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 SCHUBERT I 
 FANX^IES 
 
 A.FOXTON 
 
 FERGUSON 
 
 I 
 
 / 
 
 Boston 
 THE FOUR SEAS 
 COMPANY * 
 
E7^LI5KIS 
 
GIFT OF 
 Sir Henry ileyma.n 
 
SCHUBERT FANTASIES 
 
"At this niouicnt Schubert noticed that the in- 
 valid had suddenly raised himself up from his 
 reclining position." 
 
SCHUBERT FANTASIES 
 
 Adapted from the German of Ott fried 
 
 n 
 
 BY 
 
 A. FOXTON FERGUSON 
 
 Boston 
 
 The Four Seas Company 
 
 1914 
 
Copyright, 1914, by 
 The Four Seas Company 
 
 
 THE FOUR SEAS PRESS 
 SHARON, MASS., U. S. A. 
 
PREFACE 
 
 Fiction, to adapt a phrase of Aristotle's, if it 
 does not tell you what did take place on a 
 given occasion, often tells us what well might 
 have taken place. 
 
 The following stories are Fiction, but might 
 just as well be Fact. Indeed many of the 
 details given are historically true, while all of 
 them bare some relation to proved character- 
 istics of Schubert. In him fervent imagina- 
 tion was allied to a mind of child-like simplici- 
 ty. Though a man of little education, he had 
 a scholar's knack of tearing the heart out of 
 a piece of classical literature at first sight. 
 
 The following translations are merely an at- 
 tempt to bring before young admirers of 
 Schubert, stories of several of his songs 
 which reveal somewhat more of the real man 
 than can be learned from his brief Biography. 
 
 A word of grateful thanks is due to the 
 Religious Tract Society for its ver}^ kind per- 
 mission to allow me to reprint those of my 
 translations which appeared some years ago 
 in the "Girl's Own Paper." 
 
 After all, the charm of Schubert lies in his 
 guileless sincerity; and it can, I suppose, be 
 said of him more truly than of most — 
 
 "No matter that his speech doth lack some art, 
 
 Since what went in v/ent to, 
 And what came out came irom-'-Ats heart." 
 
 A. F. F. 
 
 bb^.)V I 
 
THE ERL-KING 
 
c 
 
 THE ERL-KING 
 
 ARL, do put that book away, you are over- 
 taxing your nerves, which are still weak 
 after all the fever you have had. You know 
 the doctor said you were only to read so long 
 as you did not go beyond your strength, and 
 now it's already evening and the room is so 
 dark that you will be injuring your eyes." 
 
 So spoke, in her gentle voice, the widow Frau 
 Hedwig to her sixteen-year-old son Carl, who 
 lay on the sofa in a state of semi-convalescence. 
 
 If anyone had looked carefully at the youth, 
 he must have feared the very worst. The fever 
 had been raging for months within him, and 
 had burned its way right to the marrow of his 
 bones; so that the doctor had long ago per- 
 ceived that it was in vain to gamble with Death 
 for his young life. It was the anxious guardian 
 alone, his mother, who had no eye for the dan- 
 ger in which her only son lay, and no notion 
 that Fate had already prepared the cup of sor- 
 row which she must soon drain to its last drop. 
 
 "You are very strict to-day, mother; you 
 mustn't grudge me my humble pleasures." Here 
 a hard dry cough interrupted the sufferer, so 
 that he had to pause for a few moments. "You 
 don't know," he continued, "what pleasure Herr 
 
 II 
 
12 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 Schubert gave me yesterday by bringing me a 
 book of Goethe's Poems. Have you read them, 
 mother? They are simply beautiful." 
 
 "Nay, how am I," exclaimed Frau Hedwig, 
 **to find time for reading and poetry? Work is 
 all I can think of — work to keep us both from 
 want, and to bring you up that you sha'nt one 
 day have to beg your bread — that's what my 
 poetry comes to." 
 
 "Oh, mother, how shall I ever repay you for 
 your goodness? Why, you find me the means 
 to study so that I may become a useful citizen, 
 and now you're letting me learn music of our 
 dear Herr Schubert!" 
 
 "Well, as to that, it was, you know, Herr 
 Schubert's own desire to be your teacher, and 
 he absolutely refuses to take any pay for the 
 pianoforte lessons he gives you. He says you 
 have talent, and that he is willing to invest his 
 capital on such good security." 
 
 "I wonder where he is to-day," said Carl. 
 "You know, mother mine, that, purely out of 
 aflfection for me, he comes here every day and 
 improvises for an hour or so on the piano. You 
 cannot imagine how it affects me. It seems, 
 when he plays, as though I saw the heavens 
 opened, and angels bending over to listen to 
 his transcendental melodies. If only Herr Schu- 
 
Schubert Fantasies 13 
 
 bert would consent, when I ask him, to com- 
 pose a song, I am certain that the whole musical 
 world would be in ecstasies, and Schubert's 
 song would never be forgotten." 
 
 Just then there was a knock at the door, and 
 the conversation between mother and son was 
 broken by the appearance of Dr. Schmidt. 
 
 "Good evening, Frau Hedwig, and Carl, my 
 lad, how goes it with you?" interrogated a 
 cheery-looking elderly gentleman. 
 
 "Thanks, doctor," said Carl, in a hoarse voice, 
 "quite well. I feel my chest quite free — in fact, 
 so well, so easy, that I think I shall have to 
 take my wing and fly right away over the houses, 
 like a bird escaped from its cage, to sun my- 
 self in the beautiful garden of God." 
 
 The doctor took the invalid's feverish hand; 
 the pulse was weak but fairly regular. 
 
 "Take good care of yourself, Carl, and soon 
 all will be well. For a few more days take plen- 
 ty of rest, and the time will come when you 
 shall praise God in all the beauty of His works." 
 
 "Only one thing, doctor; my mother won't 
 let Herr Schubert see me, if he comes to play 
 to me in the evening; because she thinks it 
 is too much for my nerves. Please do tell her 
 that Herr Schubert may play to me ; it really 
 
14 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 makes me sleep, .and gives me the happiest 
 dreams." 
 
 ''Well, so long as Schubert takes care, Frau 
 Hedwig, not to do our Carl any harm! And 
 if the fever should return in the night, just give 
 him the cooling draught which has worked won- 
 ders for him before. Good night." 
 
 Hardly had he left the room when a tear 
 trickled down his cheek, which he had tried hard 
 to keep back in the presence of the sick boy. 
 'Toor plant," he muttered to himself, "scarce 
 blossomed as yet on the bosom of the earth be- 
 fore withered, and compelled to return to it 
 again. Great Gardener, up there above the stars, 
 take it to Thyself, and transplant it into those 
 fields where Thy heavenly flowers do all thrive 
 in the perpetual light of Thy goodness 'and 
 power." At the front door he met Schubert. 
 
 "Doctor," said Schubert, "how is our dear pa- 
 tient?" 
 
 Dr. Schmidt shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "So bad, doctor? No hope of saving him?" 
 "None my friend ; he is palpably getting weak- 
 er; the fever is still consuming him, and is 
 using up completely the little strength that re- 
 mains to him. His end will come lightly, like 
 a sleep. Poor youth !" 
 
 "Poor mother," gasped Schubert. 
 
Schubert Fantasies 15 
 
 "But don't delay, Schubert; the sufferer is 
 waiting impatiently for you. I hear that you 
 are practising every day a beautiful sacred 
 work. You are trying to brighten the poor fel- 
 low's last hours through the power of music. 
 You do right. Your music comes from the 
 heart and goes in turn to his. To-morrow I 
 shall come again. How long will my visits con- 
 tinue? Well, we are in God's hands." 
 
 iMuch moved, the two friends parted. 
 
 For the youth Schubert felt a most sincere 
 devotion. He had known him for five years, 
 since the time, in fact, that he had occupied a 
 room in Frau Hedwig's house after she became 
 a widow. At his very first meeting wath Carl 
 the musician had felt himself drawn to the boy, 
 and later they were bound together by the in- 
 visible bonds of their mutual love for music. 
 For the first time the accord between them was 
 to be interrupted by the harsh dissonance of 
 death. 
 
 With a heavy heart Schubert entered the sick- 
 chamber, lighted as it was by nothing but the 
 pale rays of the moon, which caused the inva- 
 lid's wasted cheeks to look even paler and more 
 ghastly than they really were. 
 
 "Good evening, Carl. Still on the sofa — not 
 yet in bed?" 
 
t6 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 '*Oh, I'm so glad to see you, Franz. I only 
 wanted to stay up till you came. I felt so well 
 and so much easier to-day. Dr. Schmidt is very 
 pleased with his patient. He left me only this 
 moment ; you must have met him on the stairs." 
 
 "Yes, I saw him," replied Schubert, with dif- 
 ficulty struggling to regain composure. 
 
 *'And now, please," said Carl, seeing that 
 Schubert was about to sit by him on the sofa, 
 "please, if you will, go straight to the piano. 
 I am longing to hear you to-day. It is so quiet 
 here in this room, and it's so romantic, with 
 the moon yonder shedding its full light upon us, 
 and the golden stars twinkling so brightly. I've 
 asked mother not to light the lamp, it's so 
 much more poetical, and the more poetry 
 there is about us the more a great poet like 
 )^ou will be in your element." 
 
 "But where is your mother?" asked Schu- 
 bert, who feared to be left alone with the dying 
 boy. 
 
 "She is at her evening prayers," answered 
 Carl. "I wonder whether she will remember me 
 in them?" 
 
 Schubert felt a choking sensation at his throat. 
 Then, trembling with emotion, he opened a piano 
 which stood facing the sofa on which Carl lay. 
 
 "What am I to play you ?" 
 
Schubert Fantasies 17 
 
 "Nothing by anyone but yourself," exclaimed 
 the other, ''some little fancy of your own." 
 
 And Schubert began. At first a wailing melo- 
 dy like the cry of a soul in torments, then the 
 song rose up and grew quicker and quicker, till 
 the right hand seemed hardly able to follow the 
 flight of the player's thoughts. 
 
 At this moment Schubert noticed that the in- 
 valid had suddenly raised himself up from his 
 reclining position, and after moving himself 
 round so as to catch the full light of the moon, 
 had seized with trembling eagerness the book 
 which was lying close to him on the table, and 
 was turning over the leaves. 
 
 Suddenly, the youth's lips began to move, and 
 he commenced to recite, his voice combining 
 with the music to produce a most weird effect. 
 
 **Who rideth bv nisfht i)irou2fli the forest so 
 
 wild? 
 It is the father embracing his child ; 
 He holds the loved one in his strong arm. 
 He grasps him firmly, he keeps him warm." 
 
 Schubert shuddered ; he tried to break off 
 the song, he could not do it. The wan face of 
 the invalid gave an appealing glance, and he 
 was obliged to continue. 
 
 Schubert, who had never yet composed a song, 
 now found the right tones in the expression 
 
i8 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 with which the reciter declaimed them. And 
 when the youth came to the place where the 
 tones grow more alluring, the musician's fingers 
 moved in sympathy, and seemed as though they 
 were being lulled to sleep by visions of enchant- 
 ing loveliness — 
 
 "Wilt go with me, my darling child? 
 With lovely games shall thy hours be be- 
 
 guil'd; 
 And flowers and clothes and many a toy, 
 My mother has got for her darling boy." 
 
 And again the lad's voice grew stronger and 
 stronger, as Schubert fell once more into the 
 mysterious melody with which he had com- 
 menced. 
 
 Frau Hedwig had meanwhile entered the 
 room, and was listening quietly to this wonder- 
 ful combination of inspired forces. 
 
 Carl's voice grew more and more powerful, 
 till he reached the words, "The Erl-King has 
 seized me and made me his own," which he gave 
 out with an almost superhuman strength. 
 
 There was a pause. Schubert wished to leave 
 the piano. 
 
 "We are not yet at the end! Do stay Franz] 
 I must read you the conclusion of the poem. 
 How beautifully you have pictured Goethe's 
 words! Not a note has escaped me, and to- 
 
Schubert Fantasies 19 
 
 morrow rm going to write it all down. Now, 
 you see, your first song is composed. How of- 
 ten have I begged you to write one, and here, 
 in a moment, you have fulfilled my request. But 
 we must finish it, for I'm getting very tired. 
 Listen! There's the church clock striking nine, 
 and the moon has vanished behind the clouds. 
 Mother dear, do go and bring us a light." 
 
 His mother went towards the door. 
 
 With changed voice the invalid began to re- 
 cite the last verse. Schubert caught the right 
 mood in a moment. Then, more in a breath than 
 with his voice, Carl uttered the last words, "The 
 child was dead." 
 
 A string of the piano broke, and the sound 
 went clanging through the chamber. The moth- 
 er brought the lamp into the room. 
 ***** 
 
 In the cemetery at Wahring, in the same buri- 
 al-ground where the immortal master-singer 
 Schubert has been resting for some years, there 
 hung for several days after that evening, upon 
 a wooden cross over a humble grave, a fresh 
 wreath of flowers, and it had attached to it a 
 white ribbon, on which, in black handwriting, 
 these words stood clearly out — 
 
 "The Birthday of my Erl-King was the day 
 on which my dear pupil Carl Hedwig died." 
 
WITHERED FLOWERS 
 
I 
 
 WITHERED FLOWERS 
 
 T was the month of May, in all its ful- 
 ness and glory. The fields and mead- 
 ows lay basking in light and warmth, 
 and the same bright sun which impartially 
 shines upon all alike, upon palace and upon 
 cottage, had even found its way through the 
 narrow gratings of the prison, bringing with 
 it a message of hope, and anticipation of free- 
 dom to the captives who were confined within 
 its walls. 
 
 But the day was passing, and as the sun 
 sank in the sky it looked in at a window all 
 overgrown with creepers and ivy, in order to 
 cast a farewell glance upon the great genius 
 whom Apollo had chosen for his own, Schu- 
 bert, the composer. 
 
 Schubert, sunk in thought, was sitting at the 
 piano with Miiller's poems before him — the 
 poet whom he had already more than once im- 
 mortalized by digging out the rough stones, 
 and then cutting and polishing them till they 
 shone like priceless jewels. Occupied with his 
 ow^n thoughts, and entirely oblivious of the 
 outside world, he did not hear a sharp rap at 
 his door, and it was not until it had been re- 
 peated several times that he unwillingly 
 
 23 
 
24 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 looked up to see what was the matter, and 
 then noticed Theresa, his old housekeeper, 
 who had nursed him from his cradle, stand- 
 ing there, all eager to speak. 
 
 "Sir, it is high time you were off, if you don't 
 wish to miss the funeral sermon. I saw the 
 parson go into the house just now. Ah, but 
 it's a pity about poor Cecilia, that she has been 
 called away so soon !" 
 
 "Do not be sorry for the dead, Theresa," 
 said Schubert, still a little put out by the in- 
 terruption. "After all, this is the first time 
 that we can really speak of her as happy." 
 
 Without another word, but with much shak- 
 ing of the head, the old woman reached down 
 his hat, which Schubert took from her hands 
 in silence. He then left his own flat and de- 
 scended to the second floor of the mansion in 
 which he lived. It was one of the saddest of 
 tragedies — a mother had lost her only child. 
 Cecilia was only eighteen years of age, the 
 daughter of a widow, and now she had gone. 
 The struggle had been a short but stern one. 
 But if death had claimed her body, there was 
 good hope for believing that her soul had es- 
 caped, and passed on the wings of glory into 
 the abode of blessedness and immortality. 
 
 Schubert entered the chamber of death, or 
 
Schubert Fantasies 25 
 
 as it seemed, rather, the bower of flowers, 
 which, as though sorrowing for their sister in 
 beauty and innocence, were hanging their 
 heads around her in grief at her loss. The cof- 
 fin was not yet closed, and it appeared as 
 though a halo, a promise of future glory, hung 
 about the fair young face of the maiden. 
 
 It was no idle curiosity, but sympathy of 
 the most reverent kind, which filled the hearts 
 of those standing by. And at this moment it 
 was the turn of the ministei, a grey-headed, 
 venerable man, to speak a few words of com- 
 fort. He belonged to the family, in fact, it was 
 the uncle who was to perform this last sad 
 duty of affection towards the young niece who 
 had gone before him. The little address he 
 gave was uttered in a quavering voice, and 
 every eye was moist as he referred to the 
 maiden's past life, and then, turning to the be- 
 reaved mother, bade her, in words full of con- 
 solation and hope, look forward to a happy re- 
 union with her daughter hereafter. 
 
 But the thing which astonished Schubert, 
 who was standing near to the minister, was to 
 hear him close in the following words — 
 
 ''Depart, then, in peace, picture of rare de- 
 votion and self-sacrifice ; and those words 
 which in thy unhappy life brought thee so 
 
26 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 much consolation, I utter now as my last 
 words to thee — 
 
 'The May has come for thee. 
 Thy winter is o'er.' " 
 His voice died away, the coffin was closed, 
 and the mourners silently separated, with just 
 a word or two of sympathy with the mother in 
 her bereavement. A few went up to the min- 
 ister to thank him for his touching address, 
 among whom would hive been Schubert, had 
 not the minister interrupted him by turning 
 to him and saying — 
 
 "Herr Schubert, I saw that you were sur- 
 prised at my making reference at the close of 
 my address to one of the songs you have com- 
 posed. You naturally could not guess the rea- 
 son which prompted me to insert that quota- 
 tion. But here, in my hands, is a gift which 
 I was to hand over to you at the express de- 
 sire of my dear niece." 
 
 With these words he handed over to the mu- 
 sician a sealed packet. 
 
 "You will, I am sure, spare a tear to her 
 memory when you examine the contents, and 
 — God bless you, Herr Schubert — I must now 
 go to the cemetery." 
 
 The minister left the room, and Schubert, in 
 bewilderment at receiving a bequest from one 
 
Schubert Fantasies 2^ 
 
 who had been utterly unknown to him, fol- 
 lowed his example, and silently withdrew. 
 
 Once back home, before his desk, Schubert 
 sat with the packet in his hand. 
 
 "Why do I tremble at opening it?" he was 
 saying in an undertone to himself. "Why do 
 I tremble? It is my own. And yet — by this 
 gift I seem to be brought into connection with 
 one who is dead." 
 
 Quickly breaking the seal, he undid the 
 wrapper. A sheet of paper, to which a bunch 
 of withered flowers was affixed, met his eyes. 
 The nosegay consisted of roses and forget-me- 
 nots, bound together with golden threads of 
 hair. On the edge of the paper, just beneath 
 the leaves, were written these words — 
 "May is come, 
 And winter is o'er" 
 and over the words, the little melody which 
 Schubert had composed for them. 
 
 Next to this lay a few loose leaves cut out 
 of a diary, along with a letter addressed to 
 "The Master-singer, Schubert." 
 
 "What a strange bequest to make to me, an 
 utter stranger to her! What can the connec- 
 tion be between my song and these flowers?" 
 
 He tore open the leUer. cast but a look on 
 the handwriting — "from her!" and then read — 
 
28 Schubert Phantasies 
 
 "Honoured Master, — When these lines 
 reach your hands the grave will lie between us. 
 Thus I can tell you all about these enclosures 
 without blushing for my handiwork. You will 
 be surprised to receive this message from an 
 unknown girl, and to find it written in her 
 very life's blood ; but when you have read it, 
 you will understand my purpose. Please ac- 
 cept my warmest gratitude for the song, 
 which, however unintentionally, you have ded- 
 icated to me, and spare me, if you can, a pass- 
 ing thought of remembrance." 
 
 Schubert seized the loose sheets, which were 
 covered with writing in a dainty feminine 
 hand, though here and there they showed 
 traces of some abnormal excitement. 
 
 The first page bore this inscription — **The 
 eve of my seventeenth birthday." 
 
 "A bride ! How full of meaning the word. 
 I can scarcely think that it is I who am the 
 bride. To be united with him whom I love so 
 inexpressibly, who is my world, and my all ! 
 Ah, do I deserve to be so happy? Robert is so 
 clever and, as all my friends say, so handsome. 
 In Society he shines so brightly that my van- 
 ity whispers to me that every woman must 
 envy me. How has it come about that an ig- 
 norant girl such as I should have arrested his 
 
Schubert Fantasies 29 
 
 attention that evening at the ball? What was 
 it that chained him to my side all the time, and 
 that showed me a new and undiscovered world 
 when I looked into his dark eyes? How proud 
 I Avas to see him unmoved by the luxuriant 
 beauty of the rose but entranced by the hum- 
 ble little violet ! The words that passed be- 
 tween us that first evening that we met — these 
 must for ever remain locked up in my own 
 bosom. However, Robert asked my mother's 
 leave to visit us, and I saw her whisper some 
 words in his ear which made him look very 
 seriously at me, and then blush to the roots of 
 his hair. I knew not then the reason, but now 
 it is clear. The flame burned up the sacrifice. 
 Next day he laid his hand in mine and 
 spoke — 
 
 '' 'Cecilia, will you be mine, in life and for 
 life?'" 
 
 "And all my quivering pulses answered, 
 'Yes.' My mother, with streaming eyes, 
 blessed us both. Robert put his arms around 
 me, I felt a kiss on my lips, and heard a whis- 
 per in my ear, *My own lovely bride.' " 
 
 With heightened interest Schubert took up 
 the second leaf, inscribed, *'On my Saint's 
 Day." 
 
 ''Alas, alas ! The catastrophe which I have 
 
30 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 long suspected has taken place. To think that 
 I must still live ! A harsh discord, which can 
 never be resolved, has broken in upon our 
 harmony. Robert is — how can I utter it — I 
 am deceived in my marriage vows — he is, he 
 himself confesses it, a freethinker, who has no 
 faith, no belief in a Divine Being who lives 
 above us in His own blue Heaven. Ah, how 
 I long now for the great true Teacher who 
 lived two thousand years' ago, and befriended 
 those who had faith ! But I can win him 
 round. His hand has lain in mine. I will 
 trust him, I will appeal to him. In vain. As 
 well might I have kept silence. He only 
 laughed at me and despised me. I yearned to 
 be one with him in my inmost heart; he re- 
 garded me from without and cared nothing 
 for my feelings. My feelings became auto- 
 matic, I became a mere machine ; the joints of 
 the machine broke, and all the mechanism was 
 destroyed. 
 
 "O ye flowers yonder, which only to-day he 
 gave me as a token of his love, you will wither 
 upon my breast just as my faith in my hus- 
 band has been withered up and destroyed. God 
 in his mercy forgive him ! 
 
 ''The conflict is over. I know that I must 
 go, and I go happily and peacefully. If only 
 
 I 
 
Schubert Fantasies 31 
 
 I could take my mother with me to a better 
 world. But she will be glad to know that I am 
 happy. Once more I seem to hear that glo- 
 rious song — yes, it speaks true now — 
 " 'May is come, 
 The winter is o'er.' 
 
 "Do you realize, inspired master, how much 
 your song has cheered me, what consolation it 
 has brought me in all my grief? My heart was 
 frozen up, but your song made my pulses beat 
 again in ever warmer and warmer throbs 
 towards my fellow-men. Thus, without know- 
 ing it, your creative genius has dedicated a 
 song to nic ; and, without knowing you, I ac- 
 cept it as your gift to me — as a star which has 
 lightened my dark path, and which guides me 
 now to the place where I would be. 
 
 "Will you accept from her who is now going 
 home a flower in token of remembrance? 
 ^Withered Flowers' you dedicated to me, and 
 withered flowers, whose fate I shared on earth, 
 does she give you in return whose sufferings 
 you enlightened by means of your divine 
 poesy. Who it is that sends you these flowers 
 you will learn from a perusal of the first two 
 pages of this dia.ry. My uncle has promised 
 me faithfully to place them in your hands. 
 
 "Despise not the gift — for it is the only one, 
 and the best that I have." 
 
32 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 Schubert paused for a moment, much moved 
 by what he had read. But, as to the connec- 
 tion between her disappointed hopes and his 
 composition, he had ah'eady read two pages 
 and was no wiser than before. 
 
 "Who would ever have supposed," muttered 
 Schubert, "that this delicate creature had such 
 a will of iron? I am only grieved that death 
 should have taken her away before ever I 
 knew her. It might be that I could have 
 helped her." 
 
 He passed on to the third page. 
 
 "What a change in the handwriting!" 
 
 This last sheet bore no inscription. 
 
 Evening had already drawn her dark curtain 
 over the sky, and the stars had come out to 
 watch ; the moon was climbing up the heavens, 
 and shone, as it rose, upon the face of Schu- 
 bert, leaning, full of thought, in his window. 
 In his eye a tear glistened for her who had 
 gone. Above him, a nightingale was raising 
 her lonely song of lament. 
 
THE ORGAN GRINDER 
 
THE ORGAN GRINDER 
 
 T7VERY0NE knows the big mansion at 
 ^-^ Meidling which lies so pleasantly at the 
 foot of the hill, next to the Emperor's sum- 
 mer residence of Schonbrunn. It is enclosed 
 by beautiful trees, and is further protected 
 from the dust of the street which runs past it 
 by a large garden. On the front of the house 
 a dark escutcheon is conspicuous, and upon 
 it, in gold letters, the friendly greeting, "Wel- 
 come !' 
 
 It was on a lovely summer's day that 
 sounds of mirth and joy might have been 
 heard proceeding from the rooms. Had you 
 looked in at the open w^indows, you would 
 have seen servants in brown liveries and gold 
 lace hurrying about with silver trays in their 
 hands. The meal seemed to be finished, and 
 the guests w^ere evidently preparing for an 
 informal chat over their cafe noir. 
 
 It was a ground-floor room — a kind of con- 
 servatory, the sides of w^hich were overgrown 
 W'ith all sorts of creeping plants, from among" 
 which many a lovely tlower peeped its tiny 
 head. In the middle stood a small fountain, 
 and in the centre of the basin a nymph, hold- 
 ing out a crystal bowl of sparkling water. 
 
 35 
 
36 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 Round the fountain were ranged chairs and 
 tables. Ludmilla, Countess of Wangenheim, 
 who owned the mansion, was giving a party, 
 and the guests had just gathered here after 
 lunch. A careful observer would have seen 
 at once that all that the Royal Borough could 
 boast in the way of talent or beauty was 
 gathered here. The man of fortune fraternized 
 with the man of genius ; persons of high mili- 
 tary or civil rank rubbed shoulders with ar- 
 tists and poets. It was, in fact, no caste as- 
 sembly, but in very truth — a party. 
 
 In a niche of one of the windows stood two 
 gentlemen engaged in earnest conversation 
 together. One wore the becoming and bril- 
 liant uniform of a colonel of Hussars, deco- 
 rated with a whole row of orders ; the other 
 was clothed in a simple suit of black. 
 
 "Herr Schubert," said Count Erben — for 
 this was the officer's name, "do try to per- 
 suade the Countess to sing to us. I feel she 
 cannot give her guests any greater pleasure 
 than to hear her." 
 
 "I will do what I can with her," said Schu- 
 bert; "but I am here to beg, and not to com- 
 mand. Is not this last," he added in a softer 
 voice, "rather the role of her intended?" 
 
 " 'Command,' Schubert ? That's a word 
 
Schubert Fantasies -^y 
 
 that's not to be found in a lover's dictionary. 
 Command one's fiancee? My good friend, 'tis 
 clear enough you were never engaged?" 
 
 "No, Count ; I am more than that — I am 
 married — married to a being to whom I have 
 entrusted my whole life, I know she is apt to 
 be changeable and fickle. Her name is — 
 Imagination ! And she has golden wings and 
 flies where she will." 
 
 "Then I should chain her down." 
 
 "Oh, no ; I am her husband, not her jailor. 
 And if she does now and then grant a tete-a- 
 tete to another, yet she has belonged to me a 
 goodly time, and I've an idea that it will be 
 long before she deserts me. But, seriously, 
 I Avill certainly tell the Countess of your 
 wish." 
 
 A moment later, a gentle hand was placed 
 upon the arm of the Count, while a blue eye 
 glanced up into his face. 
 
 "Count Erben has need, then, of an inter- 
 preter? And you, Herr Schubert — you were 
 persuaded to assume this office?" 
 
 Thus appealed to, Schubert answered with 
 a laugh — 
 
 "I really can't explain how it came about, 
 Countess, for today you ought to have the sole 
 privilege of granting favors." 
 
38 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 **In that case, I know all Hugo's wishes in 
 advance. He would even levy toll on my 
 fingers; wants some Beethoven, 'just this 
 once,' as he always puts it. I really ought 
 not to — but what won't one do to keep some 
 people in good temper?" 
 
 She motioned to her servants to pull the 
 piano forward a little, and opened it. 
 
 "What shall I sing?" 
 
 " 'Adelaide,' if you will — to my mind the 
 finest picture of pure love ever yet composed," 
 entreated her lover. 
 
 "Well, you shall have it, as a reward for 
 your good tase." 
 
 The Countess began; but hardly had she 
 struck the first chord when the melancholy 
 tones of a barrel-organ came floating in 
 through the open window, mingling them- 
 selves in excruciating discords with the tones 
 of the song. 
 
 Annoyed at the unexpected interruption, 
 the Countess sprang up from the piano. 
 
 "It's really intolerable!" she said. "Musi- 
 cians of this class are nothing but vagabonds 
 who exist for the sole purpose of driving 
 mankind to despair. George" — and she turned 
 to one of her servants — "give the man a trifle, 
 
Schubert Fantasies 39 
 
 and tell him not to rack our nerves any more 
 with his tunes." 
 
 Schubert had no fondness for this sort of 
 liberality. And what none other ventured, he, 
 as a very old friend of the Wangenheim 
 family, dared to say. 
 
 *'My dear Countess," he said, drawing close 
 to her in the window niche, "I never can 
 reconcile this sort of giving with our Chris- 
 tian charity. You are giving out of selfish- 
 ness and not out of pity, just to save your- 
 self what is unpleasant. Yet perhaps the poor 
 man, through no fault of his own, is depend- 
 ent on his playing to save himself from star- 
 vation. I grant you that his tune is a bit out 
 of date and not particularly pleasing to the 
 senses, but there are potentialities even in the 
 barrel-organ ; he could get a fresh 'barrel' and 
 give us some of the modern music. What say 
 you" — and here a sudden thought occurred to 
 him — "to my assertion, that you yourself. 
 Countess, will, before a week has flown, if 
 this fellow should bring his organ here again, 
 beg him to repeat the piece of music which 
 he has played?" 
 
 "What a ridiculous idea, Herr Schubert!" 
 exclaimed Ludmilla, who was a little bit net- 
 
40 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 tied at the somewhat sharp way in which, as 
 she thought, he had taken her up. 
 
 ''Well, shall we make a wager about it. 
 Countess? This is my proposal. Should my 
 prediction come true, and you ask the organ- 
 grinder to repeat his tune, you are to provide 
 him with a small monthly allowance. Should 
 you, however, not do so, then I shall be re- 
 sponsible for his relief." 
 
 ''Gentlemen" — and Ludmilla turned to the 
 company — "you are witnesses of what has 
 passed between Herr Schubert and me ; to- 
 day week I invite you to meet me here again 
 to see the issue of the matter." 
 
 During this conversation both parties had 
 been standing at the window, in front of which 
 a little play was being enacted, which was the 
 more disagreeable to Ludmilla from the feel- 
 ing that Schubert's criticism had been a just 
 one. 
 
 The servant George had just gone up to 
 the organ-grinder. It was a scene worthy of 
 Murillo. The poor man, with his spare form, 
 sunken eyes, and pallid face, looked a pitiable 
 picture of wretchedness and want ; while his 
 white hair hung like a worn-out frame round 
 some faded picture. 
 
 No sooner, however, had the old man 
 
Schubert Fantasies 41 
 
 caught sight of the magnificent gold livery of 
 the servant than he waved off the outstretched 
 hand, hoisted the organ on his back, and fled, 
 as if for dear life, to the neighboring hill. 
 
 "Countess," exclaimed Schubert, "I simply- 
 must find out what has put him in such a 
 fright ! I feel somehow as though he had been 
 brought here for a purpose for which you will 
 ever feel grateful." 
 
 He quickly took leave of the Countess, and 
 hurried away. The latter went back to the 
 piano and resumed the song which had been 
 so rudely and unexpectedly interrupted. 
 
 Schubert had seized his hat and stick and 
 was already away after the old man. If the 
 latter had the advantage of several minutes' 
 start, the former had, at any rate, the advan- 
 tage in point of age. All at once he came in 
 sight of a small knot of people who, in reply 
 to his question as to what was the matter, 
 told him that an old organ-grinder had fallen 
 down in a faint. Pushing his way through, 
 he recognized the object of his pursuit. The 
 old man lay stretched on the green turf, with 
 his head resting on the lap of a woman who 
 was bathing his temples with a wet handker- 
 chief. Just then he opened his eyes, but 
 closed them again through weakness. Schu- 
 
42 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 bert saw that it was a case for immediate ac- 
 tion, so he bade two strong laborers who 
 were idly looking on lift the man up and carry 
 him to the nearest inn, where he promised 
 himself to see that the invalid was cared for. 
 At Schubert's request the landlord had the 
 unconscious man brought into a private room 
 and laid on a couch, and, restoratives being 
 applied, presently had the satisfaction of see- 
 ing him come slowly round. 
 
 "Where am I? What has happened to 
 me?" he asked in a scarcely audible voice. 
 
 Schubert signed to the landlord to leave 
 them alone, while the organ-grinder's gaze 
 wandered round and round the room in won- 
 der, till at last it fell on Schubert's kindly 
 countenance. He tried to speak, but stopped 
 short through exhaustion. 
 
 ''Don't distress yourself, old man, you are 
 in good hands; you are in no danger; it was 
 onlv a momentary giddiness that seized you." 
 
 "Oh, my poor Catherine," tearfully ex- 
 claimed the old man, "if she knew in what a 
 helpless plight I am ! I am breaking down 
 under the burden of years, and who will then 
 care for my poor, poor child?" 
 
 "Come, come, you'll soon be all right." 
 
 "Ah, sir, you don't realize how dependent 
 
Schubert Fantasies 43 
 
 we poor folks are on our bodily powers. As 
 for me, if there were only myself to think of, 
 I should not care how soon death came to ex- 
 tinguish my light. But there is another, a 
 mere bud, which must perish if its gardner 
 dies, perish of want, or be brought, maybe, 
 to shame. That is, sir, the fearful thought 
 that weighs me down." 
 
 A fresh attack of faintness seized the man 
 as he lay on the sofa. 
 
 "This man has seen better days — that I can 
 see at a glance," thought Schubert. *T won- 
 der what his secret is?" 
 
 "Yes," muttered the old man, "and it was 
 that very look which I had so often — How it 
 opens afresh my old wounds ! I saw her at 
 the window. I recognized the Countess Lud- 
 milla. She was — a member of that family." 
 Then, fearing he had already said too much, 
 he turned with a plaintive gesture to Schu- 
 bert and said, "I'm quite well now; if you 
 will allow me, I will proceed; Catharine will 
 be getting anxious." 
 
 "What! You would go home alone? Nay, 
 that cannot be — you have a long way to go, 
 and are not very strong yet." 
 
 "Oh, but I do not live far from here — only 
 yonder, where those farthest cottages stand; 
 
44 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 it is there that a little faithful woman shares 
 a crust with me." 
 
 "Nay, I go Avith you in any case," inter- 
 rupted Schubert, who felt some mysterious 
 influence compelling him to try to find out 
 more about the old man's life, especially since 
 he had heard him m.ention the name of the 
 Countess of Wangenheim. 
 
 "You will excuse my presumption, but I 
 cannot quite understand why you, a stranger, 
 should display such goodwill towards me ! 
 For I certainly cannot offer you any return 
 for all the kindness you have shown me." 
 
 "Yes, you can give me some information — 
 but of that anon." 
 
 The old man strode up and down the room 
 for a little, drawing in the cool evening air 
 w^hich was streaming in through the open 
 window ; and then, feeling that his strength 
 had come back to him, turned to Schubert 
 and said — 
 
 "If I may be allowed then, I think I ought 
 to go. It's beginning to get dark, and Cath- 
 erine always gets anxious if I am late in re- 
 turning." 
 
 They broke off the conversation and went 
 out, Schubert walking in silence by the side 
 
Schubert Fantasies 45 
 
 of the old man. Both of them seemed to have 
 plenty to occupy their minds. 
 
 The old man sighed deeply and often, as 
 though over some past memories; while the 
 composer hummed snatches of melody to 
 himself, which would perhaps one day be 
 united in a song. 
 
 A quarter of an hour's walking, or less, 
 brought them to a halt before an old tumble- 
 down cottage, from within which a youthful 
 voice was issuing. 
 
 "Yes, that's Catherine's voice," exclaimed 
 the old man. "Youth insists on being happy." 
 
 "But what a glorious voice! Do you know, 
 old man, that in your child you have a jewel, 
 if you care to turn her voice to account?" 
 
 "At the price of her ruin — never, never," 
 cried the old man. "Two years ago, after I 
 had been driven to seek my livelihood with 
 this old organ, I began to take her with me, 
 and she was obliged to sing to these grue- 
 some tones. But if I can help it, never again! 
 Her beauty draws too much admiration upon 
 her." 
 
 At this moment the young girl herself ap- 
 peared at the cottage door, and, with an ex- 
 clamation of joy, flew to his arms. She was 
 
46 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 a lovely girl of not more than sixteen years, 
 just entering upon womanhood. 
 
 "You are late," she exclaimed. "I was get- 
 ting anxious. You must be tired. Come 
 along in. Supper is ready, or will you" — she 
 went on as she took the organ from his back 
 — ''spend the rest of your evening in the fresh 
 air?" 
 
 "Yes, that's what we'll do," said the old 
 man in affectionate tones, "and you can bring 
 our supper into the garden. But don't you 
 see I have brought home a stranger?" and for 
 the first time Catherine directed her glance 
 toward Schubert. "You must make the gen- 
 tleman welcome, Catherine, and afterwards I'll 
 tell you how much we are indebted to him. 
 Just at this moment we are going to stay out 
 here together, and you can run off to your 
 work." 
 
 The girl vanished again into the cottage. 
 
 "And now, sir, let me thank you once 
 more," said the old man, "from my heart for 
 your kindness to me." 
 
 "But I hope this is not to be the beginning 
 and end of our friendship, for I must con- 
 fess," added Schubert, "that ever since I set 
 eyes upon you I have been full of curiosity 
 about you. I saw you reject the money the 
 
Schubert Fantasies 47 
 
 Countess Wangenheim sent you. I saw you 
 scurry off. Later, I heard you mention the 
 Countess's name. Tell me, there's some con- 
 nection between you?'*' 
 
 *'Oh," sighed the organ-grinder, "that's a 
 very sad story ! But before I reply, you must 
 allow me to ask you a question — are you a 
 friend of the Wangenheim family?" 
 
 "For five years I have known them inti- 
 mately." 
 
 "In that case you know the name of Carl 
 Logner?" 
 
 "The secretary who " 
 
 "Precisely," exclaimed the old man with a 
 distressed look in his face. "Who stole from 
 his employer the sum of fifteen thousand 
 gulden, which he abstracted from the safe. I 
 am the father of that unhappy man, and Cath- 
 erine is his child. Which said, I must, for 
 the sake of the dead man's honor, tell you 
 more. For my boy was innocent, and it was 
 unjust suspicion which killed him. But your 
 name — may I not know it?" 
 
 "Schubert." 
 
 "Schubert, the composer?" 
 
 "The same." 
 
 "The man of warm heart and fervid imagi- 
 nation. Come, then, let's go into the poor 
 
48 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 man's garden, for even he has a bit of grass 
 and a flower or two which he dignifies by 
 that name, and there you shall have the whole 
 story." 
 
 ''My dear Logner, I shall be only too glad 
 to hear everything you will tell me." 
 
 They walked down into the garden, as it 
 was called, where stood a wooden bench and 
 table. There they sat together like old 
 friends. The clock from the village of Het- 
 zendorp struck. The old man reverently 
 raised his cap and silently uttered a short 
 evening prayer. 
 
 "Now," said he, ''for my tale. And when I 
 have finished, blame Carl if you will, but not 
 before." 
 
 "I was steward at one of the many country 
 seats which belong to the Wangenheim 
 family, and I served my employer loyally for 
 forty years. The Count had other interests, 
 and the management of the entire estate de- 
 volved almost wholly upon me. At the end 
 of that time I moved into this town, and the 
 only regret I had in doing so lay in the fact 
 that I could not bring my wife with me, as 
 she had died a couple of years before my re- 
 moval. The change of abode was rendered 
 necessary by the education of my son Carl, 
 
Schubert Fantasies 49 
 
 to whom, thanks to the thrifty life I had led, 
 I was able to give every possible advantage 
 for the training both of his mind and body. 
 Well was I rewarded. The lad turned out 
 even better than m}- expectations; so that, 
 as soon as he had completed his studies, he 
 was sent for by the Count, who, in recogni- 
 tion of my long services in his house, took 
 him, and, in spite of his youth, made him his 
 secretary. Not long afterwards he met a girl 
 who, though poor, was in every way admir- 
 able, and in course of time she became his 
 wife. 
 
 "Unfortunately, the very day that Catherine 
 was born, her mother died, and from that 
 date the dark shadow of misfortune grew 
 blacker and blacker over the hitherto happy 
 fortunes of the family. 
 
 "Carl took the loss of his young wife very 
 deeply to heart, and began not to show the 
 same thoroughness in his work as formerly. 
 He had already on several occasions had to 
 gloss over the small errors in the accounts. 
 But it was on November 25th, the anniver- 
 sary of his wife's death, that, having been to 
 pay a visit at her grave, he found the Count's 
 son awaiting his return, and pacing up and 
 down the office in a state of agitation border- 
 
50 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 ing on frenzy. As scK>n as the young Count 
 saw him he closed the door and fell on his 
 knees before Carl, imploring him for pity's 
 sake to save him from disgrace and dishonor. 
 'If I cannot/ he said, iay hands on 15,000 
 gulden within the next half hour, in order to 
 redeem a promissory note to which, in a mo- 
 ment of folly and recklessness, I have put my 
 father's name, I am a lost man! You know 
 my father, and how punctilious he is where- 
 his honor is concerned. Yet I feel certain 
 that if I can only meet this bill, he will not 
 refuse to pardon me when I confess all. 
 Within twenty-four hours I promise to speak 
 with my father, and he will be grateful to- 
 you for acting so promptly to save my honor. 
 Meanwhile, for your immediate protection, I 
 shall give you, my dear Logner, this written 
 receipt I have here, which states that you 
 have handed over the sum to me for my bene- 
 fit.' 
 
 "He laid a sealed letter upon the table. 
 Carl, not thinking of treachery, but only oc- 
 cupied with the young man's distress, decided 
 that the old Count would probably be grati- 
 fied at finding him so anxious to protect his 
 name, and accordingly handed over the neces- 
 sary sum of money to the importunate youth,. 
 
Schubert Fantasies 51 
 
 No sooner had Eugen received the money 
 than he hurried away as fast as his legs would 
 carry him. Carl took the receipt and put it, 
 just as it was, within the safe, not without 
 some qualms of uneasiness for which at the 
 time he could not quite account. 
 
 ''Next day, going to his office as usual, he 
 noticed, as he passed, an unusual stir in the 
 Count's house; all the servants were stand- 
 ing in groups, and were whispering together 
 in subdued voices. As he made his way 
 through in order to gain the apartments 
 which were set aside for the business of the 
 estate, he was about to inquire the reason for 
 this commotion, when a servant came up and 
 in an excited whisper informed him that that 
 night the young Count had absconded, leav- 
 ing behind him a huge number of debts, par- 
 ticulars of which he had specified in a letter 
 to his father. 
 
 ''Lightly spoken though they were, the 
 words resounded like the trump of doom in 
 Carl's ears. Half fainting, he threw open the 
 doors of the safe, unsealed the envelope which 
 Eugen had given him the previous day, and 
 found— a blank sheet ! Stunned by the stroke, 
 he was lying almost unconscious before the 
 safe when the Count entered. What fol- 
 
52 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 lowed, Herr Schubert, you can but too well 
 imagine. Carl asserted his innocence. The 
 Count listened to his tale with incredulity. 
 'Why,' said he, 'should I believe that he 
 whom till yesterday I called by the name of 
 son really gave you this?' Utterly prostrated 
 by the misfortune, Carl was brought home 
 that evening in a carriage. Next day symp- 
 toms of fever appeared, and ten days later he 
 died, without being able to recognize either 
 his father or child. 
 
 "And now I, a grey-headed old man, stood 
 alone — alone by the cradle of my grandchild. 
 To make matters worse, while Carl was ill I 
 had received a communication from the new 
 secretary who was put in his place, in which 
 I was informed that in recollection of my past 
 services, the Count did not feel inclined to 
 take any legal proceedings, or to hold any in- 
 quiry whatever ; but that the money I had ad- 
 vanced to cover the loss of the missing sum 
 must be forfeited. It was to no purpose that 
 I begged for an audience of the Count. They 
 simply gave me to understand that the Count 
 had done enough by consenting to keep si- 
 lence over the affair, and that he refused to 
 re-open discussion on a matter which was so 
 disagreeable to him. 
 
Schubert Fantasies 53 
 
 "The pain I experienced at the loss of my 
 only son and at the stigma placed upon his 
 name had the effect of bringing a serious ill- 
 ness upon me, and I had to spend some time 
 in the hospital. On coming out into the 
 world again, I found that my tiny income did 
 not suffice for one-half of the barest necessi- 
 ties of life. The secret of my son's misfor- 
 tune had been well kept, but nothing could 
 prevent it from leaking out. The consequence 
 was, no one would help me, and it became a 
 question of bare existence for myself and my 
 little grandchild. At last, in despair, I took 
 all that remained of my capital, bought an 
 organ, and went with it from house to house. 
 I played dances while my heart bled; and 
 every note that I drew from my instrument 
 cried out for bread— bread for Catherine and 
 me. As the child grew older I discovered 
 what a voice she had, and I taught her to 
 sing little songs to the airs I played, the words 
 of which I composed. But as she got still 
 bigger, my whole nature began to rebel 
 against bringing her up to this kind of life, 
 and making my little grandchild into a street 
 vagabond. And so-I jog on alone— for how 
 long, I know not— only He can tell Who 
 clothes the lilies of the field, and suffers not 
 
54 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 that a single sparrow should fall unheeded to 
 the ground. 
 
 "It was a mere accident that led me to the 
 "house where I once more set eyes on a mem- 
 ber of the Wangenheim family; the rest you 
 know. Oh, sir, I have gone through much; 
 the picture of my past is dark enough, but 
 darker still is that which the future presents 
 to my gaze." 
 
 The old man ceased, exhausted, and a tear 
 trickled down his wasted cheek. 
 
 "But, my dear Logner, did you never try, 
 after some further time had elapsed, to ap- 
 proach the Count, or at any rate to find proofs 
 which might in some degree at least have 
 cleared Carl? For I know as a fact that the 
 name of Eugen is never mentioned now in 
 the Wangenheim family, and that the old 
 Count, to the day of his death, would not have 
 the name uttered in his presence. I know, 
 moreover, that the Countess Ludmilla is in 
 the secret, and that only a short while ago 
 she took steps in every direction to discover 
 your whereabouts." 
 
 "I have for long buried my tarnished name 
 under the seal of secrecy, and by young and 
 old alike I am known simply as 'Martin, the 
 organ-grinder.' But you, Herr Schubert, you 
 
Schubert Fantasies 55 
 
 have heard from my lips the history of my 
 misfortune. I beg you then, don't abuse my 
 confidence, nor reveal to busybodies what I 
 have kept from them for so long-." 
 
 ''Now, Logner; you don't mean to say I am 
 not to inform the Countess that I have found 
 you out; nor to tell her that she is now, by 
 the interposition of Providence, in a position 
 partly to right the grievous wrong done to 
 you by her family?" 
 
 ''No, never," cried the old man. "The 
 Count condemned without hearing, and, with- 
 out proofs against my son, drove him to de- 
 struction." 
 
 "Logner, you are unjust. Could the Count 
 in presence of all his househod, have acted 
 differently? Could he (I do not wish to cause 
 you pain) have overlooked such an act of 
 culpable negligence as your son was guilty 
 of when he gave away, even though it was to 
 the Count's own child, such a large sum of 
 money on the strength of a sealed sheet of 
 paper? There are principles which govern 
 society, principles which cannot be trans- 
 gressed with impunity. You don't wish me 
 to speak with the Countess? You ought not 
 to prevent me — you should rather urge me to 
 do so, if only for your granddaughter's sake. 
 
56 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 Ludmilla is the kindest-hearted of creatures, 
 and if she helped you it would be done in a 
 way that could not give you offence. You are 
 too done up after all the events of to-day to 
 think quietly over my proposal. But come to- 
 morrow and see me in my house," and Schu- 
 bert took a piece of paper out of his pocket 
 and wrote his address upon it, "and then we 
 will talk the matter over. A good, good night 
 to you, Logner." Schubert grasped the old 
 man's hand, which trembled in his. "Now 
 don't be over-anxious," he said, "but hope for 
 the best, and leave the rest." Then with a 
 cheery smile and a cheery wave of the hand, 
 the composer took his departure. 
 
 "Now for my song," he muttered as he 
 went along; "surely this will be one of my 
 happiest inspirations !" 
 
 The week had passed and gone, and Schu- 
 bert was once more in the Countess's man- 
 sion. He was sitting beside her in her bou- 
 doir on the sofa. The room was furnished in 
 perfect taste, and the window opened out di- 
 rect on the garden. He was engaged in eager 
 conversation with the Countess. 
 
 "Herr Schubert, is this all true that you 
 have been telling me? Forgive my saying so, 
 but surely you are not deceiving me? Is it 
 
Schubert Fantasies 57 
 
 really the fact that Logner is still alive, and 
 that I can now make good the wrong which 
 that unhappy young youth wrought so care- 
 lessly? Well, then, I will tell you what I 
 know of the affair, and you will see why I 
 am so concerned to change Logner's life and 
 place it under a luckier star. Two years ago 
 I received a letter from the Isle de France, ad- 
 dressed to my dead father. The handwriting 
 was quite strange to me. I opened it. It 
 was from a priest there, who wrote that more 
 than ten years previously he had visited a for- 
 eigner on his death-bed, who had confessed 
 to him, in the bitterest agonies of remorse, 
 that he had caused a man of the name of Log- 
 ner to become an innocent accomplice in a 
 crime by taking advantage of his credulity. 
 He begged his father to forgive him, and 
 wished him to be told that it was only the 
 thought that he would see that justice was 
 done to the poor fellow, which gave him 
 courage to face death calmly. I have care- 
 fully preserved the letter among my other 
 papers in that desk. You can testify how, 
 on the receipt of it, I left no stone unturned 
 to trace the Logner family, but in vain ! And 
 now, Herr Schubert, through your agency. 
 
58 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 the curtain seems likely to be lifted, and I 
 shall at least be able — " 
 
 At this moment the sounds of an organ 
 were heard, followed, after a few bars, by a 
 girl's voice, which commenced to sing to the 
 accompaniment of the organ. The song was 
 something like this — 
 
 "Up behind the village stands an organ-man. 
 And with stiffen'd fingers turns as best he 
 
 can; 
 On the cold ground, barefoot, totters here 
 
 and there, 
 And his empty saucer shows that gifts are 
 
 rare. 
 No one listens to him, no one looks or cares. 
 Snarling dogs pursue him, still a smile he 
 
 wears. 
 And no disappointment does he once betray, 
 But upon the organ turns and turns away. 
 Wonderful old minstrel, shall I go with you? 
 Will you to my ditties play the music too?" 
 
 "What a dreadfully gloomy song, and yet 
 so true to life ! What simple strength in that 
 monotonous melody ! Now, how did that 
 man get hold of a song like that? We must 
 persuade the musician to repeat it — it floats 
 up to my ear like a wail of distress.'* The 
 Countess hurried to the window. 
 
\ 
 
 Schubert Fantasies 59 
 
 "Ah!" An exclamation of surprise arose 
 from the guests who were standing near. 
 "The organ-grinder— is it he?" she asked with 
 quavering voice. 
 
 "He it is indeed!" replied Schubert; "it is— 
 the unhappy Logner!" 
 
 "Come then, Herr Schubert, it was my 
 brother robbed his man of his honor; I, his 
 sister, will give it back to him again." 
 
 She opened the door and hurried out so 
 quickly that Schubert had difficulty in follow- 
 ing her. 
 
 ''Logner," she said, in strangely pathetic 
 tones, taking the poor man's hand and bend- 
 ing her head low, "I have much to repair; 
 the honor of your dead son is spotless, no 
 stain more rests upon it— the proofs are here. 
 Your savings, of which you were unjustly 
 deprived, are here also, intact in my hands. 
 For the bringing up of that dear child, your 
 granddaughter, who stands here looking so 
 anxious— let me from this day forth take care 
 of that. Only one request I have to make, 
 in the name of one who is no more, who on 
 his death-bed was filled with deepest repent- 
 ance — forgive my poor erring brother." 
 
 Logner did not answer; but falling on his 
 
6o Schubert Fantasies 
 
 knees, he raised his hands and moistened eyes 
 to Heaven, and said — 
 
 "Lord of all! Forgive us our trespasses, as 
 we forgive them that trespass against us !" 
 
 Schubert, the while, stood reverently by; 
 and he too, in that thrilling moment, when 
 the feud of years was laid aside, and the 
 travel-stained wayfarer reached his home at 
 last, thanked God who had given him the 
 means, by the divine power of music, of 
 awakening the souls of men to beautiful 
 thoughts, and of inspiring them to what was 
 good and true. 
 
THE ANGLER 
 
THE ANGLER 
 
 TRY to hide it as you may, dear Franz, 
 I can read in your face too clearly that 
 you are troubled by the same thought which 
 weighs so heavily upon me. We are both^ of 
 us being punished for our too great affection 
 for our boy, to whom we have been foolishly 
 indulgent. He is in love— now that I have 
 mentioned the subject I may as well disguise 
 nothing— he is in love, or thinks himself in 
 love, with the widow of the Banker Westen- 
 holz, of Berlin, who only came to live here a 
 short time ago. You know how Henry has 
 been brought up ; how we have tried to shield 
 him, like a tender plant, from every storm, and 
 now— how is it possible that he can ever be 
 happy with this worldly coquette?" 
 
 The speaker was Helen Lohenstein, the w^ife 
 of a rich manufacturer, and as she spoke she 
 looked anxiously at her husband, as she 
 handed him his morning cup of coffee. 
 
 It was eight o'clock, and both were in the 
 dining room, which was comfortably fur- 
 nished, without being in any way luxurious. 
 They had arrived at an age when married life 
 begins to assume a new aspect: it has lost its 
 passionate, lava-like glow, but the course of 
 
 63 
 
64 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 love runs deeper and more tranquilly along. 
 At the present moment both their faces were 
 clouded over with anxiety ; and it was quite 
 plain, from their gloomy looks, that there was 
 something which threatened to come between 
 them and their son. 
 
 Hitherto, nothing could have been more 
 happy or comfortable than their little house- 
 hold of three. Henry, the only child of their 
 marriage, which took place thirty years ago, 
 was the very apple of their eye. He was al- 
 v/ays in to dinner in the evening, full of en- 
 thusiasm about his work, and ready to discuss 
 with his parents all the news of the day, 
 whether it was some piece of financial news 
 which he had brought for his father, or some 
 recent fashion or bit of social gossip for his 
 mother, and in the morning they would al- 
 ways have a half-hour's chat together before 
 he went out to his work. 
 
 Now all was changed. There sat his par- 
 ents, all alone, with sorrow in their hearts. 
 Even at the breakfast-table Henry's face was 
 missing; he was still lying in bed, trying to 
 get rest after his dissipation of the prevous 
 day, and to fortify himself for fresh excite- 
 ments on the morrow. His parents' warning 
 
Schubert Fantasies 65 
 
 had no weight with him ; he had only ears for 
 the seductive tones of a modern Circe. 
 
 Six months ago he had met her at a fancy- 
 dress ball, disguised under a black domino ; 
 and from that moment Henry had been capti- 
 vated and had become her slave. This domino 
 hid the face of Augusta Westenholz. 
 
 In her first youth she had been a dancer at 
 the Theatre Royal in Berlin, where she had 
 picked up the most extravagant ideas. The 
 old banker, Westenholz, had fallen in love 
 with her and married her. But it was the talk 
 of all Berlin that she had never attempted to 
 be true to the old man who had led her to the 
 altar. 
 
 After his death, which occurred not more 
 than a year after her marriage, the young 
 widow, now a rich heiress, went to Paris, os- 
 tensibly to find comfort in her trouble, really 
 that she might drink the dazzling cup of pleas- 
 ure to its very dregs. But these delights soon 
 palled, and time was flying. Her soul desired 
 new joys and new conquests, and so she turned 
 her attention to Vienna. 
 I Henry, young and innocent, was caught in 
 
 the meshes of her net. His youth, manly ap- 
 pearance, and the buoyancy of his spirits, 
 charmed the withered heart of the widow. She 
 
66 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 longed for fresh triumphs on the field of co- 
 quetry. She pretended that he had vanquished 
 her, and made her his life-long slave. The 
 trick succeeded but too well ! 
 
 ''Helen, you break the seal upon my heart,'' 
 replied Lohenstein, tenderly looking into his 
 wife's eyes, now wet with tears. ''You have 
 loosened the chain of silence which fettered 
 me. For months I have longed to speak to you, 
 and it has only been my love a^d consideration, 
 for you which has enabled me to restrain my- 
 self, and not to give you pain by discussing 
 Henry's unhappy infatuation. But now that 
 you have broken the ice, and I see you have 
 noticed the change in the lad, we might as well 
 speak without any reserve. It has all taken 
 place during the last six months, and there he 
 is at the feet of this worldly woman, swearing 
 everlasting love for her, while she is all the 
 time laughing at his inexperience, and daily, 
 nay hourly, playing him false. Her so-called 
 affection for Henry is merely the outcome of 
 her unbridled vanity. After she has played 
 with so many hearts, made of base metal like 
 her own, it is a new charm for her to find her- 
 self really loved and adored. As for Henry, 
 he is deaf to every warning. I know, Helen, 
 that you have already spoken with him, and 
 
Schubert Fantasies 67 
 
 counselled him, as his mother, to keep clear 
 of a connection with a creature like that. Tell 
 me, what did he say to you?" 
 
 ''Say, Franz? That we, his own parents, are 
 envious of his good fortune!" said Frau Lo- 
 henstein, with trembling voice, as the tears 
 trickled down her cheek. "I am afraid there 
 is no help for it. A few more days, and he will 
 bring her here as his fiancee, to be introduced 
 to us as our daughter. Alas, that he is of age, 
 and free to do what he will. Otherwise, we 
 would have found some way to prevent this 
 act of madness. As it is, we have no power, 
 and the foolish boy must do what he likes." 
 
 At this moment there was a knock at the 
 door. 
 
 '*A visitor, Helen! Dry your eyes. No one 
 must guess that you are troubled about your 
 son." And with a cheerful voice the old man 
 exclaimed, ''Come in!" 
 
 The doors opened, and into the room 
 marched Schubert, who had been for long an 
 intimate and very esteemed friend of the fam- 
 ily. 
 
 "Good morning, Schubert," and with these 
 words the master of the house rose to meet the 
 visitor, and to give him hearty greeting, which 
 was cordially echoed by his wife. The very 
 
68 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 moment that Schubert had entered, she had 
 undergone a quite wonderful transformation. 
 It was as though a warm ray of sun had fallen 
 upon her, making her stricken heart glow and 
 beat with renewed hope. She had only to 
 look on Schubert's kindly counte nance to feel 
 that life was not all gloom, but that there was 
 a silver lining to every cloud; and with great 
 friendliness she offered the great musician a 
 seat by her side. 
 
 Schubert took the chair that was offered 
 him without saying a word. A pause ensued. 
 At last he made up his mind, and with an ex- 
 pression which he tried to make appear indif- 
 ferent, as though he dreaded to strike a harsh 
 chord, he said: "My friends, I trust it is not 
 true what I have heard, that Henry is going 
 to get married, and that his choice has fallen 
 upon Frau von Westenholz, a choice" — here 
 Schubert's voice sank to a whisper — "which 
 cannot, I am sure have your approval." 
 
 A nod of the head on the part of the parents 
 was the only answer to Schubert's question. 
 
 ''Then is it true," continued Schubert, "that 
 that nice young fellow has really quite decided 
 to make himself and his friends unhappy? 
 This proposed connection is already talked 
 about wherever you are known, and people are 
 
Schubert Fantasies 69 
 
 pitying both you and him. But I cannot and 
 will not think — but surely you, his parents, or 
 his best friends, can do something to prevent 
 him, dazzled for the moment by her brilliancy, 
 from rushing upon his own destruction. If the 
 wise counsel of his father does not avail, then 
 I am certain he will at least yield to the heart- 
 felt solicitations of his mother." 
 
 "Now, how can a father's advice, or a moth- 
 er's prayers avail, while the music of that 
 shameless woman's voice sounds in his ears?" 
 said the old man, bitterly. 
 
 "Schubert, if you are really our friend," ex- 
 claimed the mother, seizing Schubert eagerly 
 by the hand, "then you will speak with Henry. 
 It is through you that he has become 
 acquainted with the power that lies in music. 
 Your songs have before now reached the road 
 to his heart. He values and loves you, both 
 as a friend and as his teacher. It may be that 
 he would listen to your warning, even when 
 his ear is deaf to the counsels of father and 
 mother. Schubert, Schubert! do try to save 
 my son. A voice within me tells me that you 
 can, 
 
 "You have too much faith in my powers, but 
 I can make the attempt. But if I succeed, 
 thank not me, but Him who has chosen me as 
 
70 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 the weak instrument of his will. If you think 
 that Henry is still susceptible to music, as he 
 was in former days, perhaps the muse might 
 provide us with a means of healing the sick. 
 But how exactly to bring it to pass I don't see 
 clearly as yet. Only, as Fate has apparently 
 thrust upon me the role of physician, it is to be 
 "hoped she will also give me the strength to ef- 
 fect the cure." 
 
 Some days had passed since Schubert's visit 
 to the Lohensteins, and nothing had occurred 
 to ease the situation between parents and son. 
 If possible, Henry was entangled more than 
 ever before in the meshes of Augusta, innocent 
 of the danger that awaited him there. At this 
 very moment, unable to shake off the spell, he 
 was lying at full length in his room on a luxu- 
 rious couch, indulging in idle day-dreams. Al- 
 though the hand of the clock which hung over 
 his writing-desk already pointed to eleven, it 
 was quite clear that he himself had only just 
 awaked to the fact that it was day. The room 
 was all disordered with the litter of the pre- 
 vious evening — here a coat, there a white tie ; 
 in one corner gloves, in another an opera hat. 
 On the writing-desk itself lay his watch and 
 purse, and by their side a bow of bright red 
 silk, with a pin sticking sharply out of it, 
 
Schubert Fantasies 71 
 
 which had evidently found its way to his room 
 as the result of a pious theft. 
 
 To the completion of the picture of disorder, 
 the owner of the room certainly contributed 
 his share, for there, attired in a dark dressing- 
 gown, which only served to bring out still 
 more clearly his pallor, lay Henry, with 
 white face, drawn eyes, sunken cheeks, and dis- 
 hevelled hair. Beside him stood his break- 
 fast, untasted. He preferred the cigar which 
 glowed between his lips. 
 
 The whole scene bore witness to the lazy 
 and wasted life he was leading, and to the dis- 
 sipation which was sapping all the manhood 
 from his young vigorous frame. There was 
 just one object in the room, untainted as yet 
 by the poisonous atmosphere, still sweet to the 
 sense, and a pleasure to the eye, the one touch 
 of Nature — which was left, in all her truth and 
 purity — it was a magnificent bouquet of roses, 
 camellias, and hyacinths. This morning 
 Augusta was going to give a reception, and 
 Henry had bought the flowers to send to her 
 in token of his unalterable afifection, little 
 guessing that at the same time she was to re- 
 ceive a similar offering from a Colonel of Hus- 
 sars in the same town, Arthur von Werner. 
 
72 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 And as he gazed at the flowers, he dropped 
 into a soliloquy : 
 
 "Now, beloved, now I begin at last to know 
 and understand you, and therefore to know 
 and understand what life is ! Only since 
 I saw Augusta have I known what a woman's 
 charm can be. So happy am I in possession of 
 her love, and yet my parents are so opposed 
 to our connection. It must be a whim — no, 
 more likely their anxiety for my welfare — but, 
 after all, such overweening affection becomes 
 a burden. I am no longer a child, and I must 
 be allowed some opinion of my own. As to 
 Augusta " 
 
 But at this moment the door opened, and 
 Schubert walked in. Henry looked up and 
 recognized his friend and teacher. 
 
 "Ah, Franz !" exclaimed the young man, in 
 a free and easy tone, "how are you? Excuse 
 my rising, but that ball I was at last night has 
 simply exhausted me," he said, laughing. 
 
 "No, remain where you are, Henry, and 
 don't let me disturb you. We are too good 
 friends to need any ceremony between us. At 
 least, you regard me as your friend, I hope?" 
 
 "And yet a costly one, Schubert, considering 
 how rare your visits are. Yes, yes, I know 
 your time is a good deal taken up." 
 
Schubert Fantasies 73 
 
 "Not more than yours, Henry. I can scarce- 
 ly ever find you at home. I've come again and 
 again, but in vain — come to scold you for hav- 
 ing secrets from your friend. You are en- 
 engaged to be married, yet allow me to dis- 
 cover the news by chance, through a friend !'* 
 
 Henry blushed right up to the eyes ; but 
 Schubert, without appearing to notice his em- 
 barrassment, proceeded : 
 
 ''I'm all excitement to know on whom your 
 choice has fallen. She is, of course, very 
 beautiful, and adorned with every possible 
 charm. She will also do credit to your taste 
 in her virtues, for the beauty of her person 
 will only be equalled by the transparency of 
 her soul. When all is so perfect, a happy life 
 is assured you." 
 
 ''Augusta is a splendid creature," said 
 Henry, not without betraying some little nerv- 
 ousness in his manner. 
 
 *'And of course your parents are delighted 
 at your bringing them such a charming 
 daughter?" 
 
 "Alas, Franz ! I should be only too happy if 
 that were the case. But my parents have to 
 combat with their prejudices." 
 
 "Perhaps 'tis only their care for you — the 
 
74 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 affection of parents for their child," inter- 
 rupted Schubert. 
 
 "No doubt they care for my welfare, but 
 they look through distorted glasses. Augusta 
 is a woman of the world, and has a quite dif- 
 ferent point of view of life from theirs. But I 
 am convinced that my parents will never have 
 occasion to doubt the sincerity of our love, 
 and — but let's have done with this talk, which 
 leaves an unpleasant taste in the mouth, and 
 choose another subject. For instance, Augusta 
 is an ardent admirer of your songs, and thinks 
 no end of you as a composer ; so that, when 
 she heard you were a friend of mine, I had to 
 promise that I would introduce you to her at 
 the first opportunity." 
 
 "Oh, if she knows of me as a composer, that 
 comes in quite handy; for it so happens I have 
 just completed a song, which you can sing 
 over to her; and should she happen to like it, 
 it shall be dedicated to her." 
 
 "That is a splendid idea, Schubert. As to 
 whether she will approve of it, there is no 
 question about that. A song with your name 
 on the front of it is certain of a welcome from 
 her. Bring it to me, if you will, and without 
 delay I will pass it over to Augusta." 
 
 "I have it here, all ready, in my pocket." 
 
Schubert Fantasies 75 
 
 "Then give me it at once," exclaimed Henry, 
 springing up from the couch, "and I will im- 
 mediately send it along with this bouquet; 
 that will make the gift twice as valuable." 
 
 "Stay, one moment! On one condidion only 
 do I give you this song." 
 
 "And that is?" 
 
 "That you sing it over to me before you send 
 it away, as I myself haven't heard it yet. I 
 have only written it out, but don't know what 
 sort of effect it will produce, and I am curi- 
 ous." 
 
 "What's the name of the song?" 
 
 " 'The Angler.' It is a well-known poem 
 of Goethe's, in which the mermaid takes the 
 Angler in her embrace, and draws him down 
 into those profound depths from which escape 
 IS unthinkable. It is the type of a life befouled 
 by sin, in which man's lust is dragging him 
 down and destroying his nature." 
 
 Henry threw a doubtful glance at his friend ; 
 but the latter unconcernedly continued: 
 
 "Henry, open the piano; it's simply ages 
 since I heard your voice, and the song lies 
 splendidly in the compass of a tenor. Do give 
 it a trial now ; and if you then like it, you can 
 send it off to your beloved forthwith." 
 
 Henry opened the piano. 
 
76 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 "I will accompany you," said Schubert, as 
 he seated himself at the instrument. 
 
 "I am curious to see what effect your latest 
 composition will have." 
 
 ''Heaven grant a deterrent one," murmured 
 Schubert, as his fingers wandered over the first 
 few notes of the song. 
 
 Henry began to sing. At first, his voice 
 sounded a little bit thick and tired; but, pres- 
 ently, his good method triumphed ; and to the 
 credit of his master, be it said, the pupil was 
 able to hide the slight unevenness of his sing- 
 ing. He had, besides, an excellently clear pro- 
 nunciation, and he sung with an artistic per- 
 ception into the meaning of the words which 
 only a really great singer possesses. With in- 
 telligence all awake, Henry sang the three first 
 verses. 
 
 "The air in this room is very oppressive — 
 do you mind, Schubert, if I open the window?" 
 
 He took a hasty stride up and down the 
 room, as though trying to battle with the ex- 
 citement of his feelings, then he threw open 
 the window. 
 
 "Won't you go on to the end of the song?" 
 
 Henry seemed to be deaf. He leaned up 
 against the window like a statue and stared 
 out into space. 
 
Schubert Fantasies jy 
 
 Just at this moment the servant entered, 
 bringing in on a tray a letter, enclosed in a 
 delicately-folded envelope. 
 
 "From Frau von Westenholz — the messen- 
 ger will wait for a reply." 
 
 Henry opened the note hastily, and read: 
 
 "My dear Friend, 
 
 "It is only a few of my best friends who 
 have consented to devote themselves to me 
 this evening, and to give me the pleasure of 
 some music. You know, dear Henry, how I 
 sympathize with you, that we cannot spend 
 it together alone. But you will readily under- 
 stand that social life has some claims upon us. 
 That your presence among us will make me 
 feel my own loss the less you may rest assured, 
 for you know how Augusta loves you." 
 
 "This is quite excellent !" exclaimed Henry, 
 as he laid the letter on the table. "Listen to 
 this, Schubert. My mistress has arranged, so 
 she writes to me, for a sort of small concert 
 to-night. I shall take you there, introduce you 
 to our worthy hostess. You consent, Franz?" 
 he added, seeing that Schubert looked pleased 
 at the turn of events. 
 
 "Certainly I consent," replied the other. 
 "Of course you will sing my song there which, 
 now that I've heard you sing it, will find, I feel 
 
78 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 sure, universal acceptance, especially if you 
 take it so seriously as you did here. I greatly 
 approve of your conception of it, and am con- 
 vinced that Frau von Westenholz will be 
 most agreeably surprised." 
 
 "I will send on this answer to Augusta at 
 once, and warn her what pleasure she has to 
 expect from your appearance in her drawing- 
 room to-day." 
 
 "And I," replied Schubert, as he took up the 
 song from the piano-rest, ''will write out a 
 fresh copy of my composition. I shall enjoy 
 myself in a very special manner this evening, 
 because I anticipate for you, Henry, without 
 the least doubt, a great triumph." 
 
 ''Then so be it. I expect you at eight o'clock 
 punctually, and then we'll go from here to- 
 gether. But is it prudent of me to introduce 
 you to my fiancee? An artist and composer 
 besides. Is it not a dangerous combination?" 
 
 "But the artist and composer is also your 
 friend." 
 
 With these words the two men s^eparated. 
 
 In the drawing-room of Augusta von Westen- 
 holz all the usual preparations were completed 
 for her musical evening. The piano had been 
 drawn into the centre of the room, and the 
 chairs were arranged round it in a circle. The 
 
Schubert Fantasies 79 
 
 lamps were brilliantly reflected in the polished 
 mirrors, and on the great hanging candelabra 
 all the lights were burning. Light and warmth 
 were diffused everywhere ; a fire of red-hot 
 wood crackled on the hearth, and only the 
 costly rugs lay uncared for, put out of the way 
 in a corner of the room, so that when the music 
 was done, tribute might be paid to the goddess 
 of the dance. 
 
 The OAvner of all this magnificence was al- 
 ready seated upon the sofa, ready, as the ap- 
 pointed hour arrived, to welcome her guests. 
 
 Augusta von Westenholz was certainly of 
 strikinor beautv. Her features Vv'ere cast in 
 classic mould, and displayed a temper more 
 fitted to command than to obey. Her raven 
 locks and dark eyebrows only served to bring 
 out the more clearly the wonderful fairness of 
 her complexion, while her eyes could dart 
 gleams of fiery indignation, or sing wild songs 
 of love. The half-opened, voluptuous mouth 
 displayed within its coral frame a dancing row 
 of pearls. Her whole mien pronounced her a 
 priestess of Venus rather than of Vesta. Au- 
 gusta was, in fact, the very type which Schil- 
 ler imagined in his picture of Julia Doria, Les- 
 sing in his picture of Orsina, and Goethe in his 
 Adelheid von Walldorf. 
 
8o Schubert Fantasies 
 
 For this evening Augusta had selected a 
 very beautiful, if somewhat theatrical, attire. 
 The symmetry of her figure was well set off 
 by a white flowing dress of silk, on both sides 
 of which red camellias were arranged, within 
 whose flowers rare jewels glistened like drops 
 of dew. In her dark hair the like kind of flower 
 was also to be seen, the green leaves of which 
 were half swallowed up in her tresses, which 
 half concealed and half displayed her graceful 
 neck, dazzling in its snowy whiteness. A fra- 
 grant bunch of flowers, adorned with a gold 
 holder, completed her outfit, and with this she 
 toyed playfully. The bouquet greatly resem- 
 bled the one we have already seen in Henry's 
 rooms. 
 
 At her side, arrayed in full regimentals, sat 
 the Colonel von Werner. 
 
 ''My dear Augusta," he was saying, as he 
 printed a kiss upon her ungloved hand, ''you 
 make me proud and happy beyond words at 
 seeing in your tiny hands the flowers which I 
 was so bold as to send over to you this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 "Don't reckon too much on that, Werner. 
 I am not sure that you see in my hands any- 
 thing more than the instrument of a little pun- 
 ishment I have planned. Henry Lohenstein, 
 
Schubert Fantasies 8i 
 
 as you know, seeks my hand. I myself am 
 not disinclined to embrace once more the 
 chains of matrimony. But from the man to 
 whom I give myself, I expect the greatest at- 
 tention, which often expresses itself in trifles. 
 Henry knows that I do not claim flowers from 
 him every day, that is not to say I do not ex- 
 pect them ; to-day of all days none have ap- 
 peared. I was feeling cross, and speculating 
 upon the fickleness of the so-called lords of 
 creation, when, dear Arthur, I received your 
 flowers, and they put to shame both my phil- 
 osophy and my bad temper. Henry shall not 
 escape scatheless all the same; for this evening 
 I shall hold this bouquet under his very eyes, 
 and you, Arthur, shall be my gallant knight." 
 
 This she said with a ravishing look of co- 
 quetry at the young man, who was intoxicated 
 by his triumph. 
 
 "But you don't mean for to-day only? Alas, 
 Augusta, you deal life and death in the same 
 moment. What an irony of fate, or chance as 
 people call it, that has brought me to know 
 you just when you have consented to become 
 the bride of my happier rival ! Oh, my dear 
 and divine mistress, is your promise to him 
 irrevocable? Von Lohenstein loves you, no 
 doubt, in a respectable kind of manner, with 
 
82 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 the decorous love of the shopkeeping bour- 
 geois ; but my love, on the word of a soldi^n", 
 is something higher than this — it is a consum- 
 ing fire!" 
 
 ''Oho, my raging young Vulcan ; who told 
 you, then, that I loved this shopkeeper?" 
 sneered the heartless Circe. ''Henry is a good 
 sort of fellow; but of violent passion he is quite 
 incapable. I have given him my word to be- 
 come his wife — but not his — my friendship be- 
 longs only to you " 
 
 And she hastily sat down without complet- 
 ing the broken sentence, as though frightened 
 lest she had unwittingly given the young sol- 
 dier a too deep insight into her meaning and 
 purpose. But he was far too much a man of 
 the world to find in her behaviour or words 
 anything in the least dishonorable; on the 
 contrary, he bent himself over the lovely 
 statue with the stony heart, and Henry, with 
 his friend Schubert, entered the room. Star- 
 tled, the guilty pair shrunk back on the sofa. 
 
 Henry, who had really forgotten, under the 
 influence of Schubert's song, to send his bou- 
 quet, now approached Augusta, carrying it in 
 his hand, imprinted a kiss on her fingers, and 
 in a quite easy manner said: — 
 
 "Good evening, my dear Augusta; I have 
 
Schubert Fantasies 83 
 
 an omission to rectify — my daily gift. I quite 
 
 "Forgot it," broke in the coquette, with a 
 smile ; ''but I have here another bouquet. Herr 
 von Werner has been so kind as to repair your 
 error. Now you will have to submit to a pun- 
 ishment, which, however, shall not be too se- 
 vere. Herr von Lohenstein, you must please 
 offer your bouquet as a sacrifice to the flames, 
 since for this evening I shall only carry this 
 other bouquet. You can throw it into the fire- 
 place here." 
 
 "That I certainly shall not do," said Henry, 
 angrily. 
 
 "Not?" echoed Augusta, sharply. 
 
 "No," was the firm reply. 
 
 Augusta rose from the sofa, and walked with 
 slow steps, as though still expecting her lover 
 to come to a better state of mind, till she 
 reached a small occasional table, from which 
 she took a little glass bell. As Henry made no 
 sign, she gave the bell a sharp ring. 
 
 The servant appeared. 
 
 "Maria," said the mistress, taking the bou- 
 quet, the innocent cause of their disagreement, 
 out of Henry's hands, "you are devoted to 
 flowers. To-day you shall have enough and 
 to spare; take this bouquet, but preserve it 
 
84 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 carefully, so as not to forget the forgetful giver 
 of it." 
 
 Henry bit his lips till the blood came, while 
 Werner threw him a glance which betokened 
 something between pity and contempt. Au- 
 gusta, however, had noticed how deeply she 
 had wounded him, and determined now to give 
 another turn to the incident. She went up to 
 Henry, and looking at him with her softest 
 smile, said, with all the rich charm of her se- 
 ductive voice : 
 
 ''You have deserved this punishment for 
 your disobedience ; but enough of that — I can 
 both forget and forgive," and she grasped the 
 hand of her lover, the icy coldness of which 
 made her shudder. But Henry had the while 
 recovered himself, and drew Schubert forward. 
 "Permit me to introduce to you, Frau von 
 Westenholz, my friend Schubert, the famous 
 composer." 
 
 "It gives me great pleasure to welcome to 
 my house the man who is the pride of our mu- 
 sical circles in Vienna." 
 
 "Madam," replied Schubert, simply, "you 
 are too kind," for the remembrance of the 
 scene just enacted lay heavy on his soul. 
 
 A short pause ensued. 
 
 "I hope the public will shortly be gratified 
 
Schubert Fantasies 85 
 
 by a new work from your pen. The imagina- 
 tion which has given us the 'Erl King/ the 
 'Wanderer,' and 'Restless Lori/ and many 
 other musical poems, must not lie idle too 
 long." 
 
 "Oh, it's not idle," exclaimed Henry, "for 
 only to-day Franz has finished a composition, 
 which he has promised, if you, madam, will 
 allow it, to produce here for the first time." 
 
 "Or rather," said Augusta, turning to Schu- 
 bert, "if the author will deem my house worthy 
 of a first performance of one of his composi- 
 tions." 
 
 Meanwhile, the drawing-room had been fill- 
 ing with guests. It was without doubt an 
 assemblage of smart men and women, though 
 one could see at a glance that those collected 
 there were not at all representative of the best 
 Vienna society. It is difficult to find the right 
 word wherewith to describe them, but the 
 phrase "omnium-gatherum" would do as well 
 as any. Augusta's only care was always to 
 be surrounded with a circle of friends, of which 
 she might be the sun and centre. 
 
 The dandified Colonel, who in the scene 
 that had passed had already been regarding 
 himself as a Caesar Triumphator, now never 
 left Augusta's side for a moment; and she in 
 her turn felt flattered by the homage shown her 
 
S6 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 by the gallant soldier, and saw in it a means 
 both of fanning Henry's jealous feelings into 
 flame, and of chaining him to her more closely 
 than ever. 
 
 Henry felt as though he sat upon glowing 
 embers. He was not slow to mark the looks 
 of compassion or of malice thrown at him from 
 dififerent parts of the room. 
 
 At last Augusta raised her voice : 
 
 ''My friends, I desire to call your attention 
 to a very particular mark of honor and dis- 
 tinction which is to be conferred upon us this 
 evening. Our universally esteemed composer, 
 Herr Schubert, is going to allow Herr von 
 Lohenstein to give us his latest composition, 
 which he himself will accompany on the 
 piano." 
 
 All were alike surprised and charmed with 
 this delightful intelligence, and began to talk 
 about the pleasure they were likely to have. 
 
 Henry, with the manuscript in his hands, 
 took his station by the piano, where Schubert 
 had already seated himself. All his pulses beat 
 nervously up and down. His color came and 
 went, especially as Werner said, with marked 
 emphasis : ''Herr von Lohenstein, you will re- 
 quire all your art; Frau von Westenholz has 
 much to forgive to-day." 
 
 •^^ 
 
Schubert Fantasies 87 
 
 Henry did not vouchsafe a single look at his 
 officious prompter, who, satisfied with the mis- 
 chief he had done, pressed through the throng 
 of guests, and planted himself by Augusta's 
 side on the sofa. Henry commenced to sing. 
 He certainly surpassed himself. It was as 
 though he would pour forth his very self, 
 though arrayed in Schubert's music. 
 
 Schubert, who, while he accompanied, never 
 took his eyes off the singer, in the same way 
 that a doctor refuses to leave his patient in the 
 crisis of his illness, marked that he changed 
 color repeatedly, and noticed that his unsteady 
 looks were directed across the room towards 
 the Colonel ; the latter, was sitting by Augusta, 
 and felt little interest in the performance. 
 
 "My veins will burst with excitement, Schu- 
 bert. Your song falls on no barren soil — the 
 room seems to be going round with me," whis- 
 pered Henry. 
 
 "Pull yourself together, and sing the last 
 verse." 
 
 Henry went on : — 
 
 "The waters rush'd, the waters rose 
 
 Wetting his naked feet; 
 As if his true love's words were those, 
 
 His heart with longing beat. 
 
 She sang to him, to him spake she. 
 His doom was fixed, I ween; 
 
88 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 Half drew she him, and half sank he, 
 And ne'er again was seen." 
 
 The song ended. A burst of applause 
 greeted both performers. Augusta approached 
 the piano. 
 
 "Herr Schubert, how can I sufficiently thank 
 you for the pleasure you have given us? But 
 where is Herr von Lohenstein?" 
 
 *'He begs you will excuse him. A sudden 
 faintness overcame him, and he felt he must 
 go home." 
 
 ^h ^h ^ *F T* 'I* 
 
 ''My Dear Schubert, 
 
 "We, or rather you have triumphed! In 
 my present mood, I cannot write at length. 
 If you care to see Henry, who is going away 
 to-morrow for some time, in order, at his own 
 particular request, to carry out an inspection 
 at my works in Bohemia, you must come in 
 this evening, if you have time, and join our 
 little family circle. No one else will be here. 
 ''Your sincere and ever grateful friend, 
 
 "Franz Lohenstein." 
 
 So ran the letter, which the very day after 
 his new song, "The Angler," had been sung 
 for the first time by Henry, at Augusta Wes- 
 tenholz's house, Schubert received from the 
 singer's joyful and happy father. 
 
 .■feiii!' 
 
THE LINDEN TREE 
 
THE LINDEN TREE 
 
 T T was on the first day of April, 1827, that, 
 -■- after forty-eight hours of storm and rain, 
 the sun had managed once more to break 
 through the black clouds, and again flamed 
 brightly from a sky of azure blue. It had 
 seemed as though the glorious Prince of Light 
 had veiled his joyous face in sorrow for the 
 mighty dead, for the great Ludwig van Bee- 
 thoven, whose eyes had just closed in ever- 
 lasting sleep. 
 
 The hero of music was no more. 
 
 He, the victor who had triumphed over all 
 diiiiculties in the realm of music, had now 
 succumbed to earthly sufferings ; the man who 
 had not bowed his head before kings lay 
 stricken down by the mightiest king of all, 
 and was confined within a narrow tomb in the 
 cemetery at Wahring. His struggles were 
 over. At his funeral the very elements had 
 raged in wild confusion, and a cry of pain had 
 gone up from universal Nature at her unut- 
 terable loss. And just as from Bonn it was 
 that the young eagle essayed his first bold 
 flight through the world, so now, amid thunder 
 and lightning, Jupiter himself departed and sat 
 him down on his throne in the sky amid the 
 
 91 
 
92 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 immortals. But the storm had fallen; rest 
 had returned to Nature ; over meadow and 
 field lay peace. The sun was shining in sub- 
 lime magnificence, and was thawing the earth 
 out of her winter sleep. The wild flowers 
 were already beginning to peep out of their 
 dark hiding-places. The trees were clothing 
 themselves anew with their showy blossoms. 
 The streams and brooks began to murmur and 
 chatter again ; while the feathered songsters 
 took up their strain, and sang with thousand 
 voices their joyful notes and songs of victory. 
 
 Thoughtfully, and with slow steps, serious- 
 ness stamped upon his brow, walked a man. 
 His way from Heiligenstadt to Nussdorf. For 
 him the charms of Nature seemed to have no 
 attraction ; he remained insensible to the glor- 
 ious surroundings, and many a flower of the 
 field bent with a groan under the weight of 
 his careless foot. Suddenly he stopped, and 
 directed his gaze towards the sea of houses 
 which lay spread out in the distance, now 
 beautified by the evening sun. 
 
 "Thou, my Vienna," exclaimed the wander- 
 er with emotion, "thou, the pride of an empire, 
 what a loss hast thou to lament in these latter 
 days ! The hero of music is no more ; thou 
 standest before his death-bed, standest with 
 
Schubert Fantasies 93 
 
 tearful eye before his bier. Keep safe the gifts 
 he has left thee, in memory of his greatness. 
 
 "Ye, ye people of the proud metropolis, 
 must needs hate him, because he chose to keep 
 himself apart from the world which looked so 
 coldly on him; called him heartless because 
 he was restrained. 
 
 "Oh, I would that ye all had heard how our 
 rising young poet Grillparzer spoke of him, as 
 he stood by his open grave. Your judgment 
 might then have been different. 'It is the hard- 
 hearted man,' he said, 'who does not budge ; it 
 is only the man of feeling who winces at dis- 
 play. He avoided the world because his soul 
 had not the weapons wherewith to fight the 
 world. If he withdrew from men, it was be- 
 cause he had given them his all, but received 
 nothine from them in return. He remained 
 alone because there was none like him.' 
 
 "Ah, towards me, at any rate, how good and 
 sympathetic he was! How often has he, the 
 elder and the more experienced, smoothed the 
 brow of the younger, spoken to me words 
 of hope, when I tremblingly put forth my lit- 
 tle bark on the stormy and stressful ocean! 
 And now this shield, this staff, has gone from 
 me. Many a time, in the solitude he loved, 
 has he walked along this very road, sorrow 
 
94 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 gnawing at his heart. Poor fellow, a pathetic 
 figure enough, yet how fortunate! He had 
 longed for a wife, for some friendly, womanly 
 heart which should share with his the burdens 
 put upon him by the haughty self-sufficiency 
 of his relations, which should help him bear up 
 against the intrigues of his jealous rivals. But 
 even this wish, like many another, was denied 
 him. The envious Muse would possess him 
 entirely or not at all. Well, thou hast journey- 
 ed on before me to a better world, my friend 
 and father! Perhaps I shall meet thee there 
 again before long. If only, before I go, I could 
 erect to thy memory some worthy monument, 
 Worthy, said I ? Alas, never — never could my 
 uncertain feet scale the slopes of Olympus !" 
 
 During this muttered soliloquy, the walker 
 had moved slowly on, and now suddenly found 
 himself at a little grassy place surrounded by 
 trees, just such a place as poets would love to 
 dream in. The trees enclosed the green patch 
 like the pillars of a temple, which the 3'-oung 
 shoots love to climb, till they crown the build- 
 ing with a dome of greenery. Beeches and 
 slender firs formed the pillars, and in the midst 
 of these stood a truly majestic Linden. 
 
 Although it was in April, the evening was 
 mild and sweet, so that the stranger, attracted 
 
Schubert Fantasies 95 
 
 by the stillness which prevailed, threw himself 
 down at the foot of the Linden. And then 
 such a peace entered his heart, that, in his 
 present elevated mood, it appeared to him as 
 though he were now nearer to the friend he 
 adored, that he could now almost feel the 
 breath of his spirit. 
 
 Unconsciously, as this deep feeling which 
 overcame him so powerfully stole away again, 
 he drew from his pocket a book, and began 
 mechanically to turn over its leaves. It was 
 a book of poems by Wilhelm Miiller; he cast 
 but a glance at it, and then his eyes wandered 
 once more away into space, his thoughts ever 
 fixed upon the friend he had lost. 
 
 "He has gone before me into the realms of 
 light ; his flight was too high for this dull earth 
 of ours, and his poetry has gone with him to 
 the grave. Winter came upon him here — 
 froze him — and only the warm sun of a more 
 glorious world can thaw him again. This 
 transition state of the soul is man's winter's 
 journey ! And a voice whispers to me that my 
 winter is also begun." Once more he threw 
 a glance at the open book, and there it stood 
 in great, big letters, "A Winter's Journey. A 
 Cycle of poems." 'T wonder whether I could 
 set these poems to music, whether I could 
 
96 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 paint the winter's journey of my own soul, 
 and bequeath the picture as a memorial to 
 my Vienna, if Vienna, forsooth, should ever 
 care to remember me." 
 
 He turned his sad gaze upwards, and hap- 
 pened to notice on the branch of the tree un- 
 der which he lay two wreaths hanging, the 
 one composed of laurels, the other of ever- 
 lasting flowers. 
 
 ''What is that?" he exclaimed, springing to 
 his feet. *'Am I dreaming, or is it real ? Laur- 
 el and everlasting flowers — types of imperish- 
 able fame and immortality. How came these 
 wreaths here?" 
 
 Entirely oblivious to anything but his own 
 thoughts, the stranger had never perceived 
 that several laborers, returning home from 
 the fields, had noticed the man at the foot of 
 the linden-tree, and had been listening to his 
 agitated soliloquy. 
 
 "Do you see, Hans," said the eldest of these, 
 a hoary-headed old man, "he's just going on 
 like that curly-headed musician chap who 
 used to come here last year and lie under the 
 trees and scribble pot-hooks, for all the world 
 like the pictures in a dream-book." 
 
 "Yes, Kilian; and do you remember that 
 evening also last summer when we were lead- 
 
Schubert Fantasies 97 
 
 ing the newly-cut hay from Grinzing? Do 
 you call to mind how the old fellow was sit- 
 tins: in the middle of the road and never saw 
 the wagon coming, nor paid any heed to our 
 cries, so that we nearly ran over him? And 
 even thus, he kept us waiting till he had slow- 
 ly packed up all his copy-book stuff, and then, 
 with a friendly nod, as though he would have 
 thanked us for our politeness in not killing 
 him, he got up and moved along a bit farther. 
 Suppose we had run him down, Kilian, they'd 
 have said in the town that we had murdered 
 their 'Head Musician,' as I heard him called 
 by one of the women who helped lay him out." 
 
 ''Well, I'll speak to this fresh fool," said the 
 other, and he went up to the stranger. 
 
 "Is there anything wrong with you, sir? 
 We've been watching you awhile, and you 
 have been clutching with your hands as 
 though you could scarcely breathe." 
 
 Schubert, for the solitary wanderer was no 
 other than he, looked up in the direction from 
 whence the voice came, and saw the group 
 of men who were regarding him so curiously. 
 He listened with a smile to the question, then 
 replied in laughing tones — 
 
 "Thank you, my friends, I am all right; but 
 perhaps you could answer me a question. I 
 
98 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 want to know how those two wreaths come to 
 be hanging on the branch of the tree under 
 which I have been lying?" 
 
 '*We don't know; in fact, have never seen, 
 them there before. I expect it is the lady 
 dressed in black who has hung them there;, 
 she comes to this place nearly every day." 
 
 ''A lady in black?" 
 
 *'For sure — dressed, as I said, in black from 
 head to foot. She'll often sit here by the hour 
 together; and once we caught her even kneel- 
 ing in front of this tree. Rich she is, without 
 doubt, for she comes in a grand carriage, with 
 coachman all in silver and gold sitting on the 
 box." 
 
 "Can you tell me one thing, good people? 
 Since when have you noticed this lady?" For 
 the news was full of interest for Schubert. 
 
 "Since the day the great musician was bur- 
 ied." 
 
 "You mean the day of Beethoven's death?" 
 
 "Yes, that's the name they gave the mad old 
 gentleman at the Inn. Did you know him, 
 sir?" 
 
 "Know him? Ay, indeed. And this Lin- 
 den-tree?" 
 
 "Was his favorite. He would sit here for 
 
Schubert Fantasies 99 
 
 hours writing, then spring up and wave his 
 hands in the air." 
 
 '7ust as your honor did just now," ejacu- 
 lated one of the throng. 
 
 "Every child hereabouts knew him, and 
 would sometimes run out of his way, he look- 
 ed so sad always." 
 
 "And yet was ever soul of child more 
 happy and bright than his!" muttered Schu- 
 bert to himself. 
 
 "Then your honor is sure you are quite 
 well?" inquired the careful peasants. 
 "Oh, thank you, certainly, quite well!" 
 "Then adieu to your honor. And the Al- 
 mighty keep you." 
 
 "To eternity," exclaimed Schubert, falling 
 into the usual formula of the country folk. 
 
 The peasants pursued their path to Heili- 
 genstadt, while Schubert stood in deep 
 thought before the Linden-tree, now sudden- 
 ly grown so dear to him. 
 
 "A legacy from my beloved friend," he ex- 
 claimed, "which I shall guard and reverence. 
 Bloom on and flourish to the joy of 
 him who looks down upon thee from 
 the skies above ! And thou dear, quiet 
 spot, where he Avho has gone home has 
 left enshrined so many memories, do thou 
 
loo Schubert Fantasies 
 
 henceforth be dedicated to him. Haydn, Moz- 
 art, Beethoven, spread your protecting hands 
 over this place and save it from the blight of 
 devastation." 
 
 Day after day Schubert wandered forth to 
 that secluded spot, which a coincidence so un- 
 usual had disclosed to him, and spent hours 
 there, working and dreaming. 
 
 The mysterious lady in black, of whose ap- 
 pearance the peasants had told him, had not 
 yet vouchsafed to show herself, though the 
 tree was already expanding into its full mag- 
 nificence, and both the wreaths were hidden 
 in its foliage. Nor had anything led to fur- 
 ther discovery, save that two cuts in the bark 
 of the tree, consisting of two "G's" intertwin- 
 ed with one another, had appeared; but these 
 did no more than emphasize the fact that the 
 riddle was still unsolved. 
 
 One afternoon, however, an elegant broug- 
 ham passed down the lane to Doblinger and 
 went by Schubert. A coachman in rich livery 
 sat on the box; and inside the carriage sat a 
 lady dressed wholly in black. The speed with 
 which the horses went past him, and the dust 
 which the carriage raised, prevented Schubert 
 from seeing the face of the occupant. With 
 an instinctive feeling that today at last he was 
 
Schubert Fantasies ioi 
 
 going to penetrate the mystery, he strode 
 quickly onwards. 
 
 He arrived at Heihgenstadt, and there, in 
 the garden of a small restaurant which still 
 stands there, he saw the carriage again. He 
 hastened into the garden in the hope of find- 
 ing the lady. But she had already descended, 
 so his hope was doomed to disappointment. 
 
 With beating heart he hurried on again. He 
 reached the height at last where he had in 
 former days given such vent to the feelings 
 which possessed him, and there he remained 
 motionless, doubtful as to whether he should 
 carry his pursuit after the lady any further. 
 For that this was the "Unknown" for whom 
 he had sought so long, he had no doubt what- 
 ever. By showing himself he might learn 
 some secret, but in learning it dispel forever 
 many a soft imagining, many a sweet dream. 
 And yet — to know the friend of his dead 
 friend — she would not condemn this as mere 
 idle curiosity. 
 
 Again he moved slowly on, and now could 
 already see the top of his beloved Linden-tree. 
 He plunged down into the valley — the little 
 place came into sight — his instinct had not 
 betrayed him — she was there, the lady in 
 black. She sat on a moss-covered stone just 
 
102 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 opposite the Linden-tree, a portfolio on her 
 lap, and she appeared to be drawing the tree. 
 Warily he crept nearer, determined at all costs 
 to run the risk of being considered presump- 
 tuous, in his anxiety to learn whether this was 
 the lady who had provided those wreaths, and 
 what the connecting link was between her and 
 Beethoven. Just then he saw the hand which 
 held the pencil slowly drop to her side and a 
 tear fall upon the paper, while a sad, soft 
 voice spoke in tones just loud enough to reach 
 his ear, "Ludwig, my only love, how sadly 
 you misunderstood me." 
 
 On hearing this, Schubert's only thought 
 was how to get away again without being 
 seen, but he was too late; his footsteps had 
 been heard, and the lady, looking round and 
 seeing a man behind her, uttered a cry of 
 alarm. Then, quickly collecting herself, she 
 arose, put away the portfolio, and made a 
 step to meet the stranger. 
 
 *'Do you want anything here, sir?" This, 
 said with a piercing look towards the music- 
 ian, did not help to ease him of the embarrass- 
 ment he felt. But after she had scanned the 
 newcomer's features more closely, her face 
 assumed a more gentle expression, and she 
 suddenly asked, ''But how come you here, 
 
Schubert Fantasies 103 
 
 Herr Schubert? Is this a mere coincidence?" 
 "Not so," said he, more composedly. "I 
 would fain know who it is who honors the 
 memory of my friend in so delicate and un- 
 ostentatious a manner," and he pointed, as he 
 spoke, to the two wreaths. 'Tardon me, un- 
 known lady, if I seem to ask a presumptuous 
 question, but do you honor Beethoven thus as 
 Artist merely, or Beethoven the Man?" 
 
 "Beethoven the Man I honor indeed with all 
 my heart and soul ! Schubert, to-day we stand 
 face to face for the first time, and yet you ask 
 me a question which ordinarily I could only 
 answer to my best and truest friend. But I feel 
 as though he had sent you to me that I might 
 unburden the weight upon my mind. Learn 
 then, Schubert, my secret. Our hearts glowed 
 in sympathy together; through the eyes of 
 love we saw before us a happy picture; we 
 were full of youth and hope. Then up rose 
 conventionalism, the cool calculations of rea- 
 son, foe to all romance, and we were soon 
 parted asunder. Has Beethoven never men- 
 tioned to you the name of Giulletta?" 
 
 "Giulletta di Guiccardi— he only mentioned 
 that name once in my presence, and that was 
 when he put that name on the title-page of 
 
I04 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 his Sonata in C minor. Since then I have 
 never heard him utter it." 
 
 *'Oh, in those days I occupied all his 
 thoughts ; I was in truth his Giulletta !" 
 
 "Do I then stand, madam " 
 
 "In the presence of Julia, Countess Gallen- 
 berg, that Giulletta di Guiccardi who formerly 
 held Beethoven worthy of the highest place 
 in her affections. Come, Schubert," and she 
 took him by the hand, "come under this tree, 
 under the shade of which he once confessed 
 his love to me. Here you shall hear my fate 
 and learn how unjust Ludwig was to me." 
 
 They sat down on the roots of the tree and 
 the Countess began, while Schubert listened 
 to every syllable that fell from her lips with 
 the most eager attention. 
 
 "Twenty years have passed since I saw 
 Beethoven for the first time. It was at a party 
 at the house of the Prince von Lobkowitz, 
 where so many artists foregather; the same 
 occasion as that on which I, a young girl of 
 sixteen, was brought out by my mother. What 
 disappointments since then ! Contrast my 
 hopes then, and the realities now. Where I ex- 
 pected to find heart and feeling, I met instead 
 with empty words and hollow forms, into 
 which men are squeezed as into strait-waist- 
 
Schubert Fantasies 105 
 
 coats. It was a bitter ending to all my 
 dreams! But that was only the first dis- 
 appointment, many another was to follow 
 when it came to maternal love, friendship, and 
 married life!" 
 
 The Countess heaved a deep sigh, and it 
 was several moments before she continued — 
 
 '*0n the evening in question a concert in 
 honor of the Princess had been arranged, and 
 music, vocal and instrumental, as well as reci- 
 tations, were to be given. I knew that the 
 performance would be given under the direc- 
 tion of Beethoven, the great man who had in- 
 spired all my thought, though I had never seen 
 him. I knew him simply by his works, for I 
 had had excellent masters and had already 
 made considerable progress both in pianoforte- 
 playing and singing; and people say I was 
 gifted with excellent taste and judgment for 
 the truly beautiful in music. I could scarcely 
 wait for the evening to come which should 
 enable me to meet the great hero of music, 
 and which might even give me the opportun- 
 ity of thanking him with my own lips for the 
 many glorious hours his genius had provided 
 for me. 
 
 *'\Ve arrived. Beethoven was not yet there. 
 Nothing stirred me in the least ; nothing made 
 
io6 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 the smallest impression upon me, till the fold- 
 ing doors opened, and he stepped in. Then 
 the sun seemed to shine, and all seemed to 
 bask in his beams. 
 
 ''As for me, I was drawn by the flash of his 
 eyes like iron to a magnet, and I drew in 
 every word which he spoke, though they were 
 but his words of greeting to the company. 
 
 ''At last the concert commenced. Beeth- 
 oven played for the first time in public his 
 great Sonata in B. Ah, how he played, and 
 how his composition affected me I leave you 
 to imagine. I thought I was no longer on the 
 earth, but was listening rapt to celestial music. 
 
 "When this was finished, as the Princess 
 desired only to have Beethoven's music, an 
 opera-singer who was there was asked to fol- 
 low with Mignon's song, 'Know'st Thou the 
 Land?' But she caused a great disappointment 
 by begging to be excused on the score of a 
 very severe cold. Then, with beating heart, 
 I came to a sudden resolve, and, after a hurried 
 whisper to my mother, I took my stand by 
 Beethoven at the piano, and begged him with 
 a blush, rather than that the company should 
 be deprived of the song, to allow me to sing it, 
 if he would be so good as to accompany me. 
 In this way we came to know each other. 
 
Schubert Fantasies 107 
 
 "It was the mubic that brought us together. 
 Beethoven used often to come to our house 
 after this, and many were the happy hours I 
 passed in his company. 
 
 "The following summer we spent at Heili- 
 genstadt, whither Beethoven pursued us, and 
 we used to make lovely excursions together. 
 Amid the glories of Xature the whole nobility 
 of his character disclosed itself. This is the 
 little spot which he and I discovered one day, 
 and it was under this very Linden-tree that we 
 confessed our love to each other ; it was from 
 out its branches that the first whisper of trust 
 and hope breathed upon our ears — 
 
 " 'Beneath my shade 
 All care is laid.' 
 
 ''Here, we passed many an hour. And when 
 evening dropped her veil over the earth, and 
 the stars swam out and glittered like pearls 
 before our eyes, then our souls, drowned with 
 love, seemed to float away from us in heaven- 
 ly forms, to hover above us like messengers 
 of light — we were, in a word, happy — in Para- 
 dise. 
 
 "Then clouds arose on the horizon, and the 
 beams of love began to wax colder and more 
 faint. Ludwig was invited to pay a long visit 
 in Hungary to a family of which he was very 
 
io8 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 fond. He could hardly avoid his consent. Ill- 
 starred journey! Scarce was he gone when 
 a young soldier arrived at our house, who also 
 paid homage to the cause of music. My 
 mother, of set purpose, as I afterward dis- 
 covered, gave him opportunity to see and 
 speak with me every day. I was kindly dis- 
 posed towards the stranger without feeling 
 for him the least spark of affection, which had 
 all been given to 'the lover far away.' 
 
 "One day the scales fell from my eyes. I 
 found I had awakened something more than 
 an interest in the mind of the young Count, 
 and I shrank back in terror from the discovery. 
 Too late. Gallenberg had already pleaded 
 with my mother for my hand, and it was not 
 denied him. I was unable to withstand the 
 pressure put upon me. My future husband was 
 a man of rank, and had great possessions and 
 many high-sounding names. As to whether 
 my heart would break, that had nothing to do 
 with the question. The only thing of impor- 
 tance was that I should be entangled in a 
 hedge of genealogy, although its branches 
 should choke me to death. Enough of that 
 matter. As, after leaving the altar, we walked 
 down the church, with the priest's blessing, 
 which sounded like a curse, ringing in my 
 
Schubert Fantasies 109 
 
 ears, Beethoven, unseen by the rest, stepped 
 out from behind a pillar, and I was carried by 
 my husband fainting to my carriage. Ludwig, 
 awakened out of his dreams of happiness and 
 wounded to the death, returned again to Hun- 
 gary, hoping in distance from the scene to 
 find rest and comfort for his broken heart. In 
 vain. I, too, was miserable. 
 
 "My husband cherished me, honored and 
 loved me ; but I could not return those gifts. 
 In him I saw only the robber of Ludwig's hap- 
 piness and mine. He soon perceived that his 
 efforts to win my affections were useless, with 
 the result that he became as cold to me as I 
 to him. We lived a lonely, joyless existence. 
 I wrote to Beethoven, begged his forgiveness, 
 pictured to him my helpless situation, and all 
 the pressure brought to bear upon me by my 
 mother. ]\Iy letters came back to me unopen- 
 ed. There is nothing I would not have done 
 if I could have spoken with Beethoven, who 
 meanwhile had returned to Vienna, alone and 
 undisturbed. But all my trouble was in vain. 
 All my little plans which I had slily contriv- 
 ed for this purpose he knew how to bring to 
 naught. Then I learned one day, after I had 
 humiliated myself by bribing his housekeeper 
 over to my side, that he still was wont to take 
 
no Schubert Fantasies 
 
 his daily walks to the Linden-tree. At last 
 I knew where to find him. To gain his for- 
 giveness was everything to me, and one day I 
 surprised him, here at the foot of this tree, in 
 tears. I knew it — those tears were for me. 
 
 *' 'Ludwig,' I exclaimed, 'can you forgive 
 me?' 
 
 ''Then he drew himself up in his majesty, 
 and like an angry lion he stood before me, with 
 lightning in his eyes. With a dignified and 
 courteous gesture he waved me back, and the 
 next moment he was gone — without a single 
 word. Thus he has never forgiven me," sob- 
 bed the Countess in a voice which was choked 
 with tears. 
 
 "And did he never speak with you," asked 
 Schubert, who recognized in this story the 
 stern, unbending character of Beethoven. 
 
 ''We never even saw each other, and with 
 him in life I certainly have never spoken again 
 — but I have seen him since he died. In the 
 middle of the night, unseen by the inquisitive, 
 I knelt by his body, and won his forgiveness. 
 My hot tears fell on his cold hand, and sud- 
 denly a calm took possession of my heart, 
 which appeared to me as though it were the 
 forgiveness I sought. Over the grave even 
 the red flowers of hate grow white. I placed 
 
Schubert Fantasies hi 
 
 in his coffin some leaves of this tree which I 
 had plucked from it on the day of our final 
 meeting here. And since the day of his fun- 
 eral, I have come out to this tree every day. 
 It is my pilgrimage; I wander here to the 
 gravestone of my coffined hopes. Away, yon- 
 der, in the cemetery I am not alone with him, 
 I am disturbed; but here I can hold my own 
 quiet communion. Here I feel a peace within 
 me. Beneath these branches, when the wind 
 whispers softly through its rustling branches, 
 it is as though I heard his voice : — 
 
 " 'Come here to me. Beloved, 
 'Tis here thou findest thy rest.' 
 
 "Here it was also, Schubert, that, coming 
 time after time, I found you, and so had to 
 change the hour of my visit. Today you have 
 managed to surprise me." 
 
 During this recital, the sun had gone down, 
 and a few stars managed to flicker out into the 
 evening glow. 
 
 "See, Schubert," exclaimed the Countess, as 
 she raised her arm to heaven like some in- 
 spired prophetess, "see how even already 
 love's messengers shoot out their light, and 
 look tenderly upon the sufferer, and bring her 
 kisses from the far-oflf land." And the poor 
 woman sank upon her knees in silent prayer. 
 
112 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 Schubert stood quietly by, unwilling- to dis- 
 turb her. Then she suddenly rose. "It is 
 time to part, Schubert. Today we have spok- 
 en together for the first and last time — nay, I 
 will have it so," she added, as she noticed that 
 he would say something in protest — "but I 
 have one single request to make, that you 
 keep my secret safe. This place is my place 
 of worship. Schubert, you have the key of 
 the door ; do not use it wrongfully." 
 
 "Nay, I swear by your ladyship," said Schu- 
 bert solemnly, taking her by the hand, "by 
 the memory of that dead friend who looks 
 down upon us from those clouds, looks down 
 upon you in kindness and reconciliation." 
 
 "And now, Schubert, leave me ; for I would 
 fain collect my thoughts before I set off on 
 my way back." 
 
 He obeyed, and with a melancholy air turn- 
 ed his steps homewards. 
 
 It was on the night of August 24th when 
 Schubert was sitting close to his piano, dili- 
 gently writing and composing. Midnight had 
 struck long ago, and the candles were burning 
 low in their sockets — still the master worked 
 restlessly on. It looked as thought he were 
 determined to get his task, whatever it was, 
 finished before the morrow. Suddenly he got 
 
Schubert Fantasies 113 
 
 up, and walked hurriedly to the window, and 
 threw it open, for the air was oppressive. A 
 thunderstorm was coming up ; the sky was 
 obscured with black clouds; not a single star 
 was to be seen; the whirling dust swept the 
 streets. 
 
 Once more Schubert returned to the table, 
 made a few strokes with the pen still stand- 
 ing, threw his pen away, and cast a rapid 
 glance over the manuscript. 
 
 ''My work of love is accomplished, and I 
 bring it now as a birthday present to my dear 
 friend. To thy Shade I have dedicated a song, 
 to thee and to thy fate. It is thy Linden-tree. 
 To-morrow the Countess will be there, and 
 where she hangs the wreaths, she will find 
 this song." 
 
 At this point the speaker's soliloquy was in- 
 terrupted, for the storm burst with incredible 
 fury. Schubert closed the window, as a 
 mighty peal of thunder rolled round the house 
 accompanied by a blinding flash. 
 
 *'But, that the poor Countess should find full 
 comfort in this gift for her wounded heart, the 
 stars, which brought her so much consolation, 
 
 ought to shine However, I must to rest 
 
 — my part is complete." 
 
 Next day the morning broke bright and 
 
i 
 
 114 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 clear. The thunder had but served to refresh 
 drooping Nature. Not a tree, nor a leaf, not a 
 blade of grass but what lived anew. Jo3^ously 
 Schubert hastened away. He had hit upon, 
 as he hoped, a new idea for bringing balm and 
 healine to the stricken heart of the Countess. 
 
 It had flashed across him, as he approached 
 the place, that the best way to ensure her 
 seeing the songs (for that she would come to- 
 day he had no sort of doubt) was to attach 
 them to the wTcaths by means of the blue 
 ribands which bound the latter. 
 
 He strode onwards — what a spectacle met 
 his gaze. The lightning of the previous night 
 had struck the Linden, and there it lay up- 
 rooted upon the ground, bereft of all its 
 wealth of leaves. But the laurels and ever- 
 lasting flowers remained unsinged! 
 
 The Linden has vanished from that place, 
 and the wreaths as well. The musician too, 
 lies asleep near his beloved friend ; but his 
 songs— "The Linden-tree" and "The Stars"— 
 these live forever, to the undying memory of 
 Beethoven and Schubert. 
 
THE PHANTOM DOUBLE 
 
w 
 
 THE PHANTOM DOUBLE 
 
 INTER prevailed in all its rigour: the 
 fields were clad in snow, giving prom- 
 ise of a rich fruit harvest to come. The leaf- 
 less trees were glittering and sparkling with a 
 thousand borrowed jewels, while the roofs of 
 the houses and cottages were almost buried 
 under the weight of their white mantles. 
 
 By the time that the clock in the church 
 steeple had struck five, the gray sky was al- 
 ready hidden behind the black veil of night. 
 Snow was falling in great flakes, the streets 
 and alleys were all deserted, the roads were 
 impassable, and only one single traveller 
 seemed to brave the cruel elements, as he 
 slowly made his way to the Wahring ceme- 
 tery. Boldly, and step by step, he battled 
 against the storm, till at last he reached the 
 iron gates, and violently pulled the bell which 
 communicated with the gravedigger's house. 
 After a moment the light of a lantern became 
 visible, and finally a fur-clad form appeared, 
 hobbled slowly to the gate, and peered out to 
 see who it was that came so late, and in such 
 weather, to disturb the place. 
 
 "Come, open, my good fellow; 'tis already 
 late enough, and I have a sacred duty to fulfil. 
 
 117 
 
ii8 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 I have a wreath here which I want to lay on 
 the grave of one whom I must ever keep in 
 memory — tomorrow is Nov. 4th, his birthday 
 — alas, that he left us so soon !" 
 
 While he was speaking the gravedigger 
 opened the gate. Startled by the noise, a flock 
 of ravens rose up and sped across the ceme- 
 tery in frantic flight, filling the air with their 
 hoarse croaking. 
 
 The stranger chose the left-hand path, and 
 advanced towards the wall of the cemetery. 
 *T am coming, Carl," whispered the unknown 
 one to himself; "you didn't expect me so late, 
 and thought I had forgotten you — you who 
 are the very image of my own past boyhood. 
 Years have flown since then, when you in- 
 spired me to compose my first song — at least 
 the first that you ever heard — and also the 
 last. Your dying soul it was that awakened 
 mine. Many is the song that I have composed 
 since that night, and today, if the leaves oi 
 Fame are rustling round my head, it is all 
 your doing, Carl ; the applause which my 
 works have gained in the world of music 
 brings me neither pride nor happiness — for all 
 happiness, all pride end here!" 
 
 Muttering thus, he went slowly on in face 
 of the storm and blinding snow, with head 
 
Schubert Fantasies 119 
 
 bent to the ground, for right well he knew the 
 spot where the cold earth covered his dear 
 friend. At last he looked up, and there on the 
 grave mound he saw a Figure sunk in prayer. 
 "Who is there but I," thought the lonely 
 traveller, over whom an involuntary shudder 
 passed, "that would be likely to perform this 
 little act of love towards the unknown boy?" 
 
 Hastily, the better to solve the riddle, he 
 approached the Figure, which, without so 
 much as heeding him, raised itself up and 
 scurried away. It was an unsubstantial, 
 ghostly form, which froze the blood in his 
 veins, and made his heart stand still. 
 
 Without looking round, for fear that he 
 should again see the ghastly apparition, he 
 moved close up to the grave and hung the 
 fresh wreath of flowers upon the snow-clad 
 cross. "Accept, my Carl, the wreath I bring 
 thee. It is a remembrance of my loyalty and 
 affection, and it speaks to thee and says, 
 'Bloom on, thou lovely flower, in the garden 
 of thy Lord, and grow under the eye of God 
 until thou comest to the joys of Heaven and 
 everlasting blessedness.' " He made the sign 
 of the Cross, and then silently repeated the 
 Lord's Prayer for the sleeping child. His 
 prayer ended, he was just about to go, when 
 
120 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 his glance fell again on the Figure he had 
 previously seen, which was now kneeling in 
 prayer before an empty space close by the 
 cemetery wall. 
 
 No tombstone, no cross marked the place. 
 The unknown man approached the Figure — 
 at all costs he must know who this was that 
 had prayed in front of him at Carl's grave. 
 "Sir," he said, with trembling voice, "1 find 
 you praying at the grave of my dear pupil 
 Did you know Carl?" 
 
 The Figure, which appeared to be that of a 
 man, nodded in the affirmative. 
 
 "I meet you here at this place? Without 
 doubt there lies here someone who is dear to 
 you?" 
 
 Not a word. 
 
 Meantime, the snow-laden clouds had been 
 swept away, and on the horizon the moon 
 came up, shedding its pale bright light around. 
 
 "At least, you know the man, who after 
 life's hard battle has at length found rest 
 here?" 
 
 The Figure turned to the questioner — the 
 cloak fell open — the features became visible — 
 a piercing cry rang out — Schubert turned and 
 fled. The face that he had seen was — his own ! 
 
 A peal at the bell before Schubert's house 
 
Schubert Fantasies 121 
 
 made Therese, his old servant, quake in her 
 shoes. She was all alone, and had been say- 
 ing her prayers in the dark, till, favored by 
 the prevailing stillness, she had dropped off to 
 sleep in the middle. It was just then that the 
 violent ringing of the bell frightened her out 
 of her dozing and dreaming. She got up, pro- 
 cured a light, and opened the front door, hold- 
 ing the lamp up in the direction of the visitor, 
 so that the light fell full on his face. She 
 started back in horror — it was as though she 
 had gazed upon a visitant from another world. 
 Without doubt the features she had seen were 
 those of Schubert, and yet — there was a some- 
 thing not his about them. A deathly pallor 
 was on his cheeks, and his glassy eyes stared 
 lifelessly out of their sockets, just as through 
 they had lost their power of sight. 
 
 Schubert appeared not to observe the terror 
 of the servant. With a feeble "Good evening, 
 Therese," he rushed past her and up to his 
 room. 
 
 Shaking her head significantly, the maid 
 stole after him, and placed her ear close to the 
 door to listen. Not that she was inquisitive, 
 but truly and sincerely anxious for the welfare 
 of the man whom she had fondled and nursed 
 as a child in the old parental home. 
 
122 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 She knew where he had come from, and had 
 already noticed how excited he was, when he 
 had bidden her go out to buy the wreath. The 
 faithful soul stood with folded hands before 
 the door. 
 
 Then she heard the piano open, and tones 
 like funereal dirges struck upon her listening 
 ear. 
 
 "Ah, how they wail and sigh! Something 
 must be done to cure my poor master of this 
 melancholy mood. I've never seen him like 
 this before, though many's the time he's come 
 back straight from his old pupil's grave! 
 How can I help him ? Can't I go and ask " 
 
 She took a step or two to her chamber, and 
 taking up a sealed packet, she began tO' talk 
 to herself in self-satisfied accents, "God will- 
 ing, this will help him ; this is the best medi- 
 cine for his distracted state!" 
 
 She knocked gently at the door and entered 
 the room, within which she found Schubert 
 sitting at the piano, indulging in the pro- 
 foundest rhapsody. 
 
 "Franz," she said, for her age and circum- 
 stances gave her the privilege of calling her 
 master by his Christian name, "this afternoon 
 a servant left this packet for you." 
 
 "Just leave it there, it's only the proof of 
 
Schubert Fantasies 123 
 
 my last Sonata. Diabelli chases me about like 
 a hunted hare. There's the usual letter in- 
 side to ask if another song is not ready— oh, 
 how many more must I compose before I 
 make a name," said Schubert, under his breath, 
 ''and can feel independent and careless?" 
 
 ''But the message doesn't come from the 
 publisher at all. As if I didn't know Lawrence 
 when I see him? This was a servant in blue 
 
 livery." 
 
 "In blue livery — with a silver border? 
 asked Schubert; "quickly, give me a light." 
 
 The maid hastily did as she was bid; and 
 then, overjoyed at seeing her Franz occupied 
 with other thoughts, she left the room. 
 
 Schubert's eyes sparkled with pleasure 
 when he saw the address on the packet, and 
 recognized the handwriting. 
 
 "From her!" he joyo-asly exclaimed, aloud; 
 then fearing lest he should be overheard by 
 someone, he muttered: "How imprudent of 
 me" and hastily tore off the cover. A beauti- 
 fully bound book, with an inscription in gold 
 lettering, "In everlasting memory of G. C," 
 presented itself to his astonished gaze, and 
 within it lay a tiny sheet of paper, delicately 
 folded together. This Schubert proceeded to 
 open. Scarce had his first glance fallen upon 
 
124 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 it than his face grew white, the blood rushed 
 to his heart, and with trembling lips he read 
 half aloud as follows : — 
 "My Dear Friend, 
 
 "When these lines reach you, I shall be 
 far from the Residence. My husband became, 
 in the most unaccountable way, possessed of 
 our sweet secret, and it was in vain that I 
 tried to deceive him. Only one way is left, 
 though it is with a torn and bleeding heart I 
 write it. I myself have proposed to him that 
 we move right away from the Residence. 
 That he consented to this plan I thank that 
 same Providence that allowed me to learn to 
 know you, my beloved, and transformed for 
 me so many bitter hours into happy minutes. 
 Schubert, the parting from you means the 
 numbing of my soul ; henceforth, I am alone. 
 The rough north wind has given me my 
 deserts, and nipped my love in the bud. Now 
 I follow my unloved husband, Heaven knows 
 for how long, without a friend ! As for you, 
 give yourself up to your Muse, and draw from 
 it inspiration and — forgetfulness. The accom- 
 panying Book of Songs, which Heine has writ- 
 ten out of very riot and tempest of soul, ac- 
 cept from one who will ever think of you with 
 blissful affection. May these inspire you to 
 
Schubert Fantasies 125 
 
 new songs of love! This is the wish of your 
 
 '^GABRIELLE" 
 
 The paper fell to the ground. 
 ** 'Tis the last will and testament of one 
 who abandons me for love," sighed^ Schubert, 
 "and high in reverence will I hold it." 
 
 He opened the book and his eyes fell upon 
 a poem. Scarcely had he read the first lines 
 than the blood rushed to his cheeks. 
 
 ''Fate," cried he, in an agony of pain, ''dost 
 thou again mock me, thou pale companion 
 mine, or do I already belong to another 
 world?" In feverish haste he turned to the 
 piano and struck a loud chord. ''Thank God, 
 I am still alive; my heart still beats, my mind 
 still acts ;" and full of emotion he seized paper 
 and pen. "Gabrielle, I thank thee for thy gift; 
 'tis I will be thy singer; to thee shall the first 
 song from the book be devoted." 
 
 "Alas !" sighed Therese ; "there, he's begin- 
 ning to play again. I thought I had cured him 
 of all his mysterious dreams yet once more I 
 hear those gloomy tones, as though he were 
 chanting his own funeral Dirge." 
 
 Weirdly clang the chords of the key of B 
 minor, and went trembling through the room 
 like voices from the grave. The old woman 
 stood like one petrified before the door. The 
 
126 Schubert Fantasies 
 
 clock from the neighbouring church steeple 
 struck eleven in sepulchral tones. 
 
 "Silent the streets, by night overtaken ; 
 
 This house my loved one's presence did 
 grace; 
 But she the town has now forsaken, 
 
 Though there the house stands in the self- 
 same place. 
 
 "And there stands a man, who upwards is 
 staring. 
 His hands hard wringing in outbursts of 
 woe ; «. 
 
 I shudder, his form with mine comparing. 
 The moon to me doth my own features 
 show. 
 
 "Thou pale companion, thou counterfeit 
 fellow. 
 
 Why act this hideous pantomime? — 
 Why ape the pangs that here I suffered, 
 
 So many a night in former time?" 
 
 "Nay, cost what it will, he must to rest,'^ 
 whispered the anxious listener, and flung open 
 the door of his room. Her beloved master lay 
 senseless on the floor! 
 
 The tones of the Lyre had died away — its 
 golden strings had snapped in twain! On the 
 
Schubert Fantasies 127 
 
 afternoon of Nov. 21st, 1828, the remains of 
 the Master singer, who had caught typhoid 
 fever during his visit to the cemetery, were 
 laid in the ground, at that very spot where a 
 few days before he had seen his own wraith 
 praying. And his immortal soul was wafted 
 up into the kingdom of indissoluble harmony. 
 
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