, as a flock of geese
+marches, one behind the other--first the Syndic, then the padre, then
+Don Cesare, then the rest. The rocks had grown very slippery from the
+wet; every time a cowled figure lost footing and tumbled, more or less
+ridiculously, into the sand, or caught at a neighbor's arm, or dress,
+or leg, then arose a great laughing and screaming, and so the whole
+company by degrees was brought into the best possible humor and
+unanimity of mind.
+
+Suddenly the procession came to a stop. The Syndic had turned pale as
+chalk, and stood rooted to the ground. They could see his fat cheeks
+shake, and his knees tremble, and were uncertain whether it was the
+strong wind, or a terrible fright that made his hair rise up and stand
+stiffly out all round his head.
+
+"Holy Madonna!" they heard him gasp; "holy Madonna!"
+
+"What is it? what is the matter?" they cried from every side, crowding
+forward, and pitching over the rocks and through the water. But they
+one and all stiffened with horror when they saw Saint Pancras, whom
+they had thrown into the sea the day before, standing in the hollow of
+the rocks, and, oh, fearful sight! holding his head in his arms! and,
+oh, inconceivable miracle! the key of his chapel which they had left in
+the door, now hung from the saint's finger!
+
+Dumb from terror, old and young, men and women, remained as if
+spellbound; cold shivers ran down their backs; they pressed closer
+together, every hand made the sign of the cross on forehead and breast
+at the same moment, every mouth murmured the prayer to the blessed
+Madonna.
+
+Even the wily Don Cesare, who had very distinct information concerning
+the history of this miracle, felt himself agitated and overcome by the
+general consternation; he, too, felt his knees knock together and his
+blood congeal, and he made the sign of the cross and muttered, without
+hypocrisy, "Holy Madonna, protect us!"
+
+Father Atanasio was the first to venture forward, as belonged to his
+office. Trembling in every limb, he pushed the Syndic aside, advanced
+with hands raised and eyes directed toward heaven, to the headless
+saint and sank, shaking, upon his knees, his example followed by the
+whole company. His eyes at first sought the place where saints and men
+are generally accustomed to carry their heads; there his glance found
+nothing but the grewsome wooden stump, out of which ragged splinters
+were sticking up in place of a neck, and, shuddering. Father Atanasio
+lowered his gaze to Evolino's breast, where the head lay on the crossed
+arms. But a new terror overcame him when he beheld the wild strange
+alteration of that countenance, and he had to support himself with both
+hands on the earth in order not to fall forward as if stunned by a
+blow. But the others thought their padre was engaged in fervent
+devotion, and muttered their litanies with lowered eyes and increased
+zeal.
+
+"San Pancrazio, dear, only Evolino," prayed the sly Don Cesare, in the
+silence of his heart, "now remember me, and send Father Atanasio a
+lucky thought. Don't forget that my little sister is up there in your
+chapel with that cursed hound Nino; and, dear Evolino, send this wanton
+coxcomb Nino a lucky thought, too, lest something unlucky befall this
+day!"
+
+Thinking, hearing, and the sending of lucky thoughts were perhaps a
+trifle more difficult to the poor beheaded saint than formerly, when he
+was whole, at any rate it was a long time before Father Atanasio awoke
+from his stupor. But all at once it seemed as if a bright beam of light
+fell upon his mind, and he gathered himself together.
+
+"I understand the sign," murmured he, kissing the saint's feet; "be
+thou blessed forever, San Pancrazio of Evolo."
+
+Then he rose, turned to the anxiously-gazing crowd, spread out his
+arms, and said:
+
+"The saint has worked a miracle upon us. A miracle hath he wrought upon
+himself. The long-desired rain he sent us by night, and he has
+ascended, victorious over human devices, from the sea in which you had
+sunk him, and here he stands, as a saint should, upon dry ground. And
+behold him! for a sign that henceforth a new and a purer tie exists
+between the patron and his people; with his own hands he has taken from
+his shoulders that ancient heathen head, which he formerly wore to your
+harm, and in defiance of the blessed Madonna. And as a sign of that
+which he requires from you he has brought down the key of his chapel
+and hung it on his finger, that you shall set up a new image for him
+there; that you may know the old Evolino, as you have been wont to call
+him, in remembrance of past times, dies to-day and a new San Pancrazio
+enters into his place, a true and blessed saint, who will love and
+protect you, and will never more allow the old heathen who hides under
+these venerable garments to afflict your town and fields with drought,
+bad harvests, and deadly pestilence."
+
+Thus spake the honest father. The Syndic nodded applause, and Don
+Cesare, of course, did the same. Then the saint was lifted with careful
+hands and laid on the shoulders of several stout fellows; but the head
+Father Atanasio placed with solemn importance in Don Cesare's hands;
+then, holding the chapel key aloft in his own right hand, he led the
+procession, which slowly and in deep silence moved toward the heights
+above and the little sanctuary under the olive trees.
+
+There was a couple there already, who had passed a bad night. Like one
+bereft of reason, Carmela had thrown herself on the earth before the
+altar.
+
+"The saint! the saint!" sobbed the girl wildly. "It was he; he called
+my name. I saw him as he came sweeping up the steep precipice. He
+followed me; his halo streamed angry light through the darkness. Holy
+Mother of God, I beseech thee defend and forgive thy sinful child!"
+
+Nino tried in vain to quiet her.
+
+"No," she cried, pushing him from her, as he sought to raise her from
+the ground, "I followed you on an evil path, Nino; the saint has warned
+us, and he will punish us. Did you not hear how he threw the door to
+behind us? Nino, Nino, there is but one atonement--that you acknowledge
+me as your true and honorable wife before this altar."
+
+Nino faltered. The image of San Pancrazio stood before his own eyes,
+and he could not shut it out. He, too, felt a tremor in his very soul,
+for, however secure and sceptical he might represent himself, in the
+depths of his consciousness there always remained the inherited fear of
+the unknown--the secret dread of heaven and hell. In his heightened
+pulse-beats, which he could distinctly hear, this feeling knocked
+loudly at his heart.
+
+A close, sultry air filled the chapel. Through the one little round
+window over the altar a dusky glimmer fell, scarce brighter than the
+surrounding darkness. Nino reached up and tried the door. He wanted to
+open it, to let in the fresh night air, to scare away the fantasies
+which were slowly surrounding his senses. But the door lay fast in bolt
+and hinge and would not yield to his straining. He sought the latch
+with groping fingers, and found that the key had been turned and drawn
+out.
+
+"Santo Diavolo!" he cried, ice-cold shivers running through every limb.
+"The door is locked!"
+
+"Locked, yes, locked," cried Carmela, springing from her knees, and
+throwing herself on the threshold. "I saw him, how he followed at our
+heels, and how he raised his hand with threatening gesture. Yes, I
+heard him, and I saw him, and it is he who has locked us in his
+sanctuary, that our deed may be expiated."
+
+Thus the poor child raved in feverish terror. Nino listened without a
+word. What should he do? What would come of all this? It was no use to
+think of flight. The old stones lay fast one upon another, and fast lay
+the old oaken doors on their hinges. In the morning all Roccastretta
+would come to replace the saint on his pedestal, for he had sent the
+rain without a doubt. Nino could hear the big drops pattering against
+the window-panes. And they would find him here with Carmela. Alone with
+Carmela in the chapel! And then? When Don Cesare stepped across the
+threshold? Nino knew Don Cesare and what he had to expect from him. It
+would be a battle for life and death, and all the men and women, Father
+Atanasio and the Syndic--every one would be on the side of Carmela's
+injured brother. Verily this was not the ending he had imagined for his
+love adventure when he tempted Carmela to follow him to his quiet
+Casina.
+
+Ever blacker lowered the night, heavier and closer hung the clouds,
+thicker poured the rain. And as Nino heard the rush of heavy drops on
+the roof, and felt the moist breath of the drinking earth which came in
+through the little window, it seemed as if something broke within his
+heart, and a voice cried from the depths: "Every drop of rain that
+falls from heaven proclaims the power of the saint, and can you doubt
+the miracle which he has worked on you?"
+
+Next morning, when the procession, led by Father Atanasio, stopped,
+with the mutilated image of the patron saint, before his chapel, and
+when the key entered in the lock, and the lock creaked, and the door,
+swollen by moisture, turned slowly and heavily on its hinges, there was
+one there whose heart beat violently, and whose blood boiled at fever
+heat, one whose hand lay carelessly as if toying but none the less fast
+and grimly on the handle of his knife--for who could foresee what was
+going to happen? But Don Cesare breathed more freely, and let his knife
+go, and with difficulty retained composure enough to play out the
+_role_ he had assumed, when the padre stood still on the threshold with
+a cry of astonishment, while out of the dusk from the foot of the altar
+two figures advanced, kneeled with clasped hands before the good
+father, and amid the astounded silence that fell upon them all, Nino's
+voice was heard saying humbly:
+
+"Saint Pancras has wrought a miracle not on our fields and gardens
+alone; upon me and upon Carmela in the last night another has fallen.
+How it happened, ask me not. The saint led us into this chapel with his
+own hand, with his own hand closed the door and took away the key. At
+the foot of his altar we have pledged each other our wedded troth, and
+at the foot of his altar we beg you, Father Atanasio, to bless the
+banns."
+
+Then the little Don Cesare exulted aloud:
+
+"Ha!" he cried, waving his little hands in the air, "that was what I
+prayed yesterday of the good, dear Evolino for myself. That was it.
+Father Atanasio! He gave you rain, and me he gave a brother-in-law.
+Long live Evolino!"
+
+And in his heart he added something more, which he did not think it
+necessary to say aloud:
+
+"Evolino," thought he, "you were wiser than I, and led me to a kingdom,
+when I only looked for a she ass. The ships will come to the harbor of
+themselves, but of himself never would this rascal Nino have taken my
+little sister for his wife."
+
+A few weeks later, when the wedding of Carmela and Nino was celebrated
+with great pomp in the chapel of Evolo, a new image of the saint stood
+on the altar, a gay, brand new image, which Don Cesare, with divers
+other matters, had brought from a foreign ship that lay at anchor in
+the harbor of Roccastretta, and had placed in the chapel in remembrance
+of this day of miracles. The old Evolino, however, he claimed for
+himself, and no one grudged him that worm-eaten and broken relic.
+
+At the foot of the rocks of Evolo, in a cool arbor, searched through by
+sun, and moonbeams, at the Casina, where Nino and Carmela were to make
+their home, Don Cesare had set up the image--mended, and decently
+restored by his own hand. It stood in a niche of stone under a roof of
+fragrant orange trees, beside the ivy-wreathed Greek marble basin into
+which the crystal spring of Evolo poured; and almost it seemed as if
+the Evolino felt himself far more at ease amid these surroundings, near
+the finely-cut bas-reliefs from his ancient temple, with the free winds
+sighing around him, than above in his musty chapel. A singular
+peacefulness seemed to have settled down upon his old head, stripped of
+beard, and hair, and halo; he looked with Olympian smile upon the
+youthful pair, gaily pursuing a frolicsome existence at his feet, on
+this their wedding evening, and a faint spark gleamed in his painted
+eyes, as Nino, who must have learned some lore of the ancient gods,
+poured a goblet of fragrant Muscatel upon the ground before him, and
+laughingly cried:
+
+"To the gods belong the first drops; honor and glory to the gods and
+the saints!"
+
+When they had all departed, and even Don Cesare had taken leave of him
+with a friendly, confidential nod, and when at last the Evolino stood
+alone in the silent moonlight, a soft whisper fell from his lips:
+
+"In spite of all, you feel yourselves drawn back again to the ancient
+heathen gods, you dear gay heathen folk; and though new names have
+taken the place of the old ones, in you, my cheerful, good-natured,
+grown-up children, I recognize my early worshippers once more. In spite
+of time and change you are they who used to lay fragrant wreaths on the
+old god's altar, in the pillared temple on the cliff, and singing, and
+laughing, and shouting, passed their shouting, singing, laughing life
+away!"
+
+Silently gleaming, the eternal stars beckoned, softly splashing, the
+rippling spring murmured a kindly, comforting answer to the poor
+forgotten God of the Winds.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Story of a Genius, by Ossip Schubin
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF A GENIUS ***
+
+***** This file should be named 35590.txt or 35590.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/5/9/35590/
+
+Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
+
+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 1.F.3.  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.
diff --git a/35590.zip b/35590.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..27c6145
--- /dev/null
+++ b/35590.zip
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..aa2ae34
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #35590 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35590)