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 LIBRARY 
 
 UJVIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE
 
 
 TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 AND OTHER TALES
 
 ^ r l Til TI' 
 
 A 
 
 TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 AND OTHER TALES 
 
 Jo ^Y 
 
 J. H. SHORTIIOUSE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'JOHN INGLESANT,' 'siR I'ERCIVAL,' ETC. 
 
 ILontiou 
 MACMILLAN AND CO. 
 
 AND NKW YORK 
 1888 
 
 All riffhls rtsei-'fd
 
 r4a
 
 TO 
 
 THE HON. IIALLAM TENNYSON 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED, 
 WITH SINCERE REGARD,
 
 C () N T E N T S 
 
 PACE 
 
 A Teacher of the \'iolin . . . . i 
 
 The Marquis Jeanne Hvacinthe de St. Palaye i 17 
 
 The Baroness Helena von Saarfelo 185 
 
 Ellie : A Story of a Boy and (".iri, . . 281 
 
 An Apologue ....... 307
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 B
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL 
 
 When, in the year 1787, I entered, at the age 
 of nineteen, the university of the kingiy city 
 of Wenigstaat, I was, no doubt, a very fooHsh 
 young man, but I am perfectly certain that I 
 was not a fool. I suffered not only from that 
 necessary disease which from the very nature 
 of existence it is impossible for a young man 
 to escape, the regarding of life from his own 
 standpoint, as a man on first coming into a 
 brilliantly lighted and crowded room must of 
 necessity, for a few moments, be conscious of 
 the varied scene (jnly as it strikes himself;
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 but I was also to some extent subject to that 
 fatuity which haunts some young men, the 
 forming of opinions and the giving audible 
 expression to them. Notwithstanding all 
 this, I was at the same time conscious of 
 such a crowd of ideas, actuated by such ideas, 
 and stirred to the depths of my being by the 
 emotions and results which these ideas 
 wrought upon me, that looking back with the 
 impartiality which the lapse of thirty years 
 eives even to the review of one's self, I feel 
 perfectly confident that I was not a fool. I 
 shall, I fear, have to describe at some length 
 how I came to be what I was, but I will be 
 as short as I can. My history would be 
 worth nothing in itself, but it is interwoven 
 closely with that of some others whose per- 
 sonality seems to me well worthy of record. 
 
 I was the eldest son of the pastor of the 
 little village of Waldreich in the wooded 
 mountains of Bavaria. Though my father
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 had a large family, and his cure was only a 
 village one, he was not so poor as most of his 
 order, for he had a little private income de- 
 rived from houses in Bayreuth : my mother 
 had also some little money of her own. My 
 father was a man of a singular patience 
 and quietude of conduct. He divided his 
 time between cultivatinof his little cfarden and 
 orchard, and preparing his sermons with 
 elaborate care. When, in after years, I 
 became possessed of many of these beautifully 
 written discourses, I was amazed at the 
 patience, care, and scholarship expended upon 
 these addresses to a few peasants, most of 
 whom fell asleep during the time of hearing. 
 I believe that my father's sole relaxation and 
 indulgence consisted in [joring over an old 
 folio Terence which he possessed, and wliic h, 
 shielded amidst the mysteries of a dead Ian 
 guage, he could read in perfect security, with- 
 out fear of scandalising his Hock. Indeed it
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 is possible that they regarded it as a work of 
 deep theology, and perhaps they were right. 
 
 The little village of Waldreich lies imme- 
 diately at the foot of the wooded hills. We 
 ascended from the garden and croft of the 
 pastor's house straight into the fir-woods and 
 the oak-dingles that led up into the mysterious 
 and wild heights above — into the mists and 
 cloud-shadows — into a land of green moun- 
 tain-woods rising against blue skies — a land 
 of mist and rain-showers, of the tints of rain- 
 bows spanning the village, and of coloured 
 prisms of light stealing down crag and forest- 
 dingle — a land of rushing streams and still, 
 solemn, dark lakes — a land of castles upon 
 distant peaks and of the faint smoke of 
 charcoal-burners on the hillsides. Through 
 all the varied changes of the day in this 
 romantic land, from the cheerful dawn, loud 
 with the song of birds and the lowing of 
 cattle, to the solemn evening stillness, I
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIxN^ 
 
 passed the first few years of my life. The 
 scenes around him penetrated into the boy's 
 being and formed his nature. However, I have 
 no wish to become wearisome in describins: 
 all these influences and these results minutely. 
 There is one influence, however, which must 
 be dwelt upon if the story is to be told at all, 
 for it was the leading influence of my life — 
 the influence of sound. From a very little 
 child I was profoundly impressed by the 
 sounds of nature : the rushing water, the 
 rustling oaks, the sighing and moaning wind 
 down the mountain-valleys spoke to me with 
 distinct utterance, and with a sense of mean- 
 ing and even of speech. These sounds 
 were more even than this : they became a 
 passion, a fascination, a haunting presence, 
 and even a dread. 
 
 I can give one instance of this. Below 
 the village and parsonage house, where we 
 lived, was a beautiful meadow on the banks
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 of the swift windino- river. This meadow 
 was my greatest delight as a little child. At 
 the lower end was a mill, and a mill-pool and 
 race ; and around the edges of the pool beds 
 of flags had planted themselves for ages, 
 forming a thick phalanx of waving pointed 
 leaves. Nothing could exceed the fascination 
 this sight had for me, not only when the 
 yellow flowers mingled with the green stately 
 leaves, but at other times of the year when I 
 listened hour after hour to the whispering 
 murmur through the innumerable lances of 
 the reeds. But to reach this meadow it was 
 necessary to pass a row of vast, lofty, 
 straggling trees (I suppose some species 
 of poplar), and no words can describe the 
 terror which the same wind, which delighted 
 me so much in the gentle murmur of its reed- 
 music, inspired me with when heard through 
 these lofty swaying branches. I often, even 
 in those early days, wondered why the music
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 of the wind through the green rushes on the 
 water's edge should have thrilled me with 
 cheerfulness and joy, while the same wind 
 wailing through the branches of the great 
 trees high above my head crushed me with 
 an unspeakable horror and dread. Doubt- 
 less in this latter was the sense of vastness 
 and unapproachable height, infinite as it 
 seemed to a little child — the touch, even, of 
 the infinite must ever, it would seem, be 
 appalling to man. 
 
 It was in this way and by these experi- 
 mental methods that I began so early to 
 recognise the mysterious connection that 
 exists between sound and human fcellnof. 
 
 Down the long winding oak-dingles, ])e- 
 tween the liigli cliffs and the wooded slopes 
 of the hills, there came to me as a little child 
 whispers and murmurs of flrfams and stories 
 of which at that time I knew nothing, and lo 
 which I could give in those early days no
 
 lo A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 intelligent voice or meaning. But, as I grew 
 in years and listened to the talk of nurse and 
 peasant, and of village lads and children, and 
 heard from them the legends of elf-kings and 
 maidens and wild hunters of the forest, weird 
 and fantastic indeed, yet still strangely in- 
 stinct with human wants and hopes, I began 
 to connect such sympathy, felt then, as it 
 seemed, for the first time, with human life in 
 all its varied aspects, and stories of human 
 loves and joys and terrors, with these sounds 
 of nature, the sweeping wind through 
 wood. 
 
 I use these last words advisedly because, 
 even in those earliest days, it seemed to me 
 that all sound that was of spiritual import 
 was in some hidden sense the product of the 
 wind and of wood. There was a wailino- 
 of the wind at night through the crevices of 
 the high-pitched roof and the panelled walls 
 of the old parsonage that thrilled me as with
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN n 
 
 a message from on high, but this was still 
 wind and wood. But where the wind had 
 no part, where it was not sound so much as 
 noise, in the clanging of metal upon metal. 
 in the inarticulate screaming of senseless 
 creatures, the terror that I had felt in the 
 wailing wood, — that terror that had still some- 
 thing in it of the higher life and hope, — was 
 turned into the mere panic of despair. 
 
 I distinctly remember that I had these 
 feelings as a child ; but, since those days, I 
 have pleased myself in finding that the great 
 Goethe shared with me my dislike to the 
 continuous barking of a dog. ' Annihilation,' 
 he said one day, in conversation with the 
 Legaiionsrath Falk, ' is utterly out ot th(- 
 question ; but the possibility of being caught 
 on the way by some more powerful, and yet 
 baser monas, and subordinated to it — that is 
 unquestionably a very serious consideration ; 
 and I, l(jr my jjart, have never been able
 
 12 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN l 
 
 entirely to divest myself of the fear of it. 
 At this moment a dog was heard repeatedly 
 barking in the street. Goethe sprang hastily 
 to the window and called out to it : * Take 
 what form you will, vile larva, you shall not 
 subjugate me.' A gallant boast but an in- 
 effectual one ! Noise, especially if continued 
 on one note, deadens and destroys the soul, 
 the life of the mind within the brain. The 
 constant reiteration of one note will drive a 
 man mad, just as the continual fall of a drop 
 of water upon the same spot of the head will 
 cause madness and death. You may prove 
 this on the violin. Whereas if you laid your 
 head down in the meadow by the river on the 
 long grass, there came to you in the whisper- 
 ing wind something like the sea-murmurs that 
 live within the shell — tidings of a delicate life, 
 news of a world beyond the thought of those 
 who merely haunt the palaces of earth. 
 
 These two, tlie murmur of the wind
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 13 
 
 through grass and the whisper within the 
 shell, are perhaps the most delicate sounds 
 that Nature can produce : was it possible 
 that I should find in art something more 
 perfect still? In this passion for sound, in 
 which I lived as in a paradise, it may be 
 asked, Where did music find a place ? The 
 music that I heard in my childhood was not 
 of the best class ; and perhaps this might be 
 the reason that musical sound rather than 
 music seemed to haunt those hours of child- 
 hood, for among the untutored sounds of 
 Nature there are, now and again, musical 
 notes of surpassing beauty. Among the 
 wailing sounds of the wind that haunted the 
 high-pitched roof above the boarded ceiling 
 of our bedroom, there was one perfect and 
 regular note. It never varied, excei)t in 
 loudness according to the force of the wind. 
 This n(jte, in its monotony, had an ciuhraliing 
 effect upon my imagination. 1 had once
 
 14 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 associated certain thoughts with its message : 
 no doubt the continued association of ideas 
 of recollected imagery would explain the rest. 
 
 The wandering musicians that played in 
 the court-yard on summer evenings upon 
 hautboys and fiddles no doubt reached me 
 with a strange message from afar, especially 
 in the shrill high notes ; and on Sunday, in 
 the village church, the organist thundered 
 out fuo^ues and fantasias, but it was the final 
 cadences only that touched me : somehow 
 the organ seemed wanting in that supreme 
 searching power of wind and wood. 
 
 But one day, it was a summer evening, 
 there came into the court-yard four zither- 
 players from the South. I say zither- 
 players, but their instruments were more 
 like the old Italian lutes for size and 
 the number of strings. They were regu- 
 lated each at a certain interval, including 
 only the notes of the middle octaves.
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 15 
 
 They played a singular rapid music with 
 little tune. It was like a rippling mcenad 
 dance : apparently reckless and untrained, 
 yet in reality perfectly regulated in step and 
 figure, every note true to its corresponding 
 note in the higher or lower octave, and now 
 and again all united in one sudden con- 
 sonant harmony, by which the wild lawless 
 music vindicated its perception of unison and 
 the moral perfection of pure sound ; but even 
 in tliis there seemed to me nothing that 
 spoke in just the same voice as did the gentle 
 whisper of that teaching wind through grass 
 and wood. 
 
 On the organ in the parish church, written 
 in faded gold letters, were the words from 
 Luther's IJible : ' The wind blowcth where 
 it will, and thou hearest the sound of it well, 
 so is every one that is of tlu: .s])iriL l)orn,' 
 When, as a child, I sat during long .sermons 
 in the little grated seat of the pastor's children,
 
 i6 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 I pondered over these words, and for a long 
 time could find no reason or congruity in 
 them. What had the wind blowing where it 
 listeth to do with the birth of the spirit ? 
 But on one hot summer afternoon, when I 
 had fallen asleep during my father's discourse, 
 I was suddenly aroused by the cessation of 
 the preacher's voice and by the murmuring 
 fall of harmony, for the organist probably 
 had been asleep too, and was playing uncon- 
 sciously such simple notes as came first to 
 hand. I say I awoke suddenly into life and 
 sense, and saw the rich mellow tints of the 
 organ -wood, and these mystic letters all 
 lighted up with the gilding rays ; and an 
 inward consciousness came like a flash of 
 lightning from heaven into the child's mind 
 that the wandering, seeking wind through 
 reed or organ-pipe or flute, or over strings 
 of violin or grassy hill, spoke to the spirit 
 and to the spirit-born, and to such only, with
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 17 
 
 a sufficient and adequate voice. This con- 
 ception came to me like a message from 
 above. It raised my thoughts of Nature and 
 harmonised her voices with the needs and 
 desires of my own soul. I pondered over it 
 day and night ; but before long an event 
 occurred which was in the end the means of 
 leading me beyond this half truth, and of 
 more fully opening to me the gates of the 
 mystical city of sound, of which this organ- 
 text had already given me some fairy 
 glimpses, and of revealing to me at last 
 the true music which is not only heard by 
 the spirit-born but is born of the spirit itself 
 My father went once every month on a 
 kind of supernatural mission, as it seemed to 
 us children, to an unknown and dimly con- 
 ceived mansion or mountain -palace in the 
 hills. That is, he was chaplain to the old 
 Grafin von Wetstein, and once a month he 
 preached before her on Sundays. Sume-
 
 i8 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN T 
 
 times, on special occasions, an ornamental or 
 state-coach was sent for the pastor, who thus 
 seemed rapt as in a celestial chariot from his 
 family and the ordinary villat^e folk. 
 
 One surprising day, when the lad was 
 between fourteen and fifteen, the father said 
 to him : ' Put on thy best clothes, for to- 
 morrow thou shalt go with me to the Grafin.' 
 
 It may well be imagined that there was 
 not much sleep for the boy that night. 
 
 It would take too long to tell of the 
 wonders of that journey in the state-coach, 
 of the foolish, but perhaps natural pride of 
 sitting there above the common folk, and 
 observing through the windows the respect 
 paid by all to the magnificent and symbolic 
 vehicle, if not to those who sat therein. 
 
 When we reached the scJdoss, which stood 
 high up on the hills amid woodland meadows 
 and cow -pastures, then indeed the boy's 
 expectation and excitement grew too painful
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 19 
 
 almost to be borne. He passed through the 
 gardens, with terraces and urns and statues, 
 and the cascades of water that came down 
 from great ponds, formed in the summits of 
 the hills by building high stone walls and 
 dams across the ravines. Later on he was 
 even presented to the Grafin, who, herself a 
 wizened, faded old woman, stood beneath the 
 portraits of her ancestors, by a great window 
 in the gallery of the sckloss, overlooking the 
 valleys and the champaign country beyond. 
 
 For some unknown reason this old woman, 
 who scarcely spoke to any one and seemed 
 to take no interest in the present world, 
 looking, as it were, constantly out of the 
 high windows into the driving cloudland, as 
 though she saw there all her past life and 
 the figures of all those who had alone made- 
 it dear to her, and who were themselves all 
 gone into the cloudland of the Infmite Un- 
 seen, — this old woman, not at the first inter-
 
 20 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 view, but at the second or third, in the fresh 
 mornings over the early coffee, took a 
 strange Hking for the Httle village lad. As 
 this ill-assorted pair sat at the open window 
 on the quiet summer evenings, far above the 
 distant woodland and the forest meadows, 
 face to face with the long streaks of solemn 
 light along the horizon, an almost imper- 
 ceptible murmur, so soft and gentle was it, 
 passed up through the branches of the syca- 
 more and chestnut trees and of the lower 
 growing pines, and, mingling with the dis- 
 tant Raiiz des Vaches, brought up as it 
 seemed the life and struggles and sorrows of 
 the plain and of the people into the ears of 
 this worn-out, old, feeble aristocrat of the hills. 
 She would say to the boy : ' And what do 
 you do, you children, in the winter nights, 
 when you steal back in your night-dresses to 
 the great fire, and the father is reading 
 Terence? Tell it to me all again.'
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 Finally, she insisted upon my staying 
 with her for weeks at a time, and she bound 
 herself to the pastor, by a written paper, to 
 provide for my future career. The boy led 
 mostly a wild life, for his interviews with his 
 patroness took place at odd times and hours, 
 but he had some lessons from a resident 
 cleric who superintended the household, and 
 had other teachers more than perhaps any 
 one knew. 
 
 My father had often told his listening 
 family of the great nobles who would from 
 time to time stay at the scJiloss, and how he 
 would be invited, being of a witty and con- 
 versational habit, derived probably from his 
 reading in Terence, to dine with them. 
 Some (){ lliese great noblemen I also saw at 
 a distance in the i/arden or elsew here ; init 
 on one occasion a young Graf came to stay 
 some days with his great-aunt, having re- 
 turned (|uite hiLcIy Iroin the Italian tuur with
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 his tutor. This tutor, an ItaHan, performed 
 wonderfully, it was said, on the violin. He 
 was invited to play before the Grafin, and 
 the boy was admitted among the domestics 
 of the schioss. 
 
 Then, on a sudden, was revealed to him 
 the secret which had escaped him so long, 
 the consciousness of the existence of which 
 had haunted him in the wind-swept meadow 
 and amid the awful, swaying branches of the 
 lofty trees. 
 
 I am not going to describe this playing. 
 Attempts have been sometimes made to de- 
 scribe violin-playing in words, but rarely, I 
 think, with much success. I shall only say 
 that almost as soon as he began to play 
 what seemed to me then a singularly strange 
 idea occurred to me. This man, I thought, 
 is not playing on his instrument : he is play- 
 ing on my brain. His violin is only as it 
 were the bow, or rather, every note of his
 
 1 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 23 
 
 violin vibrates with the accordine note of 
 the brain-fibre. I do not say that I put the 
 thought exactly into these words ; but these 
 are the words into which, at the present 
 time, I put the recollection of my thought. 
 I need not point out how my ignorance 
 erred in detail, how the brain has no ex- 
 tended strings corresponding to the strings 
 of a violin ; but I have since thought that 
 there was more truth in this wild idea of a 
 child's ignorance than would at first appear, 
 and it seemed to lead the way to a second 
 thought, which crossed mv mind in the trans- 
 port of ecstasy produced by this, the first 
 violin-playing worthy of the name, which I 
 had ever h(jard. 
 
 I knew the secret now, both of the c;n- 
 trancing whisper of the wind-music and also 
 w^hy, at a certain point, il had (ailed. The 
 blind, .senseless wind, blowing merely where 
 it listed, had aroused the human si)iriL
 
 24 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 through the medium of grass and reed and 
 rock and forest, and called it through the 
 fairy gate into cloud and dreamland ; but 
 when, instead of the blind, senseless wind 
 the instructed human spirit itself touched 
 the strings, music, born of cultured har- 
 mony, through all the long scale of ac- 
 cordant sound, won for the listening, rapt, 
 ecstatic spirit an insight and an entrance 
 into realms which the outward eye had not 
 seen, the secrets of which it is not lawful or 
 possible to utter to any save to the spirit- 
 born. 
 
 ' You seem absorbed in the music, my 
 boy,' said this gentleman to me : ' do you 
 play the violin, perchance ? ' 
 
 I said that I had played on no instru- 
 ment save picking out harmonious thirds on 
 an old harpsichord at the parsonage house. 
 My father was perfectly an amateur : he 
 loved music so much that he refused to play
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 himself, or to allow any one else to play in 
 his hearing save those who could play well : 
 ' playing a little ' was his dread. 
 
 The gentleman shut up his precious 
 violin in its case and produced another, on 
 which he showed me the possibility of vary- 
 ing the note through every shade of pitch 
 by the position of the finger on the vibrating 
 string. It is impossible to describe the de- 
 light I felt when I was able to feel out a 
 chord of three notes. 
 
 ' I am violating your father's instructions 
 perhaps,' said the gentleman, smiling; 'but 
 every one must have a beginning. Never- 
 theless he has much on his side. It has 
 been said, rather cynically, "The moment a 
 man touches an instrument he ceases to be 
 a musician." ' 
 
 I did not understand this ihtMi, but 1 
 understood it well afterwards. 
 
 The gentleman left one ol his less cher-
 
 26 A TEACHER Ol- THE VIOLIN i 
 
 ished instruments behind him, with some 
 simple exercises which he enjoined me to 
 practise only, and to attempt nothing else, 
 but I blush to say that I did not follow his 
 advice. I played the chords he left me now 
 and again, but I was absorbed in the one 
 idea that his playing had left with me — the 
 thought of the human spirit informing the 
 senseless wind. I delighted only in the 
 fancy that I was a mere automaton, and that 
 the pervading spirit — the spirit that inspires 
 man and breathes in Nature — was playing 
 through my spirit upon the obedient vibrat- 
 ing strings. In this way I played fantasias 
 of the most strikinof and orio^inal character, 
 and at the same time destroyed all my 
 chances, or ran a serious risk of doing so, of 
 ever becoming a violinist. 
 
 Three quiet years passed in this manner, 
 during which I lived almost constantly at 
 Geiselwind with the Grafin, who, in fact.
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 27 
 
 treated me as her own son. At the end of 
 that time she informed me that she intended 
 to send me to the university of Wenigstaat. 
 She chose this university for me, she told 
 me, because it was near, but above all be- 
 cause it was not famous, but was, in fact, a 
 mere appanage to a kingly city, and was 
 therefore less likely to pervert from the 
 correct and decorous habits in which they 
 had been brought up, the ideas and habits of 
 young men. She would provide me with a 
 sufficient income, and would take care that 
 my wardrobe and appointments were those 
 of a gentleman, a station which she wished 
 me to occupy and to maintain without dis- 
 grace. 
 
 The habits of society in the universities 
 and elsewhere were very different in those 
 days from what rhey have since become. 
 The old society of the days before the revo- 
 lution existed in its full strength. l''rench
 
 28 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN l 
 
 taste in costume and amusements was uni- 
 versal ; and the fashion of philosophic 
 inquiry which was copied from the French 
 was a mere intellectual toy, and had no 
 effect upon the practical conclusions of those 
 who amused themselves with it. The 
 merits of republican institutions and the 
 inviolability of the rights of man were dis- 
 cussed as abstract questions, without a 
 thouo-ht that the conclusions would ever be 
 applied to modern life, or to the daily re- 
 lationships of nobles and peasants and towns- 
 people. Before the bursting of the torrent 
 which was to sweep it out of existence, the 
 old world slumbered in a rainbow - tinted 
 evening light of delicately fancied culture 
 and repose. 
 
 The habits and appearance of university 
 students have changed more completely 
 than those of any other class. In the most 
 advanced cities even in those days they
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 dressed completely in the French manner, 
 in embroidered suits and powdered hair, 
 fluttering from toilette to toilette, and caring 
 little for lectures or professors. In the old 
 stately city of Wenigstaat, it may be easily 
 understood, the ideas and habits of the past 
 existed with a peculiar unchangeableness. 
 
 I regretted leaving the life of hill and 
 forest and dreamy phantasy in which I had 
 found so much to delight me, but the natural 
 love of youth for change and adventure con- 
 soled me. One great advantage I derived 
 from the choice the Grafin had made for me 
 was, that I did not change the character of 
 my outward surroundings. I was nearly 
 nineteen when I left Geiselwintl and arrivetl 
 one evening In ;i postchaise at Wenigstaat. 
 
 The city lay in a wooded valh^y sur- 
 rounded by hills covered to their suiiuuits 
 with woods of beech and oak and fir : 
 thrf)ugh these wo(k1s running stn-anis and
 
 30 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 cascades forced their way now through the 
 green mountain - meadows, now over rocky 
 steeps and dingles : a soft blue sky brooded 
 over this green world of leaf and grass and 
 song birds, and sunlit showers swept over 
 the woodland and deepened the verdure into 
 fresher green. In the centre of this plain, 
 almost encircled by a winding river, the city 
 was built upon a hill which divided itself 
 into two summist, upon one of which stood 
 the cathedral and upon the other the King's 
 palace. Between these summits the old 
 town wound its way up, past gates and 
 towers and market-place and rathhaiis and 
 the buildings of the university, with masses 
 of old gabled houses of an oppressive height 
 and of immemorial antiquity, with huge 
 overhanging stories and tiers of rooms 
 wandering on, apparently without plan or 
 guide, from house to house and street to 
 street — a human hive of intricate workman-
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 31 
 
 ship, of carpentry-work and stonework and 
 brickwork, all crowded together in the little 
 space of the rising hill - street above the 
 rushing stream, a space small in itself but 
 infinite in its thronged stories of centuries 
 of life — a vast grave, not only of genera- 
 tions of the dead, themselves lying not far 
 from the foundations of their homes, but of 
 buried hopes, of faded beauty, of beaten 
 courage and stricken faith and patience 
 crushed and lost at last in the unequal fight 
 with fate. The dim cathedral, full of storied 
 windows of deep blood-stained glass and of 
 colossal figures of mailed heroes guarding 
 emblazoned tombs, faced the King's palace, 
 a massive ivy-covered fortress relieved here 
 and there with facades of carved work of the 
 later Renaissance. 
 
 The tired horses of my poslchaise 
 struggled up over the stone pavement of 
 this .steep street amid the crowd <>l loiicnrs
 
 32 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 and traffickers and gay pleasure-seekers that 
 thronged it and drew up before the Three 
 Roses in the Peterstrasse, where a room 
 had been provided for me. Here I slept, 
 and here I dined every day at an ordinary 
 frequented by many of the principal citizens, 
 by some of the wealthier students, and by 
 some officials and courtiers, when it was not 
 the turn of the latter in waiting at the 
 palace. This table was one at least of the 
 centres of life and interest in the little kingly 
 city. 
 
 To a boy reared in a country parsonage 
 and an old half-deserted manor - house, all 
 this, it may be conceived, was strange 
 enough ; but somehow it did not seem to 
 me wholly strange. I had been trained at 
 the table of the Grafin to the usages of 
 polite life, and the whispering wind and the 
 solemn forests of my childhood had seemed 
 to lift me above a sense of embarrassment,
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 33 
 
 as though the passing scenes before me were 
 but the shadows and visions of a dream. I 
 looked down the long table at the varied 
 faces, at the talkers and showy ones, at the 
 grave citizens, at the quiet humorous 
 students, who now and then said a few 
 words that turned the laugh against the 
 talkers, at the courtiers affecting some 
 special knowledge of affairs of state about 
 which the King probably troubled himself 
 little ; and 1 remember that it all seemed to 
 me like turning the pages of a story-book, 
 or like the shifting scenes of a play, about 
 which latter, though I had never seen one, I 
 had read and heard much. 
 
 On the second and third day I found 
 myself seated by a little elderly man, very 
 elaborately dressed, with powdered hair and 
 a beautifully embroidered coat. I have 
 always felt an attraction towards old men : 
 they are so polite, and their roiivcrsatinn, 
 
 D
 
 34 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 when they do talk, is always worth listening 
 to. Something of this feeling, perhaps, 
 showed itself in my manner. On the third 
 day he said to me on rising from dinner : ' I 
 perceive, sir, that you are a stranger here ; 
 you seem to me to be a quiet well-bred young 
 man, and I shall be glad if I can be of any 
 use to you. You are doubtless come to the 
 university, and are evidently well connected. 
 I am a professor — a professor of belles lettres 
 and music, and I have been tutor to the 
 Crown Prince. I may possibly be of some 
 service to you : some of the great professors 
 are rather difficult of access.' 
 
 ' I am the adopted son of the Grafin von 
 Wetstein, sir,' I answered. ' I have letters 
 to several of the professors of the university, 
 but I find them much occupied in their duties, 
 and not very easy of approach. 
 
 'We will soon remedy all that,' he said, 
 smiling. ' To what course of study are you
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 35 
 
 most Inclined, and what is the future to 
 which your friends design you ?' 
 
 ' I fear, sir,' I returned, ' that my future 
 is very undefined, I am — as you say you 
 are a professor of music — very fond of the 
 violin ; but I am a very poor performer, and 
 I fear I shall never be a proficient.' 
 
 ' I profess music,' said the old gentle- 
 man, with his quaint smile, ' but do not 
 teach it : I only talk about it. I will intro- 
 duce you, however, to a great teacher of the 
 violin, and, indeed, if you would like it, we 
 can go to him now. This is about the time 
 that we shall find him disengaged.' 
 
 We went out tog(;ther into the crowded 
 market - place and turned to the left hand, 
 up a street of marvellous height, narrow- 
 ness, and steepness which led round the 
 eastern end of the cathedral, and indeed 
 nearly concealed it from siL^ht. ;\t the top 
 of this street, on the side farthest from the
 
 36 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 cathedral, the vast west window of which 
 could just be seen over the gables, chimneys, 
 and stork-nests of the opposite houses, we 
 stopped before the common door of one of 
 the lofty old houses, against the posts of 
 which were attached several ^?/^^//^i- or notices 
 of differing forms and material. Among 
 these my companion pointed out one larger 
 and more imposing than the rest : ' Veitch, 
 teacher of the violin.' 
 
 ' I ought to tell you,' said the old gentle- 
 man, ' that my daughter is reader to the 
 Princess, and that she comes to Herr 
 Veitch for lessons on the violin, that she 
 may assist her Highness. If the Graf von 
 Wetstein should take lessons here also, he 
 may possibly meet her.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' I said : ' I must 
 correct an important mistake. I am only 
 the adopted son of the Grafin von Wetstein. 
 I am not the Graf : my name is Saale.'
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 37 
 
 The old gentleman seemed rather dis- 
 appointed at this, but he rallied sufficiently 
 to say : ' You may nevertheless meet my 
 daughter, Herr von Saale.' 
 
 It sounded so pleasantly that I had not 
 the hardihood to correct him again. 
 
 I was accordingly introduced to every one 
 in Wenigstaat as Herr von Saale, and I may 
 as well say, once for all, that I did not suffer 
 for this presumption as I deserved. Some 
 weeks later on I received a letter from the 
 Grafin, in which she said : ' I have noticed 
 that you have been mentioned to me in 
 letters as Otto von Saale. As I have 
 chosen to adopt you, and as Saale is the 
 name of a river, and therefore is to a certain 
 extent territorial, I think perhaps that this 
 may not be amiss ; and I Hatter m)self that 
 I have sufficient influence at the Imperial 
 Court to procure for you a faculty which will 
 enable you to add the prefix van to your
 
 38 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 patronymic' Accordingly, some months 
 afterwards, I did receive a most important 
 and wordy document ; but I had by that 
 time become so accustomed to my aristo- 
 cratic title that I thought little of it, though 
 its possession, no doubt, may have saved 
 me from some serious consequences. 
 
 We have been standing too long on the 
 staircase which led up to Herr Veitch's room 
 on the second floor of the great rambling 
 house. The room which the old gentleman 
 led me into was one of great size, occupying 
 the entire depth of the house. It had long 
 deep-latticed windows at either end raised 
 by several steps above the level of the room : 
 the window towards the front of the house 
 looked down the steep winding street ; from 
 the other I saw, over the roofs of the city, 
 piled in strange confusion beneath the high- 
 pitched windows of the upper town, a wide 
 prospect of sky and river and valley, and the
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 39 
 
 distant blue mountains and forests of the 
 Fichtelgebirge, where my home had been. 
 
 The room was somewhat crowded with 
 furniture, chiefly large old oaken presses or 
 cabinets apparently full of books, a harpsi- 
 chord, clavichord, and several violins. In 
 the centre of this apartment, as he rose to 
 receive us, stood an elderly man, rather 
 shabbily dressed, with an absent expression 
 in his face. 
 
 ' Herr Vcitch,' said my guide, 'permit me 
 to present to you Herr von Saale, a young 
 gentleman of distinguished family and con- 
 nections, who has come to reside in our 
 university. He is anxious to perfect himself 
 in the violin, upon which he is already no 
 mean performer.' 
 
 I was amazed at the gllbn(,'ss with which 
 this surprising old gentleman discoursed 
 upon that of which he knew so little. 
 
 The old violinist looked at me wilii a
 
 40 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 1 
 
 dazed and even melancholy expression, his 
 eyes seemed to me to say as clearly as words 
 could have spoken : ' Here is another frivo- 
 lous impostor intruded upon me.' 
 
 ' Is this one of my daughter's days ? ' said 
 my friend, the old gentleman. 
 
 ' No ; I expect her to-morrow about this 
 time.' 
 
 * The Princess,' said my friend, ' is very 
 shy : she dislikes taking lessons from men, 
 and prefers to gain her knowledge of music 
 from my daughter.' 
 
 The old master took up a violin that lay 
 upon the table and handed it to me. I 
 played a simple lesson that had been left me 
 by the Italian, the only one that had taken 
 my fancy, for it had in its few notes, as it 
 seemed to me, something of the pleading of 
 the whispering wind. 
 
 The old man took the violin from me 
 without a word : then he drew the bow
 
 1 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 41 
 
 across the strings himself and played some 
 bars, from, I imagine, some old forgotten 
 Italian master. As he played the solemn 
 chords of the sonata, in the magnetic reson- 
 ance of its full smooth rich notes, there was 
 something that seemed to fill all space, to 
 lead and draw the nerves and brain, as over 
 gorgeous sun-coloured pavements and broad 
 stately terraces, with alluring sound and 
 speech. 
 
 He laid down the violin after he had 
 played for a few minutes, and went to the 
 harpsichord, which stood near to the window 
 looking down into the street. 
 
 'You know something of music,' he saitl 
 to me : ' do you understand this ? ' 
 
 He struck a single cU^'ir note ujjon the 
 harpsichord and turned towards the window, 
 a casement of which was open towards the 
 crowded street. 
 
 'Down there,' he said, — 'where I know
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 not, but somewhere down there, — is a heart 
 and brain that beats with that beat, that 
 vibrates with the vibration of that note, that 
 hears and recognises and is consoled. To 
 every note struck anywhere there is an 
 accordant note in some human brain, toihng, 
 dying, suffering, here below,' 
 
 He looked at me, and I said : ' I have 
 understood something of this also.' 
 
 'This is why,' he went on, * in music all 
 hearts are revealed to us : we sympathise 
 with all hearts, not only with those near to 
 us but with those afar off. It is not strange 
 that in the notes of the higher octaves that 
 speak of children and lark singing and 
 heaven, you, who are young, should hear of 
 such things ; but, in the sudden drop into 
 the solemn lower notes, why should you, 
 who know nothing of such feelings, see and 
 feel with the old man who returns to the 
 streets and fields of his youth ? He lives,
 
 I A TEACHER OP^ THE VIOLIN 43 
 
 his heart vibrates in such notes : his Hfe, 
 his heart, his tears exist in them, and 
 through them in you. Just as one looks 
 from a lofty precipitous height down into 
 the teeming streets of a great city, full of 
 pigmy forms, so in the majestic march of 
 sound we get away from life and its little- 
 ness, and see the whole of life spread out 
 before us, and feel the pathos of it with the 
 pity of an archangel, as we could never have 
 done in the bustle of the streets there below.' 
 
 ' You are cutting the ground from under 
 my feet, my friend,' said the old Professor, 
 rather testily. ' It is your business to teach 
 music, mine to talk about it.' 
 
 The old master smiled al this salK^ Inil 
 he went on all the same. I thougliL that he 
 perceived in me a sympathetic listener. 
 
 ' Have you never felt that in tlie shrill, 
 clear, surging chords of the higher notes you 
 were climbing into a lolilci' existence, and
 
 44 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 do you not feel that for the race itself some- 
 thing like this is also possible ? It will be in 
 and through music that human thought will 
 be carried beyond the point it has hitherto 
 reached.' 
 
 He paused a moment and then went on 
 in a lower, less confident voice. ' This is 
 my faith, and I shall die in it. There is one 
 thing only which saddens me. There are 
 men, ay, great performers, real masters of 
 the bow — who know nothing of these things, 
 who have no such faith. There is none 
 whom I would sooner regard as a devil than 
 such a one. Sometimes when I hear them 
 they almost destroy the faith that is in me — 
 the faith in my art.' 
 
 'Pooh! pooh! my friend,' said the Pro- 
 fessor. ' They are not so bad as that ! 
 They have simply the divine gift of the 
 perception of harmony — the instinctive har- 
 monic touch. They know not why or how.
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 45 
 
 They are not devils. Herr von Saale,' he 
 went on, with, for him, considerable earnest- 
 ness, ' do not believe it. I fancy that you 
 are in danger of falling into the fatal error of 
 supposing that you can play on the violin in 
 the same way that you can whistle an air, by 
 the mere force of the mental faculty. You 
 cannot form a more mistaken notion. The 
 varieition of the thirty-secondth of an inch in 
 the sudden movement of the finger on the 
 string will cause the note to be out of tune ; 
 and the man who puts his finger on the right 
 spot at the right second of time, though he 
 may have no more mental instinct than a 
 pig. will produce in the utmost perfection the 
 chords of th(; most angelic composer.' 
 
 ' I deny it!' cried the master, in a kind of 
 fury, walking \\\) and down tlic long room, 
 ' I deny it ! There is true sympathy and co- 
 operation in the nerves and tissues of this 
 faithful despised servant, tlic material luimaii
 
 46 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 frame, even to the finger-tips, with the in- 
 forming, teaching spirit. There is a tremor, 
 a shading, a trill of meaning, given by the 
 spirit to the nerves and tissues that no 
 instinctive touch of harmony will ever give. 
 The ancient Greeks (as you ought to know, 
 Herr Professor, for you speak of them often 
 enough) had no music worthy of the name, 
 for they had no instruments ; but had they 
 had our instruments they would have pro- 
 duced the most ravishing music, for the spirit 
 taught them what music was apart from out- 
 ward sound, and they talked as beautifully as 
 you talk in your lecture-room of the divine 
 laws of motion and of number, and of the 
 harmonics of sound and of the mind.' 
 
 The Professor seemed rather taken aback 
 by this onslaught, and turning to me, said : 
 'Well, Herr von Saale, you had better come 
 with me : I will show you some of the sights 
 of our kingly city. You shall come to Herr
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 47 
 
 Veitch to-morrow, when perhaps you will see 
 my daughter.' 
 
 He seemed to me strangely willing that I 
 should see his dtmghter. 
 
 He took me into the great cathedral and 
 showed me the gigantic mailed figures that 
 guarded the tombs of the kings, talking very 
 learnedly upon heraldry, about which he 
 seemed to know a great deal. The next 
 morning I went to Herr Veitch at the 
 appointed time and found him alone, playing 
 over a set of old Italian sonatas. He seemed 
 to have been much put out by the Professor's 
 remarks of the day before, and to regard me 
 with kindliness as having been apparently 
 on the opposite side ; but when he came to 
 talk to me I tlid not see much (liffcrence l)e- 
 tween his advice and that of the i'rofcssor. 
 
 ' Thf; Professor is so far right,' he said, 
 ' in ihaL of all iiislrumciUs the vif)liii needs 
 the most careful study, the most practised
 
 48 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 fingering, the most instinctive aptitude of ear 
 and touch. It is all very well to talk of 
 expression, but expression with faulty execu- 
 tion is fatal on the violin. It is true that 
 some of the most entrancing players have 
 been self-taught amateurs, but they were such 
 because they had musical genius by birth, 
 and it was therefore possible to them to be 
 amateurs and to be self-taught. In con- 
 certed music no amount of expression will 
 enable a performer to take his part or to be 
 tolerated. What pleases me in your playing 
 is that you are able to produce smooth and 
 sweet notes : the scrapy, scratchy period 
 with you has apparently been short, What 
 you want is greater certainty of touch and 
 ear. This can only be obtained by patient 
 labour and study.' 
 
 I set to work to play lessons, and while 
 we were thus engaged the door opened and 
 a young lady entered, accompanied by a tall
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 49 
 
 and imposing domestic in the royal livery. 
 
 I did not need to be told that this was the 
 
 Professor's daughter, the Fraulein Adelheid, 
 
 the reader to the Princess. She appeared 
 
 to me on this, the first time that my eyes 
 
 rested upon her, a handsome, stately girl, 
 
 with a steady fixed look, and grave solemn 
 
 eyes and mouth, which seldom changed their 
 
 expression or smiled. She was rather above 
 
 the common height, with fair brown hair and 
 
 eyes, and was richly dressed in white, with a 
 
 lace kerchief across her shoulders, and a 
 
 broad white hat with a crimson feather. She 
 
 seemed to me a true German girl, with 
 
 earnest, steadfast truth and feeling ; but 
 
 I did not fall in love with her at Hrst 
 
 sight. 
 
 ' This is Otto von Saale, Priiulcin,' said the 
 
 master, ' whom your father introduced to me 
 
 yesterday, and of whom he may have spoken 
 
 to you. lie is very fond of music and the 
 
 E
 
 50 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 violin, and your father seemed much taken 
 with him. His /or^e is expression.' 
 
 The Fraulein regarded me without em- 
 barrassment, with her steady brown eyes. 
 ' Do you phiy in concert, Herr von Saale ?' 
 she said, 
 
 ' He is not quite equal to that yet,' said 
 Herr Veitch. ' The prospect of playing 
 with you, will, I am confident, inspire him 
 with resolve to practise with the necessary 
 patience.' 
 
 'That will be very well timed,' she said 
 serenely, 'as we want to perform a trio before 
 the Princess.' 
 
 ' He must work some time before he can 
 do that,' observed Herr Veitch decisively. 
 
 They set to work to play, and I confess 
 that I felt indescribable mortilication in being 
 unable to take a part. All my beautiful 
 fantasias and wind -music seemed at the 
 moment nothing to the power of joining in
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 51 
 
 a concerted piece. The beauty of the play- 
 ing, however, soon soothed my ruffled vanity 
 and banished every thought save that of 
 dehght. The master and pupil were playing 
 in perfect accord both in feeling and sym- 
 pathetic touch — the old man and the stately 
 beautifully dressed girl — it was a delicious 
 banquet of sight and sound. 
 
 After they had played some time, Herr 
 Veitch said, to my great delight : ' Otto will 
 play you a lesson of his which the whisper- 
 ing woodlands of his mountains have taught 
 him. You will like it.' 
 
 I took the bow willi a tremor of delight 
 and excitement. I played my very best. I 
 endeavoured only to listen to — to think only 
 of the woodland voices that had spoken to 
 the child ; and after a few moments I seemed, 
 indeed, once again to be a cln'ld beside the 
 lancelikc waving rushes with their sunny 
 dance-music, by the pool, or beneatii the
 
 52 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 solemn poplars with the weird and awful 
 notes that sounded amid their distant branches 
 high above me in the sky. When I stopped 
 I fancied that the brown eyes looked at me 
 with a softer and more kindly gaze. 
 
 'He will do,' said the master; 'he will 
 play the trio before the Princess anon, if he 
 will be good.' 
 
 For several days I was very good : I 
 practised continually scales and passages 
 and shades of accent, both with the 
 master and in my chamber at the * Three 
 Roses,' where, had I not been in Germany, 
 I should no doubt have been thought a 
 nuisance. I saw the Fraulein Adelheid 
 almost every day, and was allowed once or 
 twice to play in a simple piece. So every- 
 thing seemed to prosper, when one fatal day 
 I broke waywardly loose from this virtuous 
 and regular course. It was after this manner 
 that it came about.
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 53 
 
 One morning in the late summer I woke 
 up with a sudden surprising sense of a 
 crisp freshness, of a sudden strain of livelier 
 colour shot through sky and woodland, of a 
 change beginning to work through masses 
 of brown foliage and cloudless summer sky. 
 The touch was that of the angel of decay: 
 but the first signs of his coming were gentle 
 and gracious, with a sense even of life-giving 
 in that new feeling of a change. The first 
 day of autumn had dawned. As I rose, in- 
 tending to go to the master, the city lay in a 
 wonderful golden mist, through which the old 
 streets and gables and spires seemed strange 
 to the sight, with the romantic vision, almost, 
 of a dream. An intense longing possessed 
 me for the woods and hills. It seemed to 
 mc as if a far-off voice from the long past 
 hours of childhood was calling me to the 
 distant rocks and forests: a faint, low voice, 
 like that strange whisper through the short
 
 54 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 grass, to hear which at all you must lay your 
 ear very close indeed to the ground : a note 
 untuned, uncertain, untrammelled, but with a 
 strange alluring power, making itself felt 
 amid the smooth, cultured, artistic sounds to 
 which I had given myself up, and saying, as 
 in the old harmonic thirds which as a child I 
 had delighted to pick out, ' Come back to 
 me.' I was engaged to Herr Veitch, but it 
 was uncertain whether the Fraulein would 
 be able to come. There was some talk that 
 the Princess would make an excursion with 
 a guest of distinction into the mountains, and 
 her reader might possibly be required to 
 accompany her. The Princess was under- 
 stood to be very shy, and to surround herself 
 as much as possible with her ladies and 
 women. 
 
 The irresistible impulse was too strong 
 for me. I sent a message to Herr Veitch, 
 and hastened out of the confining streets,
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 55 
 
 past the crumbling gates and towers, into the 
 valley and the fields. I wandered down the 
 banks of the stream, by which the road ran, 
 for some hours, until the sun was high in the 
 heavens, and every sound and leaf was hushed 
 in the noontide stillness and heat. Then 
 crossing the river at a ferry, where a little 
 village and some mills stayed its current for 
 a time, I ascended a steep path into the 
 wooded meadows, whence the seductive voice 
 seemed still to come. In a broad upland 
 valley that sloped downwards to the plain 
 and to the river I came upon a wide open 
 meadow skirting the wild pathless wood. 
 Here, at a corner of the outstanding copse, 
 I saw to my surprise a number of horses 
 picketed and apparently deserted by their 
 grooms, and turning the corner of the wood 
 I saw in the centre of the iiK^adow an unex- 
 pected and most beautiful sight. 
 
 In the midst of the meadcnv, only, as it
 
 56 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 seemed, a few paces from me, was a group 
 of gentlemen in hunting costume, some with 
 long curved horns slung at their backs. 
 Some servants and grooms were collected a 
 few paces behind them, but a little to the 
 side nearest to me, close to two men of dis- 
 tinguished appearance some paces in advance 
 of the rest, stood the most beautiful creature 
 that I had ever seen. She was dressed as a 
 huntress of romance, in green trimmed with 
 white, and a hat fringed with white feathers, 
 and a small silver bugle hung by her side. 
 But it was not her dress, or her figure, that 
 gave her the indescribable charm that made 
 her so lovely : it was the bewitching expres- 
 sion of her face. Her features might possibly 
 have been described as large, but this, as her 
 complexion was of perfect delicacy and fresh- 
 ness, only increased the subduing charm of 
 the shy, fleeting, coy expression about her 
 eyes and mouth. Two ladies stood close
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 57 
 
 behind her, neither of whom was the Frau- 
 lein, but I knew at once that this could be 
 none other than the Princess. No family of 
 pure German origin could have produced such 
 a face : she sprang, doubtless, as is becom- 
 ing to a daughter of kings, from a mixed 
 race. 
 
 A perfect stillness and hush, as of ex- 
 pectation, pervaded the scene : even the 
 well-trained horses made no movement as I 
 passed by them. One of the grooms caught 
 a glimpse of me and made a slight sign : 
 then, just as the group had settled itself on 
 my sight, a slight, scarcely perceptible rustle 
 was heard in the wood, and a stag of full age 
 and noble bearing camr; out into the meadow 
 and stood at gaze, startled Init not alarmed. 
 One of the gentlemen in front raised a short 
 hunting- piece, and the Princess, in a soft 
 sweet undertone that penetrated all the 
 listening air and left an imperishable mcinoiy
 
 58 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 upon the heart, exclaimed : ' Oh, do not kill 
 it ! How beautiful it is !' 
 
 A short, sharp crack, a puff of smoke, and 
 the stag leaped suddenly into the air and fell 
 lifeless, shot between the eyes. 
 
 There was a sudden outbreak of exclama- 
 tion and talk, a rush of the hunters towards 
 the fallen beast. Two or three of the gentle- 
 men drew around the Princess and her ladies, 
 as if to protect her, and in the excitement no 
 one noticed me. I stood for a moment or 
 two, my eyes fixed on this changing, sensitive, 
 inexpressibly beautiful face. Then the 
 beaters and foresters came out of the wood : 
 some remained with the fallen stag, and the 
 rest of the party moved on farther up into 
 the forest followed by the grooms and horses. 
 I returned at once, silent and fancy-struck, 
 to the city, and passed the rest of the day 
 and the entire night in a dream. 
 
 The next morning I made my best ex-
 
 1 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 59 
 
 cuses to Herr Veitch, and tried to settle to 
 my work, but I found that this was impossible 
 until I had made a full confession. He took 
 it very quietly and as a matter of course : 
 not so, however, did the Fraulein, a day or 
 two afterwards, when he revealed the whole 
 story to her. She looked at me strangely 
 with her great brown eyes as one who fore- 
 saw some great danger awaiting me ; and I 
 wondered, in vain, from what quarter it 
 would come. 
 
 I made great progress under her tuition. 
 In playing with her in unison I learned more 
 in a few minutes than in any other way. 
 The instinct of fnif^erincf seemed to come 
 naturally by her means, by her gentle guid- 
 ance, by her placid rule. Here again out- 
 ward harmonies of nature and of art corre- 
 sponded in its contrast with the life of the 
 spirit; with tlie rajjt, enthralling passion of 
 love which had come up(jn me by the vision
 
 6o A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 in the forest, and with the calm sympathy 
 which was growing up in my heart with the 
 Fraulein, smooth, broad, tranquil, as the full 
 harmonious chords which she taught me to 
 play. But with all this I confess that the 
 prevailing thought of my mind was that I 
 should some day, and that soon, take my 
 part in this music before the lovely Princess ; 
 that I should see again that indescribable, 
 enchanting face. 
 
 'We are getting on,' said Herr Veitch : 
 ' we shall be ready soon.' 
 
 'Let us have a rehearsal,' said Adelheid, 
 with her grave, gentle smile : ' let us have a 
 rehearsal to-morrow in Das Vergniigen, in 
 the garden-valley of the palace.' 
 
 Below the palace, on the side farthest 
 from the city, the wooded valley formed a 
 fairy garden of terraces and of streams flow- 
 ing down from the hills. In the bottom of 
 the valley were buildings, somewhat on a
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 6i 
 
 small scale, after the fashion of the French 
 garden-palaces of Trianon and Marly, and in 
 these little houses some of the court-officials 
 had rooms. The Professor and his daughter 
 occupied one of the most charming suites of 
 apartments opening upon a wide lawn be- 
 neath the terraced garden leading up to the 
 palace, broken up by clipped hedges and 
 rows of statues. I had never seen this 
 garden of romance until the afternoon of the 
 rehearsal. In the excitement and nervous- 
 ness of the hour I was dimly conscious of a 
 solemn blue sky overhead, of the dark foliage 
 of the dying summer rising on the steep hill- 
 sides on every hand, of a still afternoon full 
 of sombre tints and sleeping sunlight, of the 
 late-flowering china-roses and the tall asters, 
 of massive wreaths of clematis, of a sense 
 of fmished effort and growth, and of a hush 
 and pause before decay set in and brought 
 the end of life aiul (jf the year: tlic little
 
 64 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 were very lively and quick ; but the great 
 charm of the piece lay in some perfectly 
 modulated chords of great beauty distributed 
 through the parts in a sustained, broad, 
 searching tone on the fourth string. Herr 
 Veitch played the violoncello with consum- 
 mate skill. We had played the piece nearly 
 through when Adelheid suddenly ceased, and 
 turned in the direction of the wider lawns to 
 which was access between the urns ; and the 
 next moment the same lovely creature I had 
 seen some days before, but now very differ- 
 ently dressed, came through the opening in 
 the low hedge, accompanied by a beautiful 
 young lady, evidently of high rank, whom I 
 also recoQfnised as one of the ladies I had 
 seen in the wood. The Princess looked for 
 a moment serenely at the group, who drew 
 backward a step or two and bowed very low; 
 but the next moment, as her eyes fell upon 
 me, she flushed suddenly, and her face
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 65 
 
 assumed an expression of embarrassment, 
 and even reproof. 
 
 'I did not understand that you had 
 strangers here, Fraulein,' she said, and 
 stopped. 
 
 'This, Royal Highness,' said Adelheid, 
 bowing very low, ' is a young gentleman. 
 Otto von Saale, who is to play in the trio. 
 It did not occur to me to mention him to the 
 Royal Highness.' 
 
 The Princess looked very disconcerted 
 and mortified, but her embarrassment oiih' 
 made the unic^ue expression of her face more 
 exquisitely piquant and enchanting. I would 
 willingly have risked untold penalties to 
 secure such a sight. The young lady who 
 accompanied hf;r regarded me with an ex- 
 pression of loathing animosity and contempt, 
 as much as to say, 'What do joii mean by 
 using your miserable existence to get us into 
 this scraj)e ? '
 
 66 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 The Professor came to the rescue with 
 great aplomb. Herr Veitch evidently re- 
 garded the whole matter with lofty con- 
 tempt. 
 
 ' If the Royal Highness will deign to take 
 a seat/ said the Professor, 'she may still hear 
 the trio rehearsed. We will regard Otto as 
 second violin merely. One violin is much 
 like another.' 
 
 * Oh, sit down, my Princess ! ' said the 
 young lady coaxingly ; * I should so like to 
 hear the violins.' 
 
 The Princess hesitated, and looked still 
 more enchantingly confused and shy, but 
 she sat down at last. It was reported 
 that, as a boy, her brother, the Crown 
 Prince, had been mortally in dread of the 
 Professor. It is possible that his sister 
 may have conceived something of a similar 
 feeling. 
 
 We played the trio through. In spite of
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 67 
 
 my excitement I had the sense to take the 
 greatest pains. I kept my attention perfectly 
 fixed upon my playing, and the clear notes 
 of the great chords came in perfectly true 
 and in time. When we had finished there 
 was a short embarrassed pause. Then Adel- 
 heid whispered to me, ' Play that lesson of 
 yours of the woodland breeze.' 
 
 Scarcely knowing what I did I began to 
 play ; but I had not finished the opening 
 bars before a slight change in the attitude of 
 the Princess attracted my eyes, and suddenly, 
 as if by inspiration, I conceived the fancy 
 that I was playing to a creature of the forest 
 and of the wind. She was sitting slightly 
 forward, her eyes fixed upon the woodland 
 slope before her, her slight, lithe figure and 
 prominent speaking features like no offspring 
 of common clay, but innate in lliat primeval 
 god-sprung race of the golden hours, before 
 the iron horny-handed sons of in<ii li.i<l lilled
 
 68 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 the earth with toil and sorrow and grime : 
 the race from which had sprung the creatures 
 that had filled romance with elf-leeends and 
 stories of elf-kings and ladies and beings of 
 gentle and fairy birth ; for, as the untram- 
 melled wood -notes that stole across the 
 strings now sunk into a whisper, now swelled 
 into full rich chords and harmonies, I could 
 almost fancy that I saw this glorious creature, 
 while the mystic notes lasted, grow into a 
 more serene and genial life, as though she 
 breathed an air to which she was native, and 
 heard once ao^ain the wild notes of the hills 
 and of the winds in the sere antique forest- 
 country that was hers by right of royal 
 ancient birth. 
 
 As I played the concluding notes the 
 Princess rose and stood before us once 
 again, as I had seen her stand in the 
 forest-meadow when she had pleaded un- 
 availingly, in those marvellous tones which
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 69 
 
 would never pass from my memory, for the 
 beautiful stag. Then she bowed very 
 courteously to the others, and, taking no 
 notice whatever of me, moved away, at- 
 tended by her companion.
 
 II 
 
 NARRATIVE 
 
 There is a gap in Otto von Saale's auto- 
 biography which it may be well to fill up 
 from other sources, as we shall by this 
 means obtain a knowledge of some incidents 
 of which he could not possibly have been 
 
 cognisant. 
 
 Two or three days after the rehearsal in 
 the palace-garden the Princess was seated in 
 her own room in the palace, accompanied 
 only by her reader. The relationship be- 
 tween the two was evidently, in private, of 
 the most intimate character. 
 
 The room was high in the palace, and 
 a surpassing view lay before the windows.
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 71 
 
 Immediately in front, over a terrace or glacis 
 planted with sycamore -trees, the roofs and 
 gables and chimneys of the old city lay like 
 a great snake, or rather like several great 
 snakes, climbing the ridges of its steep 
 streets, and crowned with the spires and 
 towers of its cathedral and churches and 
 yathhaus and university halls. Over and 
 beyond this stretched a vast extent of 
 wooded valleys and hills, of forest and 
 mountain and glancing river, of distant blue 
 stretches of country indistinguishable and 
 unknown, and in the remote distance aloncjr 
 the sky-line a faint range of snow-clad peaks. 
 A vast exjxmse of cloudland, strange antl 
 varied as the earth itself, and almost as 
 tangible and real, filled the upj)er regions 
 of this landscape with in(jti(jn and lik: aiul 
 varied form. It was evening, and the night- 
 clouds had piled themselves in threatening 
 and lurid forms above the dark wind-tossetl
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 forest-land. The white smoke-wreaths from 
 the city curled up before the cathedral 
 towers, and the storks and kites in long 
 trailing flocks wended their way home from 
 the distant fields. The Princess sat, still 
 and silent, looking out over the wide pros- 
 pect, with searching, questioning eyes, that 
 seemed to penetrate beyond its farthest 
 bound. 
 
 * I am still listening,' she said at last, 'to 
 that violin lesson that the young man — Otto 
 von Saale, did you call him ? — played the 
 other day. Is he considered to be a great 
 performer? In its echoing repeats I seemed 
 to hear voices that I had never heard before, 
 and yet which seemed as though they were 
 the voices of my kin, that told me whence 
 I came, and who I was, and what I might 
 become.' 
 
 ' He plays with surpassing feeling,' replied 
 Adelheid, ' and with delicacy of shading and
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 73 
 
 of touch, most surprising as he is only a 
 novice at the vioHn. You may judge of 
 this when you remember how simple the 
 piece was that he played — a few chords 
 constantly repeated — yet he made them, as 
 you say, speak to the heart, a different 
 utterance for every chord. His forte is 
 expression.' 
 
 ' Is he in love with you ?' said the Princess, 
 with the calmest, most unmoved manner and 
 tone. 
 
 ' No.' 
 
 'You are in love with him ?' 
 
 ' Yes, I love him, f(jr he is in every way 
 worthy to Ije loved. Hut it is of litlit; import 
 ance what I think of lilm. I !<■ is hojiclcssly, 
 desperately, passionately in love with you.' 
 
 ' In Icjve with me ?' The I'riiicess did not 
 move, and not the faintest shade of deeper 
 colour Hushed her cheek; l<iii ilic l.iiiii, shy, 
 kindly smile deepened, and the (juebtioning
 
 74 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 eyes softened to an expression which was 
 certainly that of supreme, amused beneficence 
 — possibly of something else. ' In love with 
 me ! When did he ever see me before ?' 
 
 ' He saw you some days ago in the forest: 
 the day that the Prince von Schongau shot 
 the stag.' 
 
 The Princess sat quite still, looking out 
 upon the southern sky, which was all aglow 
 with a red reflected light. Long dark lines 
 of cloud, like bars of some Titanic prison- 
 house, drew themselves out across the sky ; 
 and the masses of cloud, tinged with a sudden 
 glow of crimson, formed a wild contrast with 
 the faint blue of the dying sky, and the green 
 of the waving woodlands below. The deep- 
 ening glow spread higher over the whole 
 heaven, till the world below became suffused 
 with its sober brilliance, and tower and gable 
 and the climbing ridges of the street and the 
 white smoke -wreaths shone in the mellow
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN ■ 75 
 
 light. The distant stretch of country flushed 
 with this mystic hght, which certainly was 
 not of earth, seemed instinct with a quivering 
 life — the life of forest and farm -people — the 
 life of hidden townships too distant to be 
 discerned — of rivers bordered with wharves 
 and shipping — the life of a kingdom of earth 
 — and, in her mountain eyrie, with set, wistful 
 eyes, over the regions of her father's rule, the 
 Princess sat at gaze, a creature slight, shy, 
 delicate, yet born of eagle-race. 
 
 Her companion waited for some words, 
 but they did not come : then she spoke 
 herself. 
 
 ' He was born among the forests of the 
 Fichtelgebirge and has listened to the spirits 
 of the wood and mountain from a child ; thai 
 is why he plays so well.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said the Princess, 'lh.it is \vh\-, in 
 his playing, I heard a talk thai 1 had long 
 wished U) hear — a speech which seemed
 
 76 A TEACHER OK THE VIOLIN 
 
 familiar and yet which I had never heard here 
 — the speech of a people from which my race 
 is sprung. And you say that he is in love 
 with me ?' 
 
 'Yes,' said Adclheid, somewhat sadly; 
 ' at this moment he would give worlds to see 
 you again.' 
 
 'Oh, he shall see me again!' said the 
 Princess, with her quaint, shy smile: 'he 
 shall see me again ; he shall play before the 
 King. ]\Iore than that, — he shall marry you !' 
 
 • « • • • 
 
 The King was a strikingly handsome, 
 tall, distinguished man, of between fifty and 
 sixty years of age. His father had died 
 when he was a boy, and he had been brought 
 up by his mother as regent of the kingdom. 
 She was a very clever woman, and surrounded 
 her son with the most able men she could 
 attract to her court. She trained him in the 
 most exalted ideas of his position and respon-
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN ^^ 
 
 sibility, and when she died, after having with 
 much difficulty found a wife whom she 
 considered to be suitable for him, she left 
 him, at the age of five and twenty, profoundly 
 impressed with the conviction that something 
 wonderful was expected of him in every 
 action and word. As he was a man of very 
 moderate capacities, though perfectly good- 
 natured and conscientious, this impression 
 might possibly have placed him in very 
 painful predicaments ; but the King very 
 wisely fell back early in life on the obvious 
 alternative of doing absolutely nothing and 
 saying very little. It may surprise some 
 persons to l)e told how wonderfully the; 
 country pros[jered undc;r this imposing, but 
 silent and inactive monarch. lie had bc:en 
 as a boy impressed with the misery of souk^ 
 classes of his [jeople, and he had been known 
 as a young man to absent himself from courl 
 for da\'s toffcihcr, and in w.iiiil' r, .iltiiulcd
 
 78 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN l 
 
 only by one companion, among the poor and 
 struggling classes ; and the only occasions on 
 which he spoke at the privy-council were 
 when he advocated the passing of some 
 measure which his plain common sense told 
 him would be beneficial to his people. He 
 was therefore immensely popular, and was 
 thought, even by many of his familiar 
 courtiers, to be a man of remarkable ability. 
 He had a habit of repeating the last words 
 of any one who spoke to him with an air 
 by which he seemed to appropriate all the 
 wisdom which might be contained in them to 
 himself. ' I have been attending the privy- 
 council, sire.' 'Ah! you have been attending 
 the privy-council, yes.' And it really was 
 difficult not to fancy that you had been 
 listening to a long and exhaustive treatise 
 upon privy-councils generally and their in- 
 fluence on the government of states ; so 
 perfect was the manner of the King.
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 79 
 
 ' Sire,' said the Princess to her father, the 
 same evening on which she had had the talk 
 with Adelheid, ' I wish you to hear a young 
 performer on the vioHn, Otto von Saale, who 
 is a pupil of Herr Veitch. I heard him once 
 by accident in Das Vergniigen. I wish him,' 
 continued the Princess, with serene candour, 
 after a slight pause, ' I wish him to marry 
 the Fraulein.' 
 
 'Yes?' said the King, 'you wish him to 
 marry the Fraulein ? I have observed, on 
 more than one occasion, that efforts of this 
 character may be abortive.' 
 
 The King paused, as though on the point 
 of saying more, but apparently doubting 
 whether he could safely venture upon further 
 assertion, he remained silent. After a pause 
 he went on : ' You consider this young man 
 to be a promising performer .'*' 
 
 'W\^ forte' replied iIk; Princess, 'as tln!
 
 8o A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 1 
 
 Fraulein says, is expression. His playing 
 has a strancje fascination for me.' 
 
 'Ah!' rcpHed the King, 'his forte is 
 expression. Good ! When do you wish me 
 to hear this young man ?* he continued after 
 a pause. 
 
 ' I thought we might have a chamber- 
 concert of music after supper, on one of the 
 evenings that the Prince von Schongau is here. 
 Herr Veitch and the Fraulein will play,' 
 
 Except on occasions of great state the 
 King and his family supped in private, a 
 second table being provided for the court- 
 iers. A strict etiquette was observed in the 
 palace, similar to, and founded upon, that of 
 Versailles. 
 
 On the evening upon which the Princess 
 had finally decided, a somewhat larger com- 
 pany than usual assembled in the great salle. 
 The doors were thrown open shortly after 
 supper, and tho chamberlain with his white
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 8i 
 
 wand announced, after the manner of the 
 French Court : ' Gentlemen ! The King !' 
 
 The great salle was floored with marble, 
 and surrounded with marble pillars on every 
 side. A thousand lights flickered on the 
 countless jewels that decked the assembly. 
 Great vases of flowers filled the corners, and 
 graced the tables of the room. 
 
 The Kincr came forward with \o\\z accus- 
 tomed composure to the seat provided for 
 him, near to a harpsichord in the centre of 
 the salle: a step behind him followed the 
 Princess. She was enpleine toilette, sparkling 
 with jewels, and if Otto von Saale had had 
 any worlds to give, he mi^ht aliiiosl have 
 been pardoned had he given them for such a 
 sight ; for a creature more delicately beautiful 
 — so absolutely set apart -AWiX pure h'oni aught 
 that is frivolous and vain, and yet so winning 
 in the unconscious picpiancy of h(jr loveliness 
 — he would scarcely luul elsewhere. She
 
 82 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 was followed by several ladies, and three or 
 four gentlemen, preceded by a prince of a 
 royal house, who had formed part of the 
 King's supper-party, brought up the rear of 
 the procession. 
 
 The King sat in his chair a little in 
 advance of the rest : on either side of him 
 were seated the Princess and the Crown 
 Prince, and the ladies and gentlemen who 
 had had the honour of supping with the 
 royal party were seated behind them, Herr 
 Veitch played the violoncello, and the Pro- 
 fessor was prepared to accompany on the 
 harpsichord. 
 
 The attitude and expression of the King 
 were delightful to watch. He sat back in 
 his chair, his fingers meeting before his 
 chest, a faint smile of serene beneficence on 
 his beautifully-cut features — a gracious, pre- 
 siding power of another and a loftier sphere. 
 
 One or two pieces were played first, then
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 83 
 
 came a trio of Corelli's, in which the harpsi- 
 chord took no part. 
 
 Did it sound in the Princess's ear alone, 
 or did there run throuofh all the wealth of 
 pure harmonies a strange new quality of 
 tone ? Wild, glancing, in tune yet untuned 
 and untunable, like the silver thread of the 
 brooklet through the grass, or the single 
 changeless woodnote of the breeze wailing 
 through the organ-harmonies of the midnight 
 mass in a mountain-chapel. It spoke to the 
 Princess's heart, as she sat some little space 
 backward from her father's chair, her delicate 
 steadfast face fixed upon the scene before 
 her, which, doubtless, she did not see. It 
 seemed to speak of an alluring lawlessness, 
 of that life of unconventional freedom, of 
 that lofty rule and dominion over their own 
 fate and circumstance, of that free gratifica- 
 tion of every instinct and faculty, which has 
 such an attraction to the highly-born. it
 
 84 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 1 
 
 seemed to call her with a resistless power 
 back into a pristine life of freedom which 
 was hers by right of ancient ancestral birth, 
 a world of freedom and love and un- 
 questioned prerogative which belonged to 
 the nobles of the golden age. Almost she 
 was persuaded by the searching power of its 
 magic note to believe that all things be- 
 longed to the dite of earth's children — the 
 favourites of life, those delicately nurtured 
 and born to the purple of the world's pris- 
 matic rays. Should she listen to this siren 
 chord it might even happen to her to lose 
 that stainless insight which its wild tone 
 had itself evoked ; but, in the perfection 
 of a concerted piece, its wild uniqueness 
 was kept, by grace of finished art, in- 
 variably true to the dominant concord of 
 pure harmony, an existence and creation as 
 it were in harmonious sound, of which it 
 formed a part. To the Princess as she
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 85 
 
 listened to the vibrating strings it seemed 
 that, with a vision beyond her years, so 
 potent in suggestion is music, she looked 
 into another world, as one looks down from 
 a lofty precipitous height into the teeming 
 streets of a great city, and the pigmy crowds 
 are instinct with a strange interest — a world 
 of human suffering and doubt and terror, of 
 love unrequited, of righteousness unrecog- 
 nised, of toil and sorrow and despair un- 
 relieved, until, in the thronged theatres and 
 market-places, where life stands waiting its 
 abiding doom — the times and seasons of the 
 world's harvest being fully ripe — the riddle 
 of righteousness and of wrong is answered, 
 and in the sad gray dawn of the eternal day 
 the dividing sickle is put in. 
 
 There was a [lause in the wave of sound, 
 and the Pi-incess was dimi)- conscious that 
 (Jtto von Saale was playing alone. So 
 magnetic was lh<- searching lone that there
 
 86 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 seemed nothino; in the wide universe save 
 herself and his strange impalpable person- 
 ality that approached her in mystic sound ; 
 but happily beyond and above its sorcery 
 was once more felt the sense of restraining, 
 abiding, cultured harmony — the full, true, 
 settled chords, and the according regular 
 law and sequence of time and pitch. 
 
 Then she knew that all were standing up, 
 and she rose in her seat beside the King. 
 A peculiar lustre of gracious courtesy shone 
 in the monarch's attitude and manner. 
 
 ' Herr Veitch,' he was saying, 'we thank 
 you : the Princess thanks you. Herr von 
 Saale, the Princess thanks you. I per- 
 ceive ' here his Majesty paused for a 
 
 moment to give importance to what was to 
 come, ' I perceive, sir, that your forte is 
 expression.' 
 
 The most wearied cynic must have felt 
 a glow of gcmuinc pleasure as the King said
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 87 
 
 these words, so contagious was the regal, 
 benevolent satisfaction that the exigencies of 
 the occasion had been fitly met. 
 
 Otto bowed low before the King, then he 
 turned to salute the Princess ; but, as he 
 looked up, his eyes met her marvellous 
 eyes and were fixed by a magic spell, so 
 intense, searching, personal and yet ab- 
 stracted was the look they met. His 
 entire being was caught u}) and rapt into 
 hers in an ecstasy of ravishment. Had the 
 gaze lasted another .second he must have 
 fainted away.
 
 Ill 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL 
 
 I DID not go to Herr Veitch until some days 
 after the concert at the palace. Indeed, I 
 did not care to go. I felt as though I had 
 broken with all continent and decorous life, 
 and was entering upon a delirious course of 
 adventure such as I had read of in some 
 fatal romance of ill-repute, whose course was 
 unnatural and ghastly even in its delights, 
 and whose end was tragic and disastrous. 
 I was appalled even at the splendour of my 
 dream. 
 
 But when I did muster courage to go to 
 the master, I was astonished to find that 
 nothing seemed to have happened at all.
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 89 
 
 Herr Veitch did not even appear to have 
 noticed my absence. He was in a very 
 propitious humour, and compHmented me 
 very much on my playing at the palace. 
 
 'I never knew you,' he said, 'play with 
 so much certainty and correctness. There 
 is always in your playing a certain originality 
 which might become, as I have often told 
 you, a great snare, indeed fatal in its results. 
 So long, however, as you play as conscien- 
 tiously as you did the other night, though 
 there will always be a singularity in your 
 style to which some might object, yet you 
 will stand, to my mind, among the great 
 performers on the violin.' 
 
 I had never heard the old man utter sucli 
 praise before. 
 
 Nor did I at first notice anything in the 
 manner of the iM-iiulein towards me \\hi<h 
 would show that she was conscious of the 
 necessity for any change i)Ul there .soon
 
 90 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 came a change, which was entirely of my 
 own bringing about. I neglected the master 
 and the viohn. I hardened my heart against 
 the Fraulein, and especially avoided the 
 hours when I thought she would be with 
 Herr Veitch. Her wistful eyes had no 
 effect upon me, so foolish and delirious had 
 I become. 
 
 One day Herr Veitch said to me, 'Yester- 
 day the Fraulein brought us great news. 
 The Princess is betrothed to the Prince von 
 Schongau, who has been staying so long at 
 the palace. He was present, you remember, 
 on the evening of the concert.' 
 
 I was conscious that my face wore a con- 
 temptuous, unbelieving sneer. In my mad- 
 ness I thought to myself that I knew much 
 better than to believe such foolish gossip. 
 
 At last Herr Veitch took me seriously to 
 task, 'Something has happened to you,' 
 he said. ' You are bewitched, some evil eye
 
 1 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 91 
 
 has fascinated you. You are no longer the 
 same sensible pleasant lad that you were. 
 The Fraulein notices it also. She says she 
 does not know what is come over you. I 
 tell her that all young men are fools.' 
 
 I did not deign to answer the good old 
 man, but left him with my nose in the air. 
 Indeed, I seemed to tread on air. I thought 
 of nothing but palace-gardens and Hyrcanian 
 woods full of terrible delights and secret 
 pleasures. I believed myself to be altogether 
 separate from my fellows, and to be reserved 
 for some supreme exceptional fate. I am not 
 willing to dwell longer than I can helj) upon 
 this period, the remembrance of which is 
 most distasteful to me. I shall ha\c to 
 describe at .some length the supreme aii<l 
 crowning act of folly, and this must sullicc the 
 reader. 
 
 But in simple honesty, rmd to relieve my 
 own conscience by [jublic confe.ssion, I mu.sl
 
 92 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 relate one incident, so fatuous and unworthy 
 was it, so nobly and graciously forgiven and 
 condoned. I had not been to Herr Veitch 
 for many days ; but one morning an un- 
 conquerable impulse forced me to visit him. 
 I believe that I was impelled, with all my 
 assumed scepticism, to seek more tidings ot 
 the Prince von Schongau and his reported 
 espousals. I had quite lost count of the 
 Fraulein's mornings, and, indeed, I am 
 ashamed to say, that I had ceased to think of 
 her. I was therefore somewhat chagrined 
 when, on entering the room, I found myself 
 in her presence, as well as in that of Herr 
 Veitch. My manner must have been sin- 
 gularly constrained and boorish, and I could 
 see that the master regarded me with dis- 
 approval, not to say contempt. In spite of my 
 affected indifference, I could see that Adleheid 
 was watching me with wistful and pitiful eyes. 
 Some evil demon made my heart harder and
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 93 
 
 more scornful than ever ; and I conceived the 
 most hateful and injurious thoughts against 
 one whose sweetness and devotion ought, on 
 the contrary, to have filled me with affection- 
 ate devotion. I played badly, and this only 
 increased my spiteful and angry mood. So 
 violent did my passion and an evil conscience 
 at last make me, that I threw down my violin 
 in a fit of ungovernable temper and rushed 
 out of the room. I wandered restlessly about 
 the streets for some time, in a kind of frenzy 
 against mankind in general, my mind lillcd 
 with the image of the Princess, and with a 
 sense of intolerable wrong that my excep- 
 tional f(jrlune was not recognised by all the 
 world, — so confident was I in my inf iliialloii. 
 At last it suddenly occurred to me to go to 
 the theatre, where the Triiulein had said ihe 
 royal family were expected to be present. 
 Lost in the crowded and enthusiastic audience, 
 which would doubtless lill the place — the
 
 94 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 report of the betrothal being spread through- 
 out the city — I might see the Princess and 
 Indulge a secret sense of my exclusive fate. 
 
 When I entered the theatre at the bottom 
 of the Peterstrasse, however, I found a 
 rumour already currrent that the King was 
 not well and could not be present, and that 
 the Princess refused to come without him. 
 Whether the strancre Crown Prince would 
 visit the theatre alone, no one seemed to 
 pretend to know. 
 
 I shall remember that evening as long as 
 I live. The little old-fashioned theatre, as 
 I know now it must have been, so different 
 from the great theatres I have since seen at 
 Dresden and Berlin, seemed to me, then, to 
 be the most gorgeous of pleasure-places, 
 blazing with lights and crowded with what 
 was to me a gay and brilliant throng of 
 superbly dressed and ornamented people. I 
 found a vacant place in the pit near the
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 95 
 
 orchestra. When I entered the curtain had 
 not risen, but the orchestra were playing. 
 The band consisted mostly of violins, and 
 would, no doubt, be considered poor and thin 
 at the present day, but such music has, to my 
 mind, a subtle, delicate tone which is missed 
 now. I did not know what the overture was, 
 and curiously enough I have never heard it 
 again : probably it was some local com- 
 position ; but there is sounding in my ears, 
 as I write, the simple, thrilling air, the re- 
 curring chords. The music ceased and the 
 curtain rose. 
 
 Up to this time the royal box opposite 
 the stage had remained empty, and the 
 audience had maniR^sted a restless impatience 
 which paid no atteiuloii to anything, either 
 in the orchestra or upon the stage; but the 
 actors had hardly begun their ])arts when the 
 attention, which was now being attracted 
 towards them, was suddenly diverted in
 
 96 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 another direction, and a young distinguished- 
 looking man entered the royal box. His 
 breast was a mass of stars and orders, and 
 the rest of his apparel was covered with 
 embroidery and lace ; but his tall, slight figure, 
 and the careless self-respect of his manner, 
 enabled him to support so much finery with 
 success. He came down without pause to 
 the front of the box and remained standing, 
 while the actors, dropping their parts, sang a 
 verse of the National Folk-song, accompanied 
 by the audience and supported by the band. 
 The Prince bowed once slightly, then stood 
 quite still, facing the enthusiastic house. 
 From his point of view, doubtless, he saw a 
 waving sea of faces, tumultuous, indistinguish- 
 able, indistinct ; but in my eyes, and to my 
 thought, as I stood lost in the tossing, excit- 
 able crowd about me, there was no one in the 
 whole theatre but myself and him. As I 
 looked at him a wild antagonism, an insane
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 97 
 
 confidence and desire to pit myself against 
 him, took possession of me. My folly even 
 went so far as to picture to my mind a lovely, 
 broken-hearted creature, bound to a betrothal 
 odious to her, stretching out her hand 
 towards another fate. The Prince had sat 
 down in his box, slightly wearied in his daily 
 round of life, not expecting very much enter- 
 tainment from the play ; more pleased, 
 perhaps, at the gay scene the crowded theatre 
 itself presented to his eyes, perfectly unaware, 
 certainly, of the ferocious glances one of the 
 audience in a remote corner was directing 
 towards his unconscious person. 
 
 I spent the ensuing night and day in a 
 fever of passionate excitement ; but on the 
 next afternoon an cxcnt occurred which 
 reduced every other consideration to worth- 
 lessness, and exaggerated the dch'riuin from 
 which I suffered to the highest pitch. On 
 
 H
 
 98 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 my return to the 'Three Roses' from at- 
 tending a lecture of the university — for I 
 did attend lectures sometimes — I found a 
 royal footman waiting for me with a note 
 from the Princess. The world seemed to 
 swim before my eyes as I took the billet from 
 the man. It had been given him by the 
 Princess herself, he said, who had charged 
 him to deliver it to no one but myself. 
 
 I opened the billet and read : * The Prin- 
 cess Cynthia will be in Das Vergniigen, on 
 the terrace above the cascades, this evening 
 at eleven o'clock. She wishes to see Herr 
 von Saale there without fail.' 
 
 Even in the state of exaltation in which I 
 had lived for some days, I could scarcely 
 believe my senses. Yet there could be no 
 possible doubt that the message was a genuine 
 one. The billet was distinguished from 
 ordinary letters by its paper, and was closed 
 with a massive seal bearing the royal arms.
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 99 
 
 To this moment it is a mystery to me how 
 I passed the intervening hours from the time 
 the man left me till eleven o'clock. I know 
 that at the time the thought of this necessity 
 overwhelmed me with despair. I have some 
 misty recollection of wandering down the 
 valley by the river, of gibbering passing 
 forms which with intolerable intrusion seemed 
 to force themselves between me and the only 
 conceivable event towards which all human 
 history had been tending since the world 
 began. 
 
 The garden of Das Vergniigen was de- 
 fended against intrusion by natural bound- 
 aries, very slightly assisted by art. The 
 valley on the palace-side was impregnable, 
 and the steej), rocky, wooded slopes on the 
 farther side of the river were so inclosed at 
 th(r top as to render intrusion difficult or 
 impossible. The right of cutn'c \\.is given 
 me through my connection with the Profes.sor
 
 loo A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 and the Fraulein, and I had no difficulty in 
 obtaining it on this momentous night. 
 
 Mysterious shadows, dark and vast under 
 the pale moonlight, the great trees and banks 
 of leaves, rose in strange distinct outline on 
 every side, as I made my way through the 
 lawns and garden-walks. The nightingales 
 were singing all around me : the festoons of 
 roses, robbed of all colour by the pallid light, 
 hung like the ruined garlands of a dead festival, 
 and sheets of clematis fell like cascades from 
 the tall hedges and forest trees, and filled the 
 air with a stifling perfume that presaged 
 decay. Every now and again a strange 
 whispering music stole through the valley 
 and along the wooded slopes, the echo of 
 wind-harps and harmonica- wires concealed 
 among the terraces and groves. As the 
 night advanced and the moon sank lower 
 in the sky, the starlight grew more intense, 
 with a clear distinct light, in which the sharp
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN loi 
 
 dark outlines of the shadows stood out in 
 weird contrast with the beauty which, even in 
 the moment of startled terror, the heart felt to 
 be around. The wayward music that strayed 
 through the leaves, and the fine clear notes of 
 the nightingales, that harmonised with the 
 cold silver light in which valley and river and 
 stone terrace lay in mystic unreality, seemed 
 like a fatal spell to enslave my spirit, a 
 ghost- melody, a pale, beckoning hand to 
 entice me on. And it was not only that 
 these sights and sounds of a pallid and 
 even terrifying beauty lured me on, but my 
 infatuation was so perfect that I traversed 
 the lawns and terraces in the full expectation 
 of finding at the trysting-place the most 
 lovely, the most unique of creatures, a 
 creature born to in: the possession and the 
 delight of her own race and kind, and of 
 such only, to whom it would seem ] ire- 
 sumption anfl treason for an)' other (:v<n to
 
 I03 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 look. Long years afterwards, writing in the 
 cool blood of middle life, the remembrance of 
 this folly makes me shiver with an intolerable 
 shame ; but at the moment, so potent was 
 the wizard spell that untamed, unquestioning 
 youth and the wild, romantic wood-teaching, 
 and the autumnal music of the winds, and 
 the well-spring of fresh hope and love and 
 trust, bursting out like a clear fountain amid 
 the flowering grass and woodland singers, 
 had cast about my path that, as I passed the 
 terraces and the arcades of roses and clematis, 
 I believed confidently that in another moment 
 I should have the Princess, blushing, shy, 
 palpitating, in my arms. 
 
 I turned a terraced corner bordered with 
 statues and urns, and shaded with tall yew 
 and holly hedges that grew high up in the 
 woods. I came upon a broad and long 
 terrace, shining in the clear light. On the 
 left hand, far above me, from the mountain
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 103 
 
 summit a single broad cascade fell, like a 
 wall of flashing molten silver, sudden and 
 straight into a deep pool, from which by 
 several outlets, formed by the piers of the 
 terrace-bridge upon which I stepped, it fell 
 again, in four or five cascades of far greater 
 depth, into the valley beneath. 
 
 The moon, which was setting a little 
 behind me, cast a full and strong light upon 
 the broad terrace — a light as bright as day. 
 As I turned the corner my heart almost 
 ceased to beat, for I saw, not a dozen yards 
 from me, the Princess herself coming forward 
 to meet me, as it seemed with outstretched 
 hands. The bright light revealed in perfect 
 distinctness the soft, gracious outline of her 
 slight figure and the shy expression of her 
 face. I made a step forward, my heart 
 leaping to my mouth, when suddenly it sank 
 again witli a sickening chill, lui- bcliliid the 
 Princess, only a few steps apart, was the
 
 I04 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 Strange Crown Prince, and close to him 
 stood another figure, which I also recognised 
 at once. 
 
 The Princess came forward with her faint, 
 bewitching smile. 
 
 'You are here, Herr von Saale,' she said : 
 ' I knew you would not fail. We are an 
 awkward number for a moonlight stroll, and 
 I wanted a companion for the Fraulein.' 
 
 A sickening sense of self-recognised, self- 
 detected folly — folly too gross and palpable, 
 it might be feared, to escape even the de- 
 tection of others — crushed me to the earth. 
 
 What would have happened, what incon- 
 ceivably fatal folly I might have committed, 
 I cannot tell — a mad whirl of insane thought 
 rushed through my mind ; but the Princess 
 kept her steady eyes fixed full upon mine. 
 ' Herr von Saale,' they said, as plainly as, 
 ay, plainer than, words could speak, — ' Otto 
 von Saale, I believe in you. You have
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 105 
 
 taught me something that I never knew 
 before. You have taught me what I am, 
 and you have shown me what I may become. 
 You yourself surely will not fail.' 
 
 The steady, speaking eyes, calm in the 
 pale white light — the intense, overmastering 
 power and thought — drew me out of myself, 
 as at the evening concert at the palace ; but 
 now, thanks to the purpose and command 
 that spoke in them, with a fortifying help 
 and strength. The boyish nature, fascinated 
 and uplifted even in the depths of its folly 
 and shame, rose — thanks to her — in some 
 sense equal to the pressing need. Surely 
 she must be right. Behind Otto von Saale, 
 the fool, there must be another Olio von 
 Saale who would not fail. 
 
 Something of what was passing in my 
 mind rose, I suppose, into my eyes, for the 
 expression of the Princess's face changed, 
 and an inexpressibly beauliful look came into
 
 io6 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 her eyes, amid the quaint reserve which her 
 rank and disposition gave to her habitual 
 look. It seemed to speak, with a start of 
 grateful joy at the sudden gift, of certain 
 abiding faith — faith in herself and in me — 
 faith in the full, pure notes of life's music, 
 which they who are born of the spirit, in the 
 turmoil of the world's passion and desire, 
 alone can hear. 
 
 The Princess turned away very quietly 
 towards the Crown Prince. ' You remember 
 Herr von Saale the other evening ? ' she 
 said ; and his Royal Highness bowed. 
 
 They moved together towards the other 
 end of the terrace, and I approached 
 Adelheid. 
 
 It maybe thought that I must have found 
 some difficulty and confusion in speaking to 
 her ; but, strange as it may appear, it was 
 not so. It seemed to me as though the 
 demon of vanity and folly had been com-
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 107 
 
 pletely exorcised, as though the courage and 
 faith that shone upon me from the Princess's 
 eyes had blotted out and effaced the miser- 
 able, infatuated past as though it had never 
 been. It is given to some natures, at some 
 propitious moments at the turning-points of 
 life, by a happy acquiescence in right doing 
 to obliterate the evil past. The intolerable 
 sense of disgrace and shame had, as it were, 
 stung the lower, vain reptile-self through its 
 vital cord, and it lay dead and withered in 
 the way. The flattering mask was torn 
 from its features, and nothing was left but a 
 shudder at the memory of a creature so 
 contemptible and vile. 
 
 I told Adelheid that I did not know how 
 to excuse my conduct of the last few days, 
 that some demon seemed U) have j)ossessed 
 me, that Ib-rr Veitch had said truly thai this 
 was the case, and that I had been fascinated 
 — by some evil eye, I was about Lu say ; but
 
 io8 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 I Stopped suddenly, remembering that the 
 eyes that had fascinated me had been those 
 of the Princess, those eyes that had restored 
 me to the dominion of the higher self 
 Escaping from this pitfall as best I could, 
 I promised that I would return to my prac- 
 tising, and this brought us to the end of the 
 terrace, where was a flight of stone steps that 
 led down into the valley. Here the Princess 
 turned to us and said that she wished to 
 show the Prince the cascades from the steps, 
 some little way down : they would return to 
 us immediately on the terrace. They went 
 down the steps and we turned back along 
 the terrace-walk. 
 
 The moon by this time had set, and a 
 countless host of stars lit the arched sky 
 above us ; and over the leafy walls on every 
 side, darkened and deepened in shade, a 
 delicate, faint, clear light seemed to chasten 
 and subdue the heart — the starlight of the
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 109 
 
 soul. There was no sound but that of the 
 rush of water, for the nightingales and the 
 wind -harps were too far below. There 
 seemed to arise around us, and to enwrap 
 us in its emboldening folds, a protecting- 
 mist and garment of solemn, faded light 
 and measured sound. Enshrouded in this 
 mystic veil fear and embarrassment were 
 taken away, and in clear, true vision we saw 
 each other for the first time. 
 
 'You have taught me the violin,' I said; 
 ' but there is another instrument, the strings 
 of which vibrate to even higher tones : will 
 you teach these strings also to vibrate in 
 unison to your touch.'* It has been neg- 
 lected, and is out of tune : it wants the 
 leading of a master-hand.' 
 
 ' I fear the instrument is accustomed to 
 another hand,' Adelhcnd said. 
 
 'A violin,' I said, 'is [flayed on b\- m,ui\ 
 a one, and they fail ; but it is not cast aside.
 
 no A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 At last he comes for whom it was pre- 
 destined long ago, while the wood was 
 growing in the tree, while the mellowing 
 sunshine and the wind were forminof it — 
 were teaching it secrets that would fit it 
 to teach mankind in sound. He to whom 
 it was predestined comes. He takes it in 
 his hand, and we know that once, at least, 
 in this life, supreme music has been heard. 
 Will you try this instrument of mine? It 
 may, perchance, be worth the trying, for it 
 is a human heart.' 
 
 ' I will try it,' she said. 
 
 There is not much more to tell. He that 
 is happy has no history ; and the life that is 
 in tune with the melodies of heaven, in tune 
 because it is guided by a purer life, inspired 
 by a loftier impulse than its own, cannot fail 
 of being happy. In the sustained and per- 
 fect harmonies that result from the concord 
 of full, pure, true notes, there is rest and
 
 1 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN in 
 
 peace for the wearied and troubled brain ; 
 and the harmonies of life, that absorb and 
 hush the discords of the world, are heard 
 only in the private walks and daily seclusions 
 in which love and Christian purity delight. 
 Both harmonies came to me throuofh a 
 
 o 
 
 teacher of the violin. 
 
 And the Princess ? 
 
 One summer afternoon in the year 1806 
 a gay city lay smiling in the afternoon sun. 
 It lay in a fair plain watered by shining 
 streams, and surrounded in the blue distance 
 by wooded hills. The newly-built esplan- 
 ades stretched away into the meadows, and 
 from among the avenues of linden-trees the 
 birds were singing merrily. But a fatal spell 
 seemed to hang over this lovely scene, and 
 the city might have been a city of the 
 dead. Not a chance figure could be 
 seen in its streets and boulevards : the 
 wiiulows of its houses were all fisicncd,
 
 112 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN I 
 
 and the blinds iind jalousies drawn down and 
 closed. 
 
 And more than this : every few moments 
 a deathly terror tore the serene, calm air, 
 and, alighting like a shrieking fiend, crashed 
 into house and grove. The Prussian army 
 was in full retreat across the fords of the 
 river lower down, and the city was being 
 bombarded by a battery of the French. 
 
 The blinds in the long streets were all 
 drawn and the shutters closed ; but there 
 was one house in which not a blind was 
 down nor a window closed. This was the 
 palace, which stood in the centre of the city, 
 looking upon the Grand Platz, and sur- 
 rounded by chestnut and sycamore trees. 
 The King was with the army on the dis- 
 tant Thuringian slopes ; but it was known 
 through all the city that the Queen was still 
 in the palace and had refused to leave ; and 
 in the hearts of the citizens, wherever a few
 
 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 
 
 met together, or in the homes where they 
 spoke of this, despair and anguish were 
 soothed into gratitude and trust. 
 
 But gradually as the evening drew on 
 matters became worse. The terrible can- 
 nonade, it is true, ceased ; but a party of 
 French chasseurs, followed by infantry, 
 occupied the market-place, and the work of 
 plunder was systematically begun. The 
 crash of doors burst in and the shrieks of 
 the inhabitants were heard on every side. 
 At seven o'clock in the summer evcninir 
 houses were in flames in front of the palace, 
 and the light was so intense that people 
 could read handwriting, both in the palace- 
 court and in the markct-i)lace. 
 
 Then, suddenly, a most wonderful thing 
 occurred. The great inin gates of llu; 
 court-yard, which had remained closed, were 
 thrown open, and a state carriage, gorgeously 
 caparisoned .md drawn by six white horses,
 
 114 A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN i 
 
 accompanied by servants in full liveries, 
 issued forth in the evening light, amid the 
 added glare o( the flaming houses. It passed 
 on its stately way through the crowded, 
 agitated Platz, the lawless soldiers standing 
 back astonished and abashed, till it reached 
 the great hotel of the ' Three Kings,' where 
 a marshal of France, a brother-in-law of the 
 Emperor, had taken up his quarters for the 
 night an hour before. It did not remain 
 long ; but in a few moments it was known 
 throughout the city that the Queen's in- 
 tercession had prevailed, that orders had 
 been given to extinguish the conflagration, 
 and that the pillage would immediately cease. 
 The people, young and old, swarmed into 
 the streets. From by-lane and causeway 
 and boulevard, rich and poor, without dis- 
 tinction, child and old man and grandam, 
 crowded around the stately carriage with the 
 white horses, wherein sat a beautiful woman
 
 I A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN 115 
 
 of middle age, serene and stately, but very 
 pale with long watching and with grief. 
 Sobs, and words of blessing, and cries of 
 love and joy, resounded on every side ; but 
 amid that countless throng there was no 
 heart so full of a strange pride and gratitude 
 to God as was that of an unknown stranger, 
 by chance in the city, standing unnoticed in 
 the dark shadows of the palace groves. I 
 knew her — had known her longer than they 
 all ; for it was the Princess Cynthia of the 
 old, unforgotten, boyish days.
 
 II 
 
 THE MAROUIS JEANNE 
 HYACINTHE DE ST. PALAYE
 
 THE MARQUIS JEANNE 
 HYACINTHE DE ST. PALAYE 
 
 I 
 
 In one of the mountainous districts of the 
 south of France, which in the last century 
 were covered with forests, the highway ran 
 up through the rocky valley by the side of 
 a roaring torrent. On the right hand and 
 on the left the massive foliage descended to 
 the banks, and filk^d up the small and inter- 
 vening ravines with a bosky shade. Here 
 and there a lofty crag broke out from the 
 sea of green leaves, and now and ih<n the 
 I)ointed roofs of a chateau or the s[)ire of a 
 village church witnessed to llie existence of
 
 120 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ll 
 
 man, and gave an interest and a charm to 
 the beautiful scene. 
 
 It was a day in the late autumn of the 
 year 1760. The departing smile of nature, 
 which in another hour would be lost in 
 death, was upon every tree and leaf. The 
 loveliest tints and shades, so delicate that 
 at the moment of their perfection they 
 trembled into nothingness, rested upon the 
 woodlands on every side. A soft wind 
 whispered through the rustling leaves laden 
 with mellow odours and with the pleasing 
 sadness that comes with the falling leaf. 
 The latest flowers of the year with uncon- 
 scious resignation wasted, as it might seem, 
 tints which would not have disgraced the 
 warmest hues of summer upon heaps of 
 withered leaves, and dry moss, and rotting 
 wood. The loveliest hour of the year was 
 the last. 
 
 The highway crossed an ancient bridge
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 121 
 
 of great height with a cunningly pointed 
 arch. Just beyond the bridge a smaller 
 path turned up on the left hand as you 
 ascended the valley. It wound its way up 
 the wooded valleys as though with no defi- 
 nite end, yet it was smooth and well kept, 
 more so, indeed, than the highway itself, and 
 doubtless led to some chateau, by the orders 
 of whose lord the peasantry kept the road in 
 good repair. Let us follow this road on an 
 evening at the end of October in the year 
 we have already mentioned, for we shall 
 meet with a pretty sight. 
 
 Some distance up the road on the left 
 was a small cottage, built to mark and pro- 
 tect the path to a natural terrace formed, as 
 far as art had had a hand in the proceeding, 
 by some former lord of the domain to com- 
 mand a view of the neii^hboiirini^ mountains 
 and country. Several of these terraces 
 existed in the wood. At the point where
 
 122 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE li 
 
 the path entered the private road to the 
 chateau the wood receded on every side, and 
 left a wide glade or savannah across which 
 the sunshine lay in broad and flickering rays. 
 Down this path there came a boy and girl, 
 for they were little more, though their dress 
 and the rank of life they held gave an ap- 
 pearance of maturity greater than their years. 
 The lady was of supreme beauty even for a 
 heroine of romance, and was dressed with a 
 magnificence which at any other period of 
 the world would have been fantastic in a 
 wood. She was clinging to the arm of a 
 handsome boy of some two and twenty years 
 of age, whose dress, by its scarf and some 
 other slight peculiarities, marked the officer 
 of those days. His face was very handsome, 
 and the expression on the whole was good, 
 but there was something about the eyes and 
 the curve of the lips which spoke of violent 
 passions as yet unsubdued.
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 123 
 
 The girl came down the path clinging to 
 his arm, her lovely face upraised to him, and 
 the dark and reckless expression of his face 
 was soothed and chastened into a look of 
 intense fondness as he looked down upon it. 
 Rarely could a lovely autumn afternoon re- 
 ceive its finishing touch from the passing of 
 so lovely a pair. 
 
 The valley was perfecdy solitary ; not a 
 single sound was heard, nor living creature 
 seemed astir. It was as if Nature understood, 
 and held her breath to further the purposes 
 of their lonely walk. Only for a moment 
 however. At the instant they left the path 
 and entered upon the grassy verge that bor- 
 dered the way to the chateau, they both 
 started, and the girl gazed before her with 
 an exprcssi(jn of wild ahu-m, while tiie young 
 man's face grew darker, and a fierce and 
 cruel look came into his eyes. But what 
 they saw would seem at first sight to give
 
 124 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE il 
 
 little cause for such emotion. A few yards 
 before them, walking leisurely across the 
 grass from the direction of the road, ap- 
 peared a gentleman of some twenty-eight or 
 thirty years of age, of whom at first sight 
 there could be no question that he was one 
 of the most distinguished and handsomest 
 men of his day. He was carefully dressed 
 in a style which only men of exceptional 
 figure can wear without extravagance, but 
 which in their case seems only fitting and 
 right. He wore a small walking sword, so 
 hung as not to interfere in the least with the 
 contour of his form, with which his dress 
 also evidently harmonised. His features 
 were faultlessly cut, and the expression, 
 though weary and perhaps almost insolent, 
 bore slight marks of dissipation, and the 
 glance of his eyes was serene and even 
 kindly. He saw the pair before him and 
 instantly stopped. It is probable that the
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 125 
 
 incident was equally embarrassing on both 
 sides, but the visible effect was very different. 
 The two young people stood utterly silent 
 and aghast. The lady was evidently fright- 
 ened and distressed, while her companion 
 seemed prepared to strike the intruder to 
 the earth. On the other hand the Marquis, 
 for such was his rank, showed no signs of 
 embarrassment. 
 
 ' Pardon, Mademoiselle,' he said ; ' I per- 
 ceive that I have committed a gatichcj'ie. 
 Growing tired of the hunt, I returned to the 
 chateau, and hearing from the servants that 
 Mademoiselle had gone down into the forest 
 to visit her old nurse at the cottage by the 
 terrace, I thought how pleasant il would be 
 to go to meet her and acc()m[)any her home. 
 I had even presumed to think, he conLiiiued, 
 smiling, and as he spoke he turned to the 
 young man with a gesture of perfect courtesy 
 — ' I even presumed tu think ihal my pres-
 
 126 THE MAR(2UIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 ence might be some small protection to 
 Mademoiselle in the wilds of the forest. I 
 was unaware, of course, that she was guarded 
 with such loyal and efficient care.' He 
 paused for a moment, and then continued 
 with greater dignity and kindliness of ex- 
 pression, ' I need not add. Mademoiselle, as 
 a gendeman whose name hitherto, I believe, 
 has been free from taint — I need not add 
 that Mademoiselle need fear no embarrass- 
 ment in the future from this chance en- 
 counter.' 
 
 It was perhaps strange, but it seemed that 
 the politeness and even friendliness of the 
 Marquis, so far from soothing, irritated the 
 young man. He remained silent, but kept 
 his black and angry glance fixed upon the 
 other. 
 
 But the girl seemed differently affected. 
 She hesitated for a moment, and then took 
 a step forward, speaking with her clasped
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 127 
 
 hands before her, with a winning and be- 
 seeching gesture. 
 
 ' You see before you, Monsieur le Mar- 
 quis,' she said, ' two as miserable young 
 creatures as, I hope, exist upon the earth. 
 Let me present to you Monsieur le Chevalier 
 de Grissolles, of the regiment of Flanders — ' 
 
 The gentlemen bowed. 
 
 ' — Who has known me all my life,' con- 
 tinued the girl, speaking rapidly ; ' who has 
 loved me — whom I love. We meet to-day 
 for the last time. We should not have told 
 you — I should not have mentioned this to 
 you — because I know — we know — that it is 
 useless to contend airainst what is fixed lor 
 us — what is decreed. We meet to-day for 
 the last time ; the fleeting moments are run- 
 ning past — ah! how quickly - in another 
 moment they will be gone.' . . . 
 
 Here the emotion that overpowered her 
 choked her utterance. She stopped, and to
 
 I2S THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 prevent herself from falling, she clung to the 
 Chevalier's arm. 
 
 The Marquis looked at her in silence, and 
 his face became perfectly beautiful with its 
 expression of pity. A marble statue, indeed, 
 might almost have been expected to show 
 emotion at the sight of such beauty in such 
 distress. There was a pause. Then the 
 Marquis spoke. 
 
 ' I am most honoured,' he said, ' to be 
 permitted to make the acquaintance of Mon- 
 sieur le Chevalier, whose name, if I mistake 
 not, is already, though that of so young an 
 officer, mentioned with distinction in the 
 despatches of Monsieur de Broglie. For 
 what you have said to me. Mademoiselle — 
 and what you have condescended to confide 
 to me has torn my spirit — I fear I can offer 
 you but little consolation. Your good sense 
 has already assured you that these things 
 are settled for us. They are inevitable.
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 129 
 
 And in the present case there are circum- 
 stances which make it absolutely essential 
 to the interests of Monsieur le Comte, your 
 father, that these espousals, at any rate, 
 should take place at once. Even were I ' 
 — here he turned to the Chevalier with a 
 smile — ' even were I to pick a quarrel with 
 your friend, and, a few seconds sooner than 
 in the natural course of events it probably 
 would, allow his sword to pass through my 
 heart, I fear the result would be simply to 
 substitute another in my place — another who, 
 I, with perhaps a natural vanity, may fancy, 
 would not place matters in a happier light. 
 I>ut let us not look at things too gloomily. 
 You say that this is your last hour of happi- 
 ness ; that is not necessary. It is true that 
 the espousals must take |;lace at once. The 
 interests of your father rcfjuire this. But 
 there is no need that Mademoiselle's feelings 
 should not be consulted with regard U) the 
 
 K
 
 130 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 final consummation of the nuptials. These 
 need not be hurried. Monsieur le Chevalier 
 may have other opportunities of making his 
 adieux. And I hope that my influence, which, 
 in after years, may be greater than it is at 
 present, will enable me to further any views 
 he may have with regard to higher commands 
 in the service of his majesty.' 
 
 The words were those of ordinary compli- 
 ment, yet the manner of the Marquis was so 
 winning that, had it been possible, it would 
 have affected even the Chevalier himself; 
 but if a highwayman is threatening your life 
 it is not much consolation that he offers to 
 return you a franc piece. 
 
 The Chevalier remained cold and gloomy. 
 
 The Marquis looked at him for a moment ; 
 then he continued, addressing himself to the 
 girl— 
 
 ' But I am intruding myself on Mademoi- 
 selle. I will continue my walk to the terrace ;
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 131 
 
 the afternoon is delightfully fine. As you 
 are aware, Monsieur le Comte is hunting in 
 the valleys to the west. All the piqneti7's 
 are withdrawn to that side of the forest. I 
 should hope that Mademoiselle will not again 
 be interrupted in her walk.' 
 
 Then without another word he courteously 
 saluted the young people, and continued his 
 walk up the path. He never turned his head, 
 indeed he would have allowed himself to be 
 broken on the wheel rather than have done 
 anything of the kind, but the others were not 
 so rgticent ; several times they stopped and 
 looked back at the Marquis as he paused 
 every now and then as if to admire the 
 beauties of the scene. At last he reached 
 the corner of the cottage and disappeared 
 from their view. 
 
 The beauties of the scene, however, tlid 
 not entirely occupy the mind of the Marquis. 
 At the most enchanting point, where opening
 
 132 THE MARQUIS DE ST. PALAYE ii 
 
 valley and stream and mountain and distant 
 tower burst upon his view, he paused and 
 murmured to himself, ' Some men, now, 
 might have made mischief out of this. Let 
 us wait and see.'
 
 II 
 
 The Chateau cle Frontenac was built upon a 
 natural terrace half way up the slope of the 
 forest, with the craggy ravines clothed with 
 foliage surrounding it on every side. It con- 
 sisted of two courts, the oldest of which had 
 been built in the earliest days of French 
 domestic architecture, when the detached 
 buildings of the mediaeval castle were first 
 brought together into a compact block. In 
 accordance with the singular notion of those 
 days that the south and west were unhealthy 
 aspects, the principal rooms of this portion of 
 the chateau faced the north and east. They 
 consisted of vast halls and saloons succeed- 
 ing each other with apparently purposeless
 
 134 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE li 
 
 extension, and above them a suite of bed- 
 chambers of solemn and funereal aspect. 
 These saloons and bed-chambers had been 
 left unaltered for centuries, and the furniture 
 must have been antique in the reign of Henri 
 Ouatre. The other court had been built 
 much more recently, and, in accordance with 
 more modern notions, the chief apartments 
 faced the south and west. From its windows 
 terraced gardens descended into the ravine, 
 and spread themselves along the side of the 
 hill. The architecture had probably, when 
 first the court had been added to the chateau, 
 contrasted unpleasantly with the sombre pile 
 beyond ; but the lapse of centuries with their 
 softening hand had blended the whole into a 
 unity of form and colour, and adventurous 
 plants creeping silently over the carved stone- 
 work of the straggling fronts wrought a soft 
 veil of nature's handiwork over the artificial 
 efforts of man.
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 
 
 'j:) 
 
 The saloons in this part of the chateau 
 were furnished more or less in the modern 
 taste with cabinets of ebony and ivory of the 
 days of Louis Ouatorze, and buhl -work of 
 the eighteenth century ; but as the modern 
 articles were added sparingly, the effect on 
 the whole was quiet and pleasing. The De 
 Frontenacs, while enjoying the more con- 
 venient portion of their abode, prided them- 
 selves upon the antique apartments, and kept 
 them in scrupulous repair. In these vast and 
 mysterious halls all the solemn meetings and 
 ceremonies of the family had place. Here 
 when death had touched his own, the De 
 Frontenacs lay in state ; here the infant heir 
 was baptized ; here the important compacts 
 of marriage were signed ; here the feast of 
 A''(7^7 was held. It is true that for the last 
 century or so these ideas had been growing 
 weaker, and the usages of modern life and 
 the fascinations of the capital had broken in
 
 136 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ll 
 
 upon these ancient habits, and weakened the 
 attachments and associations from which they 
 sprang ; but the De Frontenacs were a fierce 
 and haughty race, and never entirely lost the 
 characteristics of their forefathers. Now and 
 again, at some distaste of court life, or some 
 fancied slight on the part of the monarch, 
 they would retire to their forest home, and 
 resume for a time at least the life and habits 
 of a nobler and a prouder day. 
 
 In the largest of these old saloons, the 
 day after the meeting in the forest, the whole 
 household of the chateau was assembled. At 
 a long table were seated several gentlemen 
 well known in Paris as among the highest of 
 the noblesse de robe, and rolls of parchment 
 and masses of writing, with great seals hang- 
 ing from their corners, covered the table. 
 The walls of the saloon were hung with 
 portraits of several epochs of art, including 
 the works of artists then alive ; for it was
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 137 
 
 a peculiarity of the De Frontenacs that, ven- 
 erating as they did the antique portion of 
 their chateau, they invariably hung the 
 portraits of the family as they were painted 
 in these old and faded rooms, reserving for 
 the modern apartments the landscapes and 
 fancy pictures which from time to time they 
 purchased. 
 
 When the moment had arrived at which 
 the contracts were to be signed, there was a 
 movement in the room, and Mademoiselle de 
 Frontenac, accompanied by her mother, 
 entered and advanced towards the table. 
 She was perfectly collected, and bowed to 
 the Marquis with an unembarrassed grace. 
 No one ignorant of the circumstances of the 
 case would have su[;poscd that anything 
 approaching to a tragedy was being enacted 
 in that room. 
 
 The Mar([uis signed more than one docu- 
 ment, and as he stcppcxl back (Vom tlv labh-
 
 138 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 he ran his eyes carelessly over the room, 
 with which he was unacquainted. Fronting 
 him, above a massive sideboard with the 
 full light of the opposite window upon it, 
 was the portrait of a young man in the 
 cuirass of an officer of cavalry of a previous 
 century, whose eyes were fixed upon the 
 Marquis with a stern and threatening glance. 
 It seemed that, stepping from the canvas, 
 there confronted him, as a few hours before 
 he had met him in the forest, the Chevalier 
 de Grissolles, whom he had found with 
 Mademoiselle de Frontenac. 
 
 Nothing probably could have made the 
 Marquis start, but he gazed upon the portrait 
 with interest not unmixed with surprise, and 
 as soon as Mademoiselle had retired, which 
 she did when her signatures had been ob- 
 tained, he turned to the Count with a cour- 
 teous gesture. 
 
 ' These apartments, Count,' he said, ' are
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 139 
 
 certainly as fine as anything of the kind 
 in Europe. I have seldom, indeed, seen 
 anything that can be compared to them. 
 And doubtless the portraits upon the walls 
 are of exceptional interest. By your leave, 
 I will glance round them ;' and, accompanied 
 by the Count, he passed through several of 
 the rooms, listening attentively to the de- 
 scriptions and anecdotes which the different 
 portraits required and suggested. There 
 was somewhat of sameness perhaps in the 
 story, for the French nobility had little scope 
 of action other than the battle-field, and the 
 collection lacked the pleasing variety of an 
 English portrait -gallery, where the variety 
 of costumes, here a soldier, there a divine, 
 now a lawyer or judge, and then a courtier, 
 charms the eye and excites the fancy. The 
 Marquis came back perhaps all the sooner to 
 the great saloon. 
 
 The saloon was empty, and the lawyers
 
 I40 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ll 
 
 and rolls of parchment were gone. The 
 Marquis went straight to the portrait which 
 had attracted his attention, and stood facing 
 it without saying a word ; the Count, after 
 glancing carelessly round the room, followed 
 his guest's example. 
 
 The vast hall was perfectly empty. The 
 tables had been pushed aside into the 
 windows, and the superb figure of the 
 Marquis, standing upon the polished floor, 
 would have been of itself sufficient to furnish 
 the scene, but in proportion as the interest 
 which the portrait had excited was manifested 
 in the attitude of the Marquis, so much the 
 more the figure on the wall seemed to gather 
 life and intensity, and to answer look for look 
 with its living opposite. 
 
 'That painting,' said the Count, after a 
 moment's pause, 'is the portrait of a cadet 
 of my family, or rather, I should say, of a 
 female branch of it, a Chevalier de Grissolles.
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 141 
 
 He was a youth of great promise, a fav- 
 ourite and aide-de-camp of the Prince de 
 Conde ; and he fell at Jarnac by his master's 
 side. Enough of him,' and the Count's 
 manner changed as he glanced round the 
 chamber, and advanced confidentially to 
 the Marquis. ' Enough of him ; but I am 
 not sorry your attention has been directed 
 towards his portrait, because it enables 
 me to introduce, with somewhat less em- 
 barrassment, a subject to which I have 
 hitherto shrunk from alluding. I am sorry 
 to say,' continued the Count, with an 
 uneasy smile, ' that the chevalier whose 
 [iortrait you see before you was not the 
 last of his race. There have been others 
 who have borne the name, and there is one 
 now. He is a lad in the regiment of 
 Flanders, and was brought up in my fimily. 
 Unfortunately he was allowed to attend 
 Mademoiselle de Erontcnac in her recrea-
 
 142 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 tions, and a boy and girl attachment was 
 formed between them, from which harmless 
 child's play no one foreboded any evil. The 
 young fool is constantly breaking away from 
 his regiment, in which he is a great favourite, 
 and is hanging about my daughter ; and 
 from what Madame la Comtesse tells me — I — 
 I hardly like to say it, it is so absurd ! — she is 
 positively attached to him, seriously and de- 
 votedly attached. Positively I cannot sleep 
 sometimes ; this stupid affair has given me 
 so much annoyance.' 
 
 It did not increase the good humour of 
 the Count, who was already in a sufficiently 
 bad temper, to notice, as he could not help 
 doing, that the Marquis did not seem in the 
 least surprised at the information he had 
 received, and what was still more irritating, 
 that he seemed to regard it with perfect in- 
 difference. He appeared, in fact, to be 
 much more interested in studying the portrait
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 143 
 
 before him, probably admiring it as a work 
 of art. 
 
 'My dear Count,' he said at length, 'I 
 am really sorry that you should allow 
 yourself to be so much annoyed over what 
 seems to me to be a mere trifle. This mar- 
 riage-contract, so honourable to me, is now 
 signed ; at the present moment les messieurs 
 de robe are engaged, I doubt not, in arrang- 
 ing those pecuniary matters which you 
 explained to me were of so much import- 
 ance : why, then, should we trouble our- 
 selves ? As to this little pastorale which it 
 seems is being enacted as a sort of interlude 
 to the more serious business of the stage, it 
 is what I imagine invariably takes place. 
 What would become of the poets and roman- 
 cists otherwise ? Wc must think of our 
 own youth, Count, and not \m\ too lianl 
 upon the young people. Positively I feel 
 quite old when I think of those delightful
 
 144 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE il 
 
 days — that s[)ring-time of existence, those 
 first loves,' and the Marquis closed his eyes 
 and sighed deeply, apparently from his 
 heart. 
 
 The Count took a turn or two in the 
 saloon, but it did not seem to soothe his 
 temper. 
 
 'This is all very well,' he said sharply, 
 ' and very witty ; in delicate badinage we 
 all know no one can equal Monsieur de 
 St. Palaye, but I assure you this is no 
 laughing matter. This affair has grown 
 beyond a joke. When my daughter has 
 the honour — an honour, I am well aware, 
 far higher than any she had a right to 
 expect — of signing herself Madeleine, Mar- 
 quise de St. Palaye, it will not be my 
 place, of course, to say a word. Then 
 her honour will be in her husband's 
 keeping — her honour and his. But while 
 she remains in my house she is my
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 145 
 
 daughter, and in my care, and I tell 
 you plainly that this matter is past a 
 joke.' 
 
 A fleeting expression of extreme enmii 
 passed over the Marquis's face, and he 
 evidently suppressed an inclination to yawn. 
 Then with more bonhomie than he had pre- 
 viously shown he put his hand on his com- 
 panion's arm. 
 
 ' Well, my dear Count,' he said smilingly, 
 ' I will do anything you wish — anything, that 
 is, short of un[;leasantly hurrying the nuptials 
 — that I cannot do. It would be — in fact, it 
 would be such wretched taste — tears! — a 
 scene ! — a — an esclaudrc in general, my dear 
 Count !' 
 
 Then linking his arm in that of the Count, 
 
 he led him, still sulky and grumbling, out (^1 
 
 the saloon, and into the imjdcrn court of the 
 
 cliAteau ; and tlie long lines of ancestors on 
 
 the walls followed them as they passed 
 
 L
 
 146 THE MARQUIS DE ST. PALAYE n 
 
 with angry and vindictive looks, as though 
 enraged that they could not descend from 
 their places and join again in the turmoil 
 of life.
 
 Ill 
 
 The second morning after the contract had 
 been signed, the Marquis was seated in his 
 dressing-room, about an hour before dejeuner, 
 reading, apparently with great entertainment, 
 though not for the first time, Le Taureau 
 Blanc of Monsieur de Voltaire. While he 
 was thus agreeably occupied the door was 
 violently thrown open, and the Count, 
 heated and excited, burst into the room. 
 
 ' Marquis,' he said, utterly regardless of 
 any who might hear, ' let me beg of you to 
 get to horse at once and come with me. I 
 have positive infcjrmatiou that my daugluer 
 is at this moment giving an interview to that 
 young scoundrel on one of the terraces in
 
 148 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 the wood. While we speak they may be 
 planning an elopement — nay, even carrying 
 it into effect. Let me beg of you to come at 
 once ! 
 
 The Marquis laid down his book, crossed 
 one knee over the other, and leaning back 
 on his chair looked the Count in the face 
 steadily for a second or two, as who should 
 say, ' This man will be too much for me ; I 
 shall have to press forward the nuptials, I 
 see, in self-defence.' Then he sighed deeply 
 and rose from his seat. 
 
 ' Very well, my dear Count,' he said, * I 
 will be as quick as possible. Pierre, see that 
 they bring some horses round ; come into 
 my closet yourself, and send Charles and 
 Alphonse and all the men here at once. I 
 will make haste, my dear Count, indeed I 
 will.' 
 
 Whether the Marquis did make haste as 
 he said, or whether the number of valets
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 149 
 
 impeded each other, it is certain that it was 
 a long time before he descended to the court 
 of the chateau, where he found the Count 
 pacing up and down, fuming and cursing his 
 delay. They got to horse as soon as pos- 
 sible, and rode down the forest road, but the 
 Marquis reined his horse in so often, and 
 made such inappropriate remarks upon the 
 beauty of the morning and of the view, that 
 the Count could bear it no lonofer. 
 
 * Monsieur le Marquis,' he said, ' I am 
 sorry I have disturbed you so much ; I am 
 very anxious to press forward, but I will not 
 hurry you, I will ride forward at once.' 
 
 ' Pray do not delay a moment on my 
 account,' said the other; 'I shall rejoin you 
 anon.' 
 
 The Count put spurs to his horse, and, 
 followed by his servants, was lost to sight 
 behind the windings of the path. 
 
 The momf-nt he disappeared the Manpiis
 
 I50 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 drew his rein, and turning to his valet, said 
 in a tone perfectly different from that which 
 he had hitherto used — 
 
 ' On the north terrace, do you say ? ' 
 
 'Yes, Monsieur le Marquis,' replied the 
 man, with a smile ; ' on the north terrace to 
 the left : not on the old terrace, as the Count 
 is wrongly advised. They have been there 
 a long time ; I should think they must be 
 about parting.' 
 
 The Marquis turned his horse, and, fol- 
 lowed by his men, retraced his steps until 
 they reached a scarcely perceptible path 
 which, now on their right hand, found its 
 way down into the road. Here he dis- 
 mounted, and taking his riding- whip with 
 him in place of a cane, began leisurely to 
 ascend the path. When he had gone a yard 
 or two, however, he turned to the valet and 
 said — 
 
 ' Wait here widi the horses, and should
 
 ir DE ST. PALAYE 151 
 
 Monsieur le Comte return, say to him that 
 I have taken the opportunity of the fine 
 morning to enjoy one of the numerous views 
 on his delightful estate. Say that to him, 
 neither more nor less.' 
 
 When the Marquis reached the head of 
 the path he found himself at the end of a 
 long and grassy terrace, from which the path 
 was screened by thick bushes. Standing 
 for a moment so concealed, he became con- 
 scious of the presence of the two young 
 lovers whom he had met some few days ago 
 in the forest. Again he could see the face 
 of the young girl, and again he was moved 
 by the sight. He waited till they had 
 reached the other end of th(i terrace, and 
 then came forward, so as n(A lo stcU'llc ilicni liy 
 his sudden a])pr'aranco. They m(^t h.ilf way. 
 
 ' I am sorry once again,' said the Marcjuis, 
 speaking simj^ly and without affectation, 'to 
 intercept Mademoiselle, especially as this
 
 152 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 time I have no excuse, but have acted with 
 prepense. Monsieur le Comte, your father, 
 is ridden out in hot haste and temper upon 
 some mischievous information he has re- 
 ceived concerning Mademoiselle and Mon- 
 sieur le Chevalier. I did what I could to 
 delay him, and finally left him, having better 
 information, it appears, than he had. But 
 he will be here anon. I was compelled to 
 leave my horses in the road below, and when 
 he returns from his fruitless quest he will 
 doubtless follow me here. Monsieur le 
 Chevalier will doubtless see the propriety of 
 avoiding an unpleasant meeting.' 
 
 ' I have to thank you, Monsieur le Mar- 
 quis,' said the young man, whose manner 
 seemed compounded of an intense dislike 
 and a sense that politeness was due to one 
 who, under singular circumstances, had be- 
 haved in a more friendly manner than could 
 have been looked for ; ' I have to thank you
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 153 
 
 for previous courtesy, and for, I have no 
 doubt, much consideration to-day. I will 
 not linger any more.' 
 
 He took the girl in his arms and im- 
 printed a kiss upon her lips, which, under 
 the circumstances, was perhaps scarcely 
 courteous ; then, gloomily bowing to the 
 Marquis, he plunged into the thickest of the 
 wood and disappeared. 
 
 The Marquis took no notice of the 
 warmth of his leave-taking, but having his 
 riding-whip and hat in one hand, he offered 
 the other arm to the girl, saying — 
 
 ' If Mademoiselle will honour me by 
 taking a turn upon the terrace before her 
 father's arrival I shall esteem it a favour, as 
 it will give me the opportunity of sa) Ing a 
 single word,' 
 
 The girl took his arm willingl)', and as 
 she did so she said, with a winning and con- 
 fiding gesture —
 
 154 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 ' Monsieur le Marquis, I think you are the 
 best and kindest of men.' 
 
 ' I wish to put before Mademoiselle,' said 
 the Marquis, speaking gently, but very 
 gravely, ' one or two considerations ; and I 
 could wish that it were possible for her to 
 regard it as the advice of an absolutely im- 
 partial friend. The first is one of which I 
 hesitate to speak, because it seems to cast a 
 slur, in some manner, upon the character of 
 Monsieur le Chevalier. But man is very 
 weak, especially when exposed to such 
 temptation as, fortunately for him, rarely in 
 this world crosses his path. These shady 
 groves and grassy banks are the places 
 where the deceitful god delights to work his 
 mischief — a mischief which is never repaired. 
 I know, of course, that there are many who 
 speak of these things lightly, and who even 
 view these flowery but dangerous paths 
 with approbation ; but I cannot think that
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 155 
 
 Mademoiselle would tread them without 
 violating the biensdance which alone makes 
 life tolerable, or tainting the purity of those 
 lustrous ranks of which she will be the 
 brightest star. I pass at once to another 
 thought which it is not impossible Monsieur 
 le Chevalier has already suggested.' He 
 paused, as the tremor of the girl's hand upon 
 his arm showed that he was not speaking in 
 vain. ' I mean,' he continued, ' the project 
 of seeking in another land that happiness 
 which I fear appears to Mademoiselle to be 
 denied her in this. Could I see any per- 
 manent prospect of happiness in such a 
 course I would not shrink, Quixotic as it 
 might seem, from advising you to adoj^t it. 
 But there appear to me insuperable objec- 
 tions to such a course. I do not see how it 
 is possible for Mademoiselle so to elude the 
 affectionate solicitude of her family as to 
 obtain more than a couple of hours' start.
 
 156 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 Couriers on swift horses would be sent to 
 the Intendants of the provinces, to the post- 
 masters on the great roads, and to the 
 officers on the frontiers. After experiencing 
 toil and hardships, which it is pitiful to think 
 of. Mademoiselle would probably be over- 
 taken before she reached the frontier. But 
 supposing that such was not the case ; sup- 
 posing that she succeeded, by the skill of 
 Monsieur le Chevalier and the swiftness of 
 his horses, in reaching a foreign land, the 
 Chevalier is a sworn servant of the King of 
 France. He would be arrested in any court 
 and city of Europe ; he would be brought 
 back to France, and the Bastile, or some 
 inferior prison, would be his home for life. 
 When I add to this the hardships of life in a 
 foreign land, of the rupture of family ties, of 
 hatred and animosity where there should be 
 nothing but serenity, of the failure of family 
 schemes and hopes, and of the tie which
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 157 
 
 binds persons of our rank all over the world 
 to discountenance actions which are regarded 
 as subversive of family order, and even life — 
 I cannot, I say, when I think of such certain 
 hardship, of such possible disgrace and 
 misery — I cannot advise Mademoiselle to 
 adopt such a course. The certainty that she 
 would soon be separated from her friend 
 seems to me to decide the matter.' 
 
 The Marquis paused ; but as the girl 
 made no reply, he continued — 
 
 ' For myself, I say nothing ; it is my mis- 
 fortune that I have been introduced to 
 Mademoiselle under circumstances which 
 render it impossible that I should makc! that 
 impression which it would have been the 
 ambition of my life to achieve ; but ihls, 
 perhaps, I may say, that sliouKl Mademoiselle 
 decide to let matters take their course, and 
 as far as circumstances will permit, to repose 
 in me her confidence, it would indeed seem
 
 158 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 a fatality no less strange than sad should 
 she prove the first who, in the long course of 
 centuries, had reason to regret that they 
 placed confidence in the word of a St. 
 Palaye.* 
 
 It seemed that something in the words of 
 the Marquis, strange as they may appear to 
 some people, or something in his manner 
 as he spoke them, did not affect the girl un- 
 pleasantly, for she was in the act of saying, 
 what indeed she had said before, but now 
 with one slight but important modification — 
 
 ' Marquis, you are the best and kindest of 
 men,' — when her father, heated with riding 
 and with anger, burst through the trees at 
 the end of the terrace, and overlooking in 
 his fury what was before his eyes, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 * Well, Marquis, I told you how it would 
 be : I cannot find them ! This wretched 
 girl ' he stopped suddenly, open-mouthed.
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 159 
 
 as Straight before him, apparently on the 
 most friendly terms, the girl hanging con- 
 fidingly upon her companion's arm, stood the 
 Marquis, and she of whom he was in such 
 desperate chase. It was impossible for either 
 to conceal a smile. 
 
 'My dear Count,' said the Marquis, 'I 
 am sorry you have had so much unnecessary 
 trouble. The truth is that after you left me 
 it occurred to me that, in the little domestic 
 scene you were anticipating, I should play an 
 insignificant, not to say a somewhat ridiculous 
 figure. Warm as is the interest which I must 
 naturally feel in everything that concerns 
 Mademoiselle, I think that these family mat- 
 ters are always best managed by the family 
 itself. I therefore turned aside to enjoy per- 
 haps the most beautiful of the many beautiful 
 views to be found on this estate, and to my 
 delight I found Mademoiselle engaged in a 
 precisely similar occupation It augurs well.
 
 i6o THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 I am sure, for our future happiness, that at 
 this early period our tastes are found to be 
 so similar.' 
 
 The Count saw that he was being laughed 
 at, and indeed it may as well be confessed at 
 once that the Marquis erred in the manner 
 in which he treated the Count. This, how- 
 ever, should be remembered in extenuation, 
 that nothing could be more intolerable to 
 him than the part of jealous husband and 
 lover which the Count appeared determined 
 to force him to play. It was not in human 
 nature but that he should take a little quiet 
 revenge. 
 
 * But did you see nothing of the Cheva- 
 lier?' blundered out the Count. 
 
 ' Really, my dear Count, I have not had 
 time, had I possessed the power, to challenge 
 my adversary to mortal combat, to run him 
 through the heart, to cut him up into small 
 bits, and to bury him beneath the sod.
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE i6i 
 
 Besides, you will observe that the grass all 
 around is perfectly undisturbed. I assure 
 you solemnly,' continued the Marquis, ap- 
 parently with the greatest earnestness, ' that 
 the Chevalier does not lie murdered beneath 
 my feet.' 
 
 The words were spoken in jest, but they 
 were recalled to memory afterwards by more 
 than one. 
 
 The Count turned sulkily away, and his 
 daughter and the Marquis followed him back 
 to the chateau. 
 
 M
 
 IV 
 
 A FEW days after these events the Count 
 removed his family to Paris, travelling in 
 several large carriages, and accompanied 
 by numerous servants on horseback. The 
 Marquis accompanied them, and, by what 
 might appear a curious coincidence, on the 
 very morning upon which they set out on 
 their journey the Chevalier received, at the 
 little miberge on the farther side of the forest, 
 where he lodged, an imperative order to join 
 his regiment without delay. Furious at the 
 success of what he conceived to be the inter- 
 ference of the Marquis and the Count, he 
 obeyed the order, resolved to return to Paris 
 at the earliest opportunity.
 
 II THE MARQUIS BE ST. PALAYE 163 
 
 The winter passed in Paris as winters in 
 great cities usually do. The Chevalier stole 
 up from the frontier more than once, and at 
 court balls, at the theatre, and at the private 
 assemblies he succeeded in seeing Made- 
 moiselle de Frontenac more often than he 
 perhaps had expected, but though his oppor- 
 tunities exceeded his hopes, the result was 
 not proportionally favourable. Whether 
 Mademoiselle had succumbed to the paternal 
 inlluence, or whether the Marquis had suc- 
 ceeded in substituting his own attractions for 
 those of the Chevalier, it was evident that 
 her manner became colder and more reserved 
 at each intervicnv. 
 
 The winter at last was over, and one 
 evening in sumnKM*, after a royal concert at 
 Versailles, when ihc king's violins had per- 
 formed such delicate and yet pathetic music 
 of MonsifHir Rouss('au's that the court was 
 rnvi'^hf-d by it, the Chevalier met his mistress
 
 i64 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE il 
 
 by appointment in one of the pavilions of the 
 orangery. He had secret means of obtain- 
 ing admission to the precincts of the palaces 
 which were well understood by the courtiers 
 of those days. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Frontenac was perfectly 
 pale as she came into the pavilion, and she 
 seemed to walk with difficulty ; she stopped 
 immediately when within the door, and spoke 
 at once, as though she were repeating a 
 lesson. 
 
 ' Do not come any nearer, Monsieur Ic 
 Chevalier,' she said ; ' I am the wife of 
 another.' 
 
 He stopped, therefore, where he was, on 
 the other side of the small pavilion, and 
 across the summer eveninof lio^ht that 
 mingled with the shimmer of the candelabras, 
 he saw her for the last time. 
 
 Neither spoke for a moment or two, and 
 then she said, still as though conning a part —
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 165 
 
 ' I have promised, Monsieur le Chevalier 
 de Grissolles, to be the wife of the Marquis 
 de St. Palaye, and I will keep my word.' 
 
 ' You are not speaking your own words, 
 Madeleine,' he said eagerly; 'let your own 
 heart speak ! ' and coming forward across the 
 pavilion, he was on the point of taking her 
 hand. 
 
 Then the door by which she had entered 
 opened again, and the Count de Frontenac, 
 with a quiet and firm step, glided in, and 
 stood by his daughter's side. 
 
 Al this sight, which revealed to him, as it 
 seemed, the faithlessness of his mistress, and 
 the \)]()t which was woven around him on 
 every side, the Chevalier lost his self-control. 
 
 ' 1 was aware. Monsieur k; Comt(^' he 
 burst forth, 'thai in this />ays du diablc the 
 privileges of panmts were numerous and 
 inalienable, but till this moment I did not 
 know that eavesdropi)iiig was one of them.'
 
 i66 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 The Count made no reply, except by- 
 raising his hat ; and his daughter, bowing 
 with a mechanical grace that was pitiful to 
 see, said — 
 
 * I wish you farewell, Monsieur le Cheva- 
 lier.' 
 
 ' Madeleine,' said the young man, * I wish 
 you farewell for ever ; and I pray God, 
 with what sincerity will be known when 
 we stand, each of us, before His judg- 
 ment bar, that you may not bitterly regret 
 your words this night.' 
 
 Then, perfectly pale, but more composed 
 than before he had spoken, he too raised his 
 hat courteously, and left the room. 
 
 That evening there were enacted within a 
 stone's throw of each other two very different 
 scenes. 
 
 When the Marquis de St. Palaye re- 
 turned to his hotel he was told that the 
 family lawyer, Monsieur Cacotte, was wait-
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 167 
 
 ing to see him, having at the first possible 
 moment brousrht him some deeds which 
 Monsieur le Marquis was very anxious 
 should be completed. 
 
 The Marquis would see him at once, 
 and after a few minutes' delay, he entered 
 the room, in which the lawyer was seated at 
 a table which was covered with parchments. 
 The room was one in which the Marquis 
 usually sat when the festivities of the day, 
 whether at home or abroad, were over ; it 
 was richly furnished as a library, and upon 
 the wide hearth there burned a fire of wood, 
 though it was summer. Greeting the law- 
 yer with great friendliness of manner, St. 
 Palaye threw himself somewhat wearily 
 into a chair, and gazed at the blazing wood- 
 ashes, 
 
 A servant entered the rof)m with wine. 
 
 ' I am sorry. Monsieur le Marcjuis,' said 
 the lawyer, ' to come to you at so unscason-
 
 i68 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE li 
 
 able an hour ; but your instructions were so 
 precise that the moment this first will was 
 ready it should be brought to you to sign, 
 that I did not dare to wait till the morrow.' 
 
 ' You did quite right, Monsieur Cacotte,' 
 said the Marquis. ' No one can tell what 
 may happen before the morrow.' 
 
 ' I have indeed,' continued the lawyer, 
 'prepared both wills, so that Monsieur can 
 satisfy himself that they are both exactly 
 alike. The one will be signed immediately 
 after the marriage ; the other at once. They 
 both contain the same clauses, and especially 
 the one upon which Monsieur le Marquis so 
 much insisted : " That the sum of fifty thou- 
 sand louis d'or, charged upon the unsettled 
 estates in Poitou and Auvergne, should be 
 paid within three months of the death of 
 the testator to Monsieur le Chevalier de 
 Grissolles, for a purpose which he will 
 appreciate and understand." Those, I think.
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 169 
 
 were the words Monsieur wished to have 
 used.' 
 
 'They seem quite correct,' said the Mar- 
 quis. 
 
 'I am sorry,' continued the lawyer, 'that 
 this extra expense, which seems to me un- 
 necessary, should be entailed.' 
 
 'In that,' said the Marquis politely, 'you 
 only show. Monsieur Cacotte, that care and 
 interest in the good of the family which you 
 have always manifested both in the time of 
 my father and of myself. My father, the 
 late Manjuis de St. Palaye, always expressed 
 to me the obligation under which he con- 
 ceived himself to be in tliis respect, and this 
 obligation is, of course, much increased in 
 my case.' 
 
 'The obligation. Monsieur le Marcjuis,' 
 said the lawyer, ' if such there be, has been 
 too liberally repaid both \>y youv faihcr and 
 yourself.'
 
 I70 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 ' To tell the truth, Monsieur Cacotte,' 
 said the Marquis, leaning back in his chair, 
 with his feet stretched out towards the fire, 
 and speaking with an appearance of being 
 perfectly at home with his companion, and 
 desirous of confiding in him — ' to tell the 
 truth, I am, even in this age of science and 
 encyclopaedias, somewhat superstitious, and 
 I have a presentiment — the St. Palayes often 
 had it — that I have not long to live. Do 
 not suppose that I shrink from this prospect, 
 though it is a singular statement for a man 
 to make who is about to marry, and to 
 marry such a bride as mine ! Yet I do not 
 mind confiding to you, Monsieur Cacotte, 
 that I am somewhat wearied of life. The 
 world grows very old, and it does not seem 
 to mend.' 
 
 ' Monsieur le Marquis has been too long 
 unmarried,' said the lawyer. ' I am not sur- 
 prised that he should be wearied of the
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 171 
 
 enjoyments which he has had the oppor- 
 tunity of tasting to such repletion. He will 
 speak differently when he has a lovely woman 
 by his side, and knows the felicity of wife 
 and child.' 
 
 ' Ah, Monsieur Cacotte ! ' said the Mar- 
 quis, smiling, ' you speak, as they all do, of 
 felicity. There is such a thing, believe me, 
 as the intolerable weariness of a too constant 
 felicity. When I hear even of the joy of 
 the future, and of the bliss of heaven, it 
 seems to me sometimes that the most bliss- 
 ful heaven is to cease to exist. — Let me sign 
 the deed.' 
 
 A servant was called in as a witness, 
 and the Marquis signed the first will. Then 
 he said to Monsieur CacoLte — 
 
 ' The marriage will take i)lace in six 
 weeks in Auvergnc ; I hope that Monsieur 
 Cacotte will honour the ceremuny with his 
 presence. I can assure you from my own
 
 172 THE MAROUJS JEANNE IIYACINTHE ii 
 
 experience that you will have nothing to 
 complain of in the hospitality of Monsieur le 
 Comte.' 
 
 • • • • I 
 
 The Chevalier returned to his lodging 
 about the same time that the Marquis en- 
 tered his hotel. His valet awaited him that 
 he might change his dress as usual before 
 going into the town to spend the remainder 
 of the evening. The man perceived at once 
 that his master was excited and unhappy. 
 He was an Italian by birth, and had accom- 
 panied the Chevalier in his campaigns, and 
 in his secret visits to the Chateau de Fron- 
 tenac. He saw that the crisis had arrived, 
 
 ' Does Monsieur go down into Auvergne 
 this autumn ? ' he said. 
 
 ' We go down once more,' said the Chev- 
 alier gloomily. He had divested himself of 
 his court dress, and was takinp- from his 
 valet a suit of dark clothes somewhat re-
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 173 
 
 sembling a hunting suit. ' Yes, we go down 
 once more : this cursed marriage will take 
 place a month hence.' 
 
 ' Monsieur takes this marriage too much 
 to heart,' said the Italian, — and as he spoke 
 he handed the coat, which his master put on, 
 — ' it may never take place. A month hence 
 in the country they will begin to hunt — to 
 hunt the boar. No doubt the party at the 
 chateau will divert themselves in this way 
 while the nuptial ceremonies are arranged. 
 It is a dangerous sport. Many accidents 
 take place, many unfortunate shots — quite 
 unintentional. Monsieur Ic Chevalier is a 
 finished sportsman. He has a steady hand 
 aiiil a sure eye. Ccst nn fait accompli? 
 
 The Chevalier started : in ihc large glass 
 before him he saw a terrible figure: dressed 
 as for the chase, but pale as a corpse, and 
 trembling in every limb as with the palsy. 
 llr shuddered and turiictl away.
 
 V 
 
 The piqtieurs sent up word to the chateau 
 that a magnificent boar had been lodged in 
 a copse at the foot of the forest road. An 
 answer was sent down accordingly that the 
 Marquis would drive him early in the morn- 
 ing, and that he should be turned if possible 
 towards the chateau. 
 
 In the morning, therefore, very early, the 
 whole household was astir. The ladies were 
 mounted, and, divided into parties, cantered 
 down the road and along the forest paths to 
 those points where, according to the advice 
 of their several attendant cavaliers, the hunt 
 would most likely be seen to advantage. 
 The Marquis, it was said, had been down at
 
 II THE MARQUIS DE ST. PALAYE 175 
 
 a Still earlier hour to rouse the boar. Every 
 now and then a distant horn sounding over 
 the waving autumn forest told that the sport 
 had commenced. 
 
 The ladies were gay and delighted, and 
 those of the gentlemen who, like Monsieur 
 Cacotte, were not much accustomed to 
 country life and scenes, shared their enjoy- 
 ment to the full. And indeed it seemed a 
 morning out of fairyland. From every 
 branch and spray upon which the leaves, 
 tinted with a thousand colours, were trem- 
 bling already to their fall, hung sparkling 
 festoons of fairy lace, the mysterious gossa- 
 mer web which in a single night wreathes a 
 whole forest with a magic covering which the 
 first JKjur of sunlight as soon destroys. 
 Yellows, browns, and pnrplfs formed the 
 background of this dazzling network of fairy 
 silver which crossed in all directions the 
 forest rides.
 
 176 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 But though the morning was so lovely 
 the ladies grew tired of riding up and down 
 waiting for the hunt. The horns became 
 fainter and more distant, and it became evi- 
 dent that the chase had drifted to the east- 
 ward. 
 
 ' Why do you stay here, Monsieur de 
 Circassonne ?' said Mademoiselle de Fronte- 
 nac, smiling, to a young man, almost a boy, 
 who had with the utmost devotion remained 
 by the side of herself and a very pretty girl, 
 her companion. ' Why do you stay here ? 
 You are not wont to desert the chase. What 
 can have happened to the Marquis and the 
 rest ? ' 
 
 The boy looked somewhat sheepish, and 
 replied to the latter part of the question only. 
 
 ' I fancy that the boar has broken out, in 
 spite of the piqueurs, and that the Marquis 
 has failed to turn him. They have pro- 
 bably lost him in the forest.'
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 177 
 
 ' But is not that very dangerous ? ' said 
 the pretty girl. ' If they do not know where 
 the boar is, he may burst out upon us at any 
 moment.' 
 
 The boy looked at her as though much 
 pleased. 
 
 ' That is quite true,' he said. ' It was one 
 reason why I stayed.' 
 
 Monsieur de Circassonne was not far 
 wrong in his opinion. This is what had 
 happened. 
 
 When the Marquis arrived at the cover, 
 very soon after sunrise, he found that the 
 boar, ungraciously refusing to wait his op- 
 ponent's convenience, had broken cover, 
 and wounding one of the piqiieurs, who 
 attempted to liirn him, had gone down the 
 valley. lie was described as an unusually 
 fine animal, and the dogs were upon his 
 track. 
 
 'i he course whi(ii ihc boar had taken lay 
 
 N
 
 178 THE MARQUIS JEANNE IIYACINTIIE ii 
 
 through the thick of the forest. It was 
 rugged and uneven, and he could only be 
 pursued on foot. After some distance had 
 been traversed, the scent was suddenly- 
 crossed by a large sow, who, as frequently 
 happened, apparently with the express pur- 
 pose of diverting the pursuit from her com- 
 panion, crossed immediately in front of the 
 dogs and went crashing down through the 
 coppice to the right. Most of the hounds 
 followed her, and the piqueurs, with few 
 exceptions, followed the dogs. The Marquis, 
 however, succeeded in calling off some of the 
 oldest hounds, and, accompanied by two or 
 three piqueurs, followed the original chase. 
 Some distance farther on, however, the boar 
 had taken to the water, and the scent was 
 lost. At the same time the horns sounding 
 in the valley to the right showed that the 
 deserters had come up with their quarry, and 
 distracted the attention of both piqueurs and
 
 11 DE ST. PALAYE 179 
 
 dogs. The former were of opinion that the 
 boar had simply crossed the river, and taking 
 the dogs across they made a cast on the 
 opposite bank, where the dogs ran backwards 
 and forwards baying disconsokitely. The 
 Marquis, however, beheving that the boar 
 had followed the course of the stream for at 
 least some distance, kept on the left bank, 
 and forcing his way round one or two craggy 
 points, found at last the spot where the boar, 
 apparently but a few moments before, had 
 scrambled up the bank. He sounded his 
 horn, but either from the baying of the dogs, 
 or the noise and excitement in the valley 
 below, he was disregarded, and pushing aside 
 the branches before him, the Marquis found 
 himself at the foot of a ravine down which a 
 mountain torrent was rushing to join the 
 river Ixiiow. The bed of the ravine was 
 composed of turf overstrewn with craggy 
 rock, and on either side rugged cliffs, r)ul of
 
 i8o THE MAR(2UIS JEANNE HYACINTHE ii 
 
 the fissures of which lofty oaks and chestnuts 
 had grown for centuries, towered up towards 
 the sky. 
 
 The Marquis waited for a moment, but 
 hearing no reply to his horn, he entered the 
 ravine alone. 
 
 As he did so, the strange shapes which 
 the hanging roots and branches of the 
 trees assumed might seem to beckon and 
 warn him back ; but, on the other hand, a 
 thousand happy and pleasing objects spoke 
 of life and joy. The sun shone brilliantly 
 through the trembling leaves, birds of many 
 colours flitted from spray to spray, butter- 
 flies and bright insects crossed the fretted 
 work of light and shade. The chase was 
 evidently before him — why should he turn 
 back .-* 
 
 Some fifty yards up the valley the rocks 
 retreated on either side, leaving a wide and 
 open grassy space, down which the torrent
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE i8i 
 
 was rushing, and over which fragments of 
 basaltic rock, spHt from the wooded cHffs 
 above, were strewn. At the summit of 
 this grassy slope, standing beneath a bare 
 escarpment of basalt, the Marquis saw the 
 boar. 
 
 Its sides and legs were stained with mud 
 and soil, but the chase had been very short, 
 and the animal seemed to have turned to bay 
 more out of curiosity and interest than from 
 terror or exhaustion. It stood sniffing the 
 air and panting with excitement, its hair 
 l^ristling with anger, its white and polished 
 tusks shining in the sun. 
 
 When the Marquis saw this superb crea- 
 ture standing above him on the turl, a glow 
 of healthy and genuine pleasure passed over 
 his face. He swung his horn round far out 
 of reach behind his back, and drew his long 
 and jewelled knife 'I'Ik! lioar and he Wf)nld 
 try this is.suc alone.
 
 i82 THE MARQUIS JEANNE HYACINTHE li 
 
 For some seconds they stood facing each 
 other. Then the posture of the Marquis 
 changed inexpHcably. He rose to his full 
 height, his gaze was fixed as if by fascination 
 upon a long range of low rocks above him to 
 the left, and an expression of surprise, which 
 did not amount to anxiety even, came into 
 his face. Then he dropped his knife, threw 
 his arms up suddenly over his head, and 
 falling backwards, rolled once over and lay 
 motionless upon the uneven turf in an uneasy 
 posture, his head lower than the limbs. A 
 puff of white smoke rose from the rocks 
 above, and the reverberating echo of a hunt- 
 ing piece struck the rocks and went on sound- 
 ing alternately from side to side down the 
 valley. 
 
 The boar, startled at the shot, and still 
 more, probably,^ by the sudden fall of his 
 adversary, crept into the thicket, and, while 
 a man might count sixty, an awful silence fell
 
 II DE ST. PALAYE 183 
 
 upon hill, and rock, and wood. The myriad 
 happy creatures that filled the air with mur- 
 mur and with life became invisible and silent, 
 and even the rushing torrent ceased to sound. 
 Then a terrible figure, habited in the costume 
 of the chase, but trembling in every limb as 
 with a palsy, rose from behind the rocks upon 
 the left. With tottering and uneven steps, 
 it staggered down the grassy slope, and stood 
 beside the fallen man. The Marquis opened 
 his eyes, and when he saw this figure he 
 tried to raise himself from the uneasy posture 
 in which he had fallen. When he found it 
 was impossible, a smile of indescribably 
 serene courtesy formed itself gradually upon 
 his face. 
 
 'Ah, Chevalier,' he said, s|)('aking slowly 
 and at intervals, 'that was scarcely fair! 
 Make my regrets to ih(; Mar(|uise. Mon- 
 sieur Cacotte — will speak to you — about — 
 my — will.'
 
 i84 THE MARQUIS DE ST. PALAYE ll 
 
 Then, the smile fading from the lips, his 
 head fell back into the uneasy posture in 
 which it had lain, and the Marquis Jeanne 
 Hyacinthe de St. Palaye rested in peace 
 upon the blood-stained grass.
 
 HI 
 
 THE BARONESS HELENA VON 
 SAARFELD
 
 THE BARONESS HELENA VON 
 SAARFELD 
 
 Travelling in Germany on one occasion, 
 I passed the evening at a small inn among 
 some mountains with a middle-aged man 
 whom I soon discovered to have been an 
 actor. In the course of the evening he told 
 me the outlines of the following story, to- 
 gether with much interesting detail relating 
 to an actor's life. I have ('nd(\avoured to 
 work into the story what I could recolU^ct of 
 his observations, but not being able to take 
 notes at the time, and hnvliig Utile iiuimate 
 knowledge f)f German life, I have lost much 
 of the local colouring and graphic detail which
 
 i88 THE BARONESS III 
 
 interested me so much at the time. This 
 short introduction will suffice. 
 
 In a considerable town in Germany (said 
 the actor) there have been for several 
 generations a succession of dukes who have 
 patronised the German theatre and devoted 
 the principal part of their revenue to its 
 support. In this city I was born. My grand- 
 father had been an actor of some repute, whose 
 acting in some of his principal characters 
 Schiller is said greatly to have admired. His 
 son, however, did not follow in his father's 
 art, but degenerated, as most would call it, 
 into a stage-carpenter and inferior scene- 
 painter. He was, however, a man of con- 
 siderable reading, and of a certain humour, 
 which mostly took the form of bitter sarcasm 
 and dislike of the theatrical profession. From 
 my birth he formed a determination to bring 
 me up as a printer, for besides that his fond-
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 189 
 
 ness for reading naturally caused him to 
 admire the art by which books are produced, 
 he believed that education would make 
 gigantic steps within a few years, and that in 
 consequence printers would never want for 
 occupation. In this expectation, at any rate 
 in one respect, he was mistaken. 
 
 Upon the production of a new piece which 
 the reigning Duke had himself written, the 
 juvenile actor who was to have taken a boy's 
 part sickened and died, and the company did 
 not at the moment possess any child who was 
 fitted to take his place. My father was re- 
 quested, or rather commanded, to allow me 
 to learn the few words attached to the part, 
 lie was extremely averse to the proposal, 
 but was compelled to consent, the matter 
 appearing so trilling. The play was very 
 successful. The apjjlause was unanimous, 
 and indeed was so enthusiastic that, not 
 satisfied wilh lauding the talent of lli< noble
 
 I90 THE BARONESS in 
 
 author and with praising the intelligence of 
 the chief actors who had so readily grasped 
 the intentions of genius, it had some en- 
 comiums left for the child actor, and discovered 
 a profound meaning in the few words the 
 Duke had put into my mouth, which it 
 asserted I had clearly and intelligently ren- 
 dered. The Duke, pleased at finding himself 
 so much cleverer than even he had ever 
 suspected, joined in the applause. He never 
 failed to testify his approbation at the way in 
 which I piped out the very ordinary words of 
 my single line, and finally, when the play was 
 withdrawn for a time, he sent an order to my 
 father to repair one summer afternoon to the 
 ducal Schloss which overlooked the town. I 
 have since sometimes thought that it was 
 curious that this play, so full of genius and 
 of humour, was not re-acted even on this 
 partial stage oftcner than it was, and that, 
 in all the theatres of Germany where I
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 191 
 
 have played my part, I never once saw it 
 performed, nor even so much as heard it 
 mentioned ; so difficult of recognition is 
 merit in my profession. 
 
 The ducal Schloss rose directly above the 
 tall houses of the superior quarter of the 
 town, the backs of which looked out upon 
 forest trees which had been planted, and had 
 grown to great size, upon the steep moun- 
 tain slope upon which the Schloss was built. 
 My father, taking me by the hand, led me 
 up the winding road, defended at the angles 
 by neglected towers, which led to the castle 
 gardens. On the way he never ceased to 
 impress upon me the misery of an actor's 
 life. 
 
 ' Th(^ poorest handicraft,' he said, ' by 
 which a man can earn his crust of bread in 
 quiet is preferable to this gaudy imposture 
 which fools think so attractive. In other 
 trades a man is very often his own master, in
 
 192 THE BARONESS iii 
 
 this he has so many that he does not even 
 know which to obey. In other trades a man 
 has some inducement to do his best, in this 
 to excel is in most cases to starve. The mo- 
 ment an actor ceases to assist the self-love of 
 his fellow-actor, or to minister to the worst 
 passions of his auditors, he is hated or despised. 
 He works harder than the simplest journey- 
 man for poorer pay, he is exposed to greater 
 risk of accident, and the necessities of his 
 part require such a delicacy of organisation 
 that the least accident ruins it.' The great 
 trunks of the trees were throwing a fitful 
 shadow over the steep walks as my father, 
 still holding me by the hand, poured these 
 dolorous opinions into my ears, and we 
 reached the long terraces of the ducal 
 gardens. 
 
 We were passed on from one gorgeous 
 domestic to another until at last we found our- 
 selves before the chasseur, a magnificent man
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 193 
 
 of gigantic height, but with an expression of 
 face perfectly gentle and beautiful. I had 
 often noticed this man in the theatre, and had 
 always thought that he would be admirably 
 fitted to represent St. Christopher, a picture 
 of whom hung in my mother's room. He sur- 
 veyed us courteously and kindly, and in- 
 formed us that the Duke was taking his wine 
 with a friend on one of the terraces on the 
 farther side of the hill. Thither he led us, 
 and we found the Duke seated at a small 
 table in front of a stone alcove ornamented 
 with theatrical carvings in bas-relief The 
 view on this side avoided the smoke of the 
 town and commanded a magnificent prospect 
 of wood and plain crossed by water, antl in- 
 tersected by low ranges of hills. The after- 
 noon sun was gilding the tree-tops and the 
 roofs and turrets of the Schloss behind us. 
 
 The gigantic chasseur introduced us to th(; 
 Duke, who sat at his wine, together with a
 
 194 THE BARONESS ill 
 
 gentleman of lofty and kindly expression, 
 whom I never saw before or since. On the 
 table were wine and dried fruits. I remem- 
 ber the scene as though it had occurred only 
 yesterday. 
 
 *Ah, my good Hans,' said the Duke — 
 he prided himself on his accurate acquaintance 
 with every one attached to the theatre, and 
 my father's name was Karl — ' ah, my good 
 Hans, I have sent for you because I have 
 taken an interest in this little fellow, and I 
 wish to make his fortune. I will take his 
 future into my hands and overlook his 
 education in his noble profession of player.' 
 
 My father looked very uncomfortable. 
 
 'Pardon, your highness!' he said, 'I do 
 not design him for a player. I wish him to 
 be a printer.' 
 
 The Duke raised his hand with a magni- 
 ficent gesture as of a man who waives all 
 discussion.
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 195 
 
 ' My good fellow,' he said, ' that is all 
 past. This boy has developed a talent for 
 the highest of all possible professions. He 
 has shown himself unconsciously appreciative 
 of genius, and able to express it. His 
 future is mine.' 
 
 My father looked very downcast, and 
 the gentleman who sat by the Duke, with a 
 kindliness of demeanour which has endeared 
 him to me for ever, said — 
 
 ' But this good man seems to have de- 
 cided views about his own son.' 
 
 ' My dear Ernest,' said the Duke, * on evcM-y 
 other subject I am most willing to listen to, 
 and to follow, your excellent advice, but 
 on this one tojjic I think you will admit 
 that I have some right to Ixt heard. \Vc 
 have here,' he continu(;d, leaning back in his 
 chair, and waving his two hands before him, 
 so that the fingers crossed and Interlaced 
 each other, as his discourse went on, with a
 
 196 THE BARONESS ill 
 
 continuous movement which fascinated my 
 eyes, ' we have here the commencement of 
 an actor's Hfe. We look forward into the 
 future and we see the possibihty of an 
 existence than which nothing more attractive 
 presents itself to the cultured mind. What 
 to other men is luxury is the actor's every- 
 day life. His ordinary business is to make 
 himself familiar with the highest efforts of 
 the intellect of his day, but this even is not 
 all ; every movement of his life is given to 
 the same fascinating pursuit ; whenever he 
 walks the street he is adding to his store ; 
 the most trifling incident — a passing beggar, 
 a city crowd — presents to him invaluable 
 hints ; his very dreams assist him ; he lives 
 in a constant drama of enthralling interest ; 
 the greater stage without is reflected on the 
 lesser stage of the theatre ; his own petty 
 individuality is the glass in which the uni- 
 versal intellect and consciousness mirrors
 
 in HELENA VON SAARFELD 197 
 
 itself. It is given to him of all men to 
 collect in his puny grasp all the fine threads 
 of human existence, and to present them 
 evening after evening for the delight, the 
 instruction, and the elevation of his fellow- 
 men. We have before us an individual, 
 small, it is true, and at present undeveloped, 
 before whom this future lies assured. Shall 
 we hesitate for a moment ? This worthy 
 man, looking at things in a miserable detail, 
 sees nothing but some few inconveniences 
 which beset this, as every other, walk in 
 life. It is fortunate that his child's future is 
 not at his control.' 
 
 My father said nothing more : but as he 
 was shown off the fnial terrace by the least 
 gorgeous of the domestics, he muttered to 
 himself so low that I could only just iiear 
 him, ' \Vc shall see what llv iikjiIkt will sa)'.' 
 
 But — when we reached our house, which 
 was a lofty gabled dwelling in the poorer
 
 198 THE BARONESS' III 
 
 part of the town, but which had belonged 
 to my grandfather and to his father before 
 him, and had once been a residence of im- 
 portance ; when we cHmbed to the upper 
 story and found ourselves in the large 
 kitchen and dwelling-room which commanded 
 views both ways, into the street and to the 
 ramparts at the back — he got no help from 
 his wife. 
 
 My mother did not like reading, and 
 even thought in her secret mind, though she 
 did not say it aloud, that her husband would 
 be much better occupied in working for his 
 family than in puzzling his brains over the 
 pages of Kant. She had, therefore, no 
 great admiration for the great printers of 
 the day, nor was Johann Gutenberg likely 
 to replace St. Christopher over her bedside. 
 She knew nothing of the vast stride that 
 education was about to make, nor of the 
 consequent wealth that awaited the printer's
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 199 
 
 craft, but she did know the theatre and 
 she knew the Duke. That the Duke had 
 promised to make her son's fortune was not 
 denied ; surely there was little left to desire. 
 It was decided that night that I should be 
 an actor. 
 
 ' My son,' said my father, some time 
 afterwards, as he took me to the lodgings of 
 an actor who had promised to teach me to 
 repeat some famous parts, * my son, I have 
 not been able to train thee to the occupation 
 which I should have desired. I pray God 
 to assist thee in that which laic has selected. 
 I have one piece of advice which I will give 
 thee now, though I hope I shall be able lo 
 rejjcat it often. Never aspire to excellence ; 
 select the secondary parts, and any fine 
 strokes of acting wliich you may accjuire 
 throw into th(;se parts. In this way you 
 will escai>e the vindictive jealousy of your 
 fellows ; but if unavoidably you should
 
 200 THE BARONESS ill 
 
 attract such ill-feeling, leave the theatre at 
 once, travel as much as possible, act on as 
 many boards as you can. You will achieve 
 in this way the character of a useful player 
 who is never in the way. In this way, and 
 in this only, you probably will never want 
 bread ; more than this I cannot hope for.' 
 
 I shall not weary you by relating the 
 story of my education as an actor ; it will 
 suffice to say that I found neither my father's 
 estimate of the profession, nor that of the 
 Duke, to be precisely correct. If on the 
 one hand I have found littleness and jeal- 
 ousy to exist among players, on the other I 
 have seen numberless acts of unpretending 
 and self-denying kindness. It must be re- 
 membered that the actor's life is a most 
 exciting and wearing one, and most certain 
 to affect the nerves and make a man irritable 
 and suspicious. His reputation and his
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 201 
 
 means of existence are dependent upon the 
 voice of popular applause — an applause 
 which may be affected by the slightest mis- 
 understanding or error. It is no wonder, 
 therefore, that he is apt to take alarm at 
 trifles, or to resent with too much quickness 
 what seems to be a slight or an unfairness. 
 With regard to the Duke's ideal view of the 
 profession, I did not fmd this even altogether 
 without foundation in fact. I found, amidst 
 all its trivialities and vexations, the player's 
 training to give an insight Into human life 
 in all its forms, and to encourage the study 
 and observation of the varieties of city ex- 
 istence more than perhaps any other training 
 does. I studied the works of the great 
 dramatists and novelists with attention, not 
 only for m\- own parts, but ihal I might 
 understand iIk; parts of others. I followed 
 my father's advice throughout my life. I 
 confined myself systematically to secondary
 
 202 THE BARONESS ill 
 
 parts, but I watched carefully the acting of 
 the great players, and endeavoured to lead 
 up to their best effects, and to respond to 
 the emotions they sought to awaken. By 
 this means I became a great favourite among 
 the best players, for it is surprising what 
 an assistance the responsive action of a 
 fellow -actor is in obtaining an effect, while 
 on the other hand it is very unlikely that 
 the attention of the audience should be 
 diverted from the principal actor by what 
 tends indeed to increase the impression he 
 makes. Several of the greatest actors then 
 in Germany often refused parts unless I 
 played the secondary character. I was not 
 particular. I would take any part, however 
 unimportant, provided my salary was not 
 reduced in consequence, and I endeavoured 
 to throw all my knowledge and training into 
 any part I undertook. By this means I 
 became a great favourite with authors, who.
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 203 
 
 if they are worth anything, endeavour to 
 distribute their genius equally among their 
 characters, and whom nothing irritates so 
 much as to see everything sacrificed to pro- 
 mote the applause and vainglory of a single 
 performer. I grew up, much to the surprise 
 of all who knew me, a very handsome young 
 man ; and I generally took the parts of lovers, 
 when these were not of the first importance, 
 such, for instance, as the part of Romeo, 
 which, true to the rule I had adopted, I 
 never attempted. In this way I had visited 
 most of the cities of Germany, and was well 
 known in all of them, when, at the request 
 of one of the chief actors of the day, who 
 studied the parts of the great tragedies 
 which he undertook with the most con- 
 scientious care, I accepted an engagement 
 at the theatre of one of the great cities of 
 the empire, to which he had also engaged 
 himself for a considerable time.
 
 204 THE BARONESS 
 
 The theatre was a large one, and the 
 company numerous and varied. I might 
 occupy you for a long time with divers de- 
 scriptions of character and with the relation 
 of many curious and moving incidents, but I 
 do not wish to make this a long story, and 
 I will therefore confine myself to the chief 
 events. 
 
 The German stage, as you are aware, is 
 different from your own in England, in that 
 it does not present such marked contrasts. 
 There is a great gulf, as I understand, be- 
 tween your highest actors and your panto- 
 mime players ; but this is not the case in 
 Germany. As far as I can understand, we 
 have nothing resembling your pure panto- 
 mime, and what we have which resembles 
 it is introduced in interludes and after-pieces, 
 and is taken part in, to a considerable extent, 
 by the same actors who perform in the more 
 serious pieces. There was, for instance, in
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 205 
 
 the theatre to which I was attached, an old 
 actor named Apel, who would take the part 
 of grave-digger in Hamlet, and the same 
 evening, in the after-piece, act the part of 
 what you call the clown. This part on any 
 stage is the one most liable to accidents, and 
 this man, in the course of a long professional 
 career, had met with several, in falling 
 through trap-doors open through the care- 
 lessness of carpenters, or stumbling over 
 unforeseen obstacles. These accidents had 
 seriously affected his physical system, and 
 he was rapidly becoming a helpless cripple. 
 He had one child, a daughter, who danced, 
 for a German, with remarkable grace and 
 agility, and sang with a rich and touching 
 voice. Of all the avocations wliich necessity 
 has forced liie unhappy daughters of man to 
 adopt — 
 
 ' The n.irrow avenue of daily toil, 
 For daily bread,'
 
 2o6 THE BARONESS iii 
 
 that of a pantomime dancer, who has a song, 
 is the hardest. I have stood upon the stage 
 by such a girl as this, and marked the pant- 
 ing exhaustion with which she completed her 
 dance, and the stupendous effort with which 
 she commenced her sonQf. Even without 
 the exertion of the dance, I know of few 
 things more touching than to see a girl 
 labouring conscientiously through a long, 
 and possibly an unattractive song, before a 
 wearied and unsympathising audience who 
 reck nothing of the labour, the pains, and 
 the care which the performance involves. 
 The girl of whom I speak, whose name was 
 Liese, had her share, and perhaps more than 
 her share, in this hard lot. She was a fine 
 German girl of no particular talent, but per- 
 fectly trained ; she came of a family of actors, 
 and displayed a kindliness of disposition and 
 a devotion which were truly German. As 
 her father's incapacity increased, her exertions
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 207 
 
 redoubled. While they both were able to 
 take their full part, the income of the pair 
 was comparatively ample ; but as he was 
 obliged to relinquish part after part of his 
 accustomed performance, she redoubled her 
 exertions, and took every trifling part which 
 was in kindliness offered her by the manage- 
 ment. I acted with her in innumerable parts 
 of light comedy as lover and sweetheart, as 
 brother and sister, as betrayer and victim, 
 and, in turn, as jilted and deceived. I have 
 never been able to this clay to decide whether 
 I was really in love with her or not, but I 
 rather think my feelings were those of a 
 devoted and affectionate brother, and I am 
 certain of this, that no man ever reverenced 
 a woman more than I did this girl. At last 
 the old man's paralysis became so confirmed 
 that he could scarcely stand ; he had to be 
 carried to the side scenes, and wciU through 
 hours of agony when his short part was over.
 
 2o3 THE BARONESS in 
 
 One afternoon, about this time, after re- 
 hearsal, at which neither father nor daughter 
 had been present, and whose fines for non- 
 attendance I paid, a proceeding which, as I 
 was known to be so intimate, passed as a 
 mere matter of arrangement between our- 
 selves, I went, at the request of the manager, 
 to inquire whether either would be present at 
 the evening performance. 
 
 Herr Apel had been obliged to leave his 
 former lodgings owing to the reduction of 
 his earnings, and I had not far to go to the 
 dreary, shabby street near the theatre, where 
 he occupied two rooms on the first floor. 
 Liese received me in one of the lower 
 rooms, and I noticed a strange expression 
 in her face which I had never seen 
 before. 
 
 ' We could not come to the rehearsal,' she 
 said ; * we have been rubbing him all day, 
 and he has been in such pain ! I do not
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 209 
 
 think that even he can possibly play to-night. 
 We have our fines ready.' 
 
 ' There is no question of fines,' I said, 
 ' with you. You do not think so badly of 
 Herr Wilhelmj as that, I hope.' 
 
 She looked at me curiously, but made no 
 remark. After a pause she said — 
 
 ' I sometimes think that nursing him and 
 seeing him suffer affects me too. I feel at 
 times a strange numbness and pain stealing 
 over me. What would become of us if I 
 became like him ! ' 
 
 'You must not think of such things,' I 
 said ; * you have plenty of friends who will 
 help you in every way. Let us go up to 
 him.' 
 
 We went together upstairs Intf) a lllile 
 room where the; old clown lay. He had the 
 expression of an idiot, and seemed absolutely 
 cri[)[>led and helpless ; but 1 was not sur- 
 prised at this, for I had seen him even worse
 
 2IO THE I3AR0NESS in 
 
 before, and known him act the same evening 
 with much of his old genius and fire. It was 
 a most extraordinary fact that this man, help- 
 less and idiotic to the last inch of the side 
 scenes, regained, the moment the footlights 
 flashed in his face and he saw the crowded 
 theatre before him, all his strength, recollec- 
 tion, and humour, and went through his part 
 apparently without an effort, only to collapse 
 the moment he tottered behind the scenes. 
 
 He was whining and moaning as I sat 
 down beside him on the sofa. 
 
 * No one pays any attention, no one takes 
 any care of me,' he said ; ' I am a poor old 
 man. I have entertained people in my day 
 — thousands and thousands ; no one does 
 anything for me. My daughter, even, does 
 nothing ; she might do much, but she does 
 nothing ; she is only thinking of herself and 
 her own gains.' 
 
 She stood leaning on the end of the couch.
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 211 
 
 lookinor me full in the face with a sad, but 
 not unhappy, look in her eyes. I could 
 return her glance freely. The old man's 
 state was so evident, it did not embarrass any 
 one whatever he said. She leaned over her 
 father. 
 
 'Shall you play to-night, papa?' she said: 
 we used many French words in the theatre. 
 
 A contortion of pain passed over the old 
 man. 
 
 It was a curious thing, but as I half rose, 
 involuntarily, to help, I saw the same spasm 
 of pain pass over the daughter's form, and 
 she seemed bent down for a moment by it ; 
 then she stood upright, and looked at me 
 with a wistful, earnest, inquiring gaze. 
 
 It is just possible — at this hour I do not 
 think that I should — but still it is just possible 
 that I might have asked what she had in her 
 thoughts, when the door opened, and a 
 female servant announced —
 
 212 
 
 THE BARONESS m 
 
 'The Count von Roseneau.' 
 
 I rose in my seat as a very handsome 
 
 young man, of some two and twenty years of 
 
 age, came into the room. He was well 
 
 known to us all as a constant frequenter of 
 
 the green-room, as you call it in England. 
 
 He spoke kindly to the old man, who seemed 
 
 to brighten at his presence, nodded to me, 
 
 but took little notice of Liese. I know not 
 
 what prompted me, but I stood for a moment 
 
 silent, comparing myself with him. He was 
 
 handsome, though of a more boyish style of 
 
 beauty than mine ; he was noble, though 
 
 said not to be rich. He was far from clever, 
 
 and of very moderate education. I was 
 
 handsomer than he, trained in every art that 
 
 makes the possessor attractive — elocution, 
 
 gesture, demeanour ; my mind stored by the 
 
 intelligent familiarity with the highest efforts 
 
 of human genius ; yet it never occurred to 
 
 me to put myself for a moment into competi-
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 213 
 
 tion with him. After a few ordinary phrases, 
 I took my leave. 
 
 From this day it seemed to me that Liese 
 was more distant and reserved with me ; she 
 seemed, too, to act with indifference and 
 even carelessly, and to be often distraite and 
 forgetful. Her father grew worse and worse. 
 He crept through his part, the mere shadow 
 of his former self. At last the manager 
 informed his daughter that it was impossible 
 to allow him to appear any longer upon the 
 stage. 
 
 'We will give him a benefit.' he said, 'in 
 a week or two, at which all the strength of 
 the ihcalrc will assist. He shall be brought 
 on in a chair, and shall sing his popular song. 
 That must be \\\q. finale! 
 
 in about a month's lime lh(' benefit took 
 place. The theatre was crowded, every- 
 thing being done to make tlie entertainment 
 attractive. Several actors came from distant
 
 214 THE BARONESS in 
 
 cities to take part in the performance, for the 
 old clown was one of the best -known men 
 in the profession, and was associated with 
 pleasant recollections in the memory of most 
 players. Two favourite pieces were given 
 with great applause, and in the interval Herr 
 Apel was brought in in a chair, which was 
 placed in front of the footlights, and sang his 
 song. 
 
 To the last moment, and even as he was 
 carried across the stage, he seemed almost 
 insensible of what was passing, but once in 
 front of the lights, and of the great theatre 
 rising tier over tier before him, every one 
 upon his feet, with waving of handkerchiefs 
 and fans, and a tumult of applause and of 
 encouraging cries, he raised himself in the 
 chair, his face assumed the old inimitable 
 comic expression, and amid the delighted 
 excitement of the vast crowd, he gave his 
 song with as much power and wit as he had
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 215 
 
 ever done in the course of his long career. 
 Nor was this all, for the song being over, 
 and the last two verses given twice, in 
 response to the repeated encore, the long 
 applause having a little subsided, the old man 
 rose, and, without help, tottered forwards 
 towards the lights, and amid the breathless 
 silence of the house, and with a simple dignity 
 which contrasted touchingly with his feeble- 
 ness and his grotesque dress, spoke a few 
 words of natural regret, of farewell, and of grat- 
 itude for the favours of a lifetime. He even, 
 in the concluding sentence, turned slightly 
 to the stage, which was crowded, and includcid 
 his fellow-actors in the expression of kindly 
 reminiscence and thanks. The excitement 
 was intense. Men wept like children, not 
 only in the theatre but on the stage ; many 
 women fainted, and it was some time before 
 the curtain could ris(; again fnr the second 
 piec<-. ! If rr Ape] was taken home in ;i
 
 2i6 THE BARONESS ill 
 
 comatose state, and scarcely moved or spoke 
 again during the remainder of his life. 
 
 Two days after this performance, as I 
 was leaving the theatre after the morning 
 rehearsal, I was accosted by a tall chasseur, 
 who reminded me instantly of my old friend, 
 St. Christopher, in the ducal court. 
 
 'Sir,' he said, with great deference, 'the 
 Baroness Helena von Saarfeld wishes to 
 speak with you in her carriage, which is 
 close by.' 
 
 I followed the man to a handsome carriage 
 which was standing a few doors from the 
 stage entrance, a little way down the street. 
 There, as I stood bareheaded at the open 
 door, I saw for the first time the most 
 beautiful woman, without exception, that I 
 have ever seen. 
 
 Helena von Saarfeld was the only child 
 of the late Baron, who was enormously 
 wealthy and possessed of vast ancestral
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 217 
 
 estates. He was a man of great intellect 
 and of superior attainments, and he undertook 
 the entire education of his only child and 
 heiress. Helena was taught everything that 
 a man would know, and her father discussed 
 all social and religious questions with her. 
 He held very singular opinions upon social 
 problems, and in religion he was much at- 
 tached to the mystical doctrines of the Count 
 Von Zinzendorff. At a very early period 
 he had contracted his daughter in marriage 
 to the young Count von Roseneau, to whose 
 father he had been much attached ; but as 
 the boy grew up, having been deprived early, 
 by death, of his father's care, the Baron 
 became dissatisfied with the young man, and 
 it was well known that at his death, which 
 had taken place about two years before I saw 
 his daugiuer, he had left a codicil to his will 
 entirely exonerating her from any obligation 
 to the young Count, and leaving lur liilwrc
 
 2i8 THE BARONESS ill 
 
 destiny in her own hands, expressing every 
 confidence in her judgment and discretion. 
 All these facts were known to me as I 
 approached the carriage. 
 
 The Baroness was at this time between 
 two and three and twenty, in the full posses- 
 sion of her youth. She was of a perfect 
 height, with brown hair, lighter than her eyes, 
 and beautifully cut features ; her mouth was 
 perhaps rather large, but this only increased 
 the wonderful effect of her smile, which was 
 the most bewitching ever seen. She spoke 
 with animation, and her smile was so constant 
 that the most wonderful thing about it was 
 that its charm never flagged. This was the 
 woman who was presented to my gaze as I 
 stood in the sunshine bareheaded by the 
 carriage-door. 
 
 ' I have wished to speak to you, Herr 
 Richter,' she said, throwing a world of 
 fascination into her face and manner as she
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 219 
 
 spoke ; ' will you oblige me by driving a short 
 distance with me in the carriage ? I will not 
 take you far out of town.' 
 
 I entered the carriage, and the coachman 
 having orders to drive slowly, we passed 
 through the crowded streets. 
 
 ' I was at the theatre the other night,' the 
 Baroness said, ' and I was extremely touched, 
 as, indeed, we all were, at the sight of that 
 poor old man ; though I do not know that I 
 should call him poor who all through his 
 life has contributed to the gaiety and 
 innocent enjoyment of the world, and could 
 at his last breath speak words so touching 
 and so noble as he did. May I ask of you, 
 Ilerr Richler, what will ijccoinc ol him -I 
 am so ignorant of these things — and whether 
 it were possible for one like I am to hel[) him 
 in any way ?' 
 
 ' I shall \)('. very glad, Madame la I'ar- 
 onne,' I said, 'to undertake to ajjj^ly any h(l|)
 
 220 
 
 THE BARONESS m 
 
 you may be most kindly disposed to afford. 
 I am very intimate with Herr Apel, and can 
 easily find ways of doing so ; and I fear, from 
 what I know of his circumstances, that any 
 aid will be most welcome.' 
 
 * That was what I feared,' she said ; * and 
 it seems to me so sad that such should be the 
 end of a life of toil like his !' 
 
 I saw at once that the Baroness was 
 saying these last words by way of introduction 
 to something else, and I did not reply. 
 Probably she noticed this, for she said 
 without the slightest hesitation — 
 
 * He has a daughter, I believe.' 
 ' He has,' I replied. 
 
 ' She is a very clever actress, I am told.' 
 
 ' She is a very conscientious, hard-working 
 artiste,' I replied, 'and has, for a German, 
 remarkable grace, and she sings charmingly.' 
 
 'And she is a very good girl.' 
 
 ' She is one of the best girls I ever knew.
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 221 
 
 She is devoted to her father, and, I fear, is 
 injuring herself by her exertions to make up 
 the deficiency which is involved in his failing 
 health. She is a thoroughly true and excel- 
 lent girl.' 
 
 The Baroness looked at me for a moment 
 before she replied ; then she said — 
 
 ' You speak, Herr Richter, as I was given 
 to expect. Fraulein Apel is fortunate in 
 having so true a friend.' 
 
 There was a pause. I knew something 
 was coming, but I did not know what. Then 
 she said, still without the slightest hesita- 
 tion — 
 
 * The life of an actress is a difficult and 
 exposed one, Ilcrr Richter?' 
 
 ' It is, Madame la Baronne ; but like all 
 other ideas, this one has been exaggerated. 
 A girl in this, as in other walks, has ample 
 means of protection, and I hav(_; nc-ver heard 
 that Fraulein Apel has even needed such.'
 
 222 THE BARONESS in 
 
 She looked at me again for a moment. I 
 began to think that she was the most lovely 
 creature that ever walked the earth. 
 
 ' But gentlemen and nobles court their 
 acquaintance a good deal, do they not ? 
 This must be a great temptation in their 
 sphere of life.' 
 
 * Some gentlemen frequent the green- 
 room,' I replied, ' and are fond of talking 
 to the actresses. In some theatres it is 
 forbidden.' 
 
 ' Has Fraulein Apel any friends of this 
 kind ? ' said the Baroness ; and now for the 
 first time I detected a slight hesitation in her 
 manner ; but it was so trifling that no one 
 but an actor would, I think, have perceived 
 it. 'The Count von Roseneau, for instance.' 
 
 ' The Count is a frequenter of the theatre,' 
 I said, ' and I have seen him speaking to 
 Liese — to Fraulein Apel — in fact, I have 
 met him at her house.'
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 223 
 
 The Baroness was looking- straight before 
 her now. She said without hesitation, but 
 still seriously — 
 
 ' I fear that any acquaintance between 
 them will not be for good.' 
 
 There was a pause. I scarcely knew 
 what to say. It was the Baroness who 
 broke it. 
 
 ' I will not take you farther out of your 
 way,' she said. ' I do not ask you to under- 
 stand me, or not to misinterpret anything 
 that I have said, for it is notorious that Herr 
 Richter can do nothing but what the noblest 
 gendeman might think. I hope I may see 
 you again.' 
 
 It is impossible to describe the superb 
 courtesy with which she said this. The 
 carriage was stopped, and I alighted, and 
 made my adicux. 
 
 As I walked back into the city, joondcring" 
 over this strange interview, I made up my
 
 224 THE BARONESS III 
 
 mind decisively that, in spite of any obstacle 
 and misunderstanding, the Baroness was 
 deeply attached to the Count von Roseneau. 
 You will have an opportunity of judging for 
 yourself whether this was the fact or not, but 
 I ask you to remember that this was the 
 impression upon my mind, because it pro- 
 bably influenced my after conduct in an 
 important crisis. 
 
 After this, matters went on for some time 
 much as usual. The Baroness sent me 
 several sums of money, which I tried to 
 appropriate to the wants of Herr Apel and 
 his daughter, but I found more difficulty in 
 doing this than I expected. Liese showed a 
 shyness and reserve towards me which I had 
 never seen before. Once or twice I thought 
 I noticed the same wistful glance that I had 
 noticed before, but there was no reason why 
 I should inquire into her thoughts, and I did 
 not do so. I adopted the simple plan of
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 225 
 
 placing the money in comparatively small 
 sums in the old man's hand, and I have 
 reason to know that he immediately gave 
 them to his daughter. Matters went on in 
 this way for some time. 
 
 At last one evening there was a second 
 piece at the theatre which somewhat re- 
 sembled the first part of your pantomimes. 
 There was a kind of love - story running 
 through it, but broken in upon by every kind 
 of absurdity. We had played Hamlet for 
 the first piece, considerably cut down, in 
 which I took the part of Horatio. The 
 actor who played Hamlet said courteously to 
 me amid the applause that closed the play — ■ 
 
 ' Half of this, Richtcr, belongs lo you,' 
 and insisted on lakinL,'^ me by the arm as 
 he went before the curtain. 
 
 I played the lover in the second [)iece. 
 I iuid ncjticed during the ev(jiiing that the 
 manner of Liese was unusually excited ; she 
 
 Q
 
 226 THE BARONESS iii 
 
 spoke much, and to every one ; she was 
 unusually friendly with me, and when the 
 piece came on she took every opportunity of 
 clinging to me, and playing her part in the 
 most lively and charming way. I never saw 
 her look more attractive. Towards the end 
 of the piece, when the climax of absurdity 
 was nearly reached, there was a scene in 
 which the King, the Lord Chancellor in his 
 robes, and the two lovers meet in conclave 
 to consult partly over state affairs, and partly 
 over the fate of the two latter. Towards the 
 end of the consultation, apparently as a relief 
 to more serious business, it occurs to the 
 Chancellor to sing a song and dance a 
 hornpipe. After performing his part to 
 admiration, and careering round the stage 
 several times, he disappeared through the 
 side scenes, and the King, inspired appar- 
 ently by his example, waved his ball and 
 sceptre, advanced to the footlights, and.
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 227 
 
 singing his song, also danced round the 
 stage, his robes greatly encumbering him, 
 and, finishing up with a pirouette, which 
 under the circumstances was highly credit- 
 able, also vanished from the scene. It then 
 came to my turn, and leaving the side of 
 Liese, by whom I had stood hitherto, I also 
 sang two verses of a popular melody, and 
 finished by a dance ; as I came back, amid 
 applause, Liese regarded me with a glance 
 full of kindliness and congratulation, and 
 glided forward to the footlights with the 
 most graceful motion, to sing her song. I 
 did not leave the stage, but stood watching 
 her. She wore the dress of a Swiss country 
 girl, and I some picturesque lover's costume. 
 I noticed an unusual stilhiess in the crowded 
 theatre, and fancied something uncommon in 
 the rich tones of her voice. She was en- 
 cored, and repeated the last verse ; then slie 
 commenced her dance, coming round the
 
 228 THE BARONESS ill 
 
 Stage three times. Each time that she 
 passed me she made a graceful motion of 
 her hand, to which I repHed by kissing 
 the tips of my fingers in an attitude of 
 extreme devotion, which indeed was Httle 
 exaggeration of what I really felt. After 
 the third time she came forward to the foot- 
 lights, and made her pirouette higher than 
 usual, amid a thunder of applause. Then 
 she fell, flat and motionless, upon the boards. 
 I had her in my arms in a moment. 
 There was a rush of actors upon the stage, 
 and the curtain fell with a crashing sound. 
 We could hear the excitement and confusion 
 amid the audience without. The manager 
 went before the curtain in response to re- 
 peated calls, and said that an unfortunate 
 accident had happened to Mademoiselle 
 Liese. Except as far as she was concerned 
 the piece would go on. He begged the for- 
 bearance of the audience for a few minutes.
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 229 
 
 Meanwhile I had carried Liese to a couch. 
 She was quite conscious and spoke, but she 
 could not move a limb. She never moved 
 again. 
 
 Amid the crowd around her, some one at 
 last forced his way. I turned and recog- 
 nised Von Roseneau. 
 
 ' Richter,' he said, ' my carriage is close at 
 hand ; we will take her home.' 
 
 His manner was so wild and excited that 
 I turned and looked at him. He was not in 
 his evening dress, but appeared dressed for a 
 journey. 
 
 ' You do not generally have your carriage 
 here, Count,' I said. 
 
 'No,' he replied distractedly; 'but for 
 this accursed accident she would havi; been 
 mine to-night.' 
 
 I looked at him for a moment. 
 
 'The i)aralysis is, then, only h.ilf to blame, 
 Count von Roseneau,' 1 said.
 
 230 THE BARONESS III 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 We saw no more of the Count, and learnt 
 that he had left the city. It appeared that 
 he was deeply in debt, and, though he 
 evidently had considerable sums of money at 
 his control, that his person was not safe from 
 arrest. The family estates had been heavily 
 encumbered even in his father's time, though 
 had he lived he would probably have suc- 
 ceeded in freeing them from debt. The 
 Count had deposited a sum of money with 
 an agent to be applied to the support of 
 Herr Apel. Some days afterwards the 
 agent called upon me and informed me that 
 this sum was still at our disposal. I declined 
 to receive it. 
 
 It seemed that, uncertain of my feelings 
 towards her, haunted by a terrible dread of 
 approaching paralysis, and overwhelmed with 
 the charge and burden of her father's state, 
 Liese had yielded to the proposals of the
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 231 
 
 Count, which promised ease and luxury to 
 them all. If I could have made up my mind 
 sooner, had I spoken to her more openly and 
 freely, and endeavoured to win her con- 
 fidence, it might have been different. Poor 
 Liese ! 
 
 ' I will tell you what we must do, Liese,' I 
 said as cheerfully as I could two days after 
 the accident, as I was sitting by her bed. 
 She had recovered so far as to be able to 
 move one arm a little. ' I will tell you what 
 we must do. You must marry me. We 
 will then live all together and take care of 
 the old man as long as he lives. Then when 
 you have rested a long time and got quite 
 well, wc shall be as happy as the day is long.' 
 
 And so — I am telling a long story — we 
 settled it. 'ihe IJaroness came to see Liese 
 several times. We were married in her room 
 by a pri<,'st — most of us actors profess to be 
 Catholics — and the Baroness was present at
 
 232 THE BARONESS in 
 
 the ceremony. We moved to an old house in 
 a better part of the town, where we had a large 
 room with a long low window at either end 
 commanding cheerful views, the one into a 
 market - place, the other over the distant 
 country with mills and a stream. Here 
 Liese lay in a clean, white bed, with the old 
 man seated beside her ; he became much 
 quieter and gentler after he had given up 
 acting ; and in the same room we had our 
 meals, and lived. We were rather straitened 
 for money, for now that I was bound to the 
 city and theatre by my wife's state, some 
 little advantage was taken, and I was told 
 the theatre could not afford so high a salary. 
 It is the way of the world. Indeed we 
 should have been very poorly off, more than 
 once, but for the Baroness, who sent me 
 money openly from time to time. I took it 
 without hesitation. One day she came to 
 see us when I was at home, and remarked
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 233 
 
 how comfortable we were in our large room, 
 and the cheerful picturesque view at the 
 back, like a landscape by an old master, and 
 how happy the old man seemed. When she 
 went down to her carriage, and I was handing 
 her in, she said, looking straight before her, 
 and with a kind of strange scorn in her voice — 
 
 'There is some difference, Hcrr Richter, 
 between a noble of the empire and you ! ' 
 
 We went on in this way for more than a 
 year. I was content enough ; indeed, I 
 should have been a wretch to have been 
 impatient, for I knew it could not last very 
 long. The doctors went on giving us hopes 
 and expectations, but I knew better. I 
 could sec that the malady was gradually 
 stealing over Licse's faculties and consuming 
 her life. She had lost the use of both arms, 
 and would lie for hours without ihc least 
 sign of life, and .she took nothing but a little 
 broth. The old man died first : he went
 
 234 THE BARONESS ill 
 
 away very peacefully in his chair in the 
 evening sunlight, saying that It was time to 
 dress. Some two months after his death, I 
 was sitting by Liese in the afternoon, learn- 
 ing my part. It was autumn, and the room 
 was full of a soft light ; opposite to the bed 
 was an old clock, upon the dial of which was 
 an accidental mark. I had noticed that 
 if I left when the minute hand reached 
 this mark, I could reach the theatre easily 
 without hurry. I sat watching the hand 
 slowly approaching the spot. The room 
 was perfectly still, nothing but the loud 
 ticking of the clock being heard. The hand 
 was within three minutes of the mark when 
 Liese, who had lain motionless and uncon- 
 scious for hours, suddenly stirred. I turned 
 towards her in surprise ; she looked up full 
 in my face and smiled, and at the same 
 moment she raised her right arm, which had 
 never moved since the fatal night, and held
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 235 
 
 out her hand to me. I grasped it in mine, 
 and the next moment she was gone. 
 
 • • • * • 
 
 I acted that night as usual, for the pubHc 
 must not be disappointed. But I took a 
 hoHday soon after, and went a tour through 
 the mountains. Not that I wish you to sup- 
 pose that I was overwhehned with grief; on 
 the contrary, now that I have no temptation 
 that way, I am ashamed to remember that I 
 felt a sense of relief. Were the temptation to 
 occur aeain, no doubt I should feel the same. 
 
 When I returned from my litde tour I 
 found myself courted. Now that I was 
 free to go where I liked, the management 
 suddenly found that I was very useful, 
 and offered me a considerable increase of 
 salary to remain. Indeed, I wiis so flattered 
 and courted that I became somewhat vain 
 and li!L;ht-headed. 1 dressed finely, and went 
 much into society, for 1 was invited to some
 
 236 THE BARONESS in 
 
 of the best houses in the city as an agreeable 
 and entertaining guest. I saw the Baroness 
 frequently, and was always invited to her 
 garden - parties, which she received at a 
 small but beautiful chateau, a mile or two 
 from the city, by the stream which flowed 
 before poor Liese's room. Indeed, I was 
 quite at home at the chateau, and the ser- 
 vants treated me almost as an inmate. 
 
 At the conclusion of one of these parties, 
 about two years after Liese's death, the 
 Baroness took an opportunity, as she passed, 
 to say to me — 
 
 ' I am going to-morrow to spend a few 
 days at Saarfeld, which I think you have 
 never seen. It is a strange, old, roniantic 
 place among the Bavarian Alps, and I 
 think would please you. I wish you would 
 arrange to come over and stay a night or 
 two. I shall be quite alone, as I go on 
 business of the estate.'
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 237 
 
 I promised to go. 
 
 As the travelling chaise wound up from 
 the valleys by long and gradual ascents, and 
 the beauties of the mountain forests revealed 
 themselves one by one, I seemed to be 
 entering an enchanted land of romance and 
 witchery. Light mists hovered below the 
 lofty summits, and over the thick foliage of 
 the oaks and beech-trees. They were illum- 
 ined with prismatic colours by the slanting 
 sunbeams which shot in strange and mystic 
 rays through mountain crag and forest glade, 
 throwing up portions in wild relief and de- 
 pressing others into distant shade. The huts 
 of hunters and woodmen, and the wreaths of 
 smoke from the charcoal burners, were the 
 only signs of life in this wild land of forest 
 and hill. The: lofty Woods of black j)inc 
 climbing th(; higher summits shul in the view 
 on every side. 
 
 At last I reached the chTiteau, which stood
 
 238 THE BARONESS iii 
 
 high Up in the forest, commanding an ex- 
 tensive and surprising view. 
 
 It was indeed a strange, wild old place of 
 immense size, with long rows of turrets and 
 windows, and massive towers of vast anti- 
 quity. We entered a court-yard, surrounded 
 by lofty walls, so completely covered with 
 ivy that the windows could scarcely be seen. 
 It seemed as though the real and living 
 world were entirely shut out and lost sight 
 of. The whole place, however, was in per- 
 fect repair, and was richly furnished. The 
 staff of servants was ample. The major- 
 domo, who always accompanied his mistress, 
 welcomed me with great kindness. The 
 Baroness, he said, was at that moment en- 
 gaged with the steward ; if I would take 
 some slight refreshment after my journey, 
 she would receive me presently in the grand 
 saloit. I was shown into a dining-room, 
 where a slight repast was awaiting me.
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 239 
 
 The rooms were hung with portraits of the 
 old barons of Saarfeld, with tapestry of 
 strange device, and with still stranger pic- 
 tures of the old German and Italian masters, 
 and were furnished with cabinets and side- 
 boards, evidently of extreme antiquity. The 
 sense of glamour and of mystery increased 
 upon me at every step ; I seemed to be 
 acting in a wild and improbable piece. 
 
 When I had taken what refreshment I 
 wanted, I asked to be shown my room that 
 I might arrange my dress before seeking the 
 Baroness. I had scarcely finished before 
 the major-domo again appeared, and informed 
 me that his mistress was waiting for me in 
 the grand salon. I found this to be a mag- 
 nificent apartment, with a long row of lofty 
 windows in deep recesses overlooking the 
 wild forest. Tall portraits of more than life- 
 size hung ui>on the walls, and a massive 
 stone chimney-piece, the height of the room,
 
 MO THE BARONESS iii 
 
 and carved with innumerable devices, fronted 
 the windows. The poHshed oak floor would 
 have been dangerous to walk on, but an 
 actor is always equal to such feats. 
 
 The Baroness was standing in the centre 
 of the vast room, which was clear of furniture. 
 I seemed to see her at last in her full per- 
 fection, as though such a lovely creature re- 
 quired such a setting as this before she could 
 be fully and perfectly seen. She was easy 
 and composed, and began to speak at 
 once. 
 
 ' I wish to tell you, my dear friend,' 
 she said, ' why I have asked you to come 
 here, because it is only fair to you that 
 you should know it at once.' 
 
 She paused for a moment, and I could 
 only look at her in silent admiration. I had 
 not the remotest idea what she was going to 
 say, but it seemed to me more and more that 
 I was acting a strange and unnatural part.
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 241 
 
 ' You are aware, my dear friend,' she re- 
 peated, ' that my father had some thought of 
 marr)'ing me, had he Hved, to the Count von 
 Roseneau, but long before his death he saw 
 in that unhappy young man what made him 
 change his intention. He spoke to me often 
 with great freedom on this as on every other 
 subject ; it was the wonderful privilege which 
 I enjoyed with such a father. He spoke to 
 me much of the relationship between man 
 and wife, of the peculiar duties and trials 
 of each, and of the necessity of long and 
 careful thought and of seeking for the best 
 guidance in such a matter. He impressed 
 upon me the value of eternal principles rather 
 than ot accidental forms ; and though he 
 insisted continually on ihc necessary observ- 
 ance of outward forms and decencies, yet he 
 pointed out to me. that circumstances might 
 arise where all ihc necessary principles and 
 qualities which alone give forms any value 
 
 K
 
 THE BARONESS m 
 
 could exist, though some of the form itself 
 might appear wanting. Finally, in the most 
 solemn manner he assured me, and confirmed 
 it in his will, that he was perfectly satisfied 
 to leave the matter in my hands, convinced 
 that I should follow out the great principles 
 upon which his life had been based, and show 
 myself worthy of the confidence and educa- 
 tion he had bestowed upon me. I believe 
 that I am about to act in a manner that 
 would meet his full approval. I believe that 
 those circumstances have actually arrived 
 which he foresaw, and that I have found the 
 man whom he would welcome as a son. I 
 offer you my hand.' 
 
 She pronounced these words, even to the 
 last, without any hurry of manner or the 
 slightest sign of excitement beyond the 
 charming animation with which she always 
 spoke. You will naturally suppose that their 
 effect upon me was overwhelming, but if
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 243 
 
 SO you are mistaken. It has been a matter 
 of profound astonishment to me, in every 
 succeeding moment of my Hfe, that I acted 
 as I did. Afterwards, of course, reasons 
 appeared which justified, and even approved 
 in the highest degree, my conduct ; but that, 
 at the instant, when in another moment I 
 might have had this glorious creature in my 
 arms, I should have remained unmoved, has 
 never ceased to fill me with astonishment. 
 I can only account for it by one wild and 
 seemingly improbable supposition. You will 
 nut believe it, but 1 am firmly convinced that 
 during the whole interview I thought that I 
 was on the stage, I thought that I had a part 
 given me, and that I sjioke words which I 
 had already carefully conned. 1 am tlu; 
 more convinced that this was the case be- 
 cause 1 made no longer pause than would 
 have been proper coukl you conceive such a 
 scene to be enacted upon the stage.
 
 244 
 
 THE BARONESS HI 
 
 ' Baroness,' I said, and I see the words 
 now before me as plainly as if I read them 
 from a play-book, ' Baroness, it cannot be 
 necessary to say that the offer you have made 
 overwhelms me to the earth. I do not use 
 such phrases as gratitude, and favour, and 
 condescension ; words at any time are unequal 
 to the task of expression, and to use them 
 now would only be an insult to your heart 
 and mine. But I should be utterly unworthy 
 of the amazing regard which you have shown 
 to me, and of the undeserved approbation 
 with which your own goodness has led you 
 to regard me, were I to hesitate for a mo- 
 ment to urge you to reflect before you com- 
 mit yourself to such a step. You have your- 
 self allowed that your father insisted on the 
 necessity of submission to the forms and 
 decencies of outward life. Think for a mo- 
 ment of the consequences to yourself of such 
 a step as you now, with the sublime uncon-
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 245 
 
 sciousness of the highest natures, propose to 
 me. You have created out of your own 
 nobleness an image which you call by my 
 name, but you will find the reality an idol 
 and a delusion, and you will find the world's 
 verdict, on the whole, to be right. I entreat 
 you to pause.' 
 
 ' Herr Richter,' she said, looking me full 
 in the face, and no language can express the 
 beauty of her confiding glance, * every word 
 you say only confirms my choice. I offer 
 you my hand.' 
 
 This second trial was very hard. 
 
 ' My conscience is not at rest,' I said. ' I 
 entreat you to reflect.' 
 
 A very slight shade passed over the 
 beautiful face, and a look of something like 
 incredulity came into the wonderful eyes. 
 
 'You refuse my offer ?' she said. 
 
 ' I entreat you to weigh wc:ll wliat I have 
 said.'
 
 Ill 
 
 246 THE BARONESS 
 
 * I might well say, Herr Richter,' she said, 
 'that there is some difference between you 
 and other men.' 
 
 There was a pause. The interview be- 
 came embarrassing. I turned slightly towards 
 the window, and it occurred to me to walk 
 into the embrasure and look out. When I 
 turned round, after a minute or two, I found 
 that the Baroness had taken advantage of 
 my action and had left the room. 
 
 I went out into the park. The moment 
 I was alone a host of reasons rushed into my 
 mind, all of them insisting with one voice on 
 the propriety of the course I had, as it were 
 involuntarily, taken. I was firmly convinced 
 that whether she knew it or not the Baroness 
 was attached with all the tenacity of her girl- 
 hood's recollections to the Count von Rose- 
 neau. Supposing this to be the case, I could 
 well see that the position, when novelty had 
 played its part, of the player-husband would
 
 HI HELENA VON SAARFELD 247 
 
 not be a dignified or enviable one. I knew, 
 none better, the effect of the overpowering 
 sympathies of rank and class, and of the 
 revulsion which inevitably follows action, 
 which is the result of excited feeling. I knew 
 the ultimate irresistible power of the world's 
 verdict. Of course some demon might have 
 suggested that I should take the temporary 
 wealth of delight which was offered to me, 
 and, when the inevitable catastrophe came, 
 go my quiet way unharmed, but I should 
 hope that there are few men who would de- 
 sire a temporary pleasure at so stupendous a 
 cost. 
 
 I wandered in the park and forest for a 
 couple of hours. Then I came back to the 
 chateau. I was uncertain what to do, but I 
 did not like to leave without seeing the 
 Baroness again. I went to my room. Merc 
 I found one of the valets arranging my 
 toilette for the evening;. I had not been in
 
 248 THE BARONESS III 
 
 the room many minutes before the major- 
 domo entered. His manner was even more 
 urbane and poHte than in the morning. 
 
 The Baroness, he said, earnestly hoped 
 that I would favour her with my company 
 at dinner ; the meal would be served in less 
 than an hour. 
 
 The man's manner was so marked that I 
 could not help looking at him. Was it pos- 
 sible that the household could have any idea 
 of what had taken place ? 
 
 I found the Baroness in an ante-chamber 
 which opened upon one of the lesser dining- 
 rooms. There were several servants stand- 
 ing about between the two rooms, but she 
 seemed utterly indifferent to their presence. 
 Her manner was perfectly unembarrassed, 
 and she came forward to greet me, holding 
 out her beautiful hand. 
 
 ' My dear friend,' see said, ' I feared you 
 had left Saarfeld in displeasure. I hope you
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 249 
 
 will not deprive me of what I value so highly. 
 I have quite recovered from the little natural 
 vexation I felt at your refusal of my offer. 
 I will not offend again. Let us go to 
 dinner.' 
 
 ' On one condition, Baroness,' I said, as 
 I gave her my arm, 'that you are not too 
 fascinating. I might take you at your word.' 
 
 ' Your chance is gone by, sir,' she said, 
 with a delightful 7noue. ' The ivory gates 
 are closed.' 
 
 I still felt as though I were performing in 
 a play. I never exerted myself to please as 
 I did that night. When the evening was 
 over, I said, ' I fear I shall not see you in the 
 morning. I must be at the theatre to-morrow 
 night.' 
 
 ' I shall nf)t stay here many days,' said 
 the Baroness, ' You must call on me the 
 moment I return, my friend.' 
 
 I raisfd the hand she gave me, rmd kissed
 
 2SO THE BARONESS in 
 
 the tips of her fingers, but I did not press 
 her hand. When a man is walking in 
 slippery places he is wary of his steps. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 I visited the Baroness immediately on her 
 return, and found her as friendly and unem- 
 barrassed as ever. The months glided by 
 with great quietude. The theatre was under 
 good management ; it was prosperous, and 
 the best actors frequently visited it. It was 
 one of those halcyon periods which visit all 
 theatres at times. My popularity increased, 
 and I could have demanded almost any salary. 
 I was invited to other cities, but these visits 
 I made very sparingly. What, however, 
 might perhaps have been expected occurred, 
 and caused me great annoyance. A report 
 spread through the city that I was about to 
 be married to the Baroness. It was univer- 
 sally believed. 
 
 ' Have you heard the news } ' men said
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 251 
 
 one to another. ' The beautiful Helena von 
 Saarfeld, for whom princes were not high 
 enough, or cultured, or religious enough, 
 who was almost too good to walk the earth, 
 is going to marry Richter the player! What 
 do you think of that ? ' 
 
 ' Have you heard the news, Herr Richter?' 
 said the Baroness one afternoon as I entered 
 her drawing-room. 
 
 'Yes,' I said. 'It has annoyed me be- 
 yond expression. Who could have origin- 
 ated such a report ? ' 
 
 ' Oh,' she said, with a bewitching under- 
 glance of her eyes, ' sucli things cannot be 
 hidden. It is not my fault that it is not 
 true.' 
 
 'That is all very well, my pretty friend,' 
 I thought to myself, ' while the Count is 
 away and out of mind, but what will ha^jpcu 
 should he return .'* ' 
 
 I was congratulated on all hands, and
 
 252 THE BARONESS ill 
 
 could only deny that there was a word of 
 truth in the report. 
 
 ' It is most annoying to me,' I said. ' I 
 shall have to give up visiting the Baroness.' 
 My friend would not hear of this, however, 
 and seemed to take every opportunity of 
 appearing with me in public. This had very 
 much the desired effect, for when people 
 saw we had nothing to conceal, they grew 
 wearied of talking about us, and the matter 
 pretty much dropped. 
 
 One evening as I was dressing in the 
 theatre I received a note from the Baroness, 
 asking me to come to her chateau the next 
 clay at one o'clock, without fail. I was true 
 to the time, and found her in a little morn- 
 ing-room where she transacted business. 
 She seemed excited beyond her wont. 
 
 ' My dear friend,' she said, ' I have sent 
 for you because I want your advice and pro- 
 tection. I have good reason to know that
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 253 
 
 I am safer in your care than I am in my own. 
 There was a man here yesterday, a kind of 
 Jew lawyer, who made an excuse to see me, 
 though his business might well have been 
 settled with the agent. When he had said 
 what he had to say, however, he became 
 very mysterious, and said that he had lately 
 seen the Count von Roseneau, and that he 
 had something to communicate which it very 
 much concerned me to hear. His face wore 
 a low, cunning expression as he said this, 
 which disgusted me, and I told him that I 
 had nothing to say on such subjects to him, 
 antl that if he had anything to communicate 
 it must come through my agent. He told 
 me he could tell it to no one but myself. I 
 thought iinm(;(liatc;ly of you ; and told him 
 that if he liked to call here to-morrow at 
 this time I would ask a gentleman, a very 
 inliinalc. rriciKl, to be present, aiul then he 
 could say what he wished. He hesitated
 
 254 THE BARONESS m 
 
 at this, but I turned my back upon him, and 
 left the room,' 
 
 ' Do you know any evil of the man ? ' I 
 asked. 
 
 ' I know nothing of such people,' she said 
 scornfully. ' I know no more evil of him 
 than I do of a toad, but I shudder at both.' 
 
 The man was speedily announced. He 
 was evidently of the lowest type of his pro- 
 fession, and had a mean and hane-doe look. 
 I do not know whether he knew me or not, 
 but he took little notice of any but the 
 Baroness. 
 
 He began his tale at once. 
 
 He had lived in Berlin, where the Count 
 von Roseneau was, and had been engaged 
 in some inferior business connected with the 
 mortgage on the Count's estates. 
 
 'The Count's affairs,' he said, 'were 
 getting more and more involved ; he was 
 deeply in debt, was very short of money, and
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 255 
 
 indeed had been more than once under 
 arrest. The mortgages were foreclosed on 
 all his estates, and the estates themselves 
 offered for sale, when one day, going over 
 some deeds in the office of the lawyer who 
 was engaged in managing what little re- 
 mained to do on his behalf, I discovered a 
 most important memorandum, signed by the 
 Count himself. It is not necessary to 
 explain before the Baroness,' he continued, 
 turning to me, 'the exact nature of the com- 
 plicated business, but you will understand 
 that the paper had been given in lieu of 
 deeds which never seem afterwards to have 
 been executed, and was the sole evidence 
 which decided the possession of the estates, 
 or, at least, of the uK^st considerable one. 
 It had been inclosed by mistake in a parcel 
 of copies that had been returned to the 
 Count. I found him aKjne, and placed the 
 paper in his hands. It was some lime ]>cf()vc
 
 256 THE BARONESS ill 
 
 he understood its character, but when at last 
 he was convinced that its possession restored 
 him to wealth and honour, a singular expres- 
 sion came into his face. 
 
 * " This is a nice homily, my good fellow," 
 he said, "on you men of business, with all 
 your chicanery of deeds, and evidences, and 
 papers, and signing, and counter-signing, and 
 all the rest of the devil's game. What do 
 you want for this paper ? You did not bring 
 it for nothing, I presume." 
 
 '"Well, I said, "a thousand marks would 
 not seem too much for such a service." 
 
 '"A thousand marks," said the Count, 
 rising, " is all I have in the world ; never- 
 theless I will give it for this paper." 
 
 ' " I should think so," I said. " A 
 thousand marks are not much for estates 
 and wealth." 
 
 ' The Count went to his secretaire, took 
 out a rouleau of gold, and handed it to me.
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 257 
 
 Then he sat down again, and looked at the 
 paper steadily for some time. 
 
 '"Neat," he said to himself more than to 
 me : " pretty, very pretty, but not my style ; 
 never was the Von Roseneau style, that I 
 ever heard." 
 
 ' Then he bowed me politely out of the 
 room. What happened I heard from his 
 valet. As soon as I had left the Count sat 
 down at the secretaire, wrote some lines in 
 an envelope, fastened up the paper in it, 
 directed it, and called the servant. 
 
 '"You will take this to the address," he 
 said, "and give it to the principal. If he is 
 out, wait for him, though it be all day. You 
 will give it into no hands but his. Tell me 
 when it is done." 
 
 'The Count is now,' continued the Jew, 
 
 ' in absolute penury. He has applied for 
 
 a commission in the Bavarian Infantry, 
 
 which he is certain to receive. The miser- 
 
 s
 
 258 THE BARONESS ill 
 
 able pay will be all he will have to live on. 
 He has business in this city which requires 
 his presence. I expect him here, for a few 
 hours, in a day or two.' 
 
 The Baroness rose from her chair, and I 
 could see that she was pale. 
 
 'You will settle with this — this gentle- 
 man,' she said to me, and left the room. 
 
 'Well,' I said to the man. 'You want 
 something for the communication, I sup- 
 pose ? ' 
 
 I saw that he did not know who I was, 
 for his manner was deferential, as to a gentle- 
 man of rank. 
 
 He said he left it to the Baroness. 
 
 I gave him a heap of notes, as I knew it 
 would be the Baroness's wish, and he left 
 well satisfied. 
 
 I went into the drawing-room to the 
 Baroness. 
 
 She was standing in the window, looking
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 259 
 
 at the gorgeous flowers that were heaped 
 together in profusion — a soft and pensive 
 light in her eyes. She was evidently think- 
 ing of the Count, and of their early days. 
 
 Her attitude and expression were so lovely 
 that I stopped involuntarily to gaze. She 
 looked up, and saw, I suppose, something in 
 my look which she had not seen before, for 
 she flushed all over, and said, with a softened, 
 pleased expression, which was bewitching to 
 see — 
 
 ' You are a strange man, Richter ; I 
 know you love me.' 
 
 ' Yes, I love you. Baroness,' I said, 'better 
 than 1 love myself.' 
 
 'That is nothing,' she said, flushing again. 
 ' Do you think I did not know that ? Do 
 you think I should have acted as I have 
 done had I not doubted whether in all Ger- 
 many, nay, in luirope itself, there could be 
 found a man so good as you ! '
 
 26o THE BARONESS in 
 
 ' Let US hope, Baroness, for the sake of 
 Europe, there may be a few.' 
 
 'Well,' she said, sitting down, ' I want you 
 to do something for me. A very httle thing 
 this time. I want you to find out when the 
 Count comes, to go to him, and to get him 
 to come over to Saarfeld to me.' 
 
 * What are you going to say to him ? ' I 
 said. 
 
 She looked up suddenly, as in anger, but 
 the next instant a touching look of humility 
 came over her face, and she said — 
 
 ' I am going to make him the same offer 
 that I did to you, sir ! ' 
 
 I shook my head. ' Do you know so little 
 of your own people — of your own order — as 
 that,' I said. ' He will refuse.' 
 
 ' I am not only a noble,' she said, almost 
 pitifully, ' I am a woman too.' 
 
 There was a pause. Then she said, ' Why 
 do you say that he will refuse .'* '
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 261 
 
 ' He has the distinguishing vice of his 
 order,' I said, 'insolent, selfish pride. It is 
 notorious that he took great umbrage at what 
 he considered interference in his affairs by 
 your father and yourself, and at the blame 
 which the breaking off of the match implied. 
 He will think that you make him the offer 
 now out of pity. His pride of race will rebel, 
 and he will refuse a future, however splendid, 
 marked by favours received and restrained 
 by gratitude, and, he may even think, by 
 compulsion. I have a better plan. I will 
 seek him out ; and if I find that he does not 
 refuse to talk with me, and I do not see why 
 he should, I will let him understand that you 
 are kindly disposed towards him. I will 
 recall his early days, and I will endeavour to 
 make him believe that he is performing a 
 chivalrous action, and forgiving injuries, and 
 is conferring rather than receiving a favour. 
 I hope to succeed. You said to me this
 
 262 THE BARONESS 
 
 III 
 
 morning that you were safer in my keeping 
 than in your own. Trust to me now, though 
 God knows I only do it to please you ; I am 
 not responsible for the result.' 
 
 ' No,' said the Baroness, getting up from 
 her seat. ' I am a woman, and I will go my 
 own way. I will have him at Saarfeld, where 
 we were so happy as children. I will tell 
 him all myself.' 
 
 ' She trusts to her charms,' I said as I left 
 the house. ' It cannot be wondered at. 
 Come what may, I will not marry her. The 
 world shall never say that this divine creature 
 married Richter the player.' 
 
 Some few days afterwards 1 learnt that 
 the Count had arrived. In the interval I 
 had urged the Baroness to dispense with my 
 advocacy altogether, and simply to send a 
 message ; but this she refused to do. I had 
 nothing left but to do my best.
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 263 
 
 I called at the hotel at which the Count 
 was staying, and sent in my name. I was 
 immediately shown up to a private room. 
 
 ' I see you are surprised to see me, Count 
 von Roseneau,' I said, ' but I am not come 
 to revive any reminiscences of the past. I 
 simply bring you a message from the Bar- 
 oness Helena, who asked me to tell you that 
 she wished to see you at Saarfeld.' 
 
 ' If I showed any wonder, Herr Richter,' 
 said the Count, ' it was simply that I was 
 surprised that you should condescend to call 
 upon me. As you have mentioned the 
 Baroness, I am glad ot the opportunity of 
 saying that I am convinced that she can 
 have no truer friend than yourself.' 
 
 'The Baroness,' I said, 'is of the opinion 
 that I might become the best means of tell- 
 ing you that she still cherishes the recollec- 
 tions of her early childhood. If I might 
 venture to say anything, I would .say that we
 
 264 THE BARONESS ill 
 
 do not war against women, and that though 
 doubtless many things may have happened 
 founded upon exaggerated reports, yet the 
 Count von Roseneau will not cherish such 
 paltry recollections in such a moment as 
 this.' 
 
 'The Baroness,' said the Count, 'has 
 chosen well, though I fancy I can see that 
 she has acted against the advice of her best 
 friend. I will go to Saarfeld at any moment 
 she may appoint, and anything that is within 
 my power, and which is consistent with the 
 honour of my family, I will do ; the more 
 willingly because by doing so I know I shall 
 oblige you.' 
 
 This was all very well, and I did not see 
 what else I could say. There was a polished 
 coldness about the Count's manner which 
 seemed to imply that the Baroness and he 
 moved in a charmed circle within which it 
 was intrusion for any one to venture. I had
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 265 
 
 delivered my message, to the words of which 
 the Baroness had almost limited me, and I 
 rose to take my leave ; but I was not pre- 
 pared for what ensued. 
 
 The Count followed me to the door. 
 ' Herr Richter,' he said, speaking in a very 
 different tone from that which he had hitherto 
 used, ' I wish to say something else. I wish, 
 if I can possibly say it, to say something 
 which will cause you to think less hardly of 
 me with regard to one who is dead ; which 
 will offer you some thanks, though thanks 
 from such a source must be utterly worthless 
 — for — but there are no words which can 
 express what I mean — if you do not see it, 
 there is no help.' 
 
 I stood looking al him across the threshold 
 for a moment. 
 
 ' In ihf. mattfT of which you speak, Count 
 von Roscneau, if I understand you, and I 
 think 1 do, 1 also was to blame. It is not
 
 266 THE BARONESS m 
 
 for me to judge another. If you owe me 
 thanks for anything that is past, let me 
 entreat you to weigh well every word you 
 say at Saarfeld.' 
 
 ' I promise you,' said the Count. 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 With regard to the interview at Saarfeld, 
 I only know what the Baroness told me. I 
 believe that she told me every word that fell 
 from the Count, but her own words and 
 manner I had to collect as best I could. It 
 was evident that she adopted a very different 
 method from that which she had done toward 
 myself. She received the Count indifferently, 
 and put off the important moment as long as 
 possible. No doubt she brought to play the 
 whole fascination of her manner and person, 
 but she selected the great salon as the scene 
 of her final effort. In what way she intro- 
 duced the subject I do not know, but she told 
 me that she was standing in one of the em-
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 267 
 
 brasures of the windows when the Count 
 replied — 
 
 ' Helena, I am unworthy of you, but I am 
 grateful all the same. I cannot allow you to 
 sacrifice yourself simply out of pity to me. 
 I am a ruined man — ruined in purse and 
 reputation. The auguries which influenced 
 your opinion of me when we were younger 
 are fulfilled — more than fulfilled. What 
 would the world say if, when the fear alone 
 of possible consequences rendered your union 
 with me unsuitable, I were to avail myself of 
 such a union when all these dreary predic- 
 tions have been verified ? Let the world say 
 what it will, the Von Roseneaus are proud ; 
 that which was denied me because I was un- 
 worthy 1 cannot accept because I am poor. 
 Besides, I cannot forget one who is dead.' 
 
 The l)aroness was standing against the 
 embrasure of the window which was lined 
 with tapestry. She was evidently anxious
 
 268 THE BARONESS 
 
 III 
 
 to retain her perfect composure, but as the 
 Count continued speaking with a manly 
 openness of purpose, her cahnness was sorely 
 tried. The last words came to her help. 
 She grew composed instandy, and her face 
 darkened with displeasure. 
 
 ' You should take lessons from the stage, 
 Count,' she said, somewhat bitterly. 'The 
 actor declines a supreme favour with better 
 grace than you,' 
 
 The Count said nothing ; he was pro- 
 bably not displeased at the loss of temper 
 which would bring the interview to a 
 close. 
 
 ' Then you refuse my offer } ' she said at 
 last. 
 
 ' I cannot accept.' 
 
 'Mine is a strange fate, Count von Rose- 
 neau,' she said. 'In this hall, beneath the 
 portraits of my ancestors, I have, in violation 
 of all the customs of my sex, offered my
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 269 
 
 hand to two men, one an actor and one a 
 noble, and have been rejected by both.' 
 
 'The actor, madam,' said the Count, step- 
 ping back, ' you may well regret ; the noble 
 is not worth a thought.' 
 
 • • • • • 
 
 The Baroness did not bear her second 
 disappointment so well as the first. She 
 looked sad, though the smile lost nothing of 
 its sweetness, nor her manner of its vivacity. 
 She had a wistful look in her eyes sometimes 
 when they met mine, which, it might be 
 thought, must have made my resolution hard 
 to keep. If you like you may call my deter- 
 mination a selfish fancy which my vanity 
 alone enabled me to maintain. The Baroness 
 spoke a great deal of the Count, and talked 
 to me much of her early days, and of the 
 confusions and ill-feeling when the ycnmg 
 Count's conduct first began to arouse the 
 fears of her father.
 
 270 THE BARONESS iii 
 
 * I get very old and prosy, my friend,' she 
 said — she grew lovelier every day — ' and I 
 fatigue you with this talk ; but I have no 
 friend but you to whom I can speak of these 
 things.' She devoted herself to charity and 
 good works ; she visited the hospitals, and 
 her carriage was to be seen in the worst 
 purlieus of the city. 
 
 One day she told me she had received an 
 invitation to travel in Italy with some cousins 
 of her mother's, the head of the party being 
 a superb old gentleman whom I had often 
 met, and who reminded me of Don Quixote. 
 This old gentleman had at first been very 
 cold and haughty, but after some time his 
 manner changed suddenly, the cause of 
 which alteration the Baroness explained to 
 me. 
 
 'The old gentleman,' she said, 'took me 
 to task very severely upon the danger of my 
 intercourse with you, and gave himself much
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 271 
 
 trouble in repeating at great length the most 
 wise maxims. I let him run on till he was 
 quite out of breath, and then I said : " My 
 dear cousin, all that you have said is quite 
 true, and shows your deep knowledge of the 
 world. There has been the greatest danger 
 of what you dread taking place. I offered 
 my hand to Herr Richter years ago, and any 
 time within the last five years, excepting one 
 short week, I would have married him if he 
 would have had me." I saw that the old 
 Baron was very polite the next time you 
 met.' 
 
 The Baroness wanted me to accompany 
 her to Italy, and offered to settle a large sum 
 of money on me absolutely, so that I might 
 give up my profession. 
 
 'No, Baroness,' I said, 'let us go on as 
 we have begun. We have had a fair friend- 
 shi};, for which I do not say how much I 
 thank you, and which no breath of calunmy
 
 THE BARONESS in 
 
 has ever stained ; do not let us spoil it at 
 last.' 
 
 So we parted, but only for a time. 
 
 When the party had left for Italy I felt 
 less tied to the city, and accepted engage- 
 ments elsewhere. I acted in Berlin, and so 
 far departed from my rule as to take one or 
 two principal parts with more success than I 
 had expected. This was chiefly owing to 
 the fact that in Germany the new reading of 
 any part is welcomed with enthusiasm, and a 
 host of critics immediately discover number- 
 less excellences in it, chiefly to show off their 
 own cleverness. Many of these gentlemen 
 were kind enough to point out many beauties 
 in my acting of which I was entirely uncon- 
 scious. This led to my receiving invitations 
 to other cities, which I accepted. In the 
 course of my wanderings I arrived at a city 
 on the French frontier, where I accepted an 
 engagement for several nights to play Max
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 273 
 
 Piccolomini. In the midst of this engage- 
 ment the war between Germany and France 
 suddenly broke out, and before we were 
 aware we found ourselves involved in the 
 marches and counter-marches of armies. 
 The theatre was closed and the company 
 dispersed. I attempted to return into 
 Saxony, but the advancing armies so 
 blocked the roads that I was compelled to 
 turn back. The French were advancing 
 with equal rapidity, and I found myself shut 
 in between the opposing troops. The cam- 
 paign was so complicated that what was the 
 rear one day became the advanced guard 
 the next. The utmost confusion seemed to 
 prevail. 
 
 At last I found myself in a Utile suburb 
 of some large town d(;voted to LiLsthauscs 
 and gardens of pl(;asurc ; |)rctty littl(> cot- 
 tages ap[)eared on every side surrounded ])y 
 
 gardens and grass-[jlots dotted with alcoves 
 
 r
 
 274 THE BARONESS ill 
 
 and sheltered by lofty trees. The French 
 made a sudden advance, and held the adjoin- 
 ing slope, but did not come into the suburb. 
 A small detachment of German Uhlans had 
 halted in the village, and were watching the 
 French. 
 
 I was standing in the door of one of the cot- 
 tages with the officer of the little troop, when 
 the chasseur of the Baroness, whom I knew 
 so well, rode up. I sprang forward to meet 
 him, and learnt that a skirmish had taken 
 place outside the town, and that the wounded 
 men were being brought from the front in 
 charge of an ambulance corps to which the 
 Baroness had attached herself. 
 
 A few minutes afterwards thecorps arrived, 
 bringing with them several wounded men. I 
 shall never forget the look of glad surprise 
 in the face of the Baroness when she saw me. 
 It is the most cherished recollection of my 
 life.
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 275 
 
 ' You come, as always, in the right time, 
 my friend,' she said. 'In a few minutes 
 we shall be in the thick of the battle. 
 Whenever I want help and protection, you 
 appear. How did you learn that I was 
 here ? ' 
 
 ' I did not know you were in Ger- 
 many, Baroness,' I said. ' It is the will 
 of God that we should meet ; something 
 is going to happen which concerns us 
 both.' 
 
 She wore the ambulance dress, with the 
 white cross upon her arm, and looked more 
 lovely than ever. 
 
 We had not stood above five minutes 
 before we heard firing to the right and left ; 
 and the Uhlans mounted and rode off, ad- 
 vising us to retire into the cottages with 
 the wounded. It was too late, they said, for 
 the ambulance corps to retire further into the 
 rear.
 
 276 THE BARONESS m 
 
 Having deposited the wounded as best we 
 could, the Baroness and I went into an upper 
 room which looked out to the side over a small 
 grass-plot flanked by a low wall and a planta- 
 tion of willows. The firing came nearer and 
 nearer, and all along the slope on our left we 
 could see the French lines and the artillery- 
 officers riding up and down. We did not 
 know what was going on. 
 
 Suddenly a roar like hell itself shook the 
 earth from end to end ; the cannon balls came 
 crashing through the branches of the trees, 
 and a hail of lead swept off the leaves, tore 
 up the grass in faint lines, and shook the 
 wall of the cottage with their dull thud. We 
 could see a strange commotion among the 
 plantations on our right, and the next moment 
 a form which we both knew too well vaulted 
 over the low wall and came across the grass. 
 A second after him other officers leaped the 
 wall, and without waiting to see if their men
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 277 
 
 followed, hurried across the lawn, and up the 
 slope. They had no need to pause. The 
 next moment the Bavarian infantry, the men 
 falling at every step, cleared the fence, and in 
 spite of the torrent of fire which seemed to 
 burn the earth before it, crossed the garden, 
 and ascended in almost unbroken line the 
 hill beyond, half concealed by the shattered 
 trees. Other regiments followed, equally 
 steady, and equally exposed to the never- 
 ceasing storm, and in about eight minutes 
 the firing lulled ; the French had fallen 
 back. 
 
 We went out of the cottage. Never in 
 the wildest stage effect could such a trans- 
 formation be beheld as this village scene 
 presented. Eight minutes ago, smiling in 
 the sunshine, peaceful, bright with flowers, 
 and green grass and trees — now shat- 
 tered, mangled, trodden down, the houses 
 in ruins and in flames, the trees broken
 
 278 THE BARONESS in 
 
 and leafless, the ground strewn with the 
 dying and the dead. The ambulance was 
 already at work, but the Baroness did not 
 stop, 
 
 ' Let us go to the front, my dear friend,' 
 she said. 
 
 I knew what she meant. The chasseur, 
 who kept close to his mistress, followed us, 
 and we went forward up the slope, picking 
 our way among the fallen men, and now and 
 then stopping while the Baroness gave some 
 poor fellow a drink of water, and assured him 
 that the ambulance corps would be up imme- 
 diately. As we ascended the slope and looked 
 back for a moment, we could see that the 
 village and the whole line of country was 
 occupied by the main body of the German 
 troops — a magnificent sight. 
 
 At last, near the top of the slope, we met 
 two Bavarians who were carrying an officer 
 between them. The Baroness knelt down,
 
 Ill HELENA VON SAARFELD 279 
 
 and, without hesitation, the men laid their 
 burden before her, in her arms. 
 
 ' We do not think he is dead, lady,' said 
 one of them, the tears streaming- down his 
 face. ' He moved once as we came alone:.' 
 
 He lay perfectly still, to all appearance 
 lifeless, his eyes closed. 
 
 * Speak to him,' I said ; ' perchance he may 
 hear yon.' 
 
 ' Von Roseneau,' cried the Baroness, in a 
 tone I never wish to hear again, ' Von Rose- 
 neau, will you marry me now ? ' 
 
 The despairing tremor of her voice seemed 
 to recall the departed spirit already wander- 
 ing in other lands. The dying man opened 
 his eyes, a brilliant smile lighted his face, his 
 gaze met that of the Baroness, and he held 
 out his hand, but he could not speak The 
 next moment he fell back dead within her 
 arms.
 
 28o THE BARONESS HELENA VON SAARFELD in 
 
 ' And what became of the Baroness ? ' 
 I asked, for the actor paused. 
 
 ' She became a canoness, and devoted her- 
 self entirely to the mystical religion of the 
 Count von Zinzendorff.'
 
 IV 
 ELLIE 
 
 A STORY OF A BOY AND GIRL
 
 ELLIE 
 
 A STORY OF A BOY AND GIRL 
 
 When I came home from Eton one vacation, 
 I found a new inmate at Abbot's Calvert : one 
 whom at first I was very much surprised at, 
 and afterwards very much delighted with. 
 This was a little girl, of about fifteen, the 
 daughter of a very distant cousin of my 
 father's, who, having lived a life of privation, 
 partly, I believe, caused by errors of his 
 own, had died i)rematurely, without either 
 choosing or being able, I do not know 
 which, to interest his noble relatives in his 
 behalf When he died, and his littU' 
 daughter was left alone and lielpless in th(! 
 world, my incjllier had caused incjuiricts to be
 
 :S4 ELLIE 
 
 IV 
 
 made about her, which resulted in her being 
 sent for into the country. The moment she 
 arrived at Abbot's Calvert it was plain that 
 she was permanently established there. It 
 was impossible for any creature to be with 
 her for five minutes without loving her. 
 My mother, who had no daughters of her 
 own, adopted her altogether as one ; and the 
 Marquis himself, who rarely spoke to any 
 one except my mother and his eldest son, 
 condescended to pet her. She was even 
 then a remarkably graceful girl, tall, and 
 giving great promise of that extraordinary 
 loveliness which two years afterwards she 
 possessed. It was not astonishing, then, that 
 I, a boy of seventeen, used to ladies' society 
 and fond of it, fell desperately in love (with 
 the desperation ot seventeen) with this 
 charming little creature; or, on the other 
 hand, that she, transferred from the narrow 
 poverty of her father's life to a stately old
 
 IV A STORY OF A BOY AND GIRL 285 
 
 mansion with ' parks and ordered gardens 
 great,' with ponies to ride, and boats upon 
 the river, with carnage drives, and picnics, 
 was very happy, and thought a good deal of 
 her young companion, who, whenever he 
 arrived, took the greatest trouble and felt 
 the greatest pleasure in pleasing her. In 
 spite of all these pleasures, it was rather dull 
 most of the year at Abbot's Calvert, for my 
 mother did not take Ellie to London, but 
 left her nominally in the schoolroom, under 
 the care of her governess, a lady recom- 
 mended by the single but invaluable charac- 
 teristic of never being in the way. It was 
 not astonishing, then, that in this new life of 
 hers the girl was very happy, or that she was 
 very fond of ' Fred.' 
 
 ' Fred ' is very different now, so it is not 
 conceited to say that I was then a good 
 specimen of an English lad, such as you may 
 see scores of in ihe public schools, with well-
 
 2S6 ELLIE IV 
 
 cut features, and auburn hair, tall, but not 
 too tall, well-built, active, holding my place 
 in all games, used to society, just bashful 
 enough to be well-mannered, and no more. 
 If I am to tell my story at all, I must be 
 allowed to say thus much, so that it may be 
 understood. 
 
 I do not want it to be a long story, so it 
 will be enough to say things went on in this 
 way for two years, till I left Eton finally in 
 June, and came down home for the vacation, 
 looking forward to going up to Cambridge 
 to Trinity at the beginning of the term. I 
 had not seen Ellie for nearly six months, for 
 I had not been in the country at Easter, 
 having spent the holidays in London. It 
 was my brother Lord Canham's first session 
 in Parliament, and the family had been in 
 London longer than usual. When I got 
 into the hall, then, and found her there 
 waiting for me, I scarcely knew her, such a
 
 IV A STORY OF A BOY AND GIRL 287 
 
 perfectly lovely creature had she grown. 
 She was standing beneath the picture of the 
 last Abbot, with the sunlight falling on her 
 coloured by the old armorial bearings of the 
 Abbey which still remain in the windows 
 (for the Calverts had been tenants of the old 
 monks for centuries, and have always pre- 
 served a kindly feeling towards their mem- 
 ory, as indeed was not unreasonable, seeing 
 that they had come in for by far the largest 
 part of their lands). She was tall, and very 
 slightly formed, her features and complexion 
 perfectly faultless, her eyes large and dreamy, 
 what some people thought heavy and ex- 
 pressionless (though they lighted up enough 
 many times that I knew of), her hair of the 
 palest auburn, wavy all over and very 
 abundant. I felt shy and bashful fur a 
 moment, but, fortunately for myself, I crushed 
 down this feeling and kissed her, as I should 
 have done a year ago.
 
 288 ELLIE IV 
 
 That year's summer was a glorious one, 
 day after day of lovely skies, soft showers, 
 warm quivering air, sultry ' all-golden ' after- 
 noons, short wonderful nights, like dreams of 
 day, full of perfume, of cool zephyrs, of 
 rustling voices in the trees. Parliament sat 
 late, and the house was almost deserted the 
 most part of the time ; we were not without 
 neighbours, and formed parties of pleasure 
 every few days, but these only served to 
 point and intensify the zest with which Ellie 
 and I spent the intervening days alone. In 
 the gardens, on the croquet -lawn, on the 
 river, riding or wandering in the lanes, 
 galloping over the grassy slopes of the 
 Chase (I had taught Ellie to ride myself, and 
 she did my instruction the greatest credit), 
 driving a miniature basket phaeton into the 
 neighbouring town to the Cathedral service 
 and to the shops, day alter day of this 
 delightful summer flew by unheeded. I
 
 IV A STORY OF A BOY AND GIRL 289 
 
 imagine, from the novels I have read, that it 
 
 will be thought by some people very wrong 
 
 that we should have been left together in 
 
 this way, and that they will say that it is 
 
 highly improbable and absurd to suppose 
 
 that my mother should have permitted this 
 
 intimacy to go on in so unchecked a way. 
 
 All I can say is, that these ideas never 
 
 entered into any phase of society with which 
 
 I was acquainted ; a perfect absence of any 
 
 feeling of the kind, of any approach to what 
 
 I have seen described as a restless meddling 
 
 propensity to match-making, or to an equally 
 
 restless fear of it, characterised, or would 
 
 have characterised, if any one had ever 
 
 thought of it, the people among whom I 
 
 lived, and no one more so than my mother. 
 
 The Marquis and Marchioness were down 
 
 for a few days in the middle of summer, and 
 
 Canham also for a week. 1 know that my 
 
 father spoke to Canham about us, but that 
 
 U
 
 290 ELLIE IV 
 
 he pooh-poohed the whole affair, called Ellie 
 a charming little thing, whom he had a great 
 mind to fall in love with himself, and that 
 my father thought no more, or little more 
 about us. I do Canham the justice to say- 
 he never did interfere with us, being wholly 
 occupied with preparing a speech on the 
 tenant-right of Ireland, a subject about 
 which he knew nothing and cared less, only, 
 as the family had large estates in that island, 
 it was thought well for him to make a speech, 
 which, while not embarrassing the Govern- 
 ment, might rouse great enthusiasm in his 
 favour among the Irish : and this he found 
 was quite sufficient to occupy him while at 
 Abbot's Calvert. 
 
 When I first came home in June Ellie 
 had told me something which had not affected 
 us much at the time, when we had all the 
 holidays before us, but which, as time passed 
 by, assumed a more formidable appearance.
 
 IV A STORY OF A BOY AND GIRL 291 
 
 This was that my mother had decided that 
 she should spend a year at least at a ladies' 
 school, of which great things had been told 
 her, in a little village in the northern counties, 
 called Southam, which boasted of a fine old 
 minster or collegiate church, and aped in 
 all its arrangements a small cathedral city. 
 Ellie did not object to this arrangement. 
 My father and mother were going to Italy 
 at the end of October, and the house would 
 be very dull all the autumn. She looked 
 forward to this school-life with expectation of 
 amusement. 
 
 September arrived, and the day when 
 Ellie was to leave was very near, when my 
 mother, one morning at breakfast, expressed 
 great annoyance at the illness of Allen, her 
 favourite maid, who, she informed us, had 
 been selected as Ellie's escort. 
 
 'Who was to take FJlic now,' she said, 
 ' she did not know ? '
 
 292 ELLIE IV 
 
 I Struck in with the happy audacity of my 
 age and class. 
 
 ' It was absurd to talk in that way ; who 
 should take Ellie except myself ? I had 
 never thought of anything else.' 
 
 My mother immediately acquiesced, with 
 that outward indifference with which she 
 received most things, and with that un- 
 conscious and undemonstrative but profound 
 conviction, that everything that her family 
 did, or proposed to do, was right. 
 
 ' Oh very well,' she said ; ' if you think of 
 doing so that will be very nice ; that will 
 settle everything pleasantly. Ellie will be 
 very willing, no doubt.' 
 
 I looked across at Ellie ; no one could 
 have found fault with her eyes for dulness at 
 that moment. 
 
 ' Yes, she was very willing.' 
 
 At this moment my father, who rarely 
 took any notice of our conversation, raised
 
 IV A STORY OF A BOY AND GIRL 293 
 
 his eyes from his newspapers and letters, and 
 asked what we were talking of. 
 
 ' Oh nothing/ my mother said, ' only Allen 
 is so unwell that she cannot take Ellie to 
 school, and Fred very kindly says he will go 
 with her.' 
 
 ' Hum,' said my father. 
 
 As he went out of the breakfast-room he 
 told me to follow him into the library, and 
 seating himself in his favourite chair, in the 
 great oriel window, he turned to me with the 
 air of a man who is saying a good thing — 
 
 ' I have not the least objection, of course, 
 sir, to your making a fool of yourself ; you 
 will do so with great success, doubtless, 
 many times during the next few years, but 
 you will jjlease to remember that a man of 
 your name ought not to make a fool of any 
 one else.' 
 
 I had not th(j faintest idea what to say, 
 so I said —
 
 294 ELLIE IV 
 
 ' Certainly not, my Lord. 
 
 I very seldom called my father ' My 
 Lord,' perhaps because he very seldom spoke 
 to me ; but this seemed to be one of those 
 rare occasions when it was dramatically con- 
 sistent, at least, to do so. 
 
 I went back into the morning-room, which 
 was also the music -room, where Ellie was 
 practising at the grand piano. I half lay 
 on a couch watching her, a ray of sunlight 
 piercing the drawn blinds and lighting up 
 her hair, and beyond a Choir of Angels by 
 Sabbatini that hung over the piano. 
 
 Both my brother and myself had, when 
 quite little boys, been trained by my mother, 
 who was a very clever woman, to watch our 
 own motives and feelings, and to look events 
 as they occurred in the face, and to trace, as 
 far as we could, the succession of cause and 
 effect in them, relatively to ourselves ; not 
 very much, however, with a view to arrang-
 
 IV A STORY OF A BOY AND GIRL 295 
 
 ing our own future, but as a matter of pure 
 philosophy. It was, therefore, impossible for 
 me to act in any circumstances perfectly 
 thoughtlessly or without reflection ; but, as I 
 lay watching Ellie, I was conscious that I 
 was acting, and should go on acting, under 
 the influence of a sort of instinct, which told 
 me I was safe and right. Looking back on 
 those days now, with no possible motive for 
 self-deception, I believe I was right ; I be- 
 lieve that, even had things happened very 
 differently to what, alas ! they did, both Ellie 
 and 1 were safe. 
 
 When the morning came for us to set out, 
 we were driven down to the cathedral town, 
 and travelled to Soutluun by express. 
 
 ' Look here,' I said to the guard, as we 
 got into the carriage, ' I will give you a 
 sovereign at Southam if no one gets in here 
 beside ourselves.' 
 
 No one attempted to get into that com-
 
 296 ELLIE IV 
 
 partment between Bishopstone and Southam. 
 We had a delightful and comfortable ride, 
 wrapped up in a corner of the carriage like 
 the babes in the wood, and the only fault we 
 found with the journey was that it was too 
 short. 
 
 At Southam we were expected, and found 
 a fly waiting to take us up to the school. 
 We passed the grand old minster, with its 
 Norman towers, sleeping in the evening 
 sunshine, and reached the school, a pleasant 
 country house surrounded with gardens, and 
 fields planted with rows of beeches, in which 
 the rooks were cawing. 
 
 Ellie was taken away upstairs, and the 
 servant, telling me that some ladies were at 
 tea with her mistress, suggested that I should 
 join them. I had sent in my card ' Lord 
 Frederick Staines Calvert,' on which I had 
 added, rather patronisingly, * Miss Elinor 
 Calvert, for Ellie had no cards. I entered
 
 IV A STORY OF A BOY AND GIRL 297 
 
 a large pleasant room, where several ladies 
 and one or two clergymen were at tea at a 
 long table. I fancy they had expected an 
 older and more imposing person from my 
 card, for they seemed uncertain as to who 
 I was, as I came in, and no one rose to 
 welcome me. 
 
 A pretty and clever looking young lady, 
 whom I took to be the chief manager in 
 the school, held out her hand to me without 
 rising as I came up the room, and, as I 
 bowed over it, showed me a chair which 
 had been placed next to her. At the top 
 of the taljle was a severe looking old lady, 
 to whom I was introduced, evidently the 
 mistress of the school ; and just opposite 
 me was a hillc pleasant hooking bright okl 
 lady, who took the greatest interest in every- 
 thing, and began to talk to me at once. 
 
 'We expected a much okler genlk;man 
 from your card, Loid I'rederick,' she said,
 
 298 ELLIE 
 
 IV 
 
 looking very sharply at me ; 'Miss Calvert 
 cannot be your sister ?' 
 
 * It is all the same,' I said ; 'we have been 
 brought up together.' Which was a fib. 
 
 'You are a very good brother,' she said, 
 still looking at me very hard ; ' I know 
 many who would think it a great "bore," 
 as they call it, to bring their sisters to 
 school' 
 
 Her eyes were so sharp and full of 
 meaning that I could not help wincing, and 
 am not even sure that I did not blush, especi- 
 ally as the clever looking young lady by me 
 seemed amused. 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and 
 Ellie was shown in. She had changed her 
 dress, and was looking fresh and beautiful. 
 I had never before been so conscious of her 
 really extraordinary loveliness, nor so proud 
 of it, as when I saw the effect it produced 
 on these people as she came up the room.
 
 IV A STORY OF A BOY AND GIRL 299 
 
 Room was made for her by the austere old 
 lady herself, whose face softened and quite 
 beamed with kindness as she turned to her, 
 
 ' We were just saying, my dear,' she said, 
 ' how good it was of your brother — cousin, I 
 believe he is, but he says it is all the same — 
 to bring you here. That was before we saw 
 you ; we do not wonder at all now that he was 
 glad to do so.' 
 
 ' No,' said the liule old lady ; ' I was going 
 to ask you, Lord Frederick, what you tra- 
 velled down together for ; I have no need to 
 ask anything of the kind now.' 
 
 We sat some time; at tea, and talked 
 pleasantly. The pretty young lady was 
 very intelligent and amusing. Canham's 
 t(-nant-right speech had after all turned out 
 a very good one, and one of the clergymen 
 spoke to me about it. They were all ([uict 
 intelligent peoj)!*', and 1 enj())cd m)s(lf. 
 After tea we went into a drawing-room.
 
 300 ELLIE IV 
 
 which opened into the room where we were, 
 and stood about, still talking. Ellie sat 
 rather apart upon an ottoman. I went to 
 her, and, sitting down by her side, said mis- 
 chievously, alluding to the cosy way in which 
 we had travelled — 
 
 ' What did we travel down together for, 
 Ellie?' 
 
 She was shy and sad now, and could 
 scarcely smile. I sat some time by her, 
 talking of what we should do at Christmas, 
 and how pleasant it would be, and she 
 cheered up a little to remind me of a sort 
 of interlude I had promised to write, and to 
 insist on my not forgetting some litde playful 
 hit, which we had concocted against one of 
 the family. I was conscious that we were 
 the object of great interest to the people in 
 the room. The clever young lady told me 
 afterwards in that very room (ah me, on 
 what a different day !) that they had all taken
 
 IV A STORY OF A BOY AND GIRL 301 
 
 it as a settled thing — a match desired by the 
 family. 
 
 At last I rose to go away. Ellie came 
 out with me to the door. She hung about 
 my neck for a moment — one, two kisses — 
 and then a third, and she was taken up- 
 stairs, and I drove away, under the beech- 
 trees, where the rooks were gone to rest, 
 and by the great old towers of the minster, 
 upon which the moon was just risen, as I 
 looked back. 
 
 I went down to Ryde, to Canham, who 
 had his yacht there. We cruised about the 
 Channel for a few days, and took part in a 
 regatta, and then he took me round the 
 cast coast to Cromer, and I came up to 
 Cambridge, and entered at Trinity at the 
 beginning of the term. 
 
 The excitement of yachting, and of the 
 new life at Trinity (and especially the boat- 
 ing, into which I enlenjil with great zest,
 
 302 ELLIE IV 
 
 having been in the first boat at Eton), put 
 ElHe almost entirely out of my head, so 
 that for many days I scarcely thought of 
 her at all. 
 
 The splendid summer of that year was 
 prolonged into a superb, but moist and un- 
 healthy, autumn, with a luxuriant vegetation, 
 caused by the sultry and showery summer, 
 and causing, in its turn, fever, and in some 
 places cholera. Cambridge was lovely dur- 
 ing day after day of golden misty sunlight 
 on the gorgeous foliage of the ' Backs.' Of 
 course I had many friends already among the 
 Eton men, and had plenty of company, but I 
 did not altogether forget Ellie, and had even 
 begun to work upon the interlude for Christ- 
 mas, having found a man who had a taste for 
 such things. But for two or three days our 
 boating coach had been working us very 
 hard, and I think that I had scarcely thought 
 of Ellie once, when one evening I came
 
 IV A STORY OF A BOY AND GIRL 303 
 
 down from my rooms (which were on the 
 staircase which turns up opposite the Hall, 
 looking into the Neville Court), and stood 
 on the steps, looking down into the great 
 quadrangle, a little before Hall. A cloudless 
 blue sky was overhead, the sun was just set- 
 ting on the quaint buildings, the grass-plots, 
 the fountain — on that beautiful court, in 
 short, on which, that he might look once 
 more from his death-bed, a late master made 
 them draw up the blinds of his sick-room. 
 The evening was close and sultry, and the 
 court was very quiet, though the men were 
 all standing about, waiting for Hall, As I 
 stood upon the steps, some one came across 
 from the porter's lodge with a paper in his 
 hand. It was handed about among the men, 
 ' Lord I'Vedcrick Calvert,' and with a joke or 
 two, was passed on to mc. I see as plainly 
 as I shall ever see anything in life the scene 
 before mc, as I stood with it, a moment, iin-
 
 304 ELLIE IV 
 
 opened in my hand, the old buildings, the 
 chapel, the blue sky, the grass, the foun- 
 tain, the men in their blue gowns standing 
 about, the next moment it was rolled away 
 like a scroll altogether out of sight. ' Ellie 
 is dying,' the message from my mother 
 said ; ' come down to Southam at once. She 
 says nothing but " Fred." ' 
 
 I got to the station a few minutes before 
 the train started; I caught the express at 
 Huntingdon, and came on all night ; I heard 
 nothing but Ellie's voice calling me by name. 
 My father was well known on the Great 
 Northern, and they stopped the express for 
 me at the nearest station on that line to 
 Southam, and I got a carriage and two horses, 
 and came on as fast as I could bribe the man 
 to go. As we got near our journey's end 
 the dawn broke, and the sun, true to the 
 character of that year, rose upon a splendid 
 autumn morning. The few birds that were
 
 IV A STORY OF A BOY AND GIRL 305 
 
 left sang gaily, the moist trees and grass and 
 brambles were covered with a thousand 
 glittering drops, the blue sky was streaked 
 with varied colour, everything sang of new 
 life, new hope, new beauty, the resurrection 
 from the night. Only in my heart I felt a 
 chill hatred of this beautiful nature, of this 
 lovely, unsympathising companion which 
 mocks our grief; in my heart I felt, as I 
 have felt since at calmer and more solemn 
 times, that this beauty of nature has little in 
 common with our deepest sorrows and our 
 highest hopes. 
 
 The grand old minster towers, with their 
 Norman tracery, were shining in the slanting 
 glory of the rising sun ; the rooks were 
 wheeling above the beeches. We had come 
 rather slowly the last few miles, but we swept 
 through the village and ii|) the drive at a 
 gallop. The house was ghastly with the 
 white blinds. The maid who opened the
 
 3o6 ELLIE: A STORY OF A BOY AND GIRL iv 
 
 door was the same who had waited upon us 
 at tea that evening, and knew me at once 
 before I spoke. Ellie was gone. From the 
 first moment the plague had struck her down 
 she had said but one word, at first continu- 
 ally, then at longer and longer intervals, but 
 always the same — ' Fred.' 
 
 'Why did we travel down together, Ellie ?' 
 Such a little way through life. 
 
 In the far-off spaces of Eternity — in the 
 Light which no man can approach unto — we 
 shall know.
 
 V 
 
 AN APOLOGUE
 
 AN APOLOGUE 
 
 There was a pause in the game. Spades 
 were trumps, and the two Besique Knaves 
 were lying on the table side by side. The 
 Professor held sequence cards almost entirely, 
 and it required careful play on the part of 
 his adversary to prevent his getting both the 
 sequence and the double besique. Therefore 
 there was a pause in the game. 
 
 The King of Diamonds and the King of 
 Clubs were lying side by side, and began to 
 talk. The King of Clubs was a stupid king. 
 He always said the same thing over again. 
 No matter what excellent reasons you gave 
 him, nor how clearly you showed liiin what 
 foolish remarks he made, he always repeated
 
 AN APOLOGUE 
 
 the last words he had said. This was, no 
 doubt, very stupid ; but it gave him a great 
 advantage in argument. 
 
 The King of Diamonds, on the contrary, 
 was very clever. His intellect was of so 
 rare a quality, and of so hard and fine a 
 temper, and had been so carefully and sharply 
 cut and elaborated into crystals, that it was 
 enabled to pierce further into a millstone 
 than that of any other card — yes, even that 
 of the cleverest of the Knaves, for the intel- 
 lect of these latter is always spoilt by a sort 
 of worldly cunning, and a too great reference 
 to the gains and advantages of present good. 
 
 ' I tell you,' said the King of Clubs, in a 
 loud and positive voice, ' that it is all chance. 
 In an affair in which I was lately engaged, 
 and in which my suite were trumps, there 
 were with me the two Aces, my brother, the 
 King of Clubs, my own consort, the two 
 Tens, and one of the Knaves. Now, I ask
 
 AN APOLOGUE 
 
 you, what could any skill effect against such 
 a force as this ?' 
 
 As this was the ninth time the king had 
 related this anecdote in precisely the same 
 words, the King of Diamonds began to feel 
 the conversation a bore, and if his perfect 
 culture would have permitted such a thing, 
 he would have felt irritated, which, of course, 
 he never did. He therefore replied with 
 extreme politeness, in a soft and melodious 
 voice — 
 
 ' The force of your reasoning, my dear 
 Clubs, and the interesting anecdote you have 
 just related, admit of no reply. I see clearly 
 that everything is the result of chance, and I 
 also see, I think clearly, that chance forms 
 itself under certain contingencies into a sort 
 of system by which unexpected results are 
 obtained. Thus, 1 ha\c oflen noticed that 
 when everything seemed clear hcfnvc ns, and 
 the game our own, in the most unexpected
 
 312 AN APOLOGUE 
 
 way everything is changed ; instead of lying 
 peaceably on our own side of the table, we 
 are transferred to the enemy's camp. The 
 play of one particular card appears to have 
 subverted the most formidable combinations, 
 and conclusions which I fancied certain dis- 
 solve into air.' 
 
 The King of Clubs did not understand 
 a word of all this, but, as his companion 
 appeared to be agreeing with what he himself 
 had stated, he did not think it worth while 
 to relate his anecdote over again, and re- 
 mained silent. 
 
 ' I think it must be plain to every one,' 
 continued the King of Diamonds, still with 
 extreme politeness, ' even to the most stupid, 
 that we are governed by a higher intellect 
 than our own ; that as the cards fall from the 
 pack, in what you so forcibly describe as 
 chance-medley merely, they are immediately 
 subjected to analysis and arrangement, by
 
 AN APOLOGUE 31- 
 
 which the utmost possible value is extracted 
 from these chance contingencies, and that 
 not unfrequently the results which chance 
 itself seemed to predict are reversed. This 
 analysis and arrangement, and these results, 
 we cards have learnt to call intellect (or 
 mind), and to attribute it to an order of 
 beings superior to ourselves, by whom our 
 destinies are controlled. These truths are 
 taught in our Sunday schools, and will, I 
 think, scarcely be denied. But what I wish 
 to call your attention to, is a more abstruse 
 conception which 1 myself have obtained 
 with difficulty, but which your more robust — 
 that is the term, I think, you Liberals use 
 — intellect will, 1 doubt not, readily grasp. 
 It has occurred to me that even the fall of 
 the cards is the result merely of more remote 
 contingencies, and is resolvable into laws and 
 systems similir io those to which they arc 
 afterwards subjected. I was led al first to
 
 314 AN APOLOGUE 
 
 form this conception by an oracular voice 
 which I once heard, whether in trance or 
 vision I cannot say. The words I heard 
 were somewhat Hke these : — 
 
 ' " If we could sufficiently extend our in- 
 sight we should see that every apparently 
 chance contingency is but the result of pre- 
 vious combinations : that all existence is but 
 the result of previous existence, and that 
 chance is lost in law. But side by side with 
 this truth exists another of more stupendous 
 import, that, just as far as this truth is recog- 
 nised and perceived, just so far, step by step, 
 springs into existence a power by which law 
 is abrogated, and the apparent course of its 
 iron necessity is changed. To these sense- 
 less cards " (whom the voice here alluded to 
 I fail to see) — " to these senseless cards, 
 doubtless, the game appears nothing but an 
 undeviating law of fate. We know that we 
 possess a power by which the fall of the
 
 AN APOLOGUE 315 
 
 cards is systematised and controlled. To a 
 higher intelligence than ours, doubtless, com- 
 binations which seem to us inscrutable are as 
 easily analysed and controlled. In propor- 
 tion as Intellect advances we know this to 
 be the case, and these two would seem to 
 run back side by side into the Infinite Law, 
 and Intellect which perceives Law, until we 
 arrive at the final problem, whether Law is 
 the result of intellect, or intellect of Law." 
 These were the remarkable words I heard.' 
 
 ' I do not understand a word you have 
 said,' replied the King of Clubs. ' I remem- 
 ])(:r in an affair in which 1 was engaged ' 
 
 Here the King of Spades suddenly came 
 down upon the table at his brother monarch's 
 side, and the game was played out. 
 
 When tlie game was over, and the other 
 player was gone, the Professor's little daugh- 
 ter came to the table, and began to j)lay with 
 the cards.
 
 3i6 AN APOLOGUE 
 
 'Why does the Herr Councillor, who is 
 so rich, come and play with you, papa?' 
 she said. 
 
 ' We were boys together, and he likes to 
 come and hear me talk ; for while he has 
 been growing rich and great, I have been 
 thinking, which he has no time to do.' 
 
 The Professor would not have said this to 
 any one else, but it was only his little daugh- 
 ter, and there was no reason why he should 
 not say what was in his mind. 
 
 'Why did you not ask God to make you 
 rich and great ?' said the little girl. 
 
 'I asked the All -father,' said the Pro- 
 fessor, looking very kindly at the child, ' to 
 give me all that was good, and He has given 
 me everything, even a little girl.' 
 
 The child was taking all the royal cards 
 in her hands and placing them side by side 
 upon the table, so that she made a pretty 
 picture, bright with colours and gay forms ;
 
 AN APOLOGUE 317 
 
 but one card was wanting, so that the royal 
 dance-figure was not perfect, and one place 
 was vacant. 
 
 A card was lying on the floor with its 
 back uppermost. 
 
 ' Pick me up that card, papa,* said the 
 Professor's little daughter. ' It is a king.' 
 
 The Professor stooped down and picked 
 up the card. It was a paltry seven of 
 hearts. 
 
 Now the father could not complete the 
 picture for his child, for the wise King of 
 Diamonds had fallen by misadventure into 
 the large pocket of the rich councillor's 
 embroidered coat, and was gone. 
 
 THE END 
 
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