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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/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. 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F. Fenno & 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 & 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 & 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 "Satan."</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 "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!</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 "Satan" +is to be held, under the composer's own direction.</p> + +<p class="normal">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.</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 "l'ami +de Rossini."</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">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"<i>I</i>, confess myself in sympathy with the music of the future!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">L'ami de Rossini laughed very much at his own joke.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</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">"Who is absent?" 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, "He is excused."</p> + +<p class="normal">"He is only just out of the hospital," explained the capellmeister, "he +often is irregular about rehearsals."</p> + +<p class="normal">"And you permit that?" asked de Sterny, with his deliberate smile.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">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.</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">"He is killing himself!" sighed the pianist, in a gush of sympathy. But +the friend of Rossini said testily:</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</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 "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?"</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 "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.</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, "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.</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 "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.</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. "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.</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">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Have you forgotten something, mother?" he asked.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</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 "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.</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. "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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"What is love?" asked Gesa, looking at him steadily.</p> + +<p class="normal">The stranger cleared his throat. "A sickness, a fever," said he, +hastily, "a fever in which one dreams beautiful things--and does +hateful ones."</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 "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.</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">"Come to breakfast," 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 "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.</p> + +<p class="normal">Whereupon the "droevige Herr," rising up from his occupation, answered, +not without a certain solemnity, "That, my child, that was the +Gualtieri!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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?</p> + +<p class="normal">"She was a queen too,--a queen of song," added Delileo after a pause.</p> + +<p class="normal">"And did you know her?" asked Gesa, still absorbed in staring at the +romantically costumed lady.</p> + +<p class="normal">"She was my wife," answered Delileo with emphasis, and an eloquent +gesture.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</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! "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.</p> + +<p class="normal">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.</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 "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.</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--"how gipsy-like! +<i>Comme c'est tsigane!</i>"</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">"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.</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 "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.</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, "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.</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, "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>.'"</p> + +<p class="normal">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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</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 "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,"--"<i>vraiment</i>?" "But he gives a perfectly amazing impression of +good breeding." "<i>Il n'a pas du tout e' air peuple!</i>" "But since he is +a gipsy,"--Gesa felt his throat tighten.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Shall we not hear you to-day?" asked the ladies who crowded around de +Sterny.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Me?" he replied, with a laugh, "me? I am only manager to-day--and +besides I suffer horribly from stage fright."</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 "de Sterny is an enthusiast."</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 "Bah! we +don't blame you for anything, de Sterny. We know you are an +enthusiast."</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">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">These last words worked a miracle.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I will play--only--only--that I may not shame you!" 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 "<i>Charmant, magnifique</i>, 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,</p> + +<p class="normal">"Now did I exaggerate?"</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. "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!</p> + +<br> +<p style="text-align:center; letter-spacing:10px">* * * * *</p> +<br> + +<p class="normal">"What is a chimera?" 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, "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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"What is a chimera?" asked Gesa.</p> + +<p class="normal">"A chimera--a chimera--it is a siren with wings," defined the virtuoso, +turning round.</p> + +<p class="normal">"H'm!" Gesa lowered his eyes thoughtfully, then raised them +inquiringly. "An ennobled siren then?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Yes,--as one takes it."</p> + +<p class="normal">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 <i>saperment</i>! you +don't understand that yet." 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. "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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Oh yes, a few!" murmured the virtuoso with a queer smile.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Michael Angelo, Raphael, Beethoven," cried the boy.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Have all chimeras wings?" he asked, thoughtfully.</p> + +<p class="normal">"God forbid!" cried de Sterny.</p> + +<p class="normal">"But"--</p> + +<p class="normal">"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 +encyclopœdia--I am at the end of my Latin!"</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 "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.</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">"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 +"<i>pavots de Nice</i>."</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">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</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 "droevige Herr" only interrupted him +from time to time to cry "cela sera superbe!"</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 "<i>cela cera superbe!</i>" 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 "droewige Herr" 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. "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.</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 "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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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--</p> + +<p class="normal">"Alas!" he murmured. "I have not the means."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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?"</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 "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.</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. "What are you doing, my boy, +that one sees nothing of you to-day. Are you sick?"</p> + +<p class="normal">Gesa stared at him as if awakened from a strange dream. "No," he +answered, simply, "I am working."</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 "Bravo!"</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 "good-night."</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, "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.</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 "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."</p> + +<p class="normal">She blushed, and stammered, "What can you want of such a foolish girl +as I am?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"But if she just happens to please me," 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 +"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.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>XI</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">"Annette!" cried Gesa, one evening in the end of November, bursting +breathless into the green sitting-room. "Annette! Father!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"What is it, my boy?" asked Delileo.</p> + +<p class="normal">"De Sterny has written to me. He is coming next week to Brussels."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Why! Annette!" cried Gesa.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</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 +"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!</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 "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.</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">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"My engagement was broken off--that is I have no desire to bind +myself," said Gesa, blushing a little.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"O, I am very industrious, I give lessons."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I compose. You seem also"--</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Some one knocked, the virtuoso's servant entered. "I am not at home!" +cried de Sterny.</p> + +<p class="normal">"But it is Count S----"</p> + +<p class="normal">"I am not at home. Animal! to any one--do you hear!"</p> + +<p class="normal">The valet vanished.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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...."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"All sorts of people," he repeated.</p> + +<p class="normal">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. <i>C'est assomant</i>. A Countess-ballet!</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Over the breakfast Gesa confided his great secret to his friend.</p> + +<p class="normal">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 <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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Ah--so! Well--that is some comfort. But who is she? One of your +pupils? The blonde daughter of a square-built burgher?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"She is the daughter of my foster-father."</p> + +<p class="normal">"O--h! The Gualtieri's daughter. And her you will marry? Marry?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"You cannot possibly imagine how charming she is," murmured Gesa.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">Gesa bit his lip.</p> + +<p class="normal">"She made my foster-father happy."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Gesa shrank back. "Your first love!" he repeated, breathlessly.</p> + +<p class="normal">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...."</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">"How could such a woman consent to marry Delileo?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</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">"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?"</p> + +<p class="normal">De Sterny smiled, no pleasant smile. "How old is she then--sixteen or +seventeen, if I reckon rightly is she not?"</p> + +<p class="normal">Gesa nodded.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</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. +"The day after to-morrow then, about eight! I am curious to see your +Capua!"--</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--"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."</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 "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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</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 "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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Then verily tears filled the eyes of the "droewigen Herrn," and he +pressed the virtuoso's hand.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Well?" de Sterny glanced merrily at Gesa, "I was promised something +more than a meeting with old friends,--a new acquaintance?"</p> + +<p class="normal">Gesa looked around. "Oh, the little goose, she has hidden." He hurried +into the next room--they heard his tender reassuring "<i>vollons +fillette</i>, don't be a child!"</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, "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!"</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">"Is not mademoiselle musical?" he asked, turning from these laborious +attempts at conversation to Delileo.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Yes, she sings a little!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Has her voice any resemblance to--to"--de Sterny stopped short.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Say, will you sing something for us, Bijou?" whispered Gesa to the +girl, "we will not urge you, but if...."</p> + +<p class="normal">"You would give me such great pleasure!" 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--"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.</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">"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. <i>Pauvre petite chat</i>"--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">"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?"</p> + +<p class="normal">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.</p> + +<p class="normal">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.</p> + +<p class="normal">Gesa nodded.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Then let yourself be embraced on the spot. It is simply superb!"</p> + +<p class="normal">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.</p> + +<p class="normal">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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"You will have very great success."</p> + +<p class="normal">"In what--in my marriage?" laughed Gesa.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"And?"--</p> + +<p class="normal">They were standing now at the Place Royale. "<i>Dieu merci</i>--there +comes a carriage--I despaired of finding one," cried de Sterny. +"Adieu,--bring me the whole of your 'Inferno' to-morrow,--auf +Wiedersehen!"</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. "She lives too isolated; the least thing excites her, +father?" said he, stroking her cheek. "We must find some amusement for +her."</p> + +<p class="normal">The "droewige Herr," 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">"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."</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">"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!"</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 "a +magnificent development," 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">"Entrez," cried Annette, breathlessly. The door opened. "Do I disturb +you?"--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, "Strange, Annette, it smells of amber,--has de +Sterny been here?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"He brought us tickets for his next concert," 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">"<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%">"<span class="sc">Sterny</span>."</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--"Would you like to earn a great deal of +money?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Six--eight months. You must decide by tomorrow. Are you afraid of +seasickness?" laughed the virtuoso.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</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. "I did not know that you were already such a great +man in the world," she cried, triumphantly.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">He sighed once deeply, then he bent over her, kissed her forehead, and +quietly said, "You are right, Annette. I was cowardly!"</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 "do not leave me alone--do not leave me alone!"</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, "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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">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.</p> + +<p class="normal">Before the train puffed off, a slender, blonde man rushed onto the +platform. "De Sterny!" cried Gesa, deeply moved.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">The conductor opened the door of the coupé--Gesa entered it.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Bonne chance! it can't fail you"--cried de Sterny.</p> + +<p class="normal">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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"I will take her your last greeting," 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 "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.</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">"Take care! he will play you a trick--he is a villain, monsieur!"</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">"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."</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">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Have they gone on a journey?" asked Gesa, blankly.</p> + +<p class="normal">"No, I think not. Unless I am mistaken the young lady has gone to +church. Perhaps monsieur will find her yet in St. Gudule."</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">"Annette!" he whispered--"Annette!"</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">"Annette! What ails you!" he cried, shocked, almost angry. "Are you +afraid of me?"</p> + +<p class="normal">She shook her head. Was it the dusk that made her look so ashen pale?</p> + +<p class="normal">"You come so suddenly, and I am ill;" she said.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</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">"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.</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">"What if we should make a detour," she whispered, "take me to the park, +to all your favorite places, will you?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"My heart! My treasure!" 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">"And you are really ill, Annette?" he asked.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Yes," and her voice sounded hollow, like a suppressed cry of anguish: +then she burst out passionately, "Why did you leave me alone!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"You sent me away yourself," he replied, half playfully, "and then I +had to go."</p> + +<p class="normal">"That is true," she said, simply.</p> + +<p class="normal">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?"</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">"And here you told me about Nice and the Angers Bay."</p> + +<p class="normal">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.</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. "No +one sees us," she whispered. "Kiss me!"</p> + +<p class="normal">He kissed her long and passionately. "Again!" she whispered, so softly +that her voice sounded like the rustling of the leaves.</p> + +<p class="normal">He kissed her again, murmuring, "I never knew how fair life was until +to-day!"</p> + +<p class="normal">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.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>XVII</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">"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.</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. "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.</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">"Annette!" cried Gesa, across the sleeping street.</p> + +<p class="normal">Through the dusk he saw her smile.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</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">"I tell you they have just sent my boy to the apothecary. But it's too +late--much too late!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Has Monsieur Delileo had a stroke?" cried Gesa, breathlessly.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Mon-sieur De-lileo?" repeated the women. A few of them turned away.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Annette!" he reeled. "What! What!"</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">"Father!" 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">"Have pity!" he said in a broken voice, "Have pity, she has repented, +she is dead!"</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 "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?</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: "To my dear, dear brother Gesa. God +bless him a thousand times!"</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: "What have you to do +longer dallying with death? I will have my right!"</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 "little one" 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, "My poor boy, my poor boy!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Suddenly Gesa raised his eyes to the old man's face. "Who was it, +father?" he asked in a hollow voice.</p> + +<p class="normal">The "droewige Herr" dropped his eyes.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I--I do not know"--he stammered.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Father!" cried Gesa, starting up.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"You must have remarked it, if Annette was interested in any one?" +cried Gesa, anger in his eyes and shame on his cheeks.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Ah! she fell under the spell of a demon"--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 "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!</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 "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."</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. "... wild with bliss. At one o'clock in the +Rue de la Montague</p> + +<p style="text-indent:50%">Thy S."</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, "I must +have it off my heart!" 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, "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.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>XVIII</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">"The 'satan' is one of the most beautiful of modern musical +compositions," announces the <i>Indépendence Belge</i>. "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.</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 "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.</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. "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.</p> + +<p class="normal">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? <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">"<i>Il parait que c'est epatant</i>"--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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Hm--a little hunch back in a braided jacket?" asked a lady.</p> + +<p class="normal">"No--no--that was another--this was a handsome youth from the Rue +Ravestein."</p> + +<p class="normal">None of the ladies remembered. "What of him?" they asked.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</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 "Satan" 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">"Now comes the most beautiful of all," they whisper in the audience, +"the duet of the Outcasts."</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. "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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"A sudden attack of delirium tremens. You really might have taken pains +to spare me such a painful scene!"</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 "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.</p> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<br> +<h2>XIX</h2> +<br> + +<p class="normal">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!"</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 "<i>petits poems en prose</i>," 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 "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.</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 "he was a genius, and was going to do something +great."</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--"Monsieur, they are closing the garden."</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">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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--<i>il a fini par faire cela</i>."</p> + +<p class="normal">Whereat Gesa asked shuddering, "What became of him, did he kill +himself?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</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--"Patience! Patience! It +will all come!" 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 "Sablon."</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, "cela sera superbe!"</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--"It +has the grand manner, has it not?"</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, "My dear friend, <i>ton genie ne te fera pas vivre!</i>"</p> + +<p class="normal">Gesa stared gloomily at the speaker.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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?"</p> + +<p class="normal">Gesa sighed. "I could compose something small," said he. "Romances, for +example."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Well!" muttered Gesa.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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"--</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 "Gesa!" He roused himself. "Gesa!" 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 "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.</p> + +<p class="normal">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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</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">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">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."</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, "Le Raté +de Montmartre."</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 "Madame Necker," 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 "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.</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">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"My dear general," put in the poet, "what has a hump to do with low +birth?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Oh, general!" laughed the hostess.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">The general gazed thoughtfully before him for a while, then he began, +speaking slowly:</p> + +<p class="normal">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"One hot summer day,--it was in Vienna, and we were riding home from +the manœuvres, 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">"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">"'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">"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">"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">"'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">"'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">"'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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"'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">"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">"'I can wait,' he repeated. 'Have already waited, long, very long, Herr +Lieutenant.'</p> + +<p class="normal">"'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">"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">"'It makes me think of my tailor and my governor,' laughed Farmer Toni.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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">"'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?'</p> + +<p class="normal">'"Are you going to Schirmberg's to-night?' asked another officer coming +up.</p> + +<p class="normal">"'Must,' said Toni, laconically. 'And you?'</p> + +<p class="normal">"'I don't know. Perhaps I can plead another engagement. It will be +deadly dull at Schirmberg's.'</p> + +<p class="normal">"'I hear they are going to serve champagne and a prince of the blood,' +said Schmied.</p> + +<p class="normal">"'Hello! What's old Gusti up to?' laughed Toni: 'Big soirées are not in +her line.'</p> + +<p class="normal">"'It's all for Zwilk,' answered Schmied. 'You know he is going to be +made adjutant to Prince Schirmberg.'</p> + +<p class="normal">"'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">"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">"'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">"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">"The stranger stripped off his mittens, and put his knuckles to his wet +eyes.</p> + +<p class="normal">"'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">"Zwilk's voice sounded from within, hard and merciless, rating a common +soldier: then he walked into the yard.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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">"'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">"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">"'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">"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">"'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">"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">"'It is not my son. I was mistaken: a very grand gentleman. Not my +son.'</p> + +<p class="normal">"'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">"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">"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">"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">"'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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"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">"'It is a parting soul,' said Erich Truyn, listening, much moved. Erich +was a little superstitious.</p> + +<p class="normal">"'Nonsense,' grumbled Schmied, 'it is a tree letting fall its burden of +snow.'</p> + +<p class="normal">"'Everything is so strangely pure, one is afraid of meeting an angel,' +said Toni.</p> + +<p class="normal">"'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">"'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">"'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">"Count Erich, who had lost his father shortly before, looked straight +ahead, his brows meeting, his eyes winking unsteadily.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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">"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">"'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">"'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">"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">"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">"'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">"'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">"'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">"It was Zwilk who spoke, standing by with white, strangely smiling +face: his voice was hoarse and hurried.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Then Toni sprang to his feet. 'You hound!' he cried, and struck him +across the face with a riding-whip."</p> + +<p class="normal">The speaker paused a few seconds, then went on quietly.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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">"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">"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."</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">"After all, it's our own fault."</p> + +<p class="normal">"How do you mean?" asked the hostess.</p> + +<p class="normal">He blushed and stammered. "I mean, that if there were no Prince Liscat, +there would be no Nobl' Zwilk."</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">"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!"</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">"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."</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">"While Don Cesare bestows his attention upon the old, his pretty sister +occupies herself with the young."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Nay, Father Atanasio, one need not always be thinking of marriage," +answered the other, smiling slyly on the stout padre.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"That is Nino's business. Between my neighbor's door and its hinge I +never put my fingers," 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">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</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">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">Then the bystanders all broke into loud laughter, and cried to each +other:</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</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">"Oh, yes," she said, half aloud, to herself, "it may well be cool and +pleasant there."</p> + +<p class="normal">Then she heard her brother's voice.</p> + +<p class="normal">"I am coming," she cried; and, hastily turning to Nino, "shall I see +you this evening at the usual hour?"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Yes, if you will promise to come out here with me."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</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">"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!"</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">"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."</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 "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.</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">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Well, then, if your patron forgets his duty, and neglects to send the +rain"--</p> + +<p class="normal">"He doesn't want to send it!" cried one.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</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">"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."</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">"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."</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: +"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."</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: +"Close up the house with care, Carmela. I am going to Salvatore's, and +shall not return till late."</p> + +<p class="normal">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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Whereupon Carmela, demurely bending her head over her work, replied:</p> + +<p class="normal">"Go on, Cesare, and be easy. Carmela comes from good stock."</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">"That Nino shall marry Carmela and none other will scarcely be +accomplished by your aid, Cesare. I must see to that."</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">"I have waited long. I have kept my word. Will you keep yours, +Carmela?"</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">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">Carmela smiled under cover of the night.</p> + +<p class="normal">"It is so far," said she; "if my brother should come back before I"--</p> + +<p class="normal">"You will be home long before your brother. The way is very short along +the shore, under the Promontory of Evolo."</p> + +<p class="normal">"It is too far, Nino; the moon will rise soon, and then we shall be +discovered."</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">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">She hesitated a moment Then she whispered. "Wait, I will fetch my +mantle," 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: "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;" 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. "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."</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. "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."</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">"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?"</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">"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 <i>he</i> going to do with me?"</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">"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:</p> + +<p class="normal">"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"--</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">"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."</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. "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.</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">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">Carmela stood still.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Nino," she said, "you risk nothing; but I risk everything. If any one +should find me here--or yonder."</p> + +<p class="normal">"Who should find you?" broke in Nino. "No one wanders around out here +at this hour, and you are as safe as"--</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">"What is it?" asked Nino, softly.</p> + +<p class="normal">"Yonder!" 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">"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."</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">"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.</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">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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?"</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">"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.</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">"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."</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">"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"--</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. "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!"</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">"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."</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: "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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"And what a heavenly rain!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"Yes, yes, the Evolino is a brave patron, we could not ask a better."</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">"Oh, oh! Father Atanasio, but it <i>did</i> 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:</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</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">"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!"</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">"Where is your little sister Carmela?" asked the latter, after a while, +smiling cunningly, and glancing aside at his neighbor.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</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">"And that will soon happen, Father Atanasio. In the chapel above they +will be betrothed before the image of the good Evolino."</p> + +<p class="normal">His two comrades stared at him in astonishment.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">Don Cesare caught him up quickly: "I thought so myself yesterday."</p> + +<p class="normal">"And what has happened since yesterday?" asked the amazed padre.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">"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.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</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">"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."</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">"Holy Madonna!" they heard him gasp; "holy Madonna!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!</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, "Holy Madonna, protect us!"</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">"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!"</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">"I understand the sign," murmured he, kissing the saint's feet; "be +thou blessed forever, San Pancrazio of Evolo."</p> + +<p class="normal">Then he rose, turned to the anxiously-gazing crowd, spread out his +arms, and said:</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</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">"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!"</p> + +<p class="normal">Nino tried in vain to quiet her.</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</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">"Santo Diavolo!" he cried, ice-cold shivers running through every limb. +"The door is locked!"</p> + +<p class="normal">"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."</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: "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?"</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">"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."</p> + +<p class="normal">Then the little Don Cesare exulted aloud:</p> + +<p class="normal">"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!"</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">"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."</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">"To the gods belong the first drops; honor and glory to the gods and +the saints!"</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">"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!"</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. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The 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. 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