A 
 
 /
 
 THE FIBS! VIOLIN
 
 The First Violin. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 Bl 
 
 JESSIE FOTHERGILL. 
 
 ! 
 
 NEW YOKK : 
 
 HURST & COMPANY, 
 
 PUBLISHERS.
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 RES ANGUSTA DOML 
 
 yiAFTTO 
 
 MM 
 
 L 
 
 
 n. 
 
 
 IIL 
 
 lo 
 
 IV. 
 
 21 
 
 V. 
 
 24 
 
 
 BOOK IL 
 
 
 LOT. 
 
 L 
 
 
 n. 
 
 45 
 
 in. 
 
 55 
 
 IV. 
 
 Wtl 
 
 V. 
 
 . . * . 67 
 
 VL 
 
 ......73 
 
 vn. 
 
 .*.. ol 
 
 VIII. 
 
 .*. o9 
 
 IX. 
 
 * a(l 
 
 
 BOOK HI. 
 
 
 EUGEN COUBVOISIEE. 
 
 L 
 
 <..... 106 
 
 n. 
 
 119 
 
 in. 
 
 . . . . . c .136 
 
 IV. 
 
 . . . 146 
 
 V. 
 
 . 153
 
 V CONTENT*. 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 CHILDREN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 fHAPTMB FML 
 
 L . ... 161 
 
 IL .... 166 
 
 IIL ........ 1W 
 
 IV. 191 
 
 V. 199 
 
 VI. ... c .... 205 
 
 VIL . . ... 213 
 
 
 BOOK V. 
 
 
 VM VlCTISl 
 
 L 
 
 
 IL 
 
 230 
 
 m. 
 
 239 
 
 rv. 
 
 , 251 
 
 V. 
 
 257 
 
 VI. 
 
 . .266 
 
 VIL 
 
 276 
 
 im. 
 
 284 
 
 IX. 
 
 ....... 286 
 
 
 BOOK VI. 
 
 
 BonDDHBA 
 
 IL ........ 316 
 
 III. 317 
 
 IV. . . . (. . . ( t 838 
 
 V. ... a .... 847 
 
 VL 861
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 
 
 BOOK I. 
 BS8 ANGUSTA DOML 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 MISS HALLAM. 
 
 " WONDEEFUL weather for April! " Yes, it certainly 
 wonderful. I fully agreed with the sentiment expressed at 
 different periods of the day by different members of my 
 family; but I did not follow their example and seek enjoy 
 ment out of doors pleasure in that balmy spring air. 
 Trouble the first trouble of my life had laid her hand 
 heavily upon me. The world felt disjointed and all upside 
 down; I very helpless and lonely in it. I had two sisters, I 
 had a father and a mother; but none the less was I unable to 
 share my grief with any one of them; nay, it had been an 
 absolute relief to me when first one and then another of them 
 had left the house, on business or pleasure intent, and I, after 
 watching my father go down the garden walk, and seeing the 
 gate close after him, knew that, except for Jane, our domes 
 tic, who was caroling lustily to herself in the kitchen regions; 
 I was alone in the house. 
 
 I was in the drawing room. Once secure of solitude, I 
 put down the sewing with which I had been pretending to 
 employ myself, and went to the window a pleasant, sunny 
 bay. In that window stood a small work table, with a flower 
 pot upon it containing a lilac primula. I remember it dis 
 tinctly to this day, and am likely to carry the recollection 
 with me so long as I live. I leaned my elbows upon this 
 table, and gazed across the fields, green with spring grass,
 
 8 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 .tenderly lighted by an April sun, to where the river the 
 kern shone with a pleasant, homely, silvery glitter, twin 
 ing through the smiling meadows till he bent round the 
 solemn overhanging cliff crowned with mournful firs, which 
 went by the name of the Eifted or Kiven Scaur. 
 
 In some such delightful mead might the white-armed 
 Nausicaa have tossed her cowslip balls among the other 
 maids; perhaps by some such river might Persephone have 
 paused to gather the daffodil " the fateful flower beside 
 the rill." Light clouds flitted across the sky, a waft of wind 
 danced in at the open window, ruffling my hair mockingly, 
 and bearing with it the deep sound of a church clock strik 
 ing four. 
 
 As if the striking of the hour had been the signal for the 
 breaking of the spell, the silence that had prevailed came t<? 
 an end. Wheels came rolling along the road up to the door, 
 which, however, was at the other side of the house. " A 
 visitor for my father, no doubt," I thought indifferently; 
 " and he has gone out to read the funeral service for a dead 
 parishioner. How strange! I wonder how clergymen and 
 doctors can ever get accustomed to the grim contrasts amid 
 which they live! " 
 
 I suffered my thoughts to wander off in, some such track as 
 this, but they were all through dominated by a heavy sense 
 of oppression the threatening hand of a calamity which I 
 feared was about to overtake me, and I had again forgotten 
 the outside world. 
 
 The door was opened. Jane held it open and said nothing 
 (a trifling habit of hers, which used to cause me much annoy 
 ance), and a tall woman walked slowly into the room. I 
 rose and looked earnestly at her, surprised and somewhat 
 nervous when I saw who she was Miss Hallam of Hallam 
 Grange, our near neighbor, but a great stranger to us, never 
 theless, so far, that is, as personal intercourse went. 
 
 " Your servant told me that everyone was out except Miss 
 May," she remarked, in a harsh, decided voice, as she looked 
 not so much at me as toward me, and I perceived that there 
 was something strange about her eyes. 
 
 " Yes; I am sorry," I began doubtfully. 
 
 She had sallow, strongly marked, but proud and aristo 
 cratic features, and a manner with more than a tinge of im- 
 periousness. Her face, her figure, her voice, were familiar, 
 yet strange to me familiar because I had heard of her, and
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 9 
 
 been in the habit of occasionally seeing her fiom my very 
 earliest childhood; strange, because she was reserved, and not 
 given to seeing her neighbors' houses for purposes either of 
 gossip or hospitality. I was aware that about once in two 
 years she made a call at our house, the vicarage; whether as 
 a mark of politeness to us, or to show that, though she never 
 entered a church, she still chose to lend her countenance and 
 approval to the Establishment, or whether merely out of old 
 use and habit, I knew not. I only knew that she came, and 
 that until now it had never fallen to my lot to be present 
 upon any of those momentous occasions. 
 
 Feeling it a little hard that my coveted solitude should 
 thus be interrupted, and not quite knowing what to say to 
 her, I sat down, and there was a moment's pause. 
 
 "Is your mother well?" she inquired. 
 
 " Yes, thank you, very well. She has gone with my sister 
 to Darton." 
 
 " Your father? " 
 
 "He is well, too, thank you. He has a funeral this 
 afternoon." 
 
 " 1 think you have two sisters, have you not? " 
 
 " Yes; Adelaide and Stella." 
 
 " And which are you? " 
 
 " May; I am the second one." 
 
 All her questions were put in an almost severe tone, and 
 not as if she took very much interest in me or mine. I felt 
 my timidity increase, and yet I liked her. Yes, I felt most 
 distinctly that I liked her. 
 
 "May," she remarked, meditatively; "May "Wedderburn. 
 Are you aware that you have a very pretty north-country- 
 sounding name?" 
 
 " I have not thought about it." 
 
 " How old are you? " 
 
 " I am a little over seventeen." 
 
 " Ah! And what do you do all day? " 
 
 " Oh! " I began doubtfully, " not much, I am afraid, that 
 is useful or valuable." 
 
 "You are young enough yet. Don't begin to do things 
 with a purpose for some time to come. Be happy while 
 you can." 
 
 " I am not at all happy," I replied, not thinking of what 
 I was spying, and then feeling that I could have bitten my 
 out with vexation. What could it possibly matter to
 
 10 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Miss Hallam whether I were happy or not? She was asking 
 me all these questions to pass the time, and in order to talk 
 about something while she sat in our house. 
 
 "What makes you unhappy? Are your sisters dis 
 agreeable?" 
 
 " Oh, no! " 
 
 " Are your parents unkind? " 
 
 " Unkind! " I echoed, thinking what a very extraordinary 
 woman she was, and wondering what kind of experience hen 
 could have been in the past. 
 
 " Then I cannot imagine what cause for unhappiness you 
 can have," she said composedly. 
 
 I made no answer. I repented me of having uttered the 
 words, and Miss Hallam went on: 
 
 " I should advise you to forget that there is such a thing 
 as unhappiness. You will soon succeed." 
 
 " Yes I will try," said I in a low voice, as the cause of 
 my unhappiness rose up gaunt, grim, and forbidding, 
 with thin lips curved in a mocking smile, and glittering, 
 snakelike eyes fixed upon my face. I shivered faintly; and 
 she, though looking quickly at me, seemed to think she had 
 said enough about my unhappiness. Her next question sur 
 prised me much. 
 
 " Are you fair in complexion? " she inquired. 
 
 "Yes," said I. "I am very fair fairer than either of 
 my sisters. But, are you near-sighted? " 
 
 "Near sightless" she replied with a bitter little laugh. 
 "Cataract. I have so many joys in my life that Provi 
 dence has thought fit to temper the sunshine of my lot. I 
 am to content myself with the store of pleasant remembrances 
 with which my mind is crowded, when I can see nothing out 
 side. A delightful arrangement. It is what pious people 
 call a ' cross,' or a * visitation,' or something of that kind. 1 
 am not pious, and I call it the destruction of what little happi 
 ness I had." 
 
 " Oh, I am very, very sorry for you! " I answered, feeling 
 what I spoke, for it had always been my idea of misery to be 
 blind shut away from the sunlight upon the fields, from the 
 hue of the river, from all that " lust of the eye " which meets 
 us on every side. 
 
 "But are you quite alone?" I continued. "Have you no 
 one to "' 
 
 I stopped; I was about to add, " to be kind to you to take
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 11 
 
 care of you? but I suddenly remembered that it would not 
 do for me to ask such questions. 
 
 "No, I live quite alone," said she abruptly. "Did you 
 think of offering to relieve my solitude ? " 
 
 I felt myself burning with a hot blush all over my face as I 
 stammered out: 
 
 "I am sure I never thought of anything so impertinent, 
 but but if there was anything I could do read or " 
 
 I stopped again. Never very confident in myself, I felt a 
 miserable sense that I might have been going too far. I 
 wished most ardently that my mother or Adelaide had been 
 there to take the weight of such a conversation from my 
 shoulders. What was my surprise to hear Miss Hallam say 
 in a tone quite smooth, polished, and polite: 
 
 " Come and drink tea with me to-morrow afternoon 
 afternoon tea, I mean. You can go away again as soon as 
 you like. Will you? " 
 
 " Oh, thank you! Yes, I will." 
 
 "Very well. I shall expect you between four and five. 
 Good-afternoon." 
 
 " Let me come with you to your carriage," said I hastily. 
 " Jane, our servant, is so clumsy." 
 
 I preceded her with care, saw her seated in her carriage 
 and driven toward the Grange, which was but a few hundred 
 yards from our own gates, and then I returned to the house. 
 And as I went in again, my companion-shadow glided once 
 more to my side with soft, insinuating, irresistible impor 
 tunity, and I knew that it would be my faithful attendant 
 for who could say how long? 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 3< Traversons gravement ce mediant mascarade qu'on appelle le 
 monde." 
 
 THE houses in Skernford the houses of "the gentry," 
 that is to say lay almost all on one side of an old-fashioned, 
 sleepy-looking "green," toward which their entrances lay; 
 but their real front, their pleasantest aspect, was on the other 
 side, facing the river, which ran below, and down to which 
 their gardens sloped in terraces. Our house, the vicarage, 
 lay nearest the church; Miss Hallam's house, the Grange, 
 furthest from the church. Between these, larger and more
 
 12 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 imposing, in grounds beside which ours seemed to dwindle 
 down to a few flower beds, lay Deeplish Hall, whose owner, 
 Sir Peter Le Marchant, had lately come to live there, at least 
 for a time. 
 
 It was many years since Sir Peter Le Marchant, whose 
 image at this time was fated to enter so largely and so much 
 against my will into all my calculations, had lived at or even 
 visited his estate at Skernford. He was a man of immense 
 property, and report said that Deeplish Hall, which we inno 
 cent villagers looked upon as such an imposing mansion, was 
 but one and not the grandest of his several country houses. 
 All that I knew of his history or, rather, all that I had heard 
 of it, whether truly or not, I was in no position to say was 
 but a vague and misty account; yet that little had given me 
 a dislike to him before I ever met him. 
 
 Miss Hallam, our neighbor, who lived in such solitude and 
 retirement, was credited with having a history if report had 
 only been able to fix upon what it was. She was popularly 
 supposed to be of a grim and decidedly eccentric disposition. 
 Eccentric she was, as I afterward found as I thought 
 when I first saw her. She seldom appeared either in church or 
 upon any other public occasion, and was said to be the deadly 
 enemy of Sir Peter Le Marchant and all pertaining to him. 
 There was some old, far-back romance connected with it a 
 romance which I did not understand, for up to now I had 
 never known either her or Sir Peter sufficiently to take any 
 interest in the story; but the report ran that, in days gone 
 by how far gone by, too, they must have been! Miss 
 Hallam, a young and handsome heiress, loved very devotedly 
 her one sister, and that sister so much was known as a 
 fact had become Lady Le Marchant: was not her monument 
 "n the church between the Deeplish Hall and the Hallam 
 Grange pews? Was not the tale of her virtues and her years 
 seven-and-twenty only did she count of the latter there 
 recorded? That Barbara Hallam had been married to Sir 
 Peter was matter of history; what was not matter of history, 
 but of tradition which was believed in quite firmly, was that 
 the baronet had ill-treated his wife in what way was not 
 distinctly specified, but I have since learned that it was true; 
 she was a gentle creature, and he made her life miserable unto 
 her. She was idolized by her elder sister, who, burning with 
 indignation at the treatment to which her darling had been 
 subjected, had become, even in disposition, an altered woman.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 18 
 
 From a cheerful, open-hearted, generous, somewhat "brusque 
 young person, she had grown into a prematurely old, soured, 
 revengeful woman. It was to her that the weak and injured 
 sister had fled; it was in her arms that she had died. Since 
 her sister's death, Miss Hallam had withdrawn entirely from 
 society, cherishing a perpetual grudge against Sir Peter Le 
 Marchant. Whether she had relations or none, friends or 
 acquaintance, outside the small village in which she. lived, 
 none knew. If so, they limited their intercourse with her to 
 correspondence, for no visitor ever penetrated to her damp 
 old Grange, nor had she ever been known to leave it with the 
 purpose of making any journey abroad. If perfect silence and 
 perfect retirement could hush the tongues of tradition and 
 report, then Miss Hallam's story should have been forgotten. 
 But it was not forgotten. Such things never do become 
 forgotten. 
 
 It was only since Sir Peter had appeared suddenly some 
 six weeks ago at Deeplish Hall, that these dry bones of tra 
 dition had for me quickened into something like life, and had 
 acquired a kind of interest for me. 
 
 Our father, as vicar of the parish, had naturally called upon 
 Sir Peter, and as naturally invited him to his house. His 
 visits had begun by his coming to lunch one day, and we had 
 speculated about him a little in advance, half jestingly, rak 
 ing up old stories, and attributing to him various evil quali 
 ties of a hard and loveless old age. But after he had gone, the 
 verdict of Stella and myself was, " Much worse than we ex 
 pected." He was different from what we had expected. Per 
 haps that annoyed us. Instead of being able to laugh at him, 
 we found him something oppiessive, chilling to me fright 
 ful, in the cold, sneering smile which seemed perpetually 
 hovering about his thin lips in the fixed, snaky glitter of 
 his still, intent gray eyes. His face was pale, his manners 
 were polished, but to meet his eye was a thing I hated, and 
 the touch of his hand made me shudder. While speaking 
 in the politest possible manner, he had eyed over Adelaide 
 and me in a manner which I do not think either of us 
 had ever experienced before. I hated him from the moment 
 in which I saw him looking at me with an expression of appro 
 val. To be approved by Sir Peter Le Marchant could fate 
 devise anything more horrible? Yes, I knew now that it 
 could; one might have to submit to the approval, to live in 
 the approval. I had expressed my opinion on. the ubjeQ^
 
 14 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 with freedom to Adelaide, who to my surprise had not agreed 
 with me, and had told me coldly that I had no business to 
 speak disrespectfully of my father's visitors. I was silenced, 
 but unhappy. From the first moment of seeing Sir Peter, I 
 had felt an uncomfortable, uneasy feeling, which, had I been 
 sentimental, I might have called a presentiment; but I was 
 not sentimental. I was a healthy girl of seventeen, believing 
 in true love, and goodness, and gentleness very earnestly; 
 " fancy free," having read few novels, and heard no gossip 
 a very baby in many respects. Our home might be a quiet 
 one, a poor one, a dull one our circle of acquaintance small, 
 our distractions of the most limited description imaginable, 
 but at least we knew no evil, and I speak for Stella and my 
 self thought none. Our father and mother were persons 
 with nothing whatever remarkable about them. .Both had 
 been handsome. My mother was pretty, my father good- 
 looking yet. I loved them both dearly. It had never entered 
 my head to do otherwise than love them; but the love which 
 made the star and the poetry of my quiet and unromantic life 
 was that I bore to Adelaide, my eldest sister. I believed in 
 her devotedly, and accepted her judgment, given in her own 
 peculiar, proud, decided way, upon every topic on which she 
 chose to express it. She was one-and-twenty, and I used to 
 think I could lay down my life for her. 
 
 It was consequently a shock to me to near her speak in 
 praise yes, in praise of Sir Peter Le Marchant. My first 
 impulse was to distrust my own judgment, but no; I could 
 not long do so. He was repulsive; he was stealthy, hard, 
 cruel in appearance. I could not account for Adelaide's per 
 versity in liking him, and passed puzzled days and racked my 
 brain in conjecture as to why, when Sir Peter came, Adelaide 
 should be always at home, always neat and fresh not like 
 me. Why was Adelaide, who found it too much trouble to 
 join Stella and me in our homely concerts, always ready 
 to indulge Sir Peter's taste for music, to entertain him 
 with conversation? and she could talk. She was unlike me 
 in that respect. I never had a brilliant gift of conversation. 
 She was witty about the things she did know, and never com 
 mitted the fatal mistake of pretending to be up in things she 
 did not know. These gifts of mind, these social powers, were 
 always ready for the edification of Sir Peter. By degrees 
 the truth forced itself upon me. Someone said I overheard 
 it that " that handsome Miss Wedderburn was undoubted!.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 15 
 
 getting her cap at Sir Peter Le Marchant." Never shall I 
 forget the fury with which it first possessed me, the convic 
 tion which gradually stole over me that it was true. My 
 sister Adelaide, beautiful, proud, clever and, I had always 
 thought good had distinctly in view the purpose of becom 
 ing Lady Le Marchant. I shed countless tears over the 
 miserable discovery, and dared not speak to her of it. But 
 that was not the worst My horizon darkened. One 
 horrible day I discovered that it was I, and not Adelaide, who 
 had attracted Sir Peter's attentions. It was not a scene, not 
 a set declaration. It was a word in that smooth voice, a 
 glance from that hated and chilling eye, which suddenly 
 aroused me to the truth. 
 
 Shuddering, dismayed, I locked the matter up within my 
 own breast, and wished, with a longing that sometimes made 
 me quite wretched, that I could quit Skernford, my home, 
 my life, which had lost zest for me, and was become a burden 
 to me. The knowledge that Sir Peter admired me absolutely 
 degraded me in my own eyes. I felt as if I could not hold 
 up my head. I had spoken to no one of what had passed 
 within me, and I trusted that it had not been noticed; but 
 all my joy was gone. It was as if I stood helpless while a 
 noisome reptile coiled its folds around me. 
 
 To-day, after Miss Hallam's departure, I dropped into my 
 now chronic state of listlessness and sadness. They all came 
 back; my father from the church; my mother and Adelaide 
 from Darton, whither they had been on a shopping expedi 
 tion; Stella from a stroll by the river. We had tea, and they 
 dispersed quite cheerfully to their various occupations. I, 
 seeing the gloaming gently and dim falling over the earth, 
 walked out of the house and into the garden, and took 
 my way toward the river. I passed an arbor in which 
 Stella and I had loved to sit and watch the stream, and 
 talk and read Miss Austen's novels. Stella was there now, 
 with a well-thumbed copy of " Pride and Prejudice " in her 
 hand. 
 
 " Come and sit down, May," she apostrophized me. " Do 
 listen to this about Bingley and Wickham." 
 
 "No, thank you," said I abstractedly, and feeling that 
 Stella was not the person to whom I could confide my woe* 
 Indeed, on scanning mentally the list of my acquaintance, 
 I found that there was not one in whom I could confide. It 
 gave me a strange sense of loneliness and aloofness, and hard-
 
 16 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 end me more than the reading of a hundred satires on tne 
 meanness of society. 
 
 I went along the terrace by the riverside, and looked up 
 to the left traces of Sir Peter again. There was the terrace 
 of Deeplish Hall, which stood on a height just above a bend 
 in the river. It was a fine old place. The sheen of the glass 
 'houses caught the rays of the sun and glanced in them. It 
 looked rich, old, and peaceful. I had been many a time 
 through its gardens, and thought them beautiful, and wished 
 they belonged to me. Now I felt that they lay, in a manner, 
 at my feet, and my strongest feeling respecting them was an 
 earnest wish that I might never see them again. 
 
 Thus agreeably meditating, I insensibly left our own gar 
 den and wandered on, in the now quickly falling twilight, into 
 a narrow path, leading across a sort of No-Man's-Land into 
 the demesne of Sir Peter Marchant. In my trouble I scarcely 
 remarked where I was going, and with my eyes cast upon the 
 ground was wishing that I could feel again as I once had 
 felt, when 
 
 " I nothing had, and yet enough "; 
 
 and was sadly wondering what I could do to escape from the 
 net in which I felt myself caught, when a shadow darkened 
 the twilight in which I stood, and looking up I saw Sir Peter, 
 and heard these words: 
 
 " Good-evening, Miss Wedderburn. Are you enjoying a 
 little stroll?" 
 
 By, as it seemed to me, some strange miracle, all my in 
 ward fears and tremblings vanished. I did not feel afraid 
 of Sir Peter in the least. I felt that here was a crisis. This 
 meeting would show me whether my fears had been ground 
 less, and my own vanity and self-consciousness of unparal 
 leled proportions, or whether I had judged truly, and had 
 good reasons for my qualms and anticipations. 
 
 It came. The alarm had not been a false one. Sir Peter, 
 after conversing with me for a short time, did, in clear and 
 unmistakable terms, inform me that he loved me, and asked 
 me to marry him. 
 
 " I thank you," said I, mastering my impulse to cover my 
 face with my hands and run shuddering away from him 
 "I thank you for the honor you offer me, and beg to 
 decline it.''
 
 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 17 
 
 He looked surprised, and still continued to urge me in a 
 manner which roused a deep inner feeling of indignation 
 within me, for it seemed to say that he understood me to 
 be overwhelmed with the honor he proposed to confer upon 
 me, and humored my timidity about accepting it. There 
 was no doubt in his manner, not the shadow of a suspicion 
 that I could be in earnest. There was something that 
 turned my heart cold within me a cool, sneering tone, 
 which not all his professions of affection could disguise. 
 Since that time I have heard Sir Peter explicitly state his 
 conception of the sphere of woman in the world; it was not 
 an exalted one. He could not even now quite conceal that, 
 while he told me he wished to make me his wife and the 
 partner of his heart and possessions, yet he knew that such 
 professions were but words that he did not sue for my love 
 (poor Sir Peter! I doubt if ever in his long life he was 
 blessed with even a momentary glimpse of the divine coun 
 tenance of pure Love), but offered to buy my youth, and 
 such poor beauty as I might have, with his money and his 
 other worldly advantages. 
 
 Sir Peter was a blank, utter skeptic with regard to the 
 worth of women. He did not believe in their virtue nor 
 their self-respect; he believed them to be clever actresses, 
 and, taken all in all, the best kind of amusement to be had 
 for money. The kind of opinion was then new to me; 
 the effect of it upon my mind such as might be expected. 
 I was seventeen, and an ardent believer in all things pure 
 and of good report. 
 
 Nevertheless, I remained composed, sedate, even cour 
 teous to the last till I had fairly made Sir Peter under 
 stand that no earthly power should induce me to marry him; 
 till I had let him see that I fully comprehended the 
 advantages of the position he offered me, and declined them. 
 
 " Miss Wedderburn," he said at last, and his voice wa? 
 as unruffled as my own had it been more angry, I should 
 have feared it less, " do you fear opposition? I do not think 
 your parents would refuse their consent to our union." 
 
 I closed my eyes for a moment, and a hand seemed to 
 tighten about my heart. Then I said: 
 
 " I speak Avithout reference to my parents. In such a 
 matter I judge for myself." 
 
 "Always the same answer?" 
 
 " Always the same, Sir Peter."
 
 18 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 "It would be most ungentlemanly to press the subject 
 any further." His eyes were fixed upon me with the same 
 cold, snakelike smile. "I will not be guilty oi such a 
 solecism. Your family affections, my dear young lady, are 
 strong, I should suppose. Which whom do you love best? " 
 
 Surprised at the blunt straightforwardness of the ques 
 tion, as coming from him, I replied thoughtlessly: " Oh, 
 my sister Adelaide." 
 
 "Indeed! I should imagine she was in every way worthy 
 the esteem of so disinterested a person as yourself. A dif 
 ferent disposition, though quite. Will you allow me to 
 touch your hand before I retire? " 
 
 Trembling with uneasy forebodings, roused by his con 
 tinual sneering smile and the peculiar evil light in his eyes, 
 I yet went through with my duty to the end. He took the 
 hand I extended, and raised it to his lips with a low bow. 
 
 " Good-evening, Miss Wedderburn." 
 
 Faintly returning his valediction, I saw him go away, and 
 then, in a dream, a maze, a bewilderment, I too turned 
 slowly away and walked to the house again. I felt, I knew, 
 I had behaved well and discreetly, but I had no confidence 
 whatever that the matter was at an end. 
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 " Lucifer, Star of the Morning ! How art thou fallen ! * 
 
 I FOUND myself, without having met any one of my 
 family, in my own room, in the semi-darkness, seated on a 
 chair by my bedside, unnerved, faint, miserable with a 
 misery such as I had never felt before. The window was 
 open, and there came up a faint scent of sweetbrier and 
 wall-flowers in soft, balmy gusts, driven into the room by 
 the April night wind. There rose a moon and flooded the 
 earth with radiance. Then came a sound of footsteps; the 
 door of the next room, that belonging to Adelaide, was 
 opened. I heard her come in, strike a match, and light her 
 candle; the click of the catch as the blind rolled down. 
 There was a door between her room and mine, and presently 
 she passed it, and, bearing a candle in her hand, stood in 
 my presence. My sister was very beautiful, very proud. 
 She was cleverer, stronger, more decided than I, or rather,
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 19 
 
 while she had those qualities very strongly developed, I was 
 almost without them. She always held her head up, and 
 had one of those majestic figures which require no hack- 
 boards to teach them uprightness, no master of deportment 
 to instill grace into their movements. Her toilet and mine 
 were not, as may be supposed, of very rich materials or 
 varied character; but while my things always looked as bad 
 of their kind as they could fitted badly, sat badly, were 
 creased and crumpled hers always had a look of freshness; 
 she wore the merest old black merino as if it were velvet, 
 and a muslin frill like a point-lace collar. There are such 
 people in the world. I have always admired them, envied 
 them, wondered at them from afar; it has never been my 
 fate in the smallest degree to approach or emulate them. 
 
 Her pale face, with its perfect outlines, was just illumined 
 by the candle she held, and the light also caught the crown 
 of massive plaits which she wore around her head. She set 
 the candle down. I sat still and looked at her. 
 
 " You are there, May? " she remarked. 
 
 " Yes," was my subdued response. 
 
 "Where have you been all evening?" 
 
 " It does not matter to anyone." 
 
 "Indeed it does. You were talking to Sir Peter Le 
 Marchant. I saw you meet him from my bedroom window." 
 
 "Did you?" 
 
 "Did he propose to you?" she inquired with a composure 
 which seemed to me frightful. " Worldly," I thought was a 
 weak word to apply to her, and I was suffering acutely. 
 
 "He did." 
 
 "Well, I suppose it would be a little difficult fc> accept 
 him? " 
 
 " I did not accept him." 
 
 " What? " she inquired, as if she had not quite caught 
 what I said. 
 
 " I refused him," said I, slightly raising my voice. 
 
 " What are you telling me? " 
 
 "The truth." 
 
 " Sir Peter has fif " 
 
 " Don't mention Sir Peter to me again," said I nervously, 
 and feeling as if my heart would break. I had never quar 
 reled with Adelaide before. No reconciliation afterward 
 could ever make up for the anguish which I was going 
 through now.
 
 20 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 "Just listen to me," she said, bending over me, her lipa 
 drawn together. "I ought to have spoken to you before. 
 I don't know whether you have ever given any thought to 
 our position and circumstances. If not, it would be as well 
 that you should do so now. Papa is fifty-five years old, and 
 has three hundred a year. In the course of time he will die, 
 and, as his life is not insured, and he has regularly spent 
 every penny of his income naturally, it would have been 
 strange if he hadn't what is to become of us when he if 
 iead?" 
 
 " We can work." 
 
 " Work! " said she with inexpressible scorn. " Work! 
 Pray, what can we do in the way of work? What kind of 
 education have we had? The village schoolmistress could 
 make us look very small in the matter of geography and 
 history. We have not been trained to work; and let me 
 tell you, May, unskilled labor does not pay in these days." 
 
 " I am sure you can do anything, Adelaide, and I will 
 teach singing. I can sing." 
 
 " Pooh! Do you suppose that because you can take C in 
 alt you are competent to teach singing? You don't know 
 how to sing yourself yet. Your face is your fortune. So is 
 mine my fortune. So is Stella's her fortune. You have 
 enjoyed yourself all your life; you have had seventeen years 
 of play and amusement, and now you behave like a baby. 
 You refuse to endure a little discomfort, as the price of 
 placing yourself and your family forever out of the reach 
 of trouble and trial. Why, if you were Sir Peter's wife you 
 could do what you liked with him. I don't say anything 
 about myself; but oh, May! I am ashamed of you I am 
 ashamed of you! I thought you had more in you. Is it 
 possible that you are nothing but a romp nothing but a vul 
 gar tomboy? Good Heaven! If the chance had been mine! " 
 
 " What would you have done? " I whispered, subdued for 
 the moment, but obstinate in my heart as ever. 
 
 " I am nobody now; no one knows me. But if I had had 
 the chance that you have had to-night, in another year 
 I would have been known and envied by half the women 
 in England. Bah! Circumstances are too disgusting too 
 unkind! " 
 
 " Oh, Adelaide! nothing could have made up for being 
 tied to that man," said I in a small voice; "aad I am not 
 ambitious."
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 21 
 
 " Ambitious! You are selfish downright, grossly, inor 
 dinately selfish. Do you suppose no one else ever had to do 
 what they did not like? Why did you not stop to think, 
 instead of rushing away from the thing like some unreason 
 ing animal ? " 
 
 "Adelaide! Sir Peter! To marry him?" I implored in 
 tears. "How could I? I should die of shame at the very 
 thought. Who could help seeing that I had sold myself to 
 him? " 
 
 " And who would think any the worse of you? And what 
 if they did? With fifteen thousand a year you may defy 
 public opinion." 
 
 " Oh, don't! don't! " I cried, covering my face with my 
 hands. " Adelaide, you will hreak my heart! " 
 
 Burying my face in the bed-quilt, I sobbed irrepressibly. 
 Adelaide's apparent unconsciousness of, or callousness to, 
 the stabs she was giving me, and the anguish they caused me, 
 almost distracted me. 
 
 She loosed my arm, remarking with bitter vexation.: 
 
 " I feel as if I could shake you! " 
 
 She left the room. I was left to my meditations. My 
 head my heart, too ached distractedly; my arm was sore 
 where Adelaide had grasped it; I felt as if she had taken my 
 mind by the shoulders and shaken it roughly. I fastened 
 both doors of my room, resolving that neither she nor any 
 one else should penetrate to my presence again that night. 
 
 What was I to do? Where to turn? I began now to 
 realize that the Res domi, which had always seemed to me 
 so abundant for all occasions, were really Res Augusta, and 
 that circumstances might occur in which they would bi 
 miserably inadequate. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 . 
 "Zu Rathe gehen, und vom Rath zur That." 
 
 Briefe BEETHOVEIT'S. 
 
 THEEE was surely not much in Miss Hallam to encourage 
 confidences; yet within half an hour of the time of entering 
 her house I had told her all that oppressed my heart, and 
 had gained a feeling of greater security than I had yet felt. 
 I was sure that she would befriend me. True, she did not 
 say so. When I told her about Sir Pete. Le Marchnnt's pro
 
 22 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 posal to me, about Adelaide's behavior; when, in halting 
 and stammering tones, and interrupted by tears, I confessed 
 that I had not spoken to my father or mother upon the sub 
 ject, and that I was not quite sure of their approval of what 
 I had done, she even laughed a little, but not in what could 
 be called an amused manner. When I had finished my tale, 
 she said: 
 
 "If I understand you, the case stands thus: You have 
 refused Sir Peter Le Marchant, but you do not feel at all 
 sure that he will not propose to you again. Is it not so? " 
 
 " Yes," I admitted. 
 
 " And you dread and shrink from the idea of a repetition 
 f this business?" 
 
 " I feel as if it would kill me." 
 
 "It would not kill you. People are not so easily killed 
 as all that; but it is highly unfit that you should be sub 
 jected to a recurrence of it. I will think about it. Will you 
 have the goodness to read me a page of this book? " 
 
 Much surprised at this very abrupt change of the subject, 
 kut not daring to make any observation upon it, I took the 
 book a current number of a magazine and read a page 
 to her. 
 
 " That will do," said she. " Now, will you read this letter, 
 also aloud? " 
 
 She put a letter in my hand, and I read: 
 
 " 'DEAR MADAME: In answer to your letter pf last week; 
 I write to say that I could find the rooms you require, and 
 that by me you will have many good agreements which 
 would make your stay in Germany pleasanter. My house is 
 a large one in the Alleestrasse. Dr. Mittendorf, the oculist, 
 lives not far from here, and the Stadtische Augenklinik 
 that is, the eye hospital is quite near. The rooms you would 
 have are "upstairs suite of salon and two bedrooms, with 
 room for your maid in another part of the house. I have 
 other boarders here at the time, but you would do as you 
 pleased about mixing with them. 
 
 " * With all highest esteem, 
 " ' Your devoted, 
 
 " ' CLARA STEINMANN.' " 
 
 "You don't understand it all, I suppose?" said she, when 
 I had finished.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 23 
 
 "No." 
 
 "That lady writes from Elberthal. You have heard of 
 Elberthal on the Khine, I presume? " 
 
 " Oh, yes! A large town. There used to be a fine picture 
 gallery there; but the war between the " 
 
 " There, thank you! I studied Guy's geography myself in 
 my youth. I see you know the place I mean. There is an 
 eye hospital there, and a celebrated oculist Mittendorf. I 
 am going there. I don't suppose it will be of the least use; 
 but I am going. Drowning men catch at straws. Well, what 
 else can you do? You don't read badly." 
 
 " I can sing not very well, but I can sing." 
 
 "You can sing?" said she reflectively. "Just go to the 
 piano and let me hear a specimen. I was once a judge in 
 these matters." 
 
 I opened the piano and sung, as well as I could, an Eng 
 lish version of " Die Lotus-blume." 
 
 My performance was greeted with silence, which Miss 
 Hallam at length broke, remarking: 
 
 " I suppose you have not had much training? " 
 
 " Scarcely any." 
 
 " Humph! Well, it is to be had, even if not in Skernford. 
 Would you like some lessons? " 
 
 "I should like a good many things that I am not likely 
 ever to have." 
 
 " At Elberthal there are all kinds of advantages with regard 
 to those things music, and singing, and so on. Will you 
 come there with me as my companion? " 
 
 I heard, but did not fairly understand. My head was in a 
 whirl. Go to Germany with Miss Hallam; leave Sternford, 
 Sir Peter, all that had grown so weary to me; see new places, 
 live with new people; learn something! No, I did not grasp 
 it in the least. I made no reply, but sat breathlessly staring. 
 
 " But I shall expect you to make yourself useful to me in 
 many ways," proceeded Miss Hallam. 
 
 At this touch of reality I began to waken up again. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Hallam, is it really true? Do you think they 
 will let me go?" 
 
 " You haven't answered me yet." 
 
 "About being useful? I would do anything you like 
 anything in the world." 
 
 " Do not suppose your life will be all roses, or you will be 
 woefully disappointed. I do not go out at all; my health is
 
 14 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 bad so is my temper, very often. I am what people who 
 never had any trouble are fond of calling peculiar. Still, if 
 you are in earnest, and not merely sentimentalizing, you will 
 take your courage in your hands and come with me." 
 
 "Miss Hallam," said I with tragic earnestness, as I took 
 her hand, " I will come. I see you half mistrust me; but if 
 I had to go to Siberia to get out of Sir Peter's way, I would 
 go gladly and stay there. I hope I shall not be very clumsy 
 They say at home that I am, very, but I will do my best." 
 
 " They call you clumsy at home, do they? " 
 
 " Yes. My sisters are so much cleverer than I, and can do 
 everything so much better than I can. I am rather stupid. 
 I know." 
 
 " Very well; ?f you like to call yourself so, do. It is de 
 cided that you come with me. I will see your father about 
 it to-morrow. I always get my own way when I wish it. I 
 will leave in about a week." 
 
 I sat with clasped hands, my heart so full that I could not 
 speak. Sadness and gladness struggled hard within me. The 
 idea of getting away from Skernford was almost too delight 
 ful; the remembrance of Adelaide made my heart ache. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Ade nun ihr Berge, ihr yaterlich Haus I 
 Es treibt in die Feme mich machtig hinaus." 
 
 VolksliecL 
 
 CONSENT was given. Sir Peter was not mentioned to me 
 by my parents, or by Adelaide. The days of that week flew 
 rapidly by. 
 
 I was almost afraid to mention my prospects to Adelaidt 
 I ft>ared she would resent my good fortune in going abroad., 
 and that her anger at having spoiled those other prospects 
 would remain unabated. Moreover, a deeper feeling sepa 
 rated me from her now the knowledge that there lay a 
 great gulf of feeling, sentiment, opinion, between us, which 
 nothing could bridge over or do away with. Outwardly we 
 might be amiable and friendly to each other, but confidence, 
 union, was fled over. Once again in the future I was destined, 
 when our respective principles had been tried to the utmost, 
 to have her confidence to see her heart of hearts; but for 
 the present we were effectually divided. I had mortally
 
 THE FIR8T VIOLIN. 25 
 
 offended her, and it was not a case in which I could with 
 decency even humble myself to her. Once, however, she 
 mentioned the future. 
 
 When the day of our departure had been fixed, and was 
 only two days distant; when I was breathless with hurried 
 repairing of old clothes, and the equally hurried laying in of 
 a small stock of new ones; while I was contemplating with 
 awe the prospect of a first journey to London, to Ostend, to 
 Brussels, she said to me, as I sat feverishly hemming a frill: 
 
 ' So you are going to Germany? " 
 
 ' Yes, Adelaide." 
 
 ' What are you going to do there? " 
 
 1 My duty, I hope." 
 
 ' Charity, my dear, and duty, too, begins at home. I 
 should say you were going away leaving your duty undone." 
 
 I was silent, and she went on: 
 
 "I suppose you wish to go abroad, May?" 
 
 " You know I have always wished to go." 
 
 " So do I." 
 
 " I wish you were going, too," said I timidly. 
 
 " Thank you. My views upon the subject are quite differ 
 ent. When I go abroad I shall go in a different capacity to 
 that you are going to assume. I will let you know all about 
 it in due time." 
 
 " Very well," said I almost inaudibly, having a vague idea 
 as to what she meant, but determined not to speak about it. 
 
 The following day the curtain rose upon the first act of 
 the play call it drama, comedy, tragedy, what yevi will 
 which was to be played in my absence. I had been up the 
 village to the post office, and was returning, when I saw 
 advancing toward me two figures which I had cause to re 
 member my sister's queenly height, her white hat over her 
 eyes, and her sunshade in her hand, and beside her the pale 
 face, with its ragged eyebrows and hateful sneer, of Sir Peter 
 Le Marchant. 
 
 Adelaide, not at all embarrassed by his company, was 
 smiling slightly, and her eyes with drooped lids glanced 
 downward toward the baronet. I shrunk into a cottage to 
 avoid them as they came past, and waited, Adelaide was 
 saying: 
 
 , " Proud yes, I am proud, I suppose. To proud, at least, 
 to "
 
 36 THE FIEST VIOLIX. 
 
 There! Out of hearing. They had passed. I hurried out 
 f the cottage and home. 
 
 The next day I met Miss Hallam and her maid (we three 
 traveled alone) at the station, and soon we were whirling 
 smoothly along our southward way to York first, then to 
 London, and so out into the world, thought I.
 
 BOOK II. 
 LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Ein Held aus der Fremde, gar ktihn." 
 
 WE had left Brussels and Belgium behind, had departed 
 from the regions of Chemins de fer, and entered those of 
 Eiseribahnen. We were at Cologne, where we had to change 
 and wait half an hour before we could go on to Elberthal. 
 We sat in the wartesaal, and I had committed to my charge 
 two bundles, with strict injunctions not to lose them. 
 
 Then the doors were opened, and the people made a mad 
 rush to a train standing somewhere in the dim distance. 
 Merrick, Miss Hallam's maid, had to give her whole atten 
 tion to her mistress. I followed close in their wake, until, 
 as we had almost come to the train, I cast my eyes downward, 
 and perceived that there was missing from my arm a gray 
 shawl of Miss Hallam's which had been committed to my 
 charge, and upon which she set a fidgety kind of value, as 
 being particularly warm or particularly soft. 
 
 Dismayed, I neither hesitated nor thought, but turned, 
 fought my way through the throng of people to the waiting 
 room again, hunted every corner, but in vain, for the shawl. 
 Either it was completely lost, or Merrick had, without my 
 observing it, taken it unaer her own protection. It was not 
 in the waiting room. Giving up the search, I hurried to the 
 door; it was fast. No one more, it would seem, was to be let 
 out that way; I must go round, through the passages into 
 the open hall of the station, and so on to the platform again. 
 More easily said than done. Always, from my earliest youth 
 up, I have had a peculiar fancy for losing myself. On this 
 eventful day I lost myself. I ran through the passages, came 
 into the great open place surrounded on every side by doors 
 leading to the platforms, offices, or \ooking offices. Glanc- 
 
 87
 
 28 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 ing hastily round, I selected the door which appeared to % y 
 imperfectly developed " locality " to promise egress upon the 
 platform, pushed it open, and, going along a covered passage, 
 and through another door, found rayself, after the loss of a 
 good five minutes, in a lofty deserted wing of the station, 
 gazing wildly at an empty platform, and feverishly scanning 
 all the long row of doors to my right, in a mad effort to guess 
 which would take me from this delightful terra incognito 
 back to my friends. 
 
 Oepdck-Expedition, I read, and thought it did not sound 
 promising. Telegraphs bureau. Impossible! Ausgang. 
 There was the magic word, and I, not knowing it, stared at 
 it and was none the wiser for its friendly sign. I heard a 
 hollow whistle in the distance. No doubt it was the Elber- 
 thal train going away, and my heart sunk deep, deep within 
 my breast. I knew no German word. All I could say was 
 " Elberthal "; and my nearest approach to " first-class " was 
 to point to the carriage doors and say " Ein," which might or 
 might not be understood probably not, when the universal 
 stupidity of the German railway official is taken into consider 
 ation, together with his chronic state of gratuitous suspicion 
 that a bad motive lurks under every question which is put to 
 him. I heard a subdued bustle coming from the right hand 
 in the distance, and I ran hastily to the other end of the great 
 empty place, seeing, as I thought, an opening. Vain delusion! 
 Deceptive dream of the fancy! There was a glass window, 
 through which I looked, and saw a street thronged with pas 
 sengers and vehicles. I hurried back again to find my way 
 to the entrance of the station, and there try another door, 
 when I heard a bell ring violently a loud groaning and 
 shrieking, and then the sound, as it were, of a train depart 
 ing. A porter at least a person in uniform appeared in a 
 doorway. How I rushed up to him! How I seized his arm, 
 and, dropping my rugs, gesticulated excitedly, and panted 
 forth the word " Elberthal! " 
 
 "Elberthal? " said he in a guttural bass; " Wollt Ihr nach 
 Elberthal, Fraleinchen? " 
 
 There was an impudent twinkle in his eye, as it were 
 impertinence trying to get the better of beer; and I reiterated 
 " Elberthal/' growing very red, and cursing all foreign 
 speeches by my gods a process often employed, I believe, 
 by cleverer persons than I, with reference to things they do 
 ttot understand.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 89 
 
 tf Schon fort, Fraulein" he continued, with a grin. 
 
 " But where what Elberthal! " 
 
 He was about to make some further reply, when, turning, 
 he seemed to see someone, and assumed a more respectful de 
 meanor. I, too, turned, and saw at some little distance from 
 us a gentleman sauntering along, who, though coming toward 
 us, did not seem to observe us. Would he understand me if I 
 spoke to him? Desperate as I was, I felt some timidity about 
 trying it. Never had I felt so miserable, so helpless, so utterly 
 ashamed as I did then. My lips trembled as the newcomer 
 drew nearer, and the porter, taking the opportunity of quit 
 ting a scene which began to bore him, slipped away. I was 
 left alone on the platform, nervously snatching short glances 
 at the person slowly, very slowly, approaching me. He did 
 not look up as if he beheld me or in any way remarked my 
 presence. His eyes were bent toward the ground; his fingers 
 drummed a tune upon his chest. As he approached, I heard 
 that he was humming something. I even heard the air; it 
 has been impressed upon my memory firmly enough since, 
 though I did not know it then the air of the march from 
 KafF s Fifth Symphonic, the " Lenore." I heard the tune 
 softly hummed in a mellow voice as, with face burning and 
 glowing, I placed myself before him. Then he looked sud 
 denly up, as if startled, fixed upon me a pair of eyes which 
 gave me a kind of shock, so keen, so commanding were they, 
 with a kind of tameless freedom in their glance such as I had 
 never seen before. 
 
 Arrested (no doubt by my wild and excited appearance), 
 he stood still and looked at me, and as he looked a slight smile 
 began to dawn upon his lips. Not an Englishman. I should 
 have known him for an outlander anywhere. I remarked no 
 details of his appearance; only that he was tall, and had, as it 
 seemed to me, a commanding bearing. I stood hesitating and 
 blushing. (To this very day the blood comes to my face as I 
 ijhink of my agony of blushes in that immemorial moment.) 
 I saw a handsome a very handsome face, quite different 
 from any I had ever seen before: the startling eyes before 
 spoken of, and which surveyed me with a look so keen, so 
 cool, and so bright, which seemed to penetrate through and 
 through me; while a slight smile curled the light mustache 
 upward a general aspect which gave me the impression that 
 he was not only a personage, but a very great personage, with 
 a flavor of something else permeating it all which puzzled me
 
 80 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 and made me feel embarrassed as to how to address him. 
 While I stood inanely trying to gather my senses together, 
 he took off the little cloth cap he wore, and, bowing, asked: 
 
 "Mien Frdulein, in what way can I assist you? " 
 
 His English was excellent his bow like nothing I had seen 
 before. Convinced that I had met a genuine, thorough, fine 
 gentleman (in which I was right for once in my life), I 
 began: 
 
 " I have lost my way," and my voice trembled in spite of all 
 my efforts to steady it. " In a crowd I lost my friends, and 
 I was going to Elberthal, and I turned the wroig way 
 
 and ' : 
 
 '"Have come to destruction, nicht wahr?" He looked at 
 his watch, raised his eyebrows, and shrugged his shoulders. 
 " The Elberthal train is already away." 
 
 " Gone! " I dropped my rugs and began a tremulous 
 search for my pocket-handkerchief. "What shall I do?" 
 
 "There is another let me see in one hour two will 
 'mal nachsehen. Will you come with me, Fraulein, and we 
 mil see about the trains?" 
 
 " If you would show me the platform," said I. " Perhaps 
 some of them may still be there. Oh, what will they think 
 of me! " 
 
 " We must go to the wartesaal," said he. " Then you can 
 look out and see if you see any of them." 
 
 I had no choice but to comply. 
 
 My benefactor picked up my two bundles, and, in spite of 
 my expostulations, carried them with him. He took me 
 through the door inscribed Ausgang, and the whole thing 
 seemed so extremely simple now, that my astonishment as 
 to how I could have lost myself increased every moment. Ht> 
 went before me to the waiting room, put my bundles upon 
 one of the sofas, and we went to the door. The platform was 
 almost as empty as the one we had left. 
 
 I looked round, and, though it was only what I had ex 
 pected, my face fell when I saw how utterly and entirely my 
 party had disappeared. 
 
 " You see them not? " he inquired. 
 
 " No they are gone," said I, turning away from the win 
 dow, and choking down a sob, not very effectually. Turning 
 my damp and sorrowful eyes to my companion, I found that 
 he was still smiling to himself, as if quietly amused at the 
 whole adventure.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 31 
 
 "I will go and see what time the trains go to ElberthaL 
 Suppose you sit down yes? " 
 
 Passively obeying, I sat down and turned my situation 
 over in my mind, in which kind of agreeable mental leger 
 demain I was still occupied when he returned. 
 
 " It is now half -past three, and there is a train to Elber- 
 thal at seven." 
 
 " Seven! " 
 
 " Seven a very pleasant time to travel, nicht wahr? Then 
 it is still quite light." 
 
 " So long! Three hours and a half," I murmured deject 
 edly, and bit my lips and hung my head. Then I said: " I 
 am sure I am much obliged to you. If I might ask you a 
 favor?" 
 
 " Bitte, mein Fraulein ! " 
 
 " If you could show me exactly where the train starts from, 
 and could I get a ticket now, do you think? " 
 
 "I'm afraid not so long before," he answered, twisting 
 his mustache, as I could not help seeing, to hide a smile. 
 
 " Then," said I, with stoic calmness, " I shall never get to 
 Elberthal never, for I don't know a word of German not 
 one." I sat more firmly down upon the sofa, and tried to 
 contemplate the future with fortitude. 
 
 " I can tell you what to say," said he, removing with great 
 deliberation the bundles which divided us, and sitting down 
 beside me. He leaned his chin upon his hand, and looked at 
 me ever, as it seemed to me, with amusement, tempered 
 with kindness, and I felt like a very little girl indeed. 
 
 " You are exceedingly good," I replied, " but it would be 
 of no use. I am so frightened of those men in blue coats ani 
 big mustaches. I should not be able to say a word to any 
 f them." 
 
 " German is sometimes not unlike English." 
 
 " It is like nothing to me, except a great mystery." 
 
 " Billet is ' ticket,' " said he persuasively. 
 
 "Oh, is it?" said I, with a gleam of hope. "Perhaps I 
 could remember that. Billet," I repeated reflectively. 
 
 " Killet," he amended; " not .Btflit." 
 
 " Bill-yet ~Bill-yet," I repeated. 
 
 " And * to Elberthal ' may be said in one word, ' Elberthal.' 
 * Ein billet Elberthal erster Klasse.' ''' 
 
 " Ein Bill-yet," I repeated automatically, for my thoughts 
 were dwelling more upon the charming quandary ijj
 
 82 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 found myself than upon his half-good-natured, half mocking 
 instructions: " Ein Bill-yet, firste erste it is of no use. I 
 can't say it. But " here a brilliant idea struck me " if you 
 could write it out for me on a paper, and then I could give it 
 to the man he would surely know what it meant." 
 
 "A very interesting idea, but a viva voce interview is so 
 much better." 
 
 " I wonder how long it takes to walk to Elberthall " I sug 
 gested darkly. 
 
 " Oh, a mere trifle of a walk. You might do it in four or 
 five hours, I dare say." 
 
 I bit my lips, trying not to cry. 
 
 " Perhaps we might make some other arrangement," he 
 remarked. " I am going to Elberthal, too." 
 
 " You! Thank Heaven i" was my first remark. Then as 
 a doubt came over me: " Then why why " 
 
 Here I stuck fast, unable to ask why he had said so many 
 tormenting things to me, pretended to teach me German 
 phrases, and so on. The words would not come out. Mean 
 while he, without apparently feeling it necessary to explain 
 himself upon these points, went on: 
 
 " Yes. I have been at a probe " (not having the faintest 
 idea as to what a probe might be, and not liking to ask, 1 
 held my peace and bowed assentingly). He went on, " And 
 I was delayed a little. I had intended to go by the train you 
 have lost, so if you are not afraid to trust yourself to my 
 care we can travel together." 
 
 " You you are very kind." 
 
 " Then you are not afraid? " 
 
 "I oh, no! I should like it very much. I mean I am 
 sure it would be very nice." 
 
 Feeling that my social powers were as yet in a very unde- 
 /eloped condition, I subsided into silence, as he went on: 
 
 " I hope your friends will not be very uneasy? " 
 
 " Oh, dear no! " I assured him, with a pious conviction 
 that I was speaking the truth. 
 
 " We shall arrive at Elberthal about half -past eight." 
 
 I scarcely heard. I plunged my hand into my pocket, and 
 found a hideous conviction crossed my mind I had no 
 money. I had, until this moment, totally forgotten having 
 given my purse to Merrick to keep; and she, as pioneer to the 
 party, naturally had all our tickets under her cnarge. My 
 heart almost stopped beating. It was unheard of, horrible,
 
 THE FIRoT VIOLIN, 33 
 
 this possibility of falling into the power of a total ? utter 
 stranger a foreigner a Heaven only knew what! En 
 grossed with this painful and distressing problem I sat silent, 
 and with eyes gloomily cast down. 
 
 " One thing is certain," he remarked. " We do not want 
 to spend three hours and a half in the station. I want some 
 dinner. A four hours' probe is apt to make one a little hun< 
 gry. Come, we will go and have something to eat." 
 
 The idea had evidently come to him as a species of inspira 
 tion, and he openly rejoiced in it. 
 
 " I am not hungry," said I; but I was, very. I knew it, 
 now that the idea " dinner " had made itself conspicuous in 
 my consciousness. 
 
 " Perhaps you think not; bat you are, all the same," he 
 said. " Come with me, Fraulein. You have put yourself in 
 my hands; you must do what I tell you." 
 
 I followed him mechanically out of the station and down 
 the street, and I tried to realize that instead of being with 
 Miss Hallam and Merrick, my natural and respectable pro 
 tectors, safely and conventionally plodding the slow way in 
 the slow Continental train to the slow Continental town, I 
 was parading about the streets of Kb'ln with a man of whose 
 very existence I had half an hour ago been ignorant. I was 
 dependent, too, upon him, and him alone, for my safe arrival 
 at Elberthal. And I followed him unquestioningly, now and 
 then telling myself, by way of feeble consolation, that he was 
 a gentleman he certainly was a gentleman and wishing now 
 and then, or trying to wish, with my usual proper feeling, 
 that it had been some nice old lady with whom I had fallen in 
 it would have made the whole adventure blameless, and, 
 comparatively speaking, agreeable. 
 
 We went along a street and came to a hotel, a large build 
 ing, into which my conductor walked, spoke to a waiter, and 
 we were shown into a restaurant, full of round tables, and con' 
 taining some half dozen parties of people. I followed with 
 stony resignation. It was the severest trial of all, this com 
 ing to a hotel alone with a gentleman in broad daylight. I 
 caught sight of a reflection in a mirror of a tall, pale girl, with 
 heavy, tumbled auburn hair, a brown hat which suited her, 
 and a severely simple traveling dress. I did not realize until 
 I had gone past that it was my own reflection which I had 
 seen. 
 
 " Suppose we sit here," said he, going to a table in a com-
 
 84 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 paratively secluded window recess, partially overhung with 
 curtains. 
 
 " How very kind and considerate of him! " thought I. 
 
 " Would you rather have wine or coffee, Fraulein? " 
 
 Pulled up from the impulse to satisfy my really keen hunger 
 by the recollection of my " lack of gold/' I answered hastily: 
 
 " Nothing, thank you really nothing." 
 
 "0 dock! You must have something," said he, smilingc 
 * I will order something. Don't trouble about it." 
 
 " Don't order anything for me," said I, my cheeks burning. 
 *' I shall not eat anything." 
 
 " If you do not eat, you will be ill. Eemember, we do not 
 get to Elberthal before eight," said he. " Is it perhaps dis 
 agreeable to you to eat in the saal? If you like we can have 
 a private room." 
 
 " It is not that at all," I replied; and seeing that he looked 
 surprised, I blurted out the truth. "I have no money. I 
 gave my purse to Miss Hallam's maid to keep, and she has 
 taken it with her." 
 
 With a laugh, in which, infectious though it was, I Was 
 too wretched to join: 
 
 " Is that all? Kellner! " cried he. 
 
 An obsequious waiter came up, smiled sweetly and mean 
 ingly at us, received some orders from my companion, and 
 disappeared. 
 
 He seated himself beside me at the little round table. 
 
 " He will bring something at once," said he, smiling. 
 
 I sat still. I was not happy, and yet I could not feel all the 
 unhappiness which I considered appropriate to the circum 
 stances. 
 
 My companion took up a Kolnische Zeitung, and glanced 
 over the advertisements, while I looked a little stealthily at 
 him, and for the first time took in more exactly what he was 
 like, and grew more puzzled with him each moment. As he 
 leaned upon the table, one slight, long, brown hand propping 
 his head, and lost in the thick, fine, brown hair which waved 
 in large, ample waves over his head, there was an indescribable 
 grace, ease, and negligent beauty in the attitude. Move as 
 he would, let him assume any possible or impossible attitude, 
 there was still the same grace, half careless, yet very dignified 
 in the position he took. 
 
 All his lines were lines of beauty, but beauty which had 
 power and much masculine strength; nowhere did it degener-
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 35 
 
 tte into flaccidity, nowhere lose strength in grace. His hair 
 was long, and I wondered at it. My small experience in our 
 delightful home and village circle had not acquainted me with 
 that flowing style; the young men of my acquaintance cropped 
 their hair close to the scalp, and called it the modern style of 
 hair-dressing. It had always looked to me more like hair- 
 undressing. This hair fell in a heavy wave over his forehead, 
 and he had the habit common to people whose hair does so, 
 of lifting his head suddenly and shaking back the offending 
 lock. His forehead was broad, open, pleasant, yet grave. 
 Eyes, as I had seen, very dark, and with lashes and brows 
 which enhanced the contrast to a complexion at once fair and 
 pale. A light mustache, curving almost straight across the 
 face, gave a smiling expression to lips which were otherwise 
 grave, calm, almost sad. In fact, looking nearer, I thought 
 he did look sad; and though when he looked at me his 
 eyes were so piercing, yet in repose they had a certain 
 distant, abstracted expression not far removed from absolute 
 mournfulness. Broad-shouldered, long-armed, with a phy 
 sique in every respect splendid, he was yet very distinctly 
 removed from the mere handsome auimal which, I believe, 
 enjoys a distinguished popularity in the latter-day romance. 
 
 Now, as his eyes were cast upon the paper, I perceived 
 lines upon his forehead, signs about the mouth and eyes tell 
 ing of a firm, not to say imperious, disposition; a certain curve 
 of the lips, and of the full, yet delicate nostril, told of pride 
 both strong and high. He was older than I had thought, his 
 face sparer; there were certain hollows in the cheeks, two lines 
 between the eyebrows, a sharpness or rather somewhat worn 
 appearance of the features, which told of a mental life, keen 
 and consuming. Altogether, an older, more intellectual, 
 more imposing face than I had at first thought; less that 
 of a young and handsome man, more that of a thinker and 
 student. Lastly, a cool ease, deliberation, and leisureliness 
 about all he said and did, hinted at his being a person in 
 authority, accustomed to give orders and see them obeyed 
 without question. I decided that he was, in our graceful 
 home phrase, " master in his own house." 
 
 His clothing was unremarkable gray summer clothes, 
 such as any gentleman or any shopkeeper might wear; only, 
 in scanning him, no thought of shopkeeper came into my 
 mind. His cap lay upon the table beside us, one of the little 
 gray Studentenmiitzen with which Elberthal soon made me
 
 8 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 familiar, but which struck me then as odd and outlandish. 1 
 grew every moment more interested in my scrutiny of this, 
 to me, fascinating and remarkable face, and had forgotten to 
 try to look as if I were not looking, when he looked up sud 
 denly, without warning, with those bright, formidable eyes, 
 which had already made me feel somewhat shy as I caught 
 them fixed upon me. 
 
 " Nun, have you decided? " he asked, with a humorous look 
 in his eyes, which he was too polite to allow to develop itself 
 into a smile. 
 
 " I oh, I beg your pardon! " 
 
 "You do not want to," he answered in imperfect idiom. 
 " But have you decided? " 
 
 " Decided what? " 
 
 " Whether I am to be trusted? " 
 
 " I have not been thinking about that," I said uncomfort 
 ably, when to my relief the appearance of the waiter with 
 preparations for a meal saved me further reply. 
 
 " What shall we call this meal? " he asked, as the waiter 
 disappeared to bring the repast to the table. " It is too late 
 for the Mittagessen, and too early for the Abendbrod. Can 
 you suggest a name?" 
 
 " At home it would be just the time for afternoon tea." 
 
 "Ah, yes! Your English afternoon tea is very " He 
 
 stopped suddenly. 
 
 " Have you been in England? " 
 
 "This is just the time at which we drink our afternoon 
 coffee in Germany," said he, looking at me with his impene 
 trably bright eyes, just as if he had never heard me. " When 
 
 the ladies all meet together to talk scan 0, behute! 
 
 What am I saying? to consult seriously upon important 
 topics, you know. ' There are some low-minded persons who 
 2all the whole ceremony a Klatsch Kaffeeklatsch. I am sure 
 you and I shall talk seriously upon important subjects, so sup 
 pose we call this our Kaffeeklatsch, although we have no 
 coffee to it." 
 
 " Oh, yes! if you like it." 
 
 He put a piece of cutlet upon my plate, and poured yellow 
 wine into my glass. Endeavoring to conduct myself with the 
 dignity of a grown-up person and to show th.at I did know 
 something, I inquired if the wine were hock. 
 
 He smiled. " It is not Hochheimer not Rheit wein at 
 all he no, it, you say it is Moselle wine ' Dnctor .* "
 
 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 37 
 
 "Doctor?" 
 
 " Doctorberger; I do not know why so called. And a very 
 good fellow, too so say all his friends, of whom I am one. 
 Try him." 
 
 I complied with the admonition, and was able to say that I 
 liked Doctorberger. We ate and drank in silence for some 
 little time, and I found that I was very hungry. I also found 
 that I could not conjure up any real feeling of discomfort 01 
 uneasiness, and that the prospective scolding from Miss 
 Hallam had no terrors in it for me. Never had I felt s 
 serene in mind, more at ease in every way, than now. I felt 
 that this was wrong bohemian, irregular, and not respect 
 able and tried to get up a little unhappiness about some 
 thing. The only thing that I could think of was: 
 
 " I am afraid I am taking up your time. Perhaps you had 
 some business which you were going to when you met me." 
 
 " My business, when I met you, was to catch the train to 
 Elberthal, which had already gone, as you know. I shall not 
 be able to fulfill my engagements for to-night, so it really 
 does not matter. I am enjoying myself very much." 
 
 " I am very glad I did meet you," said I, growing more re 
 assured as I found that my companion, though exceedingly 
 polite and attentive to me, did not ask a question as to my 
 business, my traveling companions, my intended stay or 
 object in Elberthal that he behaved as a perfect gentleman 
 one who is a gentleman throughout, in thought as well as 
 in deed. He did not even ask me how it was that my friends 
 had not waited a little for me, though he must have wondered 
 why two people left a young girl, moneyless and ignorant, to 
 find her way after them as well as she could. He took me as 
 he found me, and treated me as if I had been the most dis 
 tinguished and important of persons. But at my last remark 
 he said, with the same odd smile which took me by surprise 
 every time I saw it: 
 
 " The pleasure is certainly not all on your side, mein Fr'du- 
 lein. I suppose from that you have decided that I am to be 
 trusted?" 
 
 I stammered out something to the effect that " I should be 
 
 very ungrateful were I not satisfied with with such a " 
 
 I stopped, looking at him in some confusion. I saw a sudden 
 look flash into his eyes and over his face. It was gone again 
 in a moment so fleeting that I had scarce time to mark it, 
 but it opened up a crowd of strange new impressions to me,
 
 68 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 and while I could no more have said what it was like the mo 
 ment it was gone, yet it left two desires almost equally strong 
 in me I wished in one and the same moment that I had, for 
 my own peace of mind, never seen him and that I might 
 never lose sight of him again; to fly from that look, to remain 
 and encounter it. The tell-tale mirror in the corner caught 
 my eye. At home they used sometimes to call me, partly in 
 mockery, partly in earnest, " Bonny May." The sobriquet 
 had hitherto been a mere shadow, a meaningless thing, to me. 
 I liked to hear it, but had never paused to consider whether 
 it were appropriate or not. In my brief intercourse with my 
 venerable suitor, Sir Peter, I had come a little nearer to being 
 actively aware that I was good looking, only to anathema 
 tize the fact. Now, catching sight of my reflection in the 
 mirror, I wondered eagerly whether I really were fair, and 
 wished I had some higher authority to think so than the 
 casual jokes of my sisters. It did not add to my presence of 
 mind to find that my involuntary glance to the mirror had 
 been intercepted perhaps even my motive guessed at he 
 appeared to have a frightfully keen instinct. 
 
 " Have you seen the Dom? " was all he said; but it seemed 
 somehow to give a point to what had passed. 
 
 " The Dom what is the Dom? " 
 
 " The Kolner Dom; the cathedral." 
 
 " Oh, no! Oh, should we have time to see it? " I exclaimed. 
 "'How I should like it!" 
 
 " Certainly. It is close at hand. Suppose we go now." 
 
 Gladly I rose, as he did. One of my most ardent desires 
 was about to be fulfilled not so properly and correctly as 
 might have been desired, but yes, certainly more pleasantly 
 than under the escort of Miss Hallam, grumbling at every 
 groschen she had to unearth in payment. 
 
 Before we could leave our seclusion there came up to us r 
 young man who had looked at us through the door an 
 paused. I had seen him; and had seen how he had said some 
 thing to a companion, and how the companion shook his IIP^I 
 dissentingly. The first speaker came up to us, eyed me witn 
 a look of curiosity, and, turning to my protector with a 
 benevolent smile, said: 
 
 "Eugen Courvoisier! Also hatte dock Recht!" 
 
 I caught the name. The rest was, of course, lost upon me. 
 Eugen Courvoisier? I liked it, as I liked him, and in my 
 young enthusiasm decided that it was a very good name. The
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 39 
 
 newcomer, who seemed as if much pleased with some discov 
 ery, and entertained at the same time, addressed some ques 
 tions to Courvoisier, who answered him tranquilly, but in a 
 tone of voice which was very freezing; and then the other, 
 with a few words, and an unbelieving kind of laugh, said 
 something about a schone GreschichU, and, with another look 
 at me, went out of the coffee room again. 
 
 We went out of the hotel, up the street to the cathedral, 
 [t was the first cathedral I had ever been in. The shock and 
 the wonder of its grandeur took my breath away. When I 
 had found courage to look around, and up at those awful 
 vaults, the roofs, I could not help crying a little. The vast- 
 ness, coolness, stillness, and splendor crushed me the great 
 solemn rays of sunlight coming in slanting glory through the 
 windows the huge height the impression it gave of great 
 ness, and of a religious devotion to which we shall never again 
 attain; of pure, noble hearts, and patient, skillful hands, toil 
 ing, but in a spirit that made the toil a holy prayer carry 
 ing out the builder's thought great thought greatly executed 
 all was too much for me, and more so in that while I felt it 
 all I could not analyze it. It was a dim, indefinite wonder. 
 I tried stealthily and in shame to conceal my tears, looking 
 surreptitiously at him in fear lest he should be laughing at me 
 again. But he was not. He held his cap in his hand was 
 looking with those strange, brilliant eyes fixedly toward the 
 high altar, and there was some expression upon his face which 
 I could not analyze not the expression of a person for whom 
 such a scene has grown or can grow common by custom not 
 the expression of a sight-seer who feels that he must admire; 
 not my own first astonishment. At least he felt it the whole 
 grand scene, and I instinctively and instantly felt more at 
 home with him than I had done before. 
 
 " Oh! " said I, at last, " if one could stay here forever, what 
 rould one grow to ? " 
 
 He smiled a little. 
 
 "You find it beautiful?" 
 
 "It is the first I have seen. It is much more than 
 beautiful." 
 
 " The first you have seen? Ah, well, I might have guessed 
 that." 
 
 " Why? Do I look so countrified? " I inquired, with -real 
 interest, as I let him lead me to a little side bench and place 
 himself beside me. I asked in all good faith. About him
 
 40 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 there scorned such a cosmopolitan ease that I felt sure he 
 could tell me correctly how I struck other people if he 
 would. 
 
 " Countrified what is that? " 
 
 " Oh, we say it when people are like me have never seen 
 anything but their own littla village, and never had any ad 
 ventures, and 
 
 " Get lost at railway btations, und so weiter. I don't know 
 anough of the meaning of ' countrified ' to be able to say if 
 you are so, but it is easy to see that you have not had much 
 contention with the powers that be." 
 
 " Oh, I shall not be stupid long," said I comfortably. " I 
 am not going back home again." 
 
 " So! " He did not ask more, but I saw that he listened, 
 and proceeded communicatively: 
 
 " Never. I have not quarreled with them exactly, but 
 had a disagreement, because because " 
 
 "Because?" 
 
 "They wanted me to I mean, an old gentleman no, I 
 mean 
 
 " An old gentleman wanted you to marry him, and you 
 would not," said he with an odd twinkle in his eyes. 
 
 " Why, how can you know? " 
 
 " I think, because you told me. But I will forget it if you 
 wish." 
 
 " Oh, no! It is quite true. Perhaps I ought to have mar 
 ried him." 
 
 " Ought! " He looked startled. 
 
 " Yes. Adelaide my eldest sister said so. But it was no 
 use. I was very unhappy, and Miss Hallam, who is Sir 
 Peter's deadly enemy he is the old gentleman, you know 
 was very kind to me. She invited me to come with her to 
 Germany, and promised to let me have singing lessons." 
 
 " Singing lessons? " 
 
 I nodded. " Yes; and then when I know a good deal more 
 about singing, I shall go back again and give lessons. I shall 
 support myself, and then no one will have the right to want 
 to make me marry Sir Peter." 
 
 " Du lieber Himmel! " he ejaculated, half to himself. " Are 
 you very musical, then ? " 
 
 " I can sing," said I. " Only I want some more training." 
 
 " And yen will go back all alone and try to give lessons?" 
 
 " I shall not only try, I shall do it," I corrected him.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 41 
 
 "And do you like the prospect?" 
 
 " ] f 1 can get money to live upon, I shall like it Tery 
 much. It will be better than living at home and being 
 bothered." 
 
 " 1 will tell you what you should do before you begin your 
 career/' said he, looking at me with an expression half won 
 dering, half pitying. 
 
 " What? If you could tell me anything! " 
 
 " Preserve your voice, by all means, and get as much 
 instruction as you can; but change all that waving hair, and 
 make it into unobjectionable smooth bands of no particular 
 color. Get a mask to wear over your face, which is too 
 expressive; do something to your eyes to alter them " 
 
 The expression then visible in the said eyes seemed to 
 strike him, for he suddenly stopped, and with a slight laugh, 
 said: 
 
 " Ach, was rede ich fur dummes Zeug! Excuse me, mein 
 Fraulein." 
 
 " But/' I interrupted earnestly, " what do you mean? Do 
 you think my appearance will be a disadvantage to me? " 
 
 Scarcely had I said the words than I knew how intensely 
 stupid they were, how very much they must appear as if I 
 were openly and impudently fishing for compliments. How 
 grateful I felt when he answered, with a grave directness, 
 which had nothing but the highest compliment in it that 
 of crediting me with the right motives: 
 
 "Mein Fraulein, how can I tell? It is only that I knew 
 someone, rather older than you, and very beautiful, who had 
 such a pursuit. Her name was Corona Heidelberger, and her 
 story was a sad one." 
 
 " Tell it me," I besought. 
 
 " Well, no; I think not. But sometimes I have a little 
 gift of foresight, and that tells me that you will not become 
 what you at present think. You will be much happier and 
 more fortunate. " 
 
 " I wonder if it would be nice to be a great operatic 
 singer? " T speculated. 
 
 " 0, bchilte! don't think of it! " he exclaimed, starting up 
 and moving restlessly. "You do not know you an opera 
 sin ger ' 
 
 He was interrupted. There suddenly filled the air a sound 
 of deep, heavenly melody, which s\vept solemnly adown the 
 aisles, and filled with its melodious thunder every corner of
 
 42 THE FIRST VIOLI1T. 
 
 the great building. I listened with my face upraised, my Tips 
 parted. It was the organ, and presently, after a wonderful 
 melody, which set my heart beating a melody full of the 
 most witchingly sweet high notes, and a breadth and grandeur 
 of low ones such as only two composers have ever attained to, 
 a voice a single woman's voice was upraised. She was 
 invisible, and she sung till the very sunshine seemed turned 
 to melody, and all the world was music the greatest, most 
 glorious of earthly things; 
 
 " Blute nur, liebes Herz ! 
 Ach, ein Kind das du erzogen, 
 Das an deiner Brust gesogen, 
 Drohet den Pfleger zu ermorden 
 Denn es 1st zur Schlange worden." 
 
 "What is it? " I asked below my breath, as it ceased. 
 
 He had shaded his face with his hand, but turned to me 
 as I spoke, a certain half -suppressed enthusiasm in his eyes. 
 
 " Be thankful for your first introduction to German music/' 
 said he, " and that was grand old Johann Sebastian Bach 
 whom you heard. That is one of the soprano solos in the 
 Passions-musik that is music." 
 
 There was more music. A tenor voice was singing a 
 recitative now, and that exquisite accompaniment, with a 
 sort of joyful solemnity, still continued. Every now and 
 then, shrill, high, and clear, penetrated a chorus of boys' 
 voices. I, outer barbarian that I was, barely knew the name 
 of Bach and his " Matthaus Passion," so in the pauses my 
 companion told me by snatches what it was about. There 
 was not much of it. After a few solos and recitatives, they 
 tried one or two of the choruses. I sat in silence, feeling a 
 new world breaking in glory around me, till that tremendous 
 chorus came; the organ notes swelled out, the tenor voice 
 sung, " Whom will ye that I give unto you? " and the answei 
 came, crashing down in one tremendous clap, " Barrabam! " 
 And such music was in the world, had been sung for years, 
 and 1 had not heard it. Verily, there may be revelations and 
 things new under the sun every day. 
 
 I had forgotten everything outside the cathedral every 
 person but the one at my side. It was he who roused first, 
 looking at his watch and exclaiming: 
 
 " H ei rgott ! We must go to the station, Fraulein, if we 
 wish to catch the train." 
 
 And yet I did not think he seemed very eager to catch it,
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 43 
 
 as we went through the busy streets in the warmth of the 
 evening, for it was hot, as it is sometimes in pleasant April, 
 before the withering east winds of the " merry month " have 
 come to devastate the land and sweep sickly people off the 
 face of the earth. We went slowly through the moving 
 crowds to the station, into the wartesaal,, where he left me 
 while he went to take my ticket. I sat in the same corner 
 of the same sofa as before, and to this day I could enumerate 
 every object in that wartesaal. 
 
 It was after seven o'clock. The outside sky was still bright 
 but it was dusk in the waiting room and under the shadow 
 of the station. When " Eugen Courvoisier" came in again. 
 I did not see his features so distinctly as lately in the cathe 
 dral. Again he sat down beside me, silently this time. I 
 glanced at his face, and a strange, sharp, pungent thrill shot 
 through me. The companion of a few hours was he only 
 that? 
 
 " Are you very tired? " he asked gently, after a long pause. 
 " I think the train will not be very long now." 
 
 Even as he spoke, clang, clang, went the bell, and for the 
 second time that day I went toward the train for Elberthal. 
 This time no wrong turning, no mistake. Courvoisier put me 
 into an empty compartment, and followed me, said some 
 thing to a guard who went past, of which I could only dis 
 tinguish the word allein; but as no one disturbed our privacy, 
 I concluded that German railway guards, like English ones, 
 are mortal. 
 
 After debating within myself for some time, I screwed up 
 my courage and began: 
 
 " Mr. Courvoisier your name is Courvoisier, is it not ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Will you please tell me how much money you have spent 
 for me to-day ? " 
 
 "How much money?" he asked, looking at me with a 
 provoking smile. 
 
 The train was rumbling slowly along, the night darkening 
 down. We sat by an open window, and I looked through it 
 at the gray, Dutch-like landscape, the falling dusk, the pop 
 lars that seemed sedately marching along with us. 
 
 "Why do you want to know how much?" he demanded. 
 
 " Because I shall want to pay you, of course, when 1 get my 
 purse," said I. " And if you will kindly tell me your address, 
 too but how much money did you spend?"
 
 44 THE FllitiT VIOLIN 
 
 He looked at me, seemed about to laygh off the question, 
 tnd then said: 
 
 "I believe it was about three thalers ten groschen; but I 
 tin not at all sure. I cannot tell till I do my accounts." 
 
 " Oh, dear! " said I. 
 
 " Suppose I let you know how much it was," he went on, 
 with a gravity which forced conviction upon me. 
 
 " Perhaps that would be the best," I agreed. " But I hope 
 you will make out your accounts soon." 
 
 " Oh, very soon! And where shall I send my bill to? " 
 
 Feeling as if there was something not quite as it should be 
 in the whole proceeding, I looked very earnestly at him, but 
 could find nothing but the most perfect gravity in his expres 
 sion. I repeated my address and name slowly and distinctly 
 as befitted so businesslike a transaction, and he wrote them 
 down in a little book. 
 
 " And you will not forget," said I, " to give me your address 
 when you let me know what I owe you." 
 
 " Certainly when I let you know wliat you owe me," he 
 replied, putting the little book into his pocket again. 
 
 " I wonder if anyone will come to meet me," I speculated, 
 my mind more at ease in consequence of the businesslike 
 demeanor of my companion. 
 
 " Possibly," said he, with an ambiguous half smile, which 
 I did not understand. 
 
 "Miss Hallam the lady I came with is almost blind. 
 Her maid had to look after her, and I suppose that is why 
 they did not wait for me," said I. 
 
 " It must have been a very strong reason, at any rate," he 
 eaid gravely. 
 
 Now the train rolled into the Elberthal station. There 
 were lights, movement, a storm of people all gabbling away 
 in a foreign tongue. I looked out. 17o face of anyone I 
 knew. Courvoisier sprung down and helped me out. 
 
 " Now I will put you into a drosky," said he, leading the 
 way to where they stood outside the station. 
 
 " Alleestrasse, thirty-nine," he said to the man. 
 
 " Stop a moment," cried I, leaning eagerly out. At that 
 moment a tall, dark girl passed us, going slowly toward 
 the gates. She almost paused as she saw us. She -was look 
 ing at my companion; J did not see her face, and was only 
 conscious of her coming between me and him, and so annoy- 
 ing me
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 45 
 
 " Please let me thank you," I continued. " You hav 6eea 
 so kind, so very kind 
 
 " 0, bitte selir! It was so kind in you to get lost exactly 
 when and where you did," said he, smiling. "Adieu, mein 
 Fraukin" he added, making a sign to the coachman, who 
 drove off. 
 
 I saAV him no more, " Eugen Courvoisier " I kept repeat 
 ing the name to myself, as if I were in the very least danger 
 of forgetting it " Eugen Curvoisier." Now that I had 
 parted from him I was quite clear as to my own feelings. I 
 would have given all I was worth not much, truly to see 
 him for one moment again. 
 
 Along a lighted street with houses on one side, a gleaming 
 shine of water on the other, and trees on both, down a cross- 
 way, then into another street, very wide, and gayly lighted, 
 in the midst of which was an avenue. 
 
 We stopped with a rattle before a house door, and I read, 
 by the light of the lamp that hung over it, " 39." 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 ANNA SARTOKITJS. 
 
 I WAS expected. That was very evident. An excited- 
 looking Dienstmadchen opened the door, and, on seeing me, 
 greeted me as if I had been an old friend. I was presently 
 rescued by Merrick, also looking agitated. 
 
 " Ho, Miss Wedderburn, at last you are here! How Miss 
 Hallam have worried, to be sure." 
 
 " I could not help it, I'm very sorry," said I, following her 
 upstairs up a great many flights of stairs, as it seemed to 
 me, till she ushered me into a sitting room, where I found 
 Miss Hallam. 
 
 " Thank Heaven, child! you are here at last. I was begin 
 ning to think that if you did not come by this train, I must 
 send someone to Koln to look after you." 
 
 "By this train!" I repeated blankly. "Miss Hallam 
 what do you mean? There has been no other train." 
 
 " Two; there was one at four and one at six. I cannot tell 
 you how uneasy I have been at your non-appearance." 
 
 "Ther> then " I stammered, growing hot all ove* 
 
 Wr h, how horrfV '"
 
 46 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 "What is horrible?" she demanded. "And you mnst be 
 starving. Merriek, go and see about something to eat for 
 Miss Wedderburn. Now," she added, as her maid left the 
 room, " tell me what you have been doing." 
 
 I told her everything, concealing nothing. 
 
 " Most annoying! " she remarked. " A gentleman, you say. 
 My dear child, no gentleman would have done anything of 
 the kind. I am very sorry for it all." 
 
 " Miss Hallam," I implored, almost in tears, " please do 
 not tell anyone what has happened to me. I will never be 
 such a fool again. I know now, and you may trust me. But 
 do not let anyone know how stupid I have been. I told you 
 I was stupid I told you several times. I am sure you must 
 remember." 
 
 " Oh, yes! I remember. We will say no more about it." 
 
 " And the gray shawl," said I. 
 
 " Merrick had it." 
 
 I lifted my hands and shrugged my shoulders. " Just my 
 luck," I murmured resignedly, as Merrick came in with a 
 tray. 
 
 Miss Hallam, I noticed, continued to regard me, now and 
 then, as I ate with but small appetite. I was too excited 
 by what had passed, and by what I had just heard, to be 
 hungry. I thought it kind, merciful, humane in her to 
 promise to keep my secret, and not expose my ignorance and 
 stupidity to strangers. 
 
 " It is evident," she remarked, " that you must at once 
 begin to learn German, and then, if you do get lost at a rail 
 way station again, you will be able to ask your way." 
 
 Merrick shook her head with an inexpressibly bitter smile. 
 
 " I defy anyone to learn this 'ere language, ma'am. They 
 call an accident a UnglucTc; if anyone could tell me what that 
 means, I'd thank them, that's all." 
 
 " Don't express your opinions, Merrick, unless you wish to 
 seem deficient in understanding; but go and see that Miss 
 Wedderburn has everything she wants or rather everything 
 that can be got in her room. She is tired, and shall go 
 to bed." 
 
 I was only too glad to comply with this mandate, but it 
 was long ere I slept. I kept hearing the organ in the cathe 
 dral, and that voice of the invisible singer seeing the face 
 beside me, and hearing the words, " Then you have decided 
 that I am to be trusted?"
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. Vf 
 
 " And he was deceiving me all the time! " I thought 
 mournfully. 
 
 I breakfasted by myself the following morning., in a room 
 called the speisesaal. I found I was late. When I came 
 into the room, about nine o'clock, there was no one but myself 
 to be seen. There was a long table with a white cloth upon 
 it, and rows of the thickest cups and saucers it had ever been 
 my fate to see, with distinct evidences that the chief part of 
 the company had already breakfasted. Baskets full of Brad- 
 chcn and pots of butter, a long India-rubber pipe coming 
 from the gas to light a theemaschine lots of cane-bottomed 
 chairs, an open piano, two cages with canaries in them; the 
 kettle gently simmering above the gas-flame; for the rest, 
 silence and solitude. 
 
 I sat down, having found a clean cup and plate, and glanced 
 timidly at the theemaschine, not daring to cope with its mys 
 teries, until my doubts were relieved by the entrance of a 
 young person with a trim little figure, a coquettishly cut and 
 elaborately braided apron, and a white-frilled Morgenhaube 
 upon her hair, surmounting her round, heavenward-aspiring 
 visage. 
 
 " Guten mortjen, Fraulein" she said, as she marched up to 
 the darkly mysterious theemaschine and began deftly to pre 
 pare coilce ior me, and to push the Brodchen toward me. 
 She began to talk to me in broken English, which was very 
 pretty, and, while I ate and drank, she industriously scraped 
 little white roots at the same table. She told me she was 
 Clara, the niece of Frau Steinmann, and that she was very 
 glad to see me, but was very sorry I had so long to wait in 
 Kb'ln yesterday. She liked my dress, and was it echt Englisch 
 also, how much did it cost? 
 
 She was a cheery little person, and I liked her. She 
 seemed to like me, too; and repeatedly said she was glad I 
 had come. She liked dancing, she said. Did I? And she 
 hal lately danced at a ball with someone who danced so well 
 dber, quite indescribably well. His name was Karl Linders, 
 and he was, ach ! really a remarkable person. A bright blush 
 and a little sigh accompanied the remark. Our eyes met, and 
 from that moment Clara and I were very good friends. 
 
 I went upstairs again, and found that Miss Hallam pro 
 posed, during the forenoon, to go and find the Eye Hospital, 
 where she was to see the oculist, and arrange for him to 
 visit her. and shortly after eleven we set out.
 
 48 THE FIRST VIOLi*. 
 
 The street that I had so dimly seen the nigHt before 
 showed itself by daylight to be a fair, broad way. Down the 
 middle, after the pleasant fashion of Continental towns, was 
 a broad walk, planted with two double rows of lindens, and 
 on either side this lindenallee were the carriage road, private 
 houses, shops, exhibitions, boarding houses. In the middle, 
 exactly opposite our dwelling, was the New Theater, jus: 
 drawing to the close of its first season. I looked at it with- 
 at thinking much about it. I had never been in a theatei 
 in my life, and the name was but a name to me. 
 
 Turning off from the pretty allee, and from the green 
 Hofgarten which bounded it at one end, we entered a nar 
 row, ill-paved street, the aspect of whose gutters and inhabit 
 ants alike excited my liveliest disgust. In this street was the 
 Eye Hospital, as was presently testified to us by a board bear 
 ing the inscription, " Stadtische Augenklinik." 
 
 We were taken to a dimly lighted room, in which many 
 people were waiting, some with bandages over their eyes, 
 others wiih all kinds of extraordinary spectacles on, which 
 made them look like phantoms out of a bad dream nearly 
 all more or less blind, and the effect was surprisingly 
 depressing. 
 
 Presently Miss Hallam and Merrick were admitted to an 
 inner room, and I was left to await their return. My eye 
 strayed over the different faces, and I felt a sensation of 
 relief when I saw someone come in without either bandage or 
 spectacles. The newcomer was a young man of middle height, 
 and of proportions slight without being thin. There waa 
 nothing the matter with his eyes, unless, perhaps, a slight 
 short-sightedness; he had, I thought, one of the gentlest, 
 most attractive faces I had ever seen; boyishly open and 
 innocent at the first glance; at the second, indued with a 
 certain reticent calm and intellectual radiance which took 
 away from the first youthfulness of his appearance. Soft, yet 
 luminous, brown eyes, loose brown hair hanging round his 
 face, a certain manner which, for me at least, had a charm, 
 were the characteristics of this young man. He carried a 
 violin case, removed his hat as he came in, and, being seen 
 by one of the young men who sat at the desk, took namea 
 down, and attended to people in general, was called by him: 
 
 " Herr Helfen Herr Friedhelm Helfen! " 
 
 " Ja hier!" he answered, going up to the desk, upon 
 which there ensiied a lively conversation, though carried on
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN 49 
 
 in a low tone, after which the young man at the desk pre 
 sented a white card to " Herr Friedhelm Helf en/' and the 
 latter, with a pleasant " Adieu," went out of the room again. 
 
 Miss Hallam and Merrick presently returned from the con- 
 gulting room, and we went out of the darkroom into the street, 
 which was filled with spring sunshine and warmth a con 
 trast something like that between Miss Hallam's life and my 
 own, I have thought since. For before us, hurrying on, I saw 
 the young man with the violin case; he turned off by the, 
 theater, and went in at a side door. 
 
 An hour's wandering in the Hofgarten my first view of 
 the Ehine a dull, flat stream it looked, too. I have seen it 
 since then in mightier flow. Then we came home, an<l it was 
 decided that we should dine together with the rest of the 
 company at one o'clock. 
 
 A bell rang at a few minutes past one. We went down 
 stairs into the room in which I had already breakfasted, 
 which, in general, was known as the saal. As I entered with 
 Miss Hallam I was conscious that a knot of lads or young 
 men stood aside to let us pass, and then giggled and scuffled 
 behind the door before following us into the saal. 
 
 Two or three ladies were already seated, and an exceed 
 ingly stout lady ladled out soup at a side table, while Clara 
 and a servant woman carried the plates round to the different 
 places. The stout lady turned as she saw us, and greeted 
 us. She was Frau Steinmann, our hostess. She waited until 
 the youths before spoken of had come in, and with a great 
 deal of noise had seated themselves, when she began, aided 
 by the soup-ladle, to introduce us all to each other. 
 
 We, it seemed, were to have the honor and privilege of 
 being the only English ladies of the company. We were 
 introduced to one or two others, and I was assigned a place 
 by a lady introduced as Fraulein Anna Sartorius, a branette, 
 rather stout, with large dark eyes, which looked at n,? in a 
 way I did not like, a head of curly black hair, cropped short, 
 an odd, brusque manner, and a something peculiar, or, as she 
 said, selten in her dress. This young lady sustained the in 
 troduction with self-possession and calm. It was otherwise 
 with the young gentlemen, who appeared decidedly mixed. 
 There were some half dozen of them in all a couple of Eng 
 lish, the rest German, Dutch, and Swedish. I had never 
 been in company with so many nationalities before, and was 
 impressed with my situation needlessly so.
 
 M THE FIRFV VJOLTN. 
 
 All these young gentlemen made bows which were, in theit 
 respective ways, triumphs of awkwardness, with the excep 
 tion of one of our compatriots, who appeared to believe that 
 himself and his manners were formed to charm and subdue 
 the opposite sex. We then sat down, and Fraulein Sartoriuf 
 Immediately opened a conversation with me. 
 
 " Sprechen Sie DeutscK, Fraulein? " was her first venture, 
 and having, received my admission that I did not speak a 
 word of it. she continued ill good English: 
 1 " Now I can talk to you without offending you. It is so 
 dreadful when English people who don't know German per 
 sist in thinking that they do. There was an Englishwoman 
 here who always said wer when she meant where, and we 
 when she meant who. She said the sounds confused her." 
 
 The boys giggled at this, but the joke was lost upon me. 
 
 " What is your name? " she continued. " I didn't catch 
 what Frau Steinmann said." 
 
 " May Wedderburn," I replied, angry with myself for 
 blushing so excessively as I saw that all the boys held their 
 spoons suspended, listening for my answer. 
 
 " May das heisst Mai," said she, turning to the assem 
 bled youths, who testified that they were aware of it, and the 
 Dutch boy, Brinks, inquired gutturally: 
 
 " You haf one zong in your language what calls itself ' Not 
 Always Mai,' haf you not? " 
 
 " Yes," said I, and all the boys began to giggle, as if some 
 thing clever had been said. Taken all in all, what tortures 
 have I not suffered from those dreadful boys. Shy when they 
 ought to have been bold, and bold where a modest retiring- 
 ness would better have become them. Giggling inanely at 
 everything and nothing. Noisy and vociferous among them 
 selves or with inferiors; shy, awkward, and blushing with 
 ladies or in refined society distressing my feeble efforts to 
 talk to them by their silly explosions of laughter when one 
 of them was addressed. They formed the bane of my life for 
 some time. 
 
 " Will you let me paint you? " said Fraulein Sartonus, 
 whose hi? eyes had been surveying me In a manner that made 
 me nervous. 
 
 "Paint me?" 
 
 "Your likeness, I mean. You are very pretty, and w 
 never ? nr - Hint oolor of hair here." 
 
 " Are vou a painter?"
 
 FTRFT VTOTJW. OX 
 
 "No, I'm only a Student in yet; but I paint from models. 
 Well, will you sit to me?" 
 
 " Oh, 1 don't know! If I have time, perhaps." 
 
 " What will you do to make you not have time? " 
 
 " I don't know. I have never lived in a town." 
 
 I did not feel disposed to gratify her curiosity, and said 
 I did not know yet what 1 should do. 
 
 For a short time she asked no questions, then: 
 
 " Do you like town or country best? " 
 
 " I don't know. I have never lived in a town." 
 
 " Do you like amusements concerts, and theater,and opera?* 
 
 " I don't know," I was reluctantly obliged to confess, for 
 I saw that the assembled youths, though not looking at me 
 openly and apparently entirely engrossed with their dinners, 
 were listening attentively to what passed. 
 
 " You don't know," repeated Fraulein Sartorius, quickly 
 seeing through my thin assumption of indifference and pro 
 ceeding to draw me out as much as possible. I wished Ade 
 laide had been there to beat her from the field. She would 
 have done it better than I could. 
 
 " No; because I have never been to any." 
 
 " Haven't you? How odd! How very odd! Isn't it 
 strange? " she added, appealing to the boys. " Fraulein has 
 never been to a theater or a concert." 
 
 I disdained to remark that my words were being perverted, 
 but the game instinct rose in me. Raising my voice a little, 
 I remarked: 
 
 "It is evident that I have not enjoyed your advantages, 
 but I trust that the gentlemen " (with a bow to the listening 
 boys) " will make allowances for the difference between us." 
 
 The young gentlemen burst into a chorus of delighted 
 giggles, and Anna, shooting a rapid glance at me, made a 
 slight grimace, but looked not at all displeased. 1 was, 
 though, mightily; but, elate with victory, I turned to my com 
 patriot at the other end of the table, and asked him at what 
 time of the year Elberthal was pleasantest. 
 
 " Oh," said he, " it's always pleasant to me, but that's 
 owing to myself. I make it so." 
 
 Just then several of the other lads rose, pushing their 
 chairs back with a great clatter, bowing to the assembled 
 company, and saying "Gesegnete Mahlzeit!" as they went out. 
 
 "Why are they going, and what do they say?" I inquired 
 of Miss Sartorius, who replied quite amiably:
 
 52 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 "They are students at the Kealschule. They have to be 
 there at two o'clock, and they say, ' Blessed be the meal 
 time ' as they go out." 
 
 " Do they? How nice! " I could not help saying. 
 
 " Would you like to go for a walk this afternoon? " said 
 ghe. 
 
 " Oh, very much! " I had exclaimed before I remembered 
 .that I did not like her, and did not intend to like her. " If 
 Miss Hallam can spare me," I added. 
 
 " Oh, I think she will! I shall be ready at half -past two; 
 then we shall return for coffee at four. I will knock at your 
 door at the time." 
 
 On consulting Miss Hallam after dinner, I found she was 
 quite willing for me to go out with Anna, and at the time 
 appointed we set out. 
 
 Anna took me a tour round the town, showed me the lions, 
 and gave me topographical details. She showed me the big, 
 plain barrack, and the desert waste of the Exerzierplatz 
 spreading before it. She did her best to entertain me, and I, 
 with a childish prejudice against her abrupt manner, and the 
 free, somewhat challenging, look of her black eyes, was re 
 served, unresponsive,' stupid. I took a prejudice against her 
 I own it and for that and other sins committed against a 
 woman who would have been my friend if I would have let 
 her, I say humbly, Mea culpa! 
 
 " It seems a dull kind of a place," said I. 
 
 "It need not be. You have advantages here which you 
 can't get everywhere. I have been here several years, and, 
 as I have no other home, I rather think I shall live here." 
 
 " Oh, indeed! " 
 
 " You have a home, I suppose? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 "Brothers and sisters?" 
 
 " Two sisters," I replied, mightily ruffled by what I chose 
 to consider her curiosity and impertinence; though, when 
 I' looked at her, I saw what I could not but confess to be 
 a real, and not unkind, interest in her plain face and big 
 eyes. 
 
 "Ah! I have no brothers and sisters. I have only a little 
 house in the country; and, as I have always lived in a town, I 
 don't care for the country. It is so lonely. The people are 
 so stupid, too not always, though. You were offended with 
 mo at (Jin nor, nicht walir* "
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 53 
 
 " Oh, dear, no! " said I, very awkwardly and very untruly. 
 The truth was, I did not like her, and was too young, too 
 ignorant, and gauche to try to smooth over my dislike. I did 
 not know the pain I was giving; and if I had, should perhaps 
 not have behaved differently. 
 
 " Doch!" she said, smiling. "But I did not know what a 
 child you were, or I should have left you alone." 
 
 More offended than ever, I maintained silence. If I were 
 certainly touchy and ill to please, Fraulein Sartorius, it must 
 be owned, did not know how to apologize gracefully. I have 
 since, with wider knowledge of her country and its men and 
 women, got to see that what made her so inharmonious was 
 that she had a woman's form and a man's disposition and love 
 of freedom. As her countrywomen, taken in the gross, are 
 the most utterly " in bonds " of any women in Europe, this 
 spoiled her life in a manner which cannot be understood here, 
 where women, in comparison, are free as air, and gave no 
 little of the brusqueness and roughness to her manner. In 
 an enlightened English home she would have been an ad 
 mirable, firm, clever woman; here she was that most dread 
 ful of all abnormal growths a woman with a will of her own. 
 
 "What do they do here?" I. inquired indifferently. 
 
 " Oh, many things! Though it is not a large town, there 
 is a school of art, which brings many painters here. There 
 are a hundred and fifty besides students." 
 
 " And you are a student? " 
 
 " Yes. One must have something to do some carriere 
 though my countrywomen say not. I shall go away for a few 
 months soon, but I am waiting for the last great concert. It 
 will be the ' Paradise Lost ' of Kubinstein." 
 
 " Ah, yes! " said I politely, but without interest. I had 
 never heard of Kubinstein and the "Verlorenes Paradies." 
 Before the furor of 1876, how many scores of provincial 
 English had? 
 
 " There is very much music here," she continued. " Are 
 you fond of it? " 
 
 " Ye-es. I can't play much; but I can sing. I have come 
 here partly to take singing lessons." 
 
 " So! " 
 
 "Who is the best teacher?" was my next ingenuous 
 question. 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 " That depends on what you want to learn. Thert
 
 14 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 are so many violin, Clavier (that is, piano), flute, 'cello, 
 everything." 
 
 " Oh! " I replied, and asked no more questions about 
 music; but inquired if it were pleasant at Frau Steinmann's. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Is it pleasant anywhere? I don't find many places 
 pleasant, because I cannot be a humbug, so others do not 
 like me. But I believe some people like Elberthal very well. 
 There is the theater that makes another element. And 
 there are the soldiers and Kaufleute merchants, I mean; so, 
 you see, there is variety, though it is a small place." 
 
 "Ah, yes!" said I, looking about me as we passed down 
 a very busy street, and I glanced to right and left, with the 
 image of Eugen Courvoisier ever distinctly, if unconfessedly, 
 present to my mental view. Did he live at Elberthal? And, 
 if so, did he belong to any of those various callings? What 
 was he? An artist who painted pictures for his bread? I 
 thought that very probable. There was something free and 
 artist-like in his manner, in his loose, waving hair, and in his 
 keen susceptibility to beauty. I thought of his emotion at 
 hearing that glorious Bach music. Or was he a musician 
 what Anna Sartorius called ein Musikerf But no. My ideas 
 of musicians were somewhat hazy, not to say utterly chaotic; 
 ' they embraced only two classes those who performed or 
 gave lessons, and those who composed. .1 had never formed 
 to myself the faintest idea of a composer, and my experience 
 of teachers and performers was limited to one specimen 
 Mr. Smythe of Barton, wkose method and performances 
 would, as I have since learned, have made the hair of a musi 
 cian stand horrent on end. No I did not think he was a 
 musician. An actor? Perish the thought! was my inevitable 
 mental answer. How should I be able to make any better 
 one? A soldier, then? At that moment we met a mounted 
 captain of Uhlans, harness clanking, accouterments rattling, 
 He was apparently an acquaintance of my companion, for 
 he saluted with a grave politeness which sat well upon him. 
 Decidedly, Eugen Courvoisier had the air of a soldier. That 
 accounted for all. No doubt he was a soldier. In my igno 
 rance of the strictness of German military regulations as re 
 gards the wearing of uniform, I overlooked the fact that he 
 had been in civilian's dress, and remained delighted with my 
 new idea; Captain Courvoisier. "What is the German for 
 captain?" I inquired abruptly.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 85 
 
 " Hauptmann" 
 
 "Thank you." Hauptmann Eugen Courvoisier a noble 
 and gallant title, and one which became him. 
 
 " How much is a thaler? " was my next question. 
 
 " It is as much as three shillings in your money." 
 
 " Oh, thank you," said I, and did a little sum in my own 
 mind. At that rate, then, I owed Herr Courvoisier the sum 
 of ten shillings. How glad I was to find it eame within my 
 means. 
 
 As I took off my things, I wondered when Herr Courvoisier 
 " make out his accounts." I trusted soon. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 " Probe zum verlorenen Paradiese." 
 
 Miss HALLAM fulfilled her promise with regard to my 
 singing lessons. She had a conversation with Fraulein Sar- 
 torius, to whom, unpopular as she was, I noticed people con 
 stantly and almost instinctively went when in need of precise 
 information or a slight dose of common sense and clear 
 headedness. 
 
 Miss Hallam inquired who was the best master. 
 
 " For singing, the Herr Direktor," replied Anna very 
 promptly. " And then he directs the best of the musical 
 vereins the clubs, societies whatever you name them. At 
 least, he might try Miss Wedderburn's voice." 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 " The head of anything belonging to music in the town 
 koniglicher musikdirektor. He conducts all the great con 
 certs, and, though he does not sing himself, yet he is one of 
 the best teachers in the province. Lots of people come and 
 stay here on purpose to learn from him." 
 
 " And what are these vereins? " 
 
 "Every season there are six great concerts given, and a 
 seventh for the benefit of the direktor. The orchestra and 
 chorus together are called a verein musikverein. The 
 chorus is chiefly composed of ladies and gentlemen ama 
 teurs, you know Dilettanten. The Herr Direktor is very 
 particular about voices. You pay so much for admission, 
 and receive a card for the season. Then- you have ail the 
 good teaching the Proben,"
 
 56 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 
 
 " What is a Prole? " I demanded hastily, remembering that 
 Courvoisier had used the word. 
 
 " What you call a rehearsal." 
 
 Ah! then he was musical. At last I found it out. Per 
 haps he was one of the amateurs who sung at these concerts, 
 
 and, if so, I might see him again, and if so But Anna 
 
 Trent on: 
 
 'It is a very good thing for anyone, particularly with 
 such a teacher as Von Francius." 
 
 " You must join," said Miss Hallam to me. 
 
 "There is a prohe to-night to Kubinstein's ' Paradise 
 Lost/ " said Anna. " I shall go, not to sing, but to listen. I 
 can take Miss Wedderburn, if you like, and introduce her to 
 Herr von Francius, whom I know." 
 
 " Very nice! Very much obliged to you. Certainly," said 
 Miss Hallam. 
 
 The probe was fixed for seven, and shortly after that time 
 we set off for the Tonhalle, or concert hall, in which it was 
 held. 
 
 " We shall be much too early," said she. " But the peo 
 ple are shamefully late. Most of them only come to klatsch, 
 and flirt, or try to flirt, with the Herr Direktor." 
 
 This threw upon my mind a new light as to the Herr 
 Direktor, and I walked by her side much impressed. She 
 told me that if I accepted I might even sing in the concert 
 itself, as there had only been four proben so far, and there 
 were still several before the haupt-probe. 
 
 " What is the haupt-probe? " I inquired. 
 
 " General rehearsal when Herr von Francius is most un 
 merciful to his stupid pupils. I always attend that. I like 
 to hear him make sport of them, and then the instrumen 
 talists laugh at them. Von Francius never flatters." 
 
 Inspired with nightmare-like ideas as to this terrible haupt- 
 probe, I found myself, with Anna, turning into a low-fronted 
 building inscribed " Stadtische Tonhalle," the concert-hall 
 of the good town of Elberthal. 
 
 " This way," said she. " It is in the rittersaal. We don't go 
 to the large saal till the haupt-probe." 
 
 I followed her into a long, rather shabby-looking room, at 
 one end of which was a low orchestra, about which were dotted 
 the desks of the absent instrumentalists, and some stiff-look 
 ing 'celli and contrabassi kept watch from the wall. On the 
 orchestra was already assembled a goodly number of young
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. T 
 
 iid women, all in lively conversation, loud laughter, 
 and apparently high good-humor with themselves and every 
 thing in the world. 
 
 A young man with a fuzz of hair standing off about a sad 
 and depressed-looking countenance was stealing "in and out 
 and round about," and distributing sheets of score to the 
 company. In the conductor's place was a tall man in gray 
 clothes, who leaned negligently against the rail, and held a, 
 conversation with a pretty young lady, who seemed muck 
 pleased with his attention. It did not strike me at first that 
 this was the terrible direktor of whom I had been hearing. 
 He was young, had a slender, graceful figure, and an exceed 
 ingly handsome, though (I thought at first) an unpleasing 
 face. There was something in his attitude and manner which 
 at first I did not quite like. Anna walked up the room, and, 
 pausing before the estrade, said: 
 
 " Herr Direktor! " 
 
 He turned; his eyes fell upon her face, and left it in 
 stantly to look at mine. Gathering himself together into 9. 
 more ceremonious attitude, he descended from his estrade, 
 and stood beside us, a little to one side, looking at us with a 
 leisurely calmness which made me feel, I know not why, un 
 comfortable. Meanwhile, Anna took up her parable. 
 
 "May I introduce the young lady? Miss Wedderburn, 
 Herr Musik Direktor von Francius. Miss Wedderburn 
 wishes to join the verein, if you think her voice will pass. 
 Perhaps you will allow her to sing to-night? " 
 
 " Certainly, mein Fraulein" said he to me, not to Anna. 
 He had a long, rather Jewish-looking face, black hair, eyes, 
 and mustache. The features were thin, fine, and pointed. 
 The thing which most struck me then, at any rate, was a cer 
 tain expression which, conquering all others, dominated them 
 at once a hardness and a hardihood which impressed me 
 disagreeably then, though I afterward learned, in knowing 
 the man, to know much more truly the real meaning of that 
 unflinching gaze and iron look. 
 
 "Your voice is what, mein Fraulein?" he asked. 
 
 " Soprano." 
 
 " Sopran? We will see. The soprani sit over there, if you 
 will bave the goodness." 
 
 He pointed to the left of the orchestra, and called out to ' 
 the melancholy-looking young man: " Herr Schonfeld, a 
 chair for the young lady! "
 
 58 THE FIRST VIOLTX. 
 
 Herr ; r on Francius then ascended the orchestra himself, 
 went to the piano, and, after a few directions, gave us the 
 signal to begin. Till that day I confess it with shame I 
 had never heard of the " Verlorenes Paradies." It came upon 
 me like a revelation. I sung my best, substituting do, re, mi, 
 etc., for the German words. Once or twice, as Herr von 
 Francius' forefinger beat time, I thought I saw his head 
 turn a little in our direction, but I scarcely heeded ?t. Whem 
 the first chorus was over, he turned to me: ) 
 
 " You have not sung in a chorus before? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "So! I should like to hear you sing something sola." He 
 pushed toward me a pile of music, and while the others stood 
 looking on, and whispering among themselves, he went on: 
 " Those are all sopran songs. Select one, if you please, and 
 try it." 
 
 Not at all aware that the incident was considered unprec 
 edented, and was causing a sensation, I turned over the 
 music, seeking something I knew, but could find nothing. 
 All in German, and all strange. Suddenly I came upon one 
 entitled, " Blute nur, liebes Herz," the soprano solo which I 
 had heard as I sat with Courvoisier in the cathedral. It 
 seemed almost like an old friend. I opened it, and found it 
 had also English words. That decided me. 
 
 " I will try this," said I, showing it to him. 
 
 He smiled. '"Sist gut!" Then he read the title of the 
 song aloud, and there was a general titter, as if some very 
 great joke were in agitation, and were much appreciated. 
 Indeed, I found that in general the jokes of Herr Direktor, 
 when he condescended to make any, were very keenly relished 
 by at least the lady part of his pupils. 
 
 Not understanding the reason of the titter, I took the 
 music in my hand, and, waiting for a moment, until he gave 
 me the signal, sung it after the best wise I ceuld not very' 
 brilliantly, I dare say, but with at least all my heart poured 
 into it. I had one requisite, at least, of an artist nature I 
 could abstract myself upon occasion completely from my 
 surroundings. I did so now. It was too beautiful, too grand. 
 I remembered that afternoon at Koln the golden sunshine 
 streaming through the painted windows, the flood of melody 
 poured forth by the invisible singer; above all, I remembered 
 who had been by my side, and I felt as if again beside him 
 again influenced by the unusual beauty of his face and mien,
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 5 
 
 and by his clear, strange, commanding eyes. It all came 
 back to me the strangest, happiest day of my life. I sung 
 as I had never sung before as I had not known I could sing. 
 
 When I stopped the tittering had ceased; silence saluted 
 me. The young ladies were all looking at me; some of them 
 had put on their eye-glasses; others stared at me as if I were 
 some strange animal from a menagerie. The young gentle 
 men were whispering among themselves and taking sidelong 
 glances at me. I scarcely heeded anything of it. I fixed my 
 eyes upon the judge who had been listening to my perform 
 ance upon Von Francius. He was pulling his mustache, 
 and at first made no remark. 
 
 " You have sung that song before, gnddiges Fraulein ? " 
 
 " No. I have heard it once. I have not seen the music 
 before." 
 
 " So! " He bowed slightly, and, turning once more to the 
 ethers, said: 
 
 " We will begin the next chorus, ' Chorus of the Damned.' 
 Now, meine Herrschaften, I would wish to impress upon you 
 
 one thing, if I can, that is Silence, meine Herren ! " he 
 
 called sharply toward the tenors, who were giggling inanely 
 among themselves. " A chorus of damned souls/' he pro 
 ceeded composedly, "would not sing in the same unruffled 
 manner as a young lady who warbles, ' Spring is come tra, 
 la, la! Spring is come lira, lira! ' in her mamma's drawing 
 room. Try to imagine yourself struggling in the tortures of 
 hell " a delighted giggle and a sort of " Oh, you dear, 
 wicked man! " expression on the part of the young ladies; 
 a nudging of each other on that of the young gentlemen 
 " and sing as if you were damned." 
 
 Scarcely anyone seemed to take the matter the least 
 earnestly. The young ladies continued to giggle, and the 
 young gentlemen to nudge each other. Little enough of ex 
 pression, if plenty of noise, was there in that magnificent and 
 truly difficult passage, the changing choruses of the con 
 demned and the blessed ones with its crowning " WEH! ' ; 
 thundering down from highest soprano to deepest bass. 
 
 " Lots of noise, and no meaning/' observed the conductor, 
 leaning himself against the rail of the estrade, face to his 
 audience, folding his arms and surveying them all, one after 
 the other, with cold self-possession. It struck me that he 
 despised them, while he condescended to instruct them. 
 The power of the man struck me again. I began to like
 
 60 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 better. At least I venerated his thorough understanding 
 of what was to me a splendid mystery. No softening appeared 
 in the master's eyes in answer to the rows of pretty appealing 
 faces turned to him; no smile upon his contemptuous lips 
 responded to the eyes black, brown, gray, blue, yellow all 
 turned with such affecting devotion to his own. Composing 
 himself to an insouciant attitude, he began in a cool, indiffer 
 ent voice, which had, however, certain caustic tones in it 
 which stung me at least to the quick: 
 
 " I never heard anything worse, even from you. My 
 honored Fraulein, my gnddigen Herren, just try once to 
 imagine what you are singing about! It is not an exercise 
 it is not a love song; either of which you would, no doubt, per 
 form excellently. Conceive what is happening! Put yourself 
 back into those mythical times. Believe, for this evening, in 
 the story of the forfeited Paradise. There is strife between 
 the Blessed and the Damned; the obedient and the disobedi 
 ent. There are thick clouds in the heavens smoke, fire, and 
 sulphur a clashing of swords in the serried ranks of the an 
 gels: cannot you see Michael, Gabriel, Eaphael, leading the 
 heavenly host? Cannot some of you sympathize a little with 
 Satan and his struggle?" 
 
 Looking at him, I thought they must indeed be an un 
 imaginative set! In that dark face before them was Mephis- 
 topheles at least der Geist der stets verneint if nothing more 
 violent. His cool, scornful features were lighted up with 
 some of the excitement which he could not drill into the 
 assemblage before him. Had he had been gifted with the 
 requisite organ, he would have acted and sung the chief char 
 acter in " Faust " con amore. 
 
 " Ach, um Gotteswillen ! " he went on, shrugging his shoul 
 ders, "try to forget what you are! Try to forget that none 
 of you ever had a wicked thought or an unholy aspira 
 tion " 
 
 ("Don't they see how he is laughing at them?" I 
 wondered.) 
 
 " You, Chorus of the Condemned, try to conjure up every 
 wicked thought you can, and let it come out in your voices 
 you who sing the strains of the blessed ones, think of what 
 blessedness is. Surely each of you has his own idea! Some 
 of you may agree with Lenore: 
 
 " ' Bei ihm, bei ihm ist Seligkeit. 
 Und ohne Wilhelra H5lle! "
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 61 
 
 K so, think of him; think of her only sing it, whatever it 
 is. Remember the strongest of feelings: 
 
 " ' Die Engel nennen es Himmelsfreude 
 Die Teufel nenuen es Hftllenqual, 
 Die Menschen nennen es LIEBE! ' 
 
 And sing it! " 
 
 He had not become loud or excited in voice or gesticulation, 
 but his words, flung at them like so many scornful little bul 
 lets, the indifferent resignation of his attitude, had thcii 
 effect upon the crew of giggling, simpering girls and awk 
 ward, self-conscious young men. Some idea seemed vouch 
 safed to them that perhaps their performance had not been 
 quite all that it might have been; they began in a little more 
 earnest, and the chorus went better. 
 
 For my own part I was deeply moved. A vague excitement, 
 a wild, and not altogether a holy one, had stolen over me. I 
 understood, now, how the man might have influence. I bent 
 to the power of his will, which reached me where I stood in 
 the background, from his dark eyes, which turned for a mo 
 ment to me now and then. It was that will of his which put 
 me, as it were, suddenly into the spirit of the music, and re 
 vealed me depths in my own heart at which I had never even 
 guessed. Excited, with cheeks burning and my heart hot 
 within me, I followed his words and his gestures, and grew so 
 impatient of the dull stupidity of the others that tears came 
 into my eyes. How could that young woman, in the midst 
 of a sublime chorus, deliberately pause, arrange the knot of 
 her necktie, and then, after a smile and a side glance at the 
 conductor, go on again with a more self-satisfied simper than 
 ever upon her lips? What might not the thing be with a 
 whole chorus of sympathetic singers! The very dullness 
 which in face prevailed revealed to me great regions of possi 
 ble splendor, almost too vast to think of. 
 
 At last it was over. I turned to the direktor, who was still 
 near the piano, and asked timidly: 
 
 " Do you think I may join? Will my voice do? " 
 
 An odd expression crossed his face; he answered dryly: 
 
 " You may join the verein, mein Frdulein yes. Please 
 come this way with me. Pardon, Fraulein Stockhausen 
 another time. I am sorry to say I have business at present." 
 
 A black look from the pretty brunette, who had advanced 
 with an engaging simile and an open score to some
 
 99 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 question, greeted this very composed rebuff of her advance. 
 The black look was directed at me guiltless. 
 
 Without taking any notice of the other, he led Anna and 
 me to a small inner room, where there was a desk and writing 
 materials. 
 
 " Your name, if you will be good enough? " 
 
 " Wedderburn." 
 
 " Your Vorname, though your first name." 
 
 " My Christian name oh! May." 
 
 " M-a-na/ Perhaps you will be so good as to write it your- 
 eelf, and the street and number of the house in which you 
 live.'' 
 
 I complied. 
 
 "Have you been here long?" 
 
 " Not quite a week." 
 
 " Do you intend to make any stay? " 
 
 " Some months, probably." 
 
 "Humph! If you wish to make any progress in muait, 
 you must stay much longer." 
 
 " It I it depends upon other people how long I remain." 
 
 He smiled slightly, and his smile was not unpleasant; it 
 lighted up the darkness of his face in an agreeable manner. 
 
 " So I should suppose. I will call upon you to-morrow at 
 four in the afternoon. I should like to have a little conver 
 sation with you about your voice. Adieu, meine Damen" 
 
 With a slight bow, which sufficiently dismissed us, he 
 turned to the desk again, and we went away. 
 
 Our homeward walk was a somewhat silent one. Ann* 
 certainly asked me suddenly where I had learned to sing. 
 
 " I have not learned properly. I can't help singing." 
 
 " I did not know you had a voice like that," said she again, 
 
 "Like what?" 
 
 " Herr von Francius will tell you all about it to-morrow," 
 said she abruptly. 
 
 "What a strange man Herr von Francius is!" said I. 
 " Is he clever? " 
 
 " Oh, very clever! " 
 
 " At first I did not like him. Now I think I do, though." 
 
 She made no answer for a few minutes; then said: 
 
 " He is an excellent teacher."
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 43 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 HEER VON FEANCIUS. 
 
 WHEN Miss Hallam heard from Anna Sartori^s that my 
 jigging had evidently struck Herr von Francius, and of his 
 intended visit, she looked pleased so pleased that I was 
 surprised. 
 
 He came the following afternoon, at the time he had speci 
 fied. Now, in the broad daylight, and apart from his official, 
 professional manner, I found the Herr Direktor still differ 
 ent from the man of last night, and yet the same. He looked 
 even younger now than on the estrade last night, arid quiet 
 though his demeanor was, attuned to a gentlemanly calm and 
 evenness, there was still the one thing, the cool, hard glance 
 left, to unite him with the dark, somewhat sinister-looking 
 personage who had cast his eyes round our circle last night, 
 and told us to sing as if we were damned. 
 
 " Miss Hallam, this is Herr von Francius," said I. " He 
 speaks English," I added. 
 
 Von Francius glanced from her to me with a somewhat in 
 quiring expression. 
 
 Miss Hallam received him graciously, and they talked about 
 til sorts of trifles, while I sat by in seemly silence, till at last 
 Miss Hallam said: 
 
 " Can you give me any opinion upon Miss Wedderburn's 
 voice ? " 
 
 " Scarcely, until I have given it another trial. She seems 
 to have had no training." 
 
 " No, that is true," she said, and proceeded to inform him 
 casually that she wished me to have every advantage I could 
 get from my stay in Elberthal, and must put the matter into 
 his hands. Von Francius looked pleased. 
 
 For my part I was deeply moved. Miss Hallam's generosity 
 to one so stupid and ignorant touched me nearly. 
 
 Von Francius, pausing a short time, at last said: 
 
 " I must try her voice again, as 1 remarked. Last night I 
 was struck with her sense of the dramatic point of what we 
 were singing a quality which I do not too often find in my 
 pupils. I think, mein Frdukin, that with care and study you 
 might take a place on the stage."
 
 64 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " The stage! " I repeated, startled, and thinking of Cour- 
 voisier's words. 
 
 But Von Francius had been reckoning without his hoist. 
 When Miss Hallam spoke of " putting the matter into his 
 hands/ 7 she understood the words in her own sense. 
 
 " The stage! " said she with a slight shiver. " That, is 
 quite out of the question. Miss Wedderburn is a young lady 
 not an actress." 
 
 " So! Then it is impossible to be both in your country? J> 
 said he with polite sarcasm. " I spoke as simple Kunstler 
 artist I was not thinking of anything else. I do not think 
 the gnddiges Frdulein will ever make a good singer of mere 
 songs. She requires emotion to bring out her best powers 
 a little passion a little scope for acting and abandon before 
 she can attain the full extent of her talent/' 
 
 He spoke in the most perfectly matter-of-fact way, and 1 
 trembled. I feared lest this display of what Miss Hallam 
 tfould consider little short of indecent laxity and Bohemian- 
 ism, would shock her so much that I should lose everything by 
 it. It was not so, however. 
 
 " Passion abandon! I think you cannot understand what 
 you are talking about! " said she. " My dear sir, you must 
 understand that those kind of things may be all very well for 
 one set of people, but not for that class to which Miss Wedder 
 burn belongs. Her father is a clergyman " Von Francius 
 bowed, as if he did not quite see what that had to do with 
 it " in short, that idea is impossible. I tell you plainly. 
 She may learn as much as she likes, but she will never be 
 allowed to go upon the stage." 
 
 " Then she may teach? " said he inquiringly. 
 
 " Certainly. I believe that is what she wishes to do, in 
 case if necessary." 
 
 " She may teach, but she may not act," said he reflectively. 
 " So be it, then! Only," he added, as if making a last effort, 
 "I would just mention that, apart from artistic considera 
 tions, while a lady may wear herself out as a poorly paid 
 teacher, a prima donna " 
 
 Miss Hallam smiled with calm disdain. 
 
 " It is not of the least use to speak of such a thing. You 
 and I look at the matter from quite different points of view, 
 and to argue about it would only be to waste time." 
 
 Von Francius with a sarcastic, ambiguous smile, turned 
 to me:
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 6* 
 
 " And you, mein Frdulein ? " 
 
 "I no. I agree with Miss Hallam," I murmured, not 
 really having found myself able to think about it at all, but 
 conscious that opposition was useless. And, besides, I did 
 shrink away from the ideas conjured up by that word, the 
 " stage." 
 
 " So! " said he with a little bow and a half smile. " Also, 
 I must try to make the round man fit into the square hole. 
 The first thing will be another trial of your voice; then I must 
 see how many lessons a week you will require, and must give 
 you instructions about practicing. You must understand 
 that it is not pleasure or child's play which you are undertak 
 ing. It is a work in order to accomplish which you must 
 strain every nerve and give up everything which in any way 
 interferes with it." 
 
 " I don't know whether I shall have time for it," I mur 
 mured, looking doubtfully toward Miss Hallam. 
 
 " Yes, May; you will have time for it," was all she said. 
 
 "Is there a piano in the house?" said Von Francius. 
 "But yes, certainly. Fraulein Sartorius has one; she 
 will lend it to us for half an hour. If you are at liberty, 
 mein Fraulein, just now " 
 
 " Certainly," said I, following him, as he told Miss Hallam 
 that he would see her again. 
 
 As he knocked at the door of Anna's sitting room she came 
 out, dressed for walking. 
 
 " Ach! Frdulein I will you allow us the use of your piano for 
 a few minutes?" 
 
 " Bitte ! " said she, motioning us into the room. " I am 
 sorry I have an engagement, and must leave you." 
 
 " Do not let us keep you on any account," said he with 
 touching politeness; and she went out. 
 
 " Desto lesser!" he observed, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 He pulled off his gloves with rather an impatient gesture, 
 seated himself at the piano, and struck some chords in an 
 annoyed manner. 
 
 " Who is that old lady? " he inquired, looking up at me. 
 " Any relation of yours? " 
 
 " No oh, no! I am her companion." 
 
 " So! And you mean to let her prevent you from follow 
 ing the career you have a talent for? " 
 
 " If I do not do as she wishes, I shall have no chance of 
 following any career at all," said I. "And, besides, how
 
 FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 does anyone know that I have a talent for for what yolk 
 say? " 
 
 " I know it; that is why I said it. I wish I could persuade 
 that old lady to my way of thinking! " he added. " I wish 
 you were out of her hands and in mine. Na! we shall see! " 
 
 It was not a very long " trial " that he gave me; he soon 
 rose from the piano. 
 
 " To-morrow at eleven I come to give you a lesson," said 
 he. " I am eroing to talk to Miss Hallam now. You please 
 not come. I wish to see her alone; and I can manage -her 
 better by myself, nicht wahr! " 
 
 " Thank you," said I in a subdued tone. 
 
 "You must have a piano, too," he added; "and we must 
 have a room to ourselves. I allow no third person to be pres 
 ent in my private lessons, but go on the principle of Paul 
 Beyse's hero, Edwin, either in open lecture, or unter vier 
 fLugen." 
 
 With that he held the door open for me, and as I turned 
 nto my room, shook hands with me in a friendly manner. 
 Bidding me expect him on the morrow. 
 
 Certainly, I decided, Herr von Francius was quite unlike 
 enyone I had ever seen before; and how awfully cool he w 
 and self-possessed. I liked him well, though. 
 
 The next morning Herr von Francius gave me my first 
 lesson, and after that I had one from him nearly every day- 
 As teacher and as acquaintance he was, as it were, two differ 
 ent men. As teacher he was strict, severe, gave much blame 
 and little praise; but when he did once praise me, I remember, 
 I carried the remembrance of it with me for days as a ray of 
 sunshine. He seemed never surprised to find how much work 
 had been prepared for him, although he would express di<- 
 pleasure, sometimes, at its quality. He was a teacher whom 
 it was impossible not to respect, whom one obeyed by instinct. 
 As man, as acquaintance, I knew little of him, though I heard 
 much idle tales, which it would be as idle to repeat. The v 
 chiefly related to his domineering disposition and determina 
 tion to go his own way and disregard that of others. In thi* 
 fashion mv life became busy enough.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 67 
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 " LOHENGKLNT." 
 
 As time went on, the image of Eugen Courvoisier, my un 
 spoken of, unguessed at, friend, d not fade from my 
 memory. It #rew stronger. I thought of him every day 
 never went out without a distinct hope that I might see 
 him; never carue in without vivid disappointment that I had 
 not seen him,. I carried three thalers ten groschen so 
 arranged in mf purse that I could lay my hand upon them 
 at a moment's notice, for, as the days went on, it appeared 
 that Herr Couvvoisier had not made up his accounts, or if he 
 had, had not Chosen to claim that part of them owed by me. 
 
 I did not s^e him. I began dismally to think that, after 
 all, the whole thing was at an end. He did not live at Elber- 
 thal he had certainly never told me that he did, I reminded 
 myself. He had gone about his business and interests had 
 forgotten the waif he had helped one spring afternoon, and I 
 should never see him again. My heart fell and sunk with a 
 reasonless, aimless pang. What did it, could it, ought it to 
 matter to me whether I ever saw him again or not? Nothing, 
 certainly, and yet I troubled myself about it a great deal. I 
 made little dramas in my mind of how he and I were to meet, 
 and how I would exert my will and make him take the money. 
 Whenever I saw an unusually large or handsome house, I 
 instantly fell to wondering if it were his, and sometimes made 
 inquiries as to the owner of any particular eligible residence. 
 I heard of Brauns, Miillers, Piepers, Schmidts, and the like, 
 as owners of the same never the name of Courvoisier. He 
 had disappeared I feared forever. 
 
 Coming in weary one day from the town, where I had been 
 striving to make myself understood in shops, I was met by 
 Anna Sartorius on the stairs. She had not yet ceased to be 
 civil to me civil, that is, in her way and my unreasoning 
 aversion to her was as great as ever. 
 
 " This is the last opera of the season," said she, displaying 
 a pink ticket. " I am glad you will get to see one, as the 
 theater closes after to-night." 
 
 " But I am not going." 
 
 " Yes, you are. Miss Hallam has a ticket for you. I aw 
 going to chaperon you."
 
 08 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " I must go and see about that," said I, hastily rushing 
 upstairs. 
 
 The news, incredible as it seemed, was quite true. The 
 ticket lay there. I picked it up and gazed at it fondly, 
 Stadttheater zu Elberthal Parquet, No. 16. As I had nevei 
 been in a theater in my life, this conveyed no distinct idea 
 to my mind, but it was quite enough for me that I was going 
 The rest of the party, I found, were to consist of Vincent, the 
 Englishman, Anna Sartorius, and the Dutch boy, Brinks. 
 
 It was Friday evening, and the opera was "Lohengrin." 
 I knew nothing, then, about different operatic styles, and my 
 ideas of operatic music were b;ised upon duets upon selected 
 airs from "La Traviata," "La Sonnambula," and "Lucia." 
 I thought the story of " Lohengrin," as related by Vincent, 
 interesting. I was not in the least aware that my first opera 
 was to be a different one from that of most English girls. 
 Since, I have wondered sometimes what would be the result 
 upon the musical taste of a person who was put through a 
 course of Wagnerian opera first, and then turned over to the 
 Italian school leaving Mozart, Beethoven, Gluck, to take 
 care of themselves, as they may very well do thus flftetly 
 reversing the usual (English) process. 
 
 Anna was very quiet that evening. Afterward I knew that 
 she must have been observing me. We were in the first row 
 of the parquet, with the orchestra alone between us and the 
 stage. I was fully occupied in looking about me now at 
 the curtain hiding the great mystery, now 'behind and above 
 me at the boxes, in a youthful state of ever increasing hope 
 and expectation. 
 
 " We are very early," said Vincent, who was next to me, 
 "very early, and very near," he added, but he did not seem 
 much distressed at either circumstance. 
 
 Then the gas was suddenly turned up quite high. The 
 bustle increased cheerfully. The old, young, and middle- 
 aged ladies who filled the Logen in the Erster Rang hard 
 ened theater-goers, who came as regularly every night in the 
 week during the eight months of the season as they ate their 
 breakfasts and went to their beds, were gossiping with the 
 utmost violence, exchanging nods and odd little old-fashioned 
 bows with other ladies in all parts of the house, leaning 
 over to look whether the parquet was well filled, and remark 
 ing that there were more people in the Saloon than usual. 
 The musicians were dropping into the orchestra. I was
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 69 
 
 startled to see a fair face I knew that pleasant-looking young 
 violinist with brown eyes, whose name I heard called out at 
 the eye hospital. They all seemed very fond of him, particu 
 larly a man who struggled about with a violoncello, and who 
 seemed to have a series of jokes to relate to Herr Helfen, 
 exploding with laughter, and every now and then shaking 
 the loose thick hair from his handsome, genial face. Helfen 
 listened to him with a half smile, screwing up his violin and 
 giving him a quiet look now and then. The inspiring noise 
 of tuning up had begun, and I was on the very tiptoe of 
 expectation. 
 
 As I turned once more and looked around, Vincent said, 
 laughing, " Miss Wedderburn, your hat has hit me three 
 times in the face." It was, by the bye, the brown hat which 
 had graced my head that day at Koln. 
 
 " Oh, has it? I beg your pardon! " said I, laughing, too, 
 as I brought my eyes again to bear on the stage. " The seats 
 are too near toge " 
 
 Further words were upon my lips, but they were nevei 
 uttered. In roving across the orchestra to the footlights my 
 eyes were arrested. In the well of the orchestra, immediately 
 before my eyes, was one empty chair, that by right belonging 
 to the leader of the first violins. Friedhelm Helfen sat in the 
 one next below it. All the rest of the musicians were assem 
 bled. The conductor was in his place, and looked a little im 
 patiently toward that empty chair. Through a door to the 
 left of the orchestra there came a man carrying a violin, and 
 made his way, with a nod here, and a half smile there, a tap 
 on the shoulder in another direction. Arrived at the empty 
 chair, he laid his hand upon Helfen's shoulder, and bending 
 over him, spoke to him as he seated himself. He kept his 
 hand on that shoulder, as if he liked it to be there. Helfen's 
 eyes said as plainly as possible that he liked it. Fast friends, 
 on the face of it, were these two men. In a moment, though I 
 sat still, motionless and quiet, I certainly realized as nearly 
 as possible that impossible sensation, the turning upside down 
 of the world. I did not breathe. I waited, spell-bound, in 
 the vague idea that my eyes might open and I find that I 
 had been dreaming. After an earnest speech to Helfen the 
 newcomer raised his head. As he shouldered his violin his 
 eyes traveled carelessly along the first row of the parquet 
 our row. I did not awake; things did not melt away in mist 
 before my eyes. He was Eug^n Courvoisier, and he looked
 
 70 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 braver, handsomer, gallanter, and more apart from the crowd 
 of men now, in this moment, than even my sentimental 
 dreams had pictured him. I felt it all I also know now that 
 it was partly the strength of the feeling that I had the very 
 intensity of the admiration which took from me the reflection 
 and reason for the moment. I felt as if everyone must see 
 how I felt. I remembered that no one knew what had hap 
 pened; I dreaded lest they should. I did the most cowardly 
 and treacherous thing that circumstances permitted to me 
 displayed to what an extent my power of folly and stupidity 
 could carry me. I saw these strange bright eyes, whose power 
 I felt, coming toward me. In one second they would be upon 
 me. I felt myself white with anxiety. His eyes were com 
 ing coming slowly, surely. They had fallen upon Vin 
 cent, and he nodded to him. They fell upon me. It was 
 for the tenth of a second only. I saw a look of recog 
 nition flash into his eyes upon his face. I saw that he was 
 going to bow to me. With (as it seemed to me) all the blood 
 in my veins rushing to my face, my head swimming, my 
 heart beating, I dropped my eyes to the playbill upon my 
 lap, and stared at the crabbed German characters the names 
 of the players, the characters they took. "Elsa Lohen 
 grin." I read them again and again, while my ears were 
 singing, my heart beating so, and I thought everyone in the 
 theater knew and was looking at me. 
 
 " Mind you listen to the overture, Miss Wedderburn," said 
 Vincent hastily in my ear, as the first liquid, yearning, long- 
 drawn notes sounded from the violins. 
 
 "Yes," said I, raising my face at last, looking or rather 
 feeling a look compelled from me, to the place where he sat. 
 This time our eyes met fully. I do not know what I felt 
 when I saw him look at me as unrecognizingly as if L had been 
 a wooden doll in a shop window. Was he looking past me? 
 Xo. His eyes met mine direct glance for glance not a 
 ?i>n, not a quiver of the mouth, not a waver of the eyelids. 
 I heard no more of the overture. When he was playing, 
 and so occupied with his music, I surveyed him surrep 
 titiously; when he was not playing, I kept my eyes fixed firmly 
 upon my playbill. I did not know whether to be most dis 
 tressed at my own disloyalty to a kind friend or most appalled 
 to find that the man with whom I had spent a whole afternoon 
 in tho firm conviction that he was outwardly, as well as in 
 wardly, my equal and a gentleman how the tears, half of
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 11 
 
 shame, half of joy, rise to my eyes now as I think of my poor, 
 pedantic little scruples then the man of whom I had 
 assuredly thought and dreamed many and many a time and 
 oft, was a professional musician, a man in a band, a German 
 band, playing in the public orchestra of a provincial town. 
 Well! well! 
 
 In our village at home, where the population consisted of 
 clergymen's widows, daughters of deceased naval officers, and 
 old women in general, and those old women ladies of the 
 ^enteelest description the Army and the Church (for which 
 1 had been brought up to have the deepest veneration and 
 esteem, as the two head powers in our land for we did not 
 take Manchester, Birmingham, and Liverpool into account at 
 Skernford) the Army and the Church, I say, look down a 
 little upon Medicine and Law, as being perhaps more neces 
 sary, but less select factors in that great sum the Nation. 
 Medicine and the Law looked down very decidedly upon 
 commercial wealth, and Commerce, in her turn, turned up 
 her nose at retail establishments, while one and all Church 
 and Army, Law and Medicine, Commerce in the gross and 
 Commerce in the little united in pointing the finger at 
 artists, musicians, literati, et id omne genus, considering them, 
 with some few well-known and orthodox exceptions, as 
 bohemians, and calling them " persons." They were a class 
 with whom we had and could have nothing in common; so 
 utterly outside our life that we scarcely ever gave a thought 
 to their existence. We read of pictures, and wished to see 
 them; heard of musical wonders, and desired to hear them 
 as pictures, as compositions. I do not think it ever entered 
 our heads to remember that a man with a quick life throbbing 
 in his veins, with feelings, hopes, and fears, and thoughts, 
 painted the picture, and that in seeing it we also saw him 
 that a consciousness, if possible yet more keen and vivid, 
 produced the combinations of sound which brought tears to 
 our eyes when we heard " the band " beautiful abstraction 
 play them! Certainly we never considered the performers 
 as anything more than people who could play one who blew 
 his breath into a brass tube; another into a wooden pipe; one 
 who scraped a small fiddle with fine strings, another who 
 scraped a big one with coarse strings. 
 
 I was seventeen, and not having an original mind had, up 
 to now, judged things from earlier teachings and impressions. 
 I do not ask to be excused. I only say that I was ignorant as
 
 19 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 ever even a girl of seventeen was. I did not know the amount 
 of art and culture which lay among those rather shabby-look 
 ing members of the Elberthal stddtische Kapelle did not 
 know that that little cherubic-faced man, who drew his bow 
 so lovingly across his violin, had played under Mendelssohn's 
 conductorship, and could tell tales^about how the master had 
 drilled his band, and what he had said about the first per 
 formance of the " Lobgesang." The young man to whom I 
 liad seen Courvoisier speaking was I learned it later a per 
 former to ravish the senses, a conductor in the true sense 
 not a mere man who waves the stick up and down, but one 
 who can put some of the meaning of the music into his ges 
 tures and dominate his players. I did not know that the 
 musicians before me were nearly all true artists, and some of 
 them undoubted gentlemen to boot, even if their income 
 averaged something under that of a skilled Lancashire opera 
 tive. But even if I had known it as well as possible, and had 
 been aware that there could be nothing derogatory in my 
 knowing or being known by one of them, I could not have 
 been more wretched than 1 was in having been, as it were, 
 false to a friend. The dreadful thing was, or ought to be 
 I could not quite decide which that such a person should 
 have been my friend. 
 
 " How he must despise me! " I thought, my cheeks burn 
 ing, my eyes fastened upon the playbill. "I owe him ten 
 shillings. If he likes he can point me out to them all and 
 say, ' That is an English girl lady I cannot call her. I found 
 her quite alone and lost at Koln, and did all I could to help 
 her. I saved her a great deal of anxiety and inconvenience. 
 She was not above accepting my assistance; she confided her 
 story very freely to me; she is nothing very particular has 
 nothing to boast of no money, no knowledge, nothing 
 superior; in fact, she is simple and ignorant to quite a sur 
 prising extent; but she has just cut me dead. What do you 
 think of her? ' " 
 
 Until the curtain went up, I sat in torture. When the 
 play began, however, even my discomfort vanished in my 
 wonder at the spectacle. It was the first I had seen. Try to 
 picture it, oh, worn-out and blase frequenter of play a*id 
 opera! Try to realize the feelings of an impressionable young 
 person of seventeen when " Lohengrin " was revealed to her 
 for the first time Lohengrin, the mystic knight, with the 
 glamour of eld upon him Lohengrin sailing in blue and sil-
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. ?3 
 
 ver like a dream, in his swan-drawn boat, stepping majestic 
 forth, and speaking in a voice of purest melody, as he thanks 
 the bird and dismisses it: 
 
 "' Dahin, woher mich trug dein Kahn 
 Kehr wieder nur zu unserm Gltlck! 
 )rum sei getreu dein Deinst gethan, 
 Leb wohl, leb wohl, meiu lieber Schwan." 
 
 Elsa, with the wonder, the gratitude, the love, and alas! the 
 weakness in her eyes! The astonished Brabantine men and 
 women. They could not have been more astonished than I 
 was. It was all perfectly real to me. What did I know about 
 the stage? To me, yonder figure in blue mantle and glitter 
 ing armor was Lohengrin, the son of Percivale, not Herr 
 Siegel, the first tenor of the company, who acted stiffly, and 
 did not know what to do with his legs. The lady in black 
 velvet and spangles, who gesticulated in a corner, was an 
 " Edelfrau " to me, as the programme called her, not the 
 chorus leader, with two front teeth missing, an inartistically 
 made-up countenance, and large feet. I sat through the first 
 act with my eyes riveted upon the stage. What a thrill shot 
 through me as the tenor embraced the soprano, and warbled 
 melodiously, " jElsa, icli liebe Dich!" My mouth and eyes 
 were wide open, I have no doubt, till at last the curtain fell. 
 With a long sigh I slowly brought my eyes down and 
 " Lohengrin " vanished like a dream. There was Eugen 
 Courvoisier standing up he had resumed the old attitude 
 was twirling his mustache and surveying the company. Some 
 of the other performers were leaving the orchestra by two lit 
 tle doors. If only he would go, too! As I nervously contem 
 plated a graceful indifferent remark to Herr Brinks, who sat 
 next to me, I saw Courvoisier step forward. Was he, could 
 he be going to speak to me? I should have deserved it, I 
 knew, but I felt as if I should die under the ordeal. I sat 
 preternaturally still, and watched, as if mesmerized, the 
 approach of the musician. He spoke again to the young man 
 whom I had seen before, and they both laughed. Perhaps 
 he had confided the whole story to him, and was telling him 
 to observe what he was going to do. Then Herr Courvoisier 
 tapped the young man on the shoulder and laughed again, 
 and then he came on. He was not looking at me; he came 
 Tip to the boarding, leaned his elbow upon it, and said to 
 Eustace Vincent:
 
 74 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " Good-evening: wie geht's Ihnen? " 
 
 Vincent held out his hand. " Very well, thanks. And 
 you? I haven't seen you lately." 
 
 " Then you haven't been at the theater lately," he laughed. 
 He never testified to me by word or look that he had ever seen 
 me before. At last I got to understand, as his eyes repeatedly 
 fell upon me without the slightest sign of recognition, that 
 he did not intend to claim my acquaintance. I do not know 
 j whether I was most wretched or most relieved at the dis 
 covery. It spared me a great deal of embarrassment; it filled 
 me, too, with inward shame beyond all description. And 
 Mien, too, I was dismayed to find how totally I had mistaken 
 the position of the musician. Vincent was talking eagerly to 
 him. They had moved a little nearer the other end of the 
 orchestra. The young man, Helfen, had come up, others had 
 joined th m. I, meanwhile, sat still heard every tone of 
 his voice, and took in every gesture of his head or his hand, 
 and I felt as I trust never to feel again and yet I lived in 
 some such feeling as that for what at least seemed to me a 
 long time. What was the feeling that clutched me held me 
 fast seemed to burn me? And what was that I heard? 
 Vincent speaking: 
 
 " Last Thursday week, Courvoisier. Why didn't you come? 
 We were waiting for you? " 
 
 " I missed the train." 
 
 Until now he had been speaking German, but he said this 
 distinctly in English, and I heard every word. 
 
 "Missed the train?" cried Vincent in his cracked voice. 
 " Nonsense, man! Helfen, here, and Alekotte were in time, 
 and they had been at the probe as much as you." 
 
 " I was detained at Koln, and couldn't get back till even 
 ing," said he. " Come along, Friedel; there's the call-bell." 
 
 I raised my eyes met his. I do not know what expression 
 was in mine. His never wavered, though he looked at 
 me long and steadily no glance of recognition no sign 
 still. I would have risked the astonishment of every one 
 of them now for a sign that he remembered me. None was 
 given. 
 
 " Lohengrin " had no more attraction for me. I felt in 
 pain that was almost physical, and weak with excitement as 
 at last the curtain fell and we left our places. 
 
 " You were very quiet," said Vincent, as we walked home. 
 " Did you not enjoy it? "
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 75 
 
 "Very much, thank you. It was very beautiful," said I 
 faintly. 
 
 " So Herr Courvoisier was not at the soiree ? " said the loud, 
 rough voice of Anna Sartorius. 
 
 " No," was all Vincent said. 
 
 " Did you have anything new? Was Herr von Francius 
 there, too?" 
 
 " Yes; he was there, too." 
 
 I pondered. Brinks whistled loudly the air of Elsa's 
 " Brautzug " as we passed across the Lindenallee. We had 
 not many paces to go. The lamps were lighted, the people 
 were thronging thick as in the daytime. The air was full of 
 laughter, talk, whistling, and humming of the airs from the 
 opera. My ear strained eagerly through the confusion.. I 
 could have caught the faintest sound of Courvoisier's voice 
 had it been there, but it was not. And we came home. Vin 
 cent opened the door with his latch-key, and said: "It has 
 not been very brilliant, has it? That tenor is a stick," and we 
 all went to our different rooms. It was in such wise that I 
 met Eugen Courvoisier for the second time. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Will You Sing ? " 
 
 THE theater season closed with that evening on which 
 " Lohengrin " was performed. I ran no risk of meeting 
 Courvoisier face to face again in that alarming, sudden man 
 ner. But the subject had assumed diseased proportions in 
 my mind. I found myself confronted with him yet, and week 
 after week. My business in Elberthal was music to learn 
 as much music and hear as much music as I could; wherevei 
 there was music, there was also Eugen Courvoisier natu 
 rally. There was only one stddtische Kapelle in Elberthal. 
 Once a week, at least each Saturday I saw him, and he 
 saw me, at the unfailing instrumental concert, to which every 
 one in the house went, and to absent myself from which 
 would instantly set everyone wondering what could be my 
 motive for it. My usual companions were Clara Steinmann, 
 Vincent (the Englishman), and often Frau Steinmann her 
 self. Anna Sartorins and some other girl students of art 
 usually brought sketchbooks and were far too much occu-
 
 76 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 
 
 pied in making studies or caricatures of the audience to pay 
 m.uch attention to the music. The audience were, however, 
 hardened; they were used to it. Anna and her friends were 
 not alone in the practice. There were a dozen or more artists, 
 or soi-disant artists, busily engaged with their sketchbooks. 
 The concert room offered a rich field to them. One could, 
 at least, be sure of one thing that they were not taking off 
 the persons at whom they looked most intently. There must 
 be quite a gallery hidden away in some old sketchbooks of 
 portraits or wicked caricatures of the audience that fre 
 quented the concerts of the Instrumental Musikverein. I 
 wonder where they all are? Who has them? What has be 
 come of the light-hearted sketchers? I often recall those 
 homely Saturday evening concerts; the long, shabby saal, 
 with its faded, out-of-date decorations; its rows of small 
 tables, with the well-known groups around then; the 
 mixed and motley audience. How easy, after a little while, 
 to pick out the English, by their look of complacent pleasure 
 at the delightful ease and unceremoniousness of the whole 
 affair; their gladness at finding a public entertainment where 
 one's clothes were not obliged to be selected with a view to 
 outshining those of everyone else in the room; the students 
 shrouded in a mystery,' secret and impenetrable, of tobacco 
 smoke. The spruce-looking schoolboys from the Gymnasium 
 and Realschule, the old captains and generals, the Fraulein 
 their daughters, the gnadigen Frauen their wives; dressed in 
 the disastrous plaids, checks, and stripes, which, somehow, none 
 but German women ever get hold of. Shades of Le Folletl 
 What costumes there were on young and old for an observing 
 eye! What bonnets, what boots, what stupendously daring 
 accumulation of colors and styles and periods of dress 
 crammed and piled on the person of one substantial Frau 
 Generalin, or Doctorin, or Professorin! The low orchestra 
 the tall, slight, yet commanding, figure of Von Francius on 
 the estrade; his dark face, with its indescribable mixture of 
 pride, impenetrability, and insouciance; the musicians be 
 hind him every face of them well known to the audience, 
 as those of the audience to them. It was not a mere " con 
 cert," which, in England, is another word for so much expense 
 and so much vanity it was a gathering of friends. We knew 
 the music in which the Kapelle was most at home; we knew 
 their strong points and their weak ones; the passage in the 
 Pastoral Symphony, where the second violins were a little
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 11 
 
 freak; that overture where the blaseninstrumente came out 
 BO well the symphonies one heard the divine wealth of 
 undying art and beauty! Those days are past: despite what 
 I suffered in them, they had their joys for me. Yes; I suf 
 fered at those concerts. I must ever see the one face which 
 for me blotted out all others in the room., and endure the 
 silent contempt which I believed. I saw upon it. Probably it 
 was my own feeling of inward self-contempt which mads me 
 believe I saw that expression there. His face had for me a 
 miserable, basilisk-like attraction. When I was there, he was 
 there; I must look at him, and endure the silent, smiling dis 
 dain which I at least believed he bestowed upon me. How 
 did he contrive to do it? How often our eyes met, and every 
 time it happened he looked me full in the face, and never 
 would give me the faintest gleam of recognition! It was as 
 though I looked at two diamonds, which returned my stare 
 unwinkingly and unseeingly. I managed to make myself 
 thoroughly miserable pale and thin with anxiety and self- 
 reproach. I let this man, and the speculation concerning 
 him, take up my whole thoughts, and I kept silence, because I 
 dreaded so intensely lest any question should bring out the 
 truth. I smiled drearily when I thought that there certainly 
 was no danger of anyone but Miss Hallam ever knowing it, 
 for the only person who could have betrayed me chose now, 
 of deliberate purpose, to cut me as completely as I had once 
 cut him. 
 
 As if to show very decidedly that he did intend to cut 
 me, I met him one day, not, in the street, but in the house, 
 on the stairs. He sprung up the steps, two at a time, came 
 to a momentary pause on the landing, and looked at me. No 
 look of surprise; none of recognition. He raised his hat; 
 that was nothing; in ordinary politeness he would have done 
 it had he never seen me in his life before. The same cold, 
 bright, hard glance fell upon me, keen as an eagle's, and as 
 devoid of every gentle influence as the same. 
 
 I silently held out my hand. 
 
 He looked at ft for a moment; then, with a grave coolness 
 which chilled me to the soul, murmured something about 
 "not having the honor," bowed slightly, and, stepping for 
 ward, walked into Vincent's room. 
 
 I was going to the room in which my piano stood, where 
 I had my music lessons, for they hnd told me that Herr von 
 Francius was waiting. I looked >t him as I went into the
 
 78 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 room. How different he was from that other man; darker, 
 more secret, more scornful looking, with not less power, but 
 so much less benevolence. 
 
 I was distrait, and sung exceedingly ill. We had been 
 going through the solo soprano parts of the " Paradise Lost.'* 
 I believe I sung vilely that morning. I was not thinking of 
 Eva's sin and the serpent, but of other things, which, despite 
 the story related in the book of Genesis, touched me more 
 nearly. Several times already had he made me sing through 
 Eva's stammering answer to her God's question: 
 
 " Ah, Lord I ! . . . The Serpent ! 
 The beautiful, glittering Serpent, 
 He, Lord, did lead astray 
 With his beautiful, glittering words. 
 The weak Woman I " 
 
 " Bah! " exclaimed Yon Francius, when I had sung it some 
 three or four times, each time worse, each time more dis 
 tractedly. He flung the music upon the floor, and his eyes 
 flashed, startling me from my uneasy thoughts back to the 
 present. He was looking at me with a dark cloud upon his 
 face. I stared, stooped meekly, and picked up the music. 
 
 " Fraulein, what are you dreaming about? " he asked im 
 patiently. " You are not singing Eva's shame and dawning 
 terror as she feels herself undone. You are singing and 
 badly, too a mere sentimental song, such as any schoolgirl 
 might stumble through. I am ashamed of you." 
 
 " I I," stammered I, crimsoning, and ashamed for my 
 self, too. 
 
 " You were thinking of something else," he said, his brow 
 clearing a little. " Na! it comes so sometimes. Something 
 has happened to distract your attention. The amiable Miss 
 Hallam has been a little more amiable than usual." 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Well, well! 'S ist mir egal. But now, as you have 
 wsjsted half an hour in vanity and vexation, will you be good 
 enough to let your thoughts return here to me and to your 
 duty? Or else I must go, and leave the lesson till you are 
 in the right voice again." 
 
 " I am all right try me," said I, my pride rising in arms 
 as I thought of Courvoisier^s behavior a short time ago. 
 
 " Very well. Now, you are Eva, please remember, the first 
 woman, and you have gone wrong. Think of who is ques 
 tioning you, and "
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 79 
 
 <f Oh, yes! yes! I know. Please begin." 
 
 He began the accompaniment, and I sang for the fifth time 
 Eva's scattered notes of shame and excuse. 
 
 " Brava! " said he when I had finished, and I was the more 
 tartled as he had never before given me the faintest sign of 
 approval, but had found such constant fault with me that I 
 usually had a fit of weeping after my lesson; weeping with 
 rage and disappointment at my own shortcomings. 
 
 " At last you know what it means," said he. " I always 
 told you your forte was dramatic singing." 
 
 " Dramatic! But this is an oratorio." 
 
 " It may be called an oratorio, but it is a drama all the 
 same. What more dramatic, for instance, than what you 
 have just sung, and all that goes before? Now, suppose we 
 go on. I will take Adam." 
 
 Having given myself up to the music, I sung my best with 
 earnestness. When we had finished Von Francius closed the 
 book, looked at me, and said: 
 
 " Will you sing the ' Eva ' music at the concert? " 
 
 "I?" 
 
 He bowed silently, and still kept his eyes fixed upon my 
 face, as if to say, " Kef use, if you dare." 
 
 " I I'm afraid I should make such a mess of it," I mur 
 mured at last. 
 
 " Why any more than to-day? " 
 
 " Oh! but all the people! " said I, expostulating. " It is so 
 different." 
 
 He gave a little laugh of some amusement. 
 
 "How odd! and yet how like you!" said he. "Do 
 you suppose that the people who will be at the concert 
 will be half as much alive to your defects as I am? If 
 you can sing before me, surely you can sing before so many 
 rows of " 
 
 " Cabbages? I wish I could think they were." 
 
 " Nonsense! What would be the use, where the pleasure, 
 in singing to cabbages? I mean simply inhabitants of Elber- 
 thal. What can there be so formidable about them? " 
 
 I murmured something. 
 
 "Well, will you do it?" 
 
 "I am sure I should break down," said I, trying to find 
 some sign of relenting in his eyes. I discovered none. H 
 was not waiting to hear whether I said " Yes " or " No "j 
 he was waiting until I said " Yes,"
 
 80 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " If you did/' he replied with a friendly smile, " I should 
 never teach you another note." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Because you would be a coward, and not worth teaching." 
 
 " But Miss Hallam? " 
 
 "Leave her to me." 
 
 I still hesitated. 
 
 " It is the premier pas qui cqute" said he, still keeping a 
 friendly, but determined, gaze upon my undecided face. 
 
 "I want to accustom you to appearing in public," he 
 added. " By degrees, you know. There is nothing unusual 
 in Germany for one in your position to sing in such a 
 concert." 
 
 " I was not thinking of that; but that it is impossible that 
 I can sing well enough " 
 
 " You sing well enough for my purpose. You will be 
 amazed to find what an impetus to your studies, and what a 
 fillip to your industry, will be given by once singing before 
 a number of other people. And then, on the stage " 
 
 "' But I am not going on the stage." 
 
 " I think you are. At least, if you do otherwise, you will 
 do wrong. You have gifts which are in themselves a re 
 sponsibility." 
 
 "I gifts what gifts?" I asked incredulously. "I am 
 as stupid as a donkey. My sisters always said so, and sisters 
 are sure to. know; you may trust them for that." 
 
 " Then you will take the soprano solos? " 
 
 " Do you think I can? " 
 
 " I don't think you can; I say you must. I will call upon 
 Miss Hallam this afternoon. And the gage fee what you 
 call it? is fifty thalers." 
 
 " What! " I cried, my whole attitude changing to one of 
 greedy expectation. " Shall I be paid? " 
 
 " Why, naturlicli" said he, turning over sheets of music 
 and averting his face to hide a smile. 
 
 " Oh! then I will sing." 
 
 " Good! Only, please to remember "4iat it is my concert, 
 and I am responsible for the soloists; and pray think rather 
 more about the beautiful, glittering serpent than about the 
 beautiful, glittering thalers." 
 
 " I can think about both," was my unholy, time-serving 
 reply. 
 
 Fifty ihalers. Untold gold!
 
 FIRST VIOLIN. 81 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 " Prinz Eugen, der edle Hitter." 
 
 IT was the evening of the haupt-probe, a fine, moonlight 
 night in the middle of May a month since I had come to 
 Elberthal, and it seemed so much, so very much more. 
 
 To my astonishment and far from agreeable astonish- 
 ment Anna Sartorius informed me of her intention to ac 
 company me to the probe. I put objections in her way as 
 well as I knew how, and said I did not think outsiders were 
 admitted. She laughed, and said: 
 
 " That is too funny, that you should instruct me in such 
 things. Why, I have a ticket for all the proben, as anyone 
 can have who* chooses to pay two thalers at the sasse. I have 
 a mind to hear this. They say the orchestra are going to 
 rebel against Von Francius. And I am going to the concert 
 to-morrow, too. One cannot hear t^o much of such fine 
 music; and when one's friend sings, too " 
 
 "What friend of yours is going to sing?" I inquired 
 coldly. 
 
 " Why, you, you allerliebster Tcleiner Engel" said she, in a 
 tone of familiarity to which I strongly objected. 
 
 I could say no more against her going, but certainly dis 
 played no enthusiastic desire for her company. 
 
 The probe, we found, was to be in the great saal; it was 
 half lighted, and there were perhaps some fifty people, holders 
 of probe tickets, seated in the parquet. 
 
 " You are going to sing well to-night," said Von Francius, 
 as he handed me up the steps " for my sake and your 
 own, niclit wahr? " 
 
 i " I will try," said I, looking round the great orchestra, 
 and seeing how full it was so many fresh faces, both in 
 chorus and orchestra. 
 
 And as I looked, I saw Courvoisier come in by the little 
 door at the top of the orchestra steps and descend to his 
 place. His face was clouded very clouded. I had never 
 seen him look thus before. He had no smile for those who 
 greeted him. As he took his place beside Helfen, and the 
 latter asked him some question, he stared absently at him, 
 then answered with, a look of absence and wearing 
 
 " Herr Courvoisier," said Von Francius and I, being near,
 
 82 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 heard the whole dialogue " you always allow yourself to be 
 waited for." 
 
 Courvoisier glanced up. I, with a new, sudden interest, 
 watched the behavior of the two men. In the face of Von 
 Francius I thought to discover dislike, contempt. 
 
 " I beg your pardon; I was detained," answered Cour 
 voisier composedly. 
 
 " It is unfortunate that you should be so often detained at 
 the time when your work should be beginning." 
 
 Unmoved and unchanging, Courvoisier heard and sub 
 mitted to the words and to the tone in which they were 
 spoken sarcastic, sneering, and unbelieving. 
 
 " Now we will begin," pursued Von Francius, with a dis 
 agreeable smile, as he rapped with his baton upon the rail. 
 I looked at Courvoisier looked at his friend, Friedhelm 
 Helfen. The former was sitting as quietly as possible, rather 
 pale, and with the same clouded look, but not deeper than 
 before; the latter was flushed, and eyed Von Francius with 
 no friendly glance. 
 
 There seemed a kind of slumbering storm in the air. 
 There was none of the lively discussion usual at the proben. 
 Courvoisier, first of the first violins, and from whom all the 
 others seemed to take their tone, sat silent, grave, and still. 
 Von Francius, though quiet, was biting. I felt afraid of him. 
 Something must have happened to put him inV that evil 
 mood. 
 
 My part did not come until late in the second part of the 
 oratorio. I had almost forgotten that I was to sing at all, 
 and was watching Von Francius, and listening to his sharp 
 speeches. I remembered what Anna Sartorius had said in 
 describing this haupt-probe to me. It was all just as she 
 had said. He was severe; his speeches roused the phleg 
 matic blood, set the professional instrumentalists laughing 
 at their amateur co-operators, but provoked no reply or re 
 sentment. It was extraordinary, the effect of this man's 
 will upon those he had to do with upon women in par 
 ticular. 
 
 There was one haughty-looking blonde a Swede tall, 
 majestic, with long yellow curls and a face full of pride and 
 high temper, who gave herself decided airs, and trusted to 
 her beauty and insolence to carry off certain radical defects 
 of harshness of voice and wn^ f of ear. I never forgot how 
 she stared me down from head to foot on the occasion of my
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 83 
 
 first appearance alone, as if to say, "What do you want 
 here?" 
 
 It was in vain that she looked haughty and handsome. 
 Addressing her as Fraulein Hulstrom, Von Francius gave 
 her a sharp lecture, and imitated the effect of her voice in 
 a particularly soft passage with ludicrous accuracy. The 
 rest of the chorus was tittering audibly, the musicians, with 
 the exception, of Courvoisier and his friend, nudging each 
 other and smiling. She bridled haughtily, flashed a furious 
 glance at her mentor, grew crimson, received a sarcastic smile 
 which baffled her, and subsided again. 
 
 So it was with them all. His blame was plentiful; his 
 praise so rare as to be almost an unknown quantity. His 
 chorus and orchestra were famed for the minute perfection 
 and precision of their playing and singing. Perhaps the per 
 formance lacked something else passion, color. Von Fran 
 cius, at that time at least, was no genius, though his talent, 
 his power, and his method were undeniably great. He was, 
 however, not popular not the Harold, the " beloved leader " 
 of his people. 
 
 It was to-night that I was first shown how all was not 
 smooth for him; that in this art union there were splits 
 " little rifts within the lute," which, should they extend, 
 might literally in the end " make the music mute." I heard 
 whispers around me. " Herr von Francius is angry." 
 " Nicht wahr?" "Herr Courvoisier looks angry, too." 
 " Yes, he does." " There will be an open quarrel there 
 soon." " I think so." " They are both clever; one should 
 be less clever than the other." " They are so opposed." 
 ' Yes. They say Courvoisier has a party of his own, and that 
 all the orchestra are on his side." " So! " in accents of curi 
 osity and astonishment. " Ja wohl! And that -if Von Fran- 
 aius does not mind, he will see Herr Courvoisier in his place,' 5 
 etc., etc., without end. All which excited me much, as the 
 first glimpse into the affairs of those about whom we think 
 much and know little (a form of life well known to women 
 in general) always does interest us. 
 
 These things made me forget to be nervous or anxious. 
 I saw myself now as part of the whole, a unit in the sum of 
 a life which interested me. Von Francius gave me a sign 
 of approval when I had finished, but it was a mechanical one. 
 lie was thinking of other things. 
 
 The probe was over. I walked slowly down the room,
 
 84 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 looking for Anna Sartorius, more out of politeness than 
 because I wished foe her company. I was relieved to find 
 that she had already gone, probably not finding all the enter 
 tainment she expected, and I was able, with a good conscience, 
 to take my way home alone. 
 
 My way home! Not yet. I was to live through something 
 before 1 could take my way home. 
 
 I went out of the large saal through the long veranda 
 into the street. A flood of moonlight silvered it. There was 
 a laughing, chattering crowd about me all the chorus, men 
 and girls, going to their homes or their lodgings, in ones or 
 twos, or in large, cheerful groups. Almost opposite the Ton- 
 halle was a tall house, one of a row, and of this house the 
 lowest floor was used as a shop for antiquities, curiosities, 
 and a thousand odds and ends useful or beautiful to 
 artists costumes, suits of armor, old china, anything and 
 everything. The window was yet lighted. As I paused for 
 a moment, befort taking my homeward way, I saw two Hen 
 cross the moonlit street, and go in at the open door of the 
 shop. One was Courvoisier; in the other I thought to recog 
 nize Friedhelm Helf en, but was not quite sure about it. They 
 did not go into the shop, as I saw by the bright, large lamp 
 that burned within, but along the passage and up the stairs. 
 I followed them, resolutely beating down shyness, unwilling 
 ness, timidity. My reluctant steps took me to the window 
 of the antiquity shop, and I stood looking in before I could 
 make tip my mind to enter. Bits of rococo ware stood in the 
 window, majolica jugs, chased metal dishes and bowls, bits 
 of Kenaissance work, tapestry, carpet, a helm with the visor 
 up, gaping at me as if tired of being there. I slowly drew 
 my purse from my pocket, put together three thalers and a 
 ten-groschen piece, and, with lingering, unwilling steps, en 
 tered the shop. A pretty young woman in a quaint dress, 
 which somehow harmonized with the place, came for 
 ward. She looked at me as if wondering what I could pos 
 sibly want. My very agitation gave calmness to my voice as 
 I inquired: 
 
 "Does Herr Courvoisier, a musiker, live here?" 
 
 " Ja wohl!" answered the young woman, with a look of 
 still greater surprise. " On the third etage, straight upstairs. 
 The name is on the door." 
 
 I turned away, and went slowly up the steep wooden, uncar- 
 r.Mpf staircase. On the first landing a door oponod nt th
 
 THE FIRST VIOLiA. 8 
 
 sound of my footsteps, and a head was popped out a rough, 
 fuzzy head, with a pale, eager-looking face under the bush 
 of hair. 
 
 " Ugh! " said the owner of this amiable visage, and shut 
 the door with a bang. I looked at the plate upon it; it bore 
 the legend, " Hermann Duntze, Maler." To the second 
 etage. Another door another plate, " Bernhardt Knoop, 
 Maler." The house seemed to be a resort of artists. There 
 was a lamp burning on each landing; and now, at last, with 
 breath and heart alike failing, I ascended the last flight of 
 stairs, and found myself upon the highest etage before an 
 other door, on which was roughly painted up, " Eugen Cour- 
 voisier." I looked at it with my heart beating suffocatingly. 
 Someone had scribbled in red chalk beneath the Christian 
 name, " Prinz Eugen, der edle Bitter." Had it been done in 
 jest or earnest? I wondered, and then knocked. Such a 
 knock! 
 
 "Herein!" 
 
 I opened the door, and stepped into a large, long, low 
 room. On the table, in the center, burned a lamp, and, 
 sitting there, with the light falling upon his earnest young 
 face, was Helfen, the violinist, and near to him sat Cour- 
 voisier, with a child upon his knee, a little lad, with immense 
 dark eyes, tumbled black hair, and flushed, just awakened 
 face. He was clad in his nightdress and a little red dressing 
 gown, and looked like a spot of almost feverish, quite tropic, 
 brightness, in contrast with the grave, pale face which bent 
 over him. Courvoisier held the two delicate little hands in 
 one of his own, and was looking down with love unutterable 
 upon the beautiful, dazzling, child-face. Despite the differ 
 ent complexion, and a different style of feature, too, there 
 was so great a likeness in the two faces, particularly in the 
 broad, noble brow, as to leave no doubt of the relationship. 
 My musician and the boy were father and soa. 
 
 Courvoisier looked up as I came in. For one half moment 
 there leaped into his eyes a look of surprise and of something 
 more. If it had lasted a second longer, I could have sworn 
 it was welcome then it was gone. He rose, turned the child 
 over to Helfen, saying, " One moment, Friedel," then turned 
 to me as to some stranger who had come on an errand as yet 
 unknown to him, and did not speak. The little one, from 
 Helfen's knee, stared at me with large, solemn eyes, and 
 Helfen himself looked scarcely less impressed.
 
 86 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 I have no doubt I looked frightened I felt so frightened 
 out of my senses. I came tremulously forward, and, offering 
 my pieces of silver, said, in the smallest voice which I had 
 ever used: 
 
 " I have come to pay my debt. I did not know where you 
 lived, or I should have done it long before." 
 
 He made no motion to take the money, but said I almost 
 started, so altered was the voice from that of my frank com 
 panion at Kb'ln, to an icy coldness of ceremony: 
 
 " M ein Fraulein, I do not understand." 
 
 " You you the things you paid for. Do you not remem 
 ber me?" 
 
 " Eemember a lady who has intimated that she wishes me 
 to forget her? No; I do not." 
 
 What a horribly complicated revenge! thought I, as I 
 said, ever lower and lower, more and more shamefacedly, 
 while the young violinist sat with the child upon his knee, 
 and his soft, brown eyes staring at me in wonder: 
 
 " I think you must remember. You helped me at Koln, 
 and you paid for my ticket to Elberthal, and for something 
 that I had at the hotel. You told me that was what I owed 
 you." 
 
 I again tendered the money; again he made no effort to 
 receive it, but said: 
 
 " I am sorry that I do not understand to what you refer. 
 I only know that it is impossible that I could ever have told 
 you you owed me three thalers, or three anything, or that 
 there could, under any circumstances, be any question of 
 money between you and me. Suppose we consider the topic 
 jit an end." 
 
 Such a voice of ice, and such a manner, to chill the boldest 
 heart, I had never yet encountered. The cool, unspeakable 
 lisdain cut me to the quick. 
 
 " You have no right to refuse the money," said I desper 
 ately. " You have no right to insult me by by " An 
 
 appropriate peroration refused itself. 
 
 Again the sweet, proud, courteous smile; not only cour 
 teous, but courtly; again the icy little bow of the head, which 
 would have done credit to a prince in displeasure, and which 
 yet had the deference due from a gentleman to a lady. 
 
 " You will excuse the semblance of rudeness 'which may 
 appear if I say that, if you unfortunately are not of a very 
 decided disposition, I am. It is impossible that I should ever
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 8? 
 
 have the slightest intercourse with a lady who has ouce un 
 equivocally refused my acquaintance. The lady may honor 
 me by changing her mind; I am sorry that I cannot respond. 
 I do not change my mind." 
 
 " You must let us part on equal terms/' I reiterated. " It 
 is unjust " 
 
 "Yourself closed all possibility of the faintest attempt 
 at further acquaintance, mein Frdulein. The matter is at 
 an end." 
 
 " Herr Courvoisier, I " 
 
 " At an end/' he repeated calmly, gently, looking down at 
 me as he had often looked at me since the night of " Lohen 
 grin/' with a glance that baffled and chilled me. 
 
 " I wish to apologize " 
 
 "For what?" he inquired with the faintest possible look 
 of indifferent surprise. 
 
 " For my rudeness my surprise I " 
 
 "You refer to one evening at the opera. You exercised 
 your privilege, as a lady, of closing an acquaintance which 
 you did not wish to renew. I now exercise mine, as a gen 
 tleman, of saying that I choose to abide by that decision, 
 now and always." 
 
 I was surprised. Despite my own apologetic frame of 
 mind, I was surprised at his hardness; at the narrowness and 
 ungenerosity which could so determinedly shut the door in 
 the face of a humble penitent like me. He must see how I 
 had repented the stupid slip I had made; he must see how I 
 desired to atone for it. It was not a slip of the kind one 
 would name irreparable, and yet he behaved to me as if I had 
 committed a crime; froze me with looks and words. Was he 
 so self-conscious and so vain that he could not get over that 
 small slight to his self-consequence, committed in haste and 
 confusion by an ignorant girl? Even then even in that 
 moment I asked myself these questions, my astonishment 
 being almost as great as my pain, for it was the very reverse, 
 the very opposite of what I had pictured to myself. Once 
 let me see him and speak to him, I had said to myself, and it 
 would be all right; every lineament of his face, every tone 
 of his voice, bespoke a frank, generous nature one that could 
 forgive. Alas! and alas! this was the truth! 
 
 He had come to the door; he stood by it now, holding it 
 open, looking at me so courteously, so deferentially, with a 
 manner of one who had been a gentleman and lived with
 
 88 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 gentlemen all his life, but in a way which, at the same time, 
 ordered me out as plainly as possible. 
 
 I went to the door. I could no longer stand under that 
 chilling glance,~nor endure the cool, polished contempt of the 
 manner. I behaved by no means heroically; neither flung my 
 head back, nor muttered any defiance, nor in any way proved 
 myself a person of spirit. All I could do was to look appeal- 
 ingly into his face; to search the bright, steady eyes, without 
 finding in them any hint of softening or relenting. 
 
 " Will you not take it, please? " I asked in a quivering voice 
 and with trembling lips. 
 
 "Impossible, mein Fraulein," with the same chilly little 
 bow as before. 
 
 Struggling to repress my tears, I said no more, but 
 passed out, cut to the heart. The door was closed gently 
 behind me. I felt a** if it had closed upon a bright belief of 
 my youth. I leaned for a moment against the passage wall 
 and pressed my hand against my eyes. From within came 
 the sound of a child's voice, " Mein Vater" and the soft, deep 
 murmur of Eugen's answer; then I went downstairs and into 
 the open street. 
 
 That hateful, hateful three thalers ten groschen was still 
 clasped in my hand. What was I to do with it? Throw it 
 into the Ehine, and wash it away forever? Give it to some 
 one in need? Fling it into the gutter? Send it to him by 
 post? I dismissed that idea for what it was worth. No; I 
 would obey his prohibition. I would keep it those very 
 coins and when I felt inclined to be proud and conceited 
 about anything on my own account, or disposed to put down 
 superhuman charms to the account of others, I would go 
 and look at them, and they would preach me eloquent 
 sermons. 
 
 As I went into the house, up the stairs to my room, thp 
 front door opened again, and Anna Sartorius overtook me. 
 
 " I thought you had left the probe? " said I, staring at her. 
 
 " So I had, Herzclwn" said she with her usual ambiguous, 
 mocking laugh; " but I was not compelled to come home, 
 like a good little girl, the moment I came out of the Tonhalle. 
 I have been visiting a friend. But where have you been, 
 for the probe must have been over for some time? We heard 
 the people go past; indeed, some of them were staying in 
 the house where I was. Did you take a walk in the moon 
 light?"
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 89 
 
 " Good-night/' said I, too weary and too indifferent even 
 to answer her. 
 
 " It must have been a tiring walk; you seem weary, quite 
 ermiidet" said she mockingly, and I made no answer. 
 
 " A haupt-probe is a dismal thing, after all," she called out 
 to me from the top of the stairs. 
 
 From my innermost heart I agreed with her. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 KAFFEEKLATSCH. 
 
 " Phittis. I want none o' thy friendship ! 
 Lcsbia. Then take my enmity ! " 
 
 " WHEN a number of ladies meet together to discuss mat 
 ters of importance, we call it ' Kaffeeklatsch/ " Courvoisier 
 had said to me on that never-forgotten afternoon of my ad 
 venture at Koln. 
 
 It was my first kaffeeklatsch which, in a measure, decided 
 my destiny. Hitherto, that is up to the end of June, I had 
 not been to any entertainments of this kind. At last there 
 came an invitation to Frau Steimnann and to Anna Sar- 
 torius, to assist at a " coffee " of unusual magnitude, and 
 Frau Steinmann suggested that 1 should go with them and 
 see what it was like. Nothing loath, I consented. 
 
 " Bring some work," said Anna Sartorius to me, " or you 
 will find it langweilig slow, I mean." 
 
 " Shall we not have some music? " 
 
 " Music, yes, the sweetest of all that of our own tongues. 
 You shall hear everyone's candid opinion of everyone else 
 present company always excepted; and you will see what the 
 state of Elberthal society really is present company still 
 excepted. By a very strange chance the ladies who meet at 
 a klatsch are always good, pious, virtuous, and, above all, 
 charitable. It is wonderful how well we manage to keep the 
 black sheep out, and have nothing but lambs immaculate." 
 
 " Oh, don't! " 
 
 " Oh, bah! I know the Elberthal Klatscherei. It has 
 picked me to pieces many a time. After you have partaken 
 to-day of its coffee and its cakes, it will pick you to pieces." 
 
 " But," said I, arranging the ruffles of my very best frock,
 
 90 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 which I had been told it was de rigueur to wear, " I thought 
 women never gossiped so much among men." 
 
 Fraulein Sartorius laughed loud and long. 
 
 "The men! Du meine Gute! Men at a kaffeeklatsch! 
 Show me the one that a man dare even look into, and I'll 
 srown you and him, too with laurel, and bay, and the wild 
 parsley. A man at a kaffee mag Gott es bewahren!" 
 
 "Oh!" said I, half disappointed, and with a very poor, mean 
 sense of dissatisfaction at having put on my pretty new dress 
 for the first time only for the edification of a number of 
 virulent gossips. 
 
 " Men! " she reiterated with a harsh laugh as we walked 
 toward the Goldsternstrasse, our destination. " Men no. 
 We despise their company,' you see. We only talk about 
 them, directly or indirectly, from the moment of meeting to 
 that of parting." 
 
 "I am sorry there are no gentlemen," said I, and I was. 
 I felt I looked well. 
 
 Arrived at the scene of the kaffee, we were conducted to a 
 bedroom, where we laid aside our hats and mantles. I was 
 standing before the glass, drawing a comb through my up 
 turned hair, and contemplating, with irrepressible satisfac 
 tion, the delicate lavender hue of my dress, when I suddenly 
 saw reflected behind me the dark, harshly cut face of Anna 
 Sartorius. She started slightly, then said with a laugh, 
 which had in it something a little forced: 
 
 "We are a contrast, aren't we? Beauty and the Beast, 
 one might almost say. Na! 's scJiad't nix." 
 
 I turned away in a little offended pride. Her familiarity 
 annoyed me. What if she were a thousand times cleverer, 
 wittier, better read than I? I did not like her. A shade 
 srossed her face. 
 
 " Is it that you are thoroughly unamiable? " said she in a 
 ?oice which had reproach in it, " or are all English girls so 
 touchy that they receive a compliment upon their good looks 
 as if it were an offense? " 
 
 " I wish you would not talk of my ' good looks ' as if I were 
 a dog or a horse! " said I angrily. " I hate to be flattered. 
 I am no beauty, and do not wish to be treated as if I were." 
 
 " Do you always hate it? " said she from the window, 
 whither she had turned. " Ach! there goes Herr Cour- 
 voisier! " 
 
 The name startled me like a sudden report. I made an
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 91 
 
 eager step forward before I had time to recollect myself 
 then stopped. 
 
 " He is not out of sight yet/' said she with a curious look, 
 " if you wish to see him." 
 
 I sat down and made no answer. What prompted her to 
 talk in such a manner? Was it a mere coincidence: ' 
 
 "He was a handsome fellow, nicht wahr?" she said, still 
 watching me, while I thought Frau Steinmann never would 
 manage to arrange her cap in the style that pleased her. 
 "But a Taugenichts, all the same," pursued Anna as I did 
 not speak. " Don't you think so ? " she added. 
 
 " A Taugenichts I don't know what that is/' 
 
 " What you call a good-for-nothing." 
 
 " Oh! " 
 
 " Nicht wahr? " she persisted. 
 
 " I know nothing about it." 
 
 " I do. I will tell you all about him some time/' 
 
 " I don't wish to know anything about him." 
 
 " So! " said she, with a laugh. 
 
 Without further word or look I followed Frau Steinmann 
 downstairs. 
 
 The lady of the house was seated in the midst of a large 
 concourse of old and young ladies, holding her own with a 
 well-seasoned hardihood in the midst of the awful Babel of 
 tongues. What a noise! It smote upon and stunned my 
 confounded ear. Our hostess advanced and led me, with a 
 wave of her hand, into the center of the room, when she 
 introduced me to about a dozen ladies; and everyone in 
 the room stopped talking and working, and stared at me 
 intently and unwinkingly until my name had been pro 
 nounced, after which some continued still to stare at me, 
 and commenting openly upon it. Meanwhile I was con 
 ducted to a sofa at the end of the room, and requested, in a 
 set phrase, " Bitte, Frdulein, nelimen Sie platz auf dem Sofa'' 
 with which long custom has since made me familiar, to take 
 my seat upon it. I humbly tried to decline the honor, but 
 Anna Sartorius, behind me, whispered: 
 
 " Sit down directly, unless you want to be thought an 
 utter barbarian. The place has been kept for you." 
 
 Deeply impressed, and very uncomfortable, I sat down. 
 First one and then another came and spoke and talked to 
 me. Their questions and remarks were much in this style: 
 
 "Do vou like Elberthal? What is your Christian name?
 
 92 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 How old are you? Have you been or are you engaged to be 
 marned? They break off engagements in England for a 
 mere trifle, don't they? Schrecklich! Did you get your 
 dress in Elberthal? What did it cost the elk? Young Eng 
 lish ladies wear silk much more than young German ladies. 
 You never go to the theater on Sunday in England you are 
 all pietistich. How beautifully you speak our language! 
 Keally no foreign accent! " (This repeatedly and unblush- 
 ingly, in spite of my most flagrant mistakes, and in the face 
 of my most feeble, halting, and stammering efforts to make 
 myself understood.) "Do you learn music? singing? From 
 whom? Herr von Francius? Ach, so!" (Pause, while they 
 all look impressively at me. The very name of Von Francius 
 calls up emotions of no common order.) " I believe I have 
 seen you at the proben to the ' Paradise Lost.' Perhajps you 
 ore the lady who is to take the solos? Yes! Du lieber Him* 
 mel! What do you think of Herr von Francius? Is he not 
 nice?" (Nett, though, signifies something feminine and 
 finikin.) " No? How odd! There is no accounting for the 
 tastes of Englishwomen. Do you know many people in 
 Elberthal? No? Schade! No officers? Not Hauptmann 
 Sachse? " (with voice growing gradually shriller), " nor Lieu 
 tenant Pieper? Not know Lieutenant Pieper! Urn Gottes- 
 willen! What do you mean? He so handsome! such eyes! 
 Buch a mustache! Herrgott! And you do not know him? 
 I will tell you something. When he went off to the autumn 
 maneuvers at Frankfort (I have it on good authority), twenty 
 young ladies went to see him off." 
 
 " Disgusting! " I exclaimed, unable to control my feelings 
 any longer. I saw Anna Sartorius malignantly smiling, as 
 she rocked herself in an American rocking chair. 
 
 "How, disgusting? You are joking. He had dozens of 
 bouquets. All the girls are in love with him. They com 
 pelled the photographer to sell them his photograph, and 
 they all believe he is in love with them. I believe Luise 
 Breidenstein will die if he doesn't propose to her." 
 
 " They ought to be ashamed of themselves." 
 
 "But he is so handsome, so delightful. He dances 
 divinely, and knows such good riddles, and acts ach, Jiimm- 
 lisch!" 
 
 " But how absurd to make such a fuss for him! " I cried, 
 hot and indignant. " The idea of going on so about a manl " 
 
 A chorus, a shriek, a Babel of expostulations.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 93 
 
 ** Listen, Thekla! Fraulein Wedderburn does not know 
 Lieutenant Pieper, and does not think it right to schwarm for 
 him." 
 
 " The darling! No one can help it who knows him! " said 
 another. 
 
 " Let her wait till she does know him," said Thekla, a senti 
 mental young woman, pretty in a certain sentimental way, 
 and graceful, too also sentimentally with the sentiment 
 that lingers about young ladies' albums with J eaves of smooth, 
 various-hued note paper, and about the sonnets which nestle 
 within the same. There was a sudden shriek: 
 
 " There he goes! There is the Herr Lieutenant riding by. 
 Just come here, mein Fraulein! See him! Judge for 
 yourself! " 
 
 A strong hand dragged me, whether I would or not, to the 
 window, and pointed out to me the Herr Lieutenant riding 
 by. An adorable creature in a Hussar uniform; he had pink 
 cheeks and a straight nose, and the loveliest little model of a 
 mustache ever seen; tightly curling black hair, and the dear 
 est little feet and hands imaginable. 
 
 " Oh, the dear, handsome, delightful fellow! " cried one 
 enthusiastic young creature, who had scrambled upon a 
 chair in the background and was gazing after him while 
 another, behind me, murmured in tones of emotion: 
 
 " Look how he salutes divine, isn't it? " 
 
 I turned away, smiling an irrepressible smile. My musi 
 cian, with his ample traits and clear, bold eyes, would have 
 looked a wild, rough, untamable creature by the side of that 
 wax-doll beauty that pretty thing who had just ridden by. 
 I thought I saw them side by side Herr Lieutenant Pieper 
 and Eugen Courvoisier. The latter would have been as much 
 more imposing than the former as an oak is more imposing 
 than a spruce fir as Gluck than Lortzing. And could these 
 enthusiastic young ladies have viewed the two they would 
 have been true to their lieutenant; so much was certain. 
 They would have said that the other man was a wild man, 
 who did not cut his hair often enough, who had large hands, 
 whose collar was perhaps chosen more with a view to ease and 
 the free movement of the throat than to the smallest number 
 of inches within which it was possible to confine that throat; 
 \vho did not wear polished kid boots, and was not seen off 
 from the station by twenty devoted admirers of the opposite 
 sex, was with bouquets. With a feeling a of
 
 94 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 something singing at my heart I went back to rny place, smil 
 ing still. 
 
 " See! she is quite charmed with the Herr Lieutenant! Is 
 he not delightful?" 
 
 " Oh, very; so is a Dresden china shepherd; but if you let 
 him fall he breaks." 
 
 " Wie Tcomisch! how odd! " was the universal comment upon 
 my eccentricity. The conversation had wandered off to other 
 military stars, all of whom were reizend, hiibsch, or nett. So 
 it went on until I got heartily tired of it, and then the ladies 
 discussed their female neighbors, but I leave that branch of 
 the subject to the intelligent reader. It was the old tune 
 with the old variations, which were rattled over in the accus 
 tomed manner. I listened, half curious, half appalled, and 
 thought of various speeches made by Anna Sartorius. 
 Whether she was amiable or not. she had certainly a keen 
 insight into the hearts and motives of her fellow-creatures. 
 Perhaps the gift had soured her. 
 
 Anna and I walked home alone. Frau Steinmann was, 
 with other elderly ladies of the company, to spend the even 
 ing there. As we walked down the Konigsallee how well 
 to this day do I remember it! The chestnuts were beginning 
 to fade, the road was dusty, the sun setting gloriously, the 
 people thronging in crowds she said suddenly, quietly, and 
 in a tone of the utmost composure: 
 
 " So you don't admire Lieutenant Pieper so much as Herr 
 Courvoisier? " 
 
 "What do you mean?" I cried, astonished, alarmed, and 
 wondering what unlucky chance led her to talk to me of 
 Eugen. 
 
 " I mean what I say; and for my part I agree with you 
 partly. Courvoisier, bad though he may be, is a man; the 
 other a mixture of doll and puppy." 
 
 She spoke in a friendly tone; discursive, as if inviting con 
 fidence and comment on my part. I was not inclined to give 
 either. I shrunk with morbid nervousness from owning to 
 any knowledge of Eugen. Aly pride, nay, my very self- 
 esteem, bled whenever I thought of him or heard him men 
 tioned. Above all, I shrunk from the idea of discussing him, 
 or anything pertaining to him, with Anna Sartorius. 
 
 " It will be time for you to agree with me when I give you 
 anything to agree about/ 5 said I coldly. "I know nothing 
 of either of the gentlemen, and wish to know nothing."
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 95 
 
 There was a pause. Looking up, I found Anna's eyes fixed 
 upon my face, amazed, reproachful. I felt myself blushing 
 fierily. My tongue had led me astray; I had lied to her; I 
 knew it. 
 
 " Do not say you know nothing of either of the gentlemen 
 Herr Courvoisier was your first acquaintance in Elberthal." 
 
 " What? " I cried with a great leap of the heart, for I felt 
 as if a veil had suddenly been rent away from before my eyes 
 and I shown a precipice. 
 
 " I saw you arrive with Herr Courvoisier/' said Anna 
 calmly; "at least, I saw you come from the platform with 
 him, and he put you into a drosky. And I saw you cut him 
 at the opera; and I saw you go into his house after the general 
 probe. Will you tell me again that you know nothing of 
 him? I should have thought you too proud to tell lies." 
 
 " I wish you would mind your own business," said I, 
 heartily wishing that Anna Sartorius were at the antipodes. 
 
 " Listen! " said she very earnestly, and, I remember it now, 
 though I did not heed it then, with wistful kindness. " I do 
 not bear malice you are so young and inexperienced. I wish 
 you were more friendly, but I care for you too much to be 
 rebuffed by a trifle. I will tell you about Courvoisier." 
 
 " Thank you," said I hastily. " I beg you will do no such 
 thing." 
 
 " I know his story. I can tell you the truth about him." 
 
 "I decline to discuss the subject," said I, thinking of 
 Eugen, and passionately refusing the idea of discussing him, 
 gossiping about him, with anyone. 
 
 Anna looked surprised; then a look of anger crossed her 
 face. 
 
 " You cannot be in earnest," said she. 
 
 " I assure you I am. I wish you would leave me alone/ 1 
 I said, exasperated beyond endurance. 
 
 "You don't wish to know what I ean tell you about 
 him?" 
 
 " No, I don't. What is more, if you begin talking to me 
 about him, I will put my fingers in my ears and leave 
 you." 
 
 " Then you may .? jam it for yourself," said she suddenly, 
 in a voice little more than a whisper. " You shall rue your 
 treatment of me. And when you know the lesson by heart, 
 then you will be sorry/' 
 
 " You are officious and impertinent," said I, white with ire.
 
 9 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " I don't wish for your society, and I will say good-evening to 
 you." 
 
 With that I turned down a side street leading into the 
 Alleestrasse, and left her. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 "So! 
 
 Another chapter read; with doubtful hand 
 I turn the page; with doubtful eyes I scan 
 The heading of the next." 
 
 FROM that evening Anna let me alone, as I thought, and 1 
 was glad of it, nor did I attempt any conciliation, for 
 the very good reason that I wished for none. 
 
 Soon after our dispute I found upon my plate at breakfast, 
 one morning, a letter directed in a bold though unformed 
 hand, which I recognized as Stella's: 
 
 " DEAR MAT: I dare say Adelaide will be writing to you. 
 But I will take time by the forelock, so to speak, and give 
 you my views on the subject first. 
 
 " There is news; strange to say that there is some news to 
 tell you. I shall give it without making any remarks. I 
 shall not say whether I think it good, bad, or indifferent. 
 Adelaide is engaged to Sir Peter Le Marchant. It was only 
 made known two days ago. Adelaide thinks he is in love 
 with her. What a strange mistake for her to make! She 
 thinks she can do anything with him. Also a monstrous 
 misapprehension on her part. Seriously, May, I am rather 
 uncomfortable about it, or should be, if it were anyone else 
 but Adelaide. But she knows so remarkably well what she 
 is about, that perhaps, after all, my fears are needless. And 
 yet but there is no use speculating about it I said I 
 wouldn't. 
 
 " She is a queer girl. I don't know how she can marry 
 Sir Peter, I must say. I suppose he is awfully rich, and 
 Adelaide has always said that poverty was the most horrible 
 thing in the world. I don't know, I'm sure. I should be 
 inclined to say that Sir Peter was the most horrible thing in 
 the world. Write soon, and tell me what you think about it, 
 " Thine, speculatively, 
 
 " STELLA WEDDERBURN."
 
 TEE FIRST vrOLlft 97 
 
 I did not feel surprise at this letter. Foreboding, grief, 
 shame, I did experience at finding that Adelaide was bent 
 upon her own misery. But then, I reflected, she cannot be 
 very sensible to misery, or she would not be able to go through 
 with such a purpose. I went upstairs to communicate this 
 news to Miss Hallam. Soon the rapid movements of events 
 in my own affairs completely drove thoughts of Adelaide for 
 a time, at least, out of my mind. 
 
 Miss Hallam received the information quietly and with a 
 certain contemptuous indifference. I knew she did not like 
 Adelaide, and I spoke of her as seldom as possible. 
 
 I took up some work, glancing at the clock, for I expected 
 Von Francius, soon, to give me my lesson, and Miss Hallam 
 sat still. I had offered to read to her, and she had declined. 
 I glanced at her now and then. I had grown accustomed 
 to that sarcastic, wrinkled, bitter face, and did not dislike it. 
 Indeed, Miss Hallam had given me abundant proofs that, 
 eccentric though she might be, pessimist in theory, merciless 
 upon human nature, which she spoke of in a manner which 
 sometimes absolutely appalled me, yet in fact, in deed, she 
 was a warm-hearted, generous woman. She had dealt bounti 
 fully by me, and I knew she loved me, though she never 
 said so. 
 
 " May," she presently remarked, " yesterday, when you were 
 out, I saw Dr. Mittendorf ." 
 
 " Did you, Miss Hallam? " 
 
 " Yes. He says it is useless my remaining here any longer. 
 I shall never see, and an operation might cost me my life." 
 
 Half stunned, and not yet quite taking in the whole case, 
 I held my work suspended, and looked at her. She went on: 
 
 " I knew it would be so when I came. I don't intend to 
 try any more experiments. I shall go home next week." 
 
 Now I grasped the truth. 
 
 " Go home, Miss Hallam! " I repeated faintly. 
 
 " Yes, of course. There is no reason why I should stay, 
 is there?" 
 
 " N-no, I suppose not," I admitted; and contrived to 
 stammer out, " and I am very sorry that Dr. Mittendorf 
 thinks you will not be better." 
 
 Then I left the room quickly I could not stay, I was over 
 whelmed. It was scarcely ten minutes since I had come 
 upstairs to her. I could have thought it was a week. 
 
 Outside the room, I stood on the landing with my hand
 
 98 THE FIRST VIOLlX. 
 
 pressed to my forehead, for I felt somewhat bewildered. 
 Stella's letter was still in my hand. As I stood there Anna 
 Sartorius came past. 
 
 *' Guten Tag, Fraulein" said she with a mocking kind of 
 good-nature when she had observed me for a few minutes. 
 "What is the matter? Are you ill? Have you had bad 
 aews?" 
 
 " Good-morning, Fraulein," I answered quietly enough, 
 dropping my hand from my brow. 
 
 I went to my room. A maid was there, and the furniture 
 might have stood as a type of chaos, I turned away, and 
 went to the empty room in which my piano stood, and where 
 I had my music lessons. I sat down upon a stool in the 
 middle of the room, folded my hands in my lap, and endeav 
 ored to realize what had happened what was going to hap 
 pen. There rang in my head nothing but the words, " I am 
 going home next week." 
 
 Home again! what a blank yawned before me at the idea! 
 Leave Elberthal leave this new life which has just begun to 
 grow real to me! Leave it go away; be whirled rapidly 
 away back to Skernf ord away from this vivid life, away from 
 Eugen. I drew a long breath, as the wretched, ignominious 
 idea intruded itself, and I knew now what it was that gave 
 terror to the prospect before me. My heart quailed and 
 fainted at the bare idea of such a thing. Not even Hobson's 
 choice was open to me. There was no alternative I must 
 go. I eat still, and felt myself growing gradually stiller and 
 graver and colder as I looked mentally to every side 
 of my horizon, and found it so bounded myself shut in so 
 fast. 
 
 There was nothing for it but to return home, and spend 
 the rest of my life at Skernford. I was in a mood in which 
 I could smile. I smiled at the idea of myself growing older 
 and older, and this six weeks that I had spent fading back 
 and back into the distance, and the people into whose lives 
 I had had a cursory glance going on their way, and soon for 
 getting my existence. Truly, Anna! if you were anxious for 
 me to be miserable, this moment, -could you know it, should 
 be sweet to you! 
 
 My hands clasped themselves more closely upon my lap, and 
 I sat staring at nothing, vaguely, until a shadow before me 
 caused me to look up. Without knowing it, Von Francius 
 had come in, and was standing by, looking at me.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 99 
 
 "Good-morning!" said I with a vast effort, partially col 
 lecting my scattered thoughts. 
 
 " Are you ready for your lesson, mein Frauhin? " 
 
 "N-no. I think, Herr Direktor, I will not take any les 
 son to-day, if you will excuse it." 
 
 "But why? Are you ill?" 
 
 "No," said I. "At least perhaps I want to accustom 
 aryself to do without music lessons." 
 
 " So! " 
 
 "Yes, and without many other pleasant things," said I 
 dryly and decidedly. 
 
 " I do not understand," said he, putting his hat down and 
 leaning one elbow upon the piano, while his deep eyes fixed 
 themselves upon my face, and, as usual, began to compel my 
 secrets from me. 
 
 " I am going home," said I. 
 
 A quick look of feeling whether astonishment, regret, or 
 dismay, I should not like to have said flashed across hia 
 face. 
 
 " Have you had bad news? " 
 
 " Yes, very. Miss Hallam returns to England next week." 
 
 " But why do you go ? Why not remain here ? " 
 
 " Gladly, if I had any money," I said with a dry smile. 
 " But I have none, and cannot get any." 
 
 " You will return to England now? Do you know what 
 you are giving up?" 
 
 " Obligation has no choice," said I gracefully. " I would 
 give anything if I could stay here, and not go home again." 
 And with that I burst into tears. I covered my face with 
 my hands, and all the pent-up grief and pain of the coming 
 parting streamed from my eyes. I wept uncontrollably. 
 
 He did not interrupt my tears for some time. When he 
 did speak, it was in a very gentle voice. 
 
 " Miss Wedderburn, will you try to compose yourself, and 
 listen to something I have to say? " 
 
 I looked up. 1 saw his eyes fixed seriously and kindly 
 upon me, with an expression quite apart from their usual 
 indifferent coolness with the look of one friend to another 
 with such a look as I had seen and have since seen ex 
 changed between Courvoisier and his friend Helfen. 
 
 " See," said he, " I take an interest in you, Friiulein May. 
 Why should I hesitate to say so? You are young you dc 
 not know the extent of your own strength, or of your own
 
 100 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 weakness. I do. I will not natter it is not my way as 1 
 think you know/' 
 
 I smiled. I remembered the plentiful blame and the scant 
 praise which it had often fallen to my lot to receive from him, 
 
 "I am a strict, sarcastic, disagreeable old pedagogue, as 
 you and so many of my other fair pupils consider," he went 
 on, and I looked up in amaze. I knew that so many of his 
 " fair pupils " considered him exactly the reverse. 
 
 " It is my business to know whether a voice is good for 
 anything or not. Now yours, with training, will be good for 
 a great deal. Have you the means, or the chance, or the pos 
 sibility of getting that training in England?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " I should like to help you; partly from the regard I have 
 for you, partly for my own sake, because I think you would 
 do me credit." 
 
 He paused. I was looking at him with all my senses con 
 centrated upon what he had said. He had been talking 
 round the subject until he saw that he had fairly fixed my 
 attention; then he said sharply and rapidly: 
 
 " Fraulein, it lies with you to choose. Will you go home 
 and stagnate there, or will you remain here, fight down your 
 difficulties, and become a worthy artist ? " 
 
 " Can there be any question as to which I should like to 
 do? " said I, distracted at the idea of having to give up the 
 prospect he held out. " But it is impossible. Miss Hallam 
 alone can decide." 
 
 "But if Miss Hallam consented, you would remain?" 
 
 " Oh, Herr von Francius! You should soon see whether 
 I would remain! " 
 
 " Also! Miss Hallam shall consent. Now to our singing! " 
 
 I stood up. A singular apathy had come over me; I felt 
 no longer my old self. I had a kind of confidence in Von 
 
 Francius, and yet Despite my recent trouble, I felt 
 
 now a lightness and freedom, and a perfect ability to cast 
 aside all anxieties, and turn to the business of the moment 
 my singing. I had never sung better. Von Francius con 
 descended to say that I had done well. Then he rose. 
 
 "Now I am going to have a private interview with Miss 
 Hallam," said he, smiling. " I am always having private 
 interviews with her, nicht wahr? Nay, Fraulein May, do not 
 let your eyes fill with tears. Have confidence in yourself 
 and your destiny, as I have."
 
 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 101 
 
 With that he was gone, leaving me to practice. How very 
 kind Von Francius was to me! I thought not in the least 
 the kind of man people called him. I had great confidence 
 in him in his will. I almost helieved that he would know 
 the right thing to say to Miss Hallam to get her to let me 
 stay; but then, suppose she were willing, I had no possible 
 means of support. Tired of conjecturing upon a subject 
 upon which I was so utterly in the dark, I soon ceased that 
 foolish pursuit. An hour had passed, when I heard Von 
 Francius' step, which I knew quite well, come down the stairs, 
 My heart beat, but I could not move. 
 
 Would he pass, or would he come and speak to me? He 
 paused. His hand was on the lock. That was he standing 
 before me, with a slight smile. He did not look like a man 
 defeated but then, could he look like a man defeated? My 
 idea of him was that he held his own way calmly, and that 
 circumstances respectfully bowed to him. 
 
 " The day is gained," said he, and paused; but before I 
 could speak he went on: "Go to Miss Hallam; be kind to 
 her. It is hard for her to part from you, and she has be 
 haved like a Spartan. I felt quite sorry to have to give her 
 so much pain." 
 
 Much wondering what could have passed between them, 
 I left Von Francius silently and sought Miss Hallam. 
 
 " Are you there, May? " said she. " What have you been 
 doing all the morning? " 
 
 " Practicing and having my lesson." 
 
 " Practicing and having your lesson exactly what I have 
 been doing. Practicing giving up my own wishes,. and tak 
 ing a lesson in the art of persuasion, by being myself per 
 suaded. Your singing-master is a wonderful man. He has 
 made me act against my principles." 
 
 "Miss Hallam "" 
 
 " You were in great trouble this morning when you heard 
 you were to leave Elberthal. I knew it instantly. How 
 ever, you shall not go unless you choose. You shall stay." 
 
 Wondering, I held my tongue. 
 
 " Herr von Francius has showed me my duty." 
 
 " Miss Hallam," said I suddenly, " I will do whatever you 
 wish. After your kindness to me, you have the right to dis 
 pose of my doings. I shall be glad to do as you wish." 
 
 " Well," said she composedly, " I wish you to write a let 
 ter to your parents, which I will dictate; of course the;y
 
 109 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 must be consulted. Then, if they consent, I intend to pro 
 vide you with the means of canying on your studies in 
 Elberthal under Herr von Francius." 
 
 1 almost gasped. Miss Hallam, who had been a by-word 
 in Skernford, and in our own family, for eccentricity and 
 stinginess, was indeed heaping coals of fire upon my head. 
 I tried, weakly and ineffectually, to express my gratitude to 
 her, and at last said: 
 
 "You may trust me never to abuse your kindness, Mies 
 Hallam." 
 
 " I have trusted you ever since you refused Sir Peter Le 
 Marchant, and were ready to leave your home to get rid of 
 him," said she with grim humor. 
 
 She then told me that she had settled everything with 
 Von Francius, even that I was to remove to different lodgings, 
 more suited for a solitary student than Frau Steinmann's 
 busy house. 
 
 "And," she added, "I shall ask Dr. Mittendorf to have 
 an eye to you now and then, and to write to me of how you 
 go on." 
 
 I could not find many words in which to thank her. The 
 feeling that I was not going, did not need to leave it all, filled 
 my heart with a happiness as deep as it was unfounded and 
 unreasonable. 
 
 At my next lesson Von Francius spoke to me of the future. 
 
 " I want you to be a real student no play one," said he, 
 " or you will never succeed. And for that reason I told Miss 
 Hallam that you had better leave this house. There are too 
 many distractions. I am going to put you in a very different 
 place." 
 
 " Where? In which part of the town? " 
 
 " Wehrhahn, 39, is the address," said he. 
 
 I was not quite sure where that was, but did not ask fur 
 ther, for I was occupied in helping Miss Hallam, and wished 
 to be with her as much as I could before she left. 
 
 The day of parting came, as come it must. Miss Hallam 
 was gone. I had cried, and she had maintained the grim 
 silence which was her only way of expressing emotion. 
 
 She was going back home to Skernford, to blindness, now 
 known to be inevitable, to her saddened, joyless life. I was 
 going to remain in Elberthal for what? When I look back 
 I ask myself was I not as blind as she, in truth? In the 
 afternoon of the day of Miss Hallam's departure I left Frau
 
 THE FIIi^T VIOL1U, 103 
 
 Steinmann's house. Clara promised to come and see me some 
 times. Frau Steinmann kissed me, and called me liebes Kind. 
 I got into the cab, and directed the driver to go to Wehrhahn, 
 39. He drove me along one or two streets into the one known 
 as the Schadowstrasse, a long, wide street, in which stood the 
 Tonhalle. A little past that building, round the corner, and 
 he stopped on the same side of the road. 
 
 "Not here! " said I, putting my head out of the window, 
 when I saw the window of the curiosity shop exactly oppo- 
 rite. "Not here!" 
 
 " Wehrhahn, 39, Fraulein? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "This is it." 
 
 I stared around. Yes on the wall stood in plainly-to-be- 
 read white letters, " Wehrhahn," and on the door of the 
 house, 39. Yielding to a conviction that it was to be, I mur 
 mured " Kismet," and descended from my chariot. The 
 woman of the house received me civilly. " The young lady for 
 whom the Herr Direktor had taken lodgings? Schon! Please 
 to come this way, Fraulein. The room was on the third 
 etage" I followed her upstairs steep, dark, narrow stairs, 
 like those of the opposite house. The room was a bare-look 
 ing, tolerably large one. There was a little closet of a bed 
 room opening from it, a scrap of carpet upon the floor, and 
 open windows letting in the air. The woman chatted good- 
 naturedly enough. 
 
 "So! I hope the room will suit, Fraulein. It is truly not 
 to be called richly furnished, but one doesn't need that when 
 one is a Sing-student. I have had many in my time ladies, 
 and gentlemen, too pupils of Herr von Francius often. Na ! 
 What if they did make a great noise? I have no children 
 thank the good God! and one gets used to the screaming just 
 as one gets used to everything else." Here she called me to 
 the window. 
 
 " You might have worse prospects than this, Fraulein, and 
 worse neighbors than those over the way. See! there is the 
 old furniture shop, where so many of the Herren Maler 
 go; and then there is Herr Duntze, the landscape painter; 
 and Herr Knoop, who paints Genrebilder, and does not make 
 much by it so a picture of a child, with a raveled skein of 
 wool, or a little girl making earrings for herself with bunches 
 of cherries for my part, 1 don't see much in them, and won 
 der that there are people who will lay down good, hard thalers
 
 104 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 for them. Then there is Herr Courvoisier, the musiker but 
 perhaps you know who he is." 
 
 " Yes/' I assented. 
 
 " And his little son! " Here she threw up her hands. 
 " Ach! the poor man! There are people who speak against 
 him, and everyone knows he and the Herr Direktor are 
 not the best friends, but sehen Sie wohl, Frdulein, the Herr 
 Uirektor is well off, settled, provided for; Herr Courvoisier 
 has his way to make yet, and the world before him; and whal 
 sort of a story it may be with the child I don't know; but 
 this I will say, let those dare to doubt it or question it who 
 will, he is a good father I know it. And the other young 
 man with Herr Courvoisier his friend, I suppose he is a 
 musiker, too. I hear them practicing a good deal sometimes 
 things without any air or tune to them; for my part, I 
 wonder how they can go on with it. Give me a good song, 
 with a tune to it ' Drunten im Unterland,' or ' In Berlin, 
 sagt er,' or something one knows. Na / 1 suppose the fiddling 
 all lies in the way of business, and perhaps they can fall 
 asleep over it sometimes, as I do, now and then, over my knit 
 ting, when I'm weary. The young man, Herr Courvoisier's 
 friend, looked ill when they first came; even now he is not to 
 call a robust-looking person but formerly he looked as if he 
 would go out of the fugue altogether. Entschuldigen, Frau- 
 lein, if I use a few professional proverbs. My husband, the 
 sainted man! was a piano-tuner by calling, and I have picked 
 up some of Lis musical expressions and use them, more for 
 his sake than any other reason for I have heard too much 
 music to believe in it so much as ignorant people do. Nun! 
 I will send Fraulein her box up, and then I hope she will feel 
 comfortable and at home, and send for whatever she wants." 
 
 In a few moments my luggage had come upstairs, and when 
 they who had brought it had finally disappeared, I went to 
 the window again and looked out. Opposite, on the same 
 etage, were two windows, corresponding to my two, wide open, 
 letting me see into an empty room, in which there seemed to 
 be books and many sheets of white paper, a music desk and a 
 rase of flowers. I also saw a piano in the clare-obscure, and 
 another door, half open, leading into the inner room. All 
 the inhabitants of the rooms were out. No tone came across 
 to me no movement of life. But the influence of the absent 
 ones was there. Strange concourse of circumstances which
 
 THE FIRS'! VIOLIN, 106 
 
 had placed me as the opposite neighbor, in the same profes 
 sion, too, of Eugen Courvoisier! Pure chance it certainly 
 was, for Von Francius had certainly had no motive in bring 
 ing me hither. 
 
 " Kismet! " I murmured once again, and wondered what 
 tke future would bring.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 44 He looks his angel in the face 
 Without a blush : nor heeds disgrace, 
 Whom naught disgraceful done 
 Disgraces. Who knows nothing base 
 Fears nothing known." 
 
 IT was noon. The probe to " Tannhauser " was over, and 
 we, the members of the kapelle, had turned out, and stood in 
 a knot around the orchestra entrance to the Elberthal Theater. 
 
 It was a raw October noontide. The last traces of the by 
 gone summer were being swept away by equinoctial gales, 
 which whirled the remaining yellowing leaves from the trees, 
 and strewed with them the walks of the deserted Hofgarten; 
 a stormy gray sky promised rain at the earliest opportunity; 
 our Rhine went gliding by like a stream of ruffled lead. 
 
 " Proper theater weather," observed one of my fellow- 
 musicians; " but it doesn't seem to suit you, Friedhelm. 
 What makes you look so down? " 
 
 I shrugged my shoulders. Existence was not at that time 
 very pleasant to me; my life's hues were somewhat of the 
 color of the autumn skies and of the dull river. I scarcely 
 knew why I stood with the others now; it was more a 
 mechanical pause before I took my spiritless way home, than 
 because I felt any interest in what was going on. 
 
 " I should say he will be younger by a long way than old 
 Kohler," observed Karl Linders, one of the violoncellists, a 
 young man with an unfailing flow of good nature, good spirits, 
 and eagerness to enjoy every pleasure which came in his way, 
 which qualities were the objects of my deep wonder and mild 
 envy. " And they say/' he continued, " that he's coming to 
 night; so, Friedhelm, my boy, you may look out. Your 
 water's on the way." 
 
 106
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 107 
 
 " So! " said I, lending but an indifferent attention; " what 
 is his name ? " 
 
 " That's his way of gently intimating that he hasn't got a 
 master," said Karl jocosely; but the general answer to my 
 question was, " I don't know." 
 
 " But they say," said a tall man who wore spectacles and 
 sat behind me in the first violins " they say that Von 
 Francius doesn't like the appointment. He wanted someone 
 else, but Die Direktion managed to beat him. He dislikes 
 the new fellow beforehand, whatever he may be." 
 
 " So! Then he will have a roughish time of it! " agreed 
 one or two others. 
 
 The " he " of whom they spoke was the coming man who 
 should take the place of the leader of the first violins it fol 
 lowed that he would be, at least, an excellent performer 
 possibly a clever man in many other ways, for the post was in 
 many ways a good one. Our Kapelle was no mean one in 
 our own estimation, at any rate. Our late first violinist, who 
 had recently died, had been on visiting terms with persons 
 of the highest respectability, had given lessons to the very 
 best families, and might have been seen bowing to young 
 ladies and important dowagers almost any day. No wonder 
 his successor was speculated about with some curiosity. 
 
 " Alle Wetter!" cried Karl Linders impatiently that 
 young man was much given to impatience " what does Von 
 Francius want? He can't have everything. I suppose this 
 new fellow plays a little too well for his taste. He will have 
 to give him a solo now and then instead of keeping them all 
 for himself." 
 
 " Weisz 's nicht," said another, shrugging his shoulders. 
 " I've only heard that Von Francius had a row with the 
 Direction, and was outvoted." 
 
 " What a sweet temper he will be in at the probe to-mor 
 row! " laughed Karl. "Won't he give it to the Madchen 
 right and left! " 
 
 " What time is he coming? " proceeded one of the oboists. 
 
 " Don't know; know nothing about it; perhaps he'll appeal 
 in ' Tannhauser ' to-night. Look out, Friedhelm! " 
 
 " Here comes little Luischen," said Karl with a winning 
 smile, straightening his collar, and a general arming-for-con* 
 quest expression, as some of the " ladies of the chorus and 
 ballet," appeared from the side door. " Isn't she pretty? " 
 he went on, in an audible aside to me. " I've a crow to pluck
 
 108 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 with her, too. Tag, Fraulein! " he added, advancing to the 
 young lady who had so struck him. 
 
 He was " struck/' on an average, once a week, every time 
 with the most beautiful and charming of her sex. The 
 others, with one or two exceptions, also turned. I said good- 
 morning to Linders, who wished, with a nohle generosity, to 
 make me a partaker in his cheerful conversation with Frau 
 lein Luise of the first soprans, slipped from his grasp and 
 took my way homeward. Fraulein Luischen was no doubt 
 very pretty, and in her way a companionable person. Un 
 fortunately I never could appreciate that way. With every 
 wish to accommodate myself to the only society with which 
 fortune supplied me, it was but ill that I succeeded. 
 
 I, Friedhelm Helfen, was at that time a lonely, soured mis 
 anthrope of two-and-twenty. Let the announcement sound 
 as absurd as it may, it is simply and absolutely true. I was 
 literally alone in the world. My last relative had died and 
 left me entirely without anyone who could have even a theo 
 retical reason for taking any interest in me. Gradually, dur 
 ing the last few months, I had fallen into evil places of 
 thought and imagination. There had been a time before, as 
 there has been a time since as it is with me now when I 
 worshiped my art with all my strength as the most beautiful 
 thing on earth; the art of arts the most beautiful and per 
 fect development of beauty which mankind has yet succeeded 
 in attaining to, and when the very fact of its being so and of 
 my being gifted with some poor power of expressing and inter 
 preting that beauty was enough for me gave me a place in 
 the world with which I was satisfied, and made life under 
 standable to me. At that time this belief my natural and 
 normal state was clouded over; between me and the goddess 
 of my idolatry had fallen a veil; I wasted my brain tissue in 
 trying to philosophize cracked my head, and almost my 
 reason, over the endless, unanswerable question Cui bono ? that 
 question which may so easily become the destruction of the 
 fool who once allows himself to be drawn into dallying witk 
 it. Cui bono? is a mental Delilah who will shear the locks 
 of the most arrogant Samson. And into the arms and to the 
 tender mercies of this Delilah I had given myself. I was in a 
 fair way of being lost forever in her snares, which she sets for 
 the feet of men. To what use all this toil? To what use 
 music? After, by dint of hard twisting my thoughts and 
 coping despera^ly with problems that I did not understand,
 
 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 109 
 
 having managed to extract a conviction that there was use 
 in music a use to beautify, gladden, and elevate I be 
 gan to ask myself further, " What is it to me whether 
 mankind is elevated or not? made better or worse? higher 
 or lower?" 
 
 Only one who has asked himself that question, as I did, m 
 bitter earnest, and fairly faced the answer, can know the hor 
 ror, the blackness, the emptiness of the abyss into which it 
 gives one a glimpse. Blackness of darkness no standpoint, 
 no vantage-ground it is a horror of horrors; it haunted me 
 then day and night, and constituted itself not only my com 
 panion but my tyrant. 
 
 I was in bad health, too. At night, when the joyless day 
 was over, the work done, the play played out, the smell of the 
 footlights and gas and the dust of the stage dispersed, a deadly 
 weariness used to overcome me; an utter, tired, miserable 
 apathy; and alone, surrounded by loneliness, I let my morbid 
 thoughts carry me whither they would. It had gone so far 
 that I had even begun to say to myself lately: 
 
 "Friedhelm Helfen, you are not wanted. On the other 
 sidi, this life is a nothingness so large that you will be as noth 
 ing in it. Launch yourself into it. The story that suicide 
 is wrong and immoral is, like other things, to be taken with 
 reservation. There is no absolute right and wrong. Suicide 
 is sometimes the highest form of right and reason." 
 
 This mood was strong upon me on that particular day, and 
 as I paced along the Schadowstrasse toward the Wehrhahn, 
 where my lodging was, the very stones seemed to cry out, 
 " The world is weary, and you are not wanted in it." 
 
 A heavy, cold, beating rain began to fall. I entered the 
 room which served me as living and sleeping room. From 
 habit I eat and drank at the same restauration as that fre 
 quented by my confreres of the orchestra. I leaned my elbows 
 upon the table, and listened drearily to the beat of the rain 
 upon the pane. Scattered sheets of music containing, some 
 great, others little thoughts, lay around me. Lately it seemed 
 as if the flavor was gone from them. The other night 
 Beethoven himself had failed to move me, and I accepted it 
 as a sign that all was over with me. In an hour it would be 
 time to go out and seek dinner, if I made up my mind to have 
 any dinner. Then there would be the afternoon the dreary, 
 wet afternoon, the tramp through the soaking streets, with 
 the lamplight shining into the pools of water, to the theater;
 
 210 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 the lights, the people, the weary round of painted ballet-girls, 
 and accustomed voices and faces of audience and performers. 
 The same number of bars to play, the same to leave unplayed; 
 the whole dreary story, gone through so often before, to be 
 gone through so often again. 
 
 The restauration did not see me that day; I remained in 
 the house. There was to be a great concert in the course of 
 a week or two; the " Tower of Babel " was to be given at it. 
 I had the music. I practiced my part, and I remember being 
 a little touched with the exquisite loveliness of one of the 
 choruses, that sung by the " Children of Japhet " as they 
 wander sadly away with their punishment upon them into the 
 Waldeinsamkeit (that lovely and untranslatable word) one of 
 the purest and most pathetic melodies ever composed. 
 
 It was dark that afternoon. I had not stirred from my 
 hole since coming in from the probe had neither eaten nor 
 drank, and was in full possession of the uninterrupted soli 
 tude coveted by busy men. Once I thought that it would 
 have been pleasant if someone had known and cared for me 
 well enough to run upstairs, put his head into the room, and 
 talk to me about his affairs. 
 
 To the sound of gustily blowing wind and rain beating on 
 the pane, the afternoon hours dragged slowly by, and the 
 world went on outside and around me until about five o'clock. 
 Then there came a knock at my door, an occurrence so un 
 precedented that I sat and stared at the said door instead of 
 speaking, as if Edgar Poe's raven had put in a sudden appear 
 ance and begun to croak its " Nevermore " at me. 
 
 The door was opened. A dreadful, dirty-looking young 
 woman, a servant of the house, stood in the doorway. 
 
 " What do you want? " I inquired. 
 
 A gentleman wished to speak to me. 
 
 " Bring him in, then," said I, somewhat testily. 
 
 She turned and requested someone to come forward. 
 There entered a tall and stately man, with one of those rare 
 faces, beautiful in feature, bright in expression, which one 
 meets sometimes, and, having once seen, never forgets. He 
 carried what I took at first for a bundle done up in dark-green 
 plaid, but as I stood up and looked at him I perceived that 
 the plaid was wrapped round a child. Lost in astonishment, 
 I gazed at him in silence. 
 
 " I beg you will excuse my intruding upon you thus," said 
 be, bowing, and I involuntarily returned his bow, wondering
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. Ill 
 
 more and more what he could be. His accent was none of 
 the Elberthal one; it was fine, refined, polished. 
 
 " How can I serve you? " I asked, impressed by his voice, 
 manner, and appearance; agreeably impressed. A little 
 masterful he looked a little imperious, but not unapproach 
 able, with nothing ungenial in his pride. 
 
 " You could serve me very much by giving me one or two 
 pieces of information. In the first place let me introduce 
 myself; you, I think, are Herr Helfen?" I bowed. "My 
 name is Eugen Courvoisier. I am the new member of you]; 
 stddisches orchester." 
 
 " 0, was! " said I, within myself. " That ii our new first; 
 Tiolin! " 
 
 " And this is my son," he added, looking down at the plaid 
 bundle, which he held very carefully and tenderly. " If you 
 will tell me at what time the opera begins, what it is to-night, 
 and finally, if there is a room to be had, perhaps in this house, 
 even for one night. I must find a nest for this Vogelein as 
 soon as I possibly can." 
 
 " I believe the opera begins at seven," said I, still gazing 
 at him in astonishment, with open mouth and incredulous 
 eyes. Our orchestra contained, among its sufficiently varied 
 specimens of nationality and appearance, nothing in the very 
 least like this man, beside whom I felt myself blundering, 
 clumsy, and unpolished. It was not mere natural grace of 
 manner. He had that, but it had been cultivated somewhere, 
 and cultivated highly. 
 
 "Yes? "he said. 
 
 " At seven yes. It is ' Tannhauser " to-night. And the 
 rooms I believe they have rooms in the house." 
 
 "Ah, then I will inquire about it," said he, with an ex 
 ceedingly open and delightful smile. " I thank you for tell 
 ing me. Adieu, mein Herr." 
 
 "Is he asleep?" I asked abruptly, and pointing to the 
 bundle. 
 
 "Yes; armes Kerlchen! Just now he is," said the young 
 man. 
 
 He was quite young, I saw. In the half light I supposed 
 him even younger than he really was. He looked down at 
 the bundle again and smiled. 
 
 " I should like to see him," said I, politely and gracefully, 
 seized by an impulse of which I felt ashamed, but. which I 
 yet could not resist.
 
 112 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 With that I stepped forward and came to examine the 
 bundle. He moved the plaid a little aside and showed me a 
 child a very young, small, helpless child, with closed eyes, 
 immensely long, black, curving lashes, and fine, delicate black 
 brows. The small face was flushed, but even in sleep this 
 child looked melancholy. Yet he was a lovely child most 
 beautiful and most pathetic to see. 
 
 I looked at the small face in silence, and a great desire 
 )ame upon me to look at it oftener to see it again; then up 
 at that of the father. How unlike the two faces! Now that 
 I fairly looked at the man, I found that he was different from 
 what I had thought; older, sparer, with more sharply cut fea 
 tures. I could not tell what the child's eyes might be those 
 of the father were piercing as an eagle's; clear, open, strange. 
 There was sorrow in the face, I saw, as I looked so earnestly 
 into it; and it was worn as if with a keen inner life. This 
 glance was one of those which penetrate deep, not the glance 
 of a moment, but a revelation for life. 
 
 " He is very beautiful," said I. 
 
 " Nicht wahr?" said the other softly. 
 
 " Look here," I added, going to a sofa which was strewn 
 vith papers, books, and other paraphernalia; " couldn't we put 
 him here, and then go and see about the rooms? Such a 
 young, tender child must not be carried ahout the passages, 
 and the house is full of draughts." 
 
 I do not know what had so suddenly supplied me with this 
 wisdom as to what was good for a " young, tender child," nor 
 can I account for the sudden deep interest which possessed 
 me. I dashed the things off the sofa, beat the dust from it, 
 desired him to wait one moment while I rushed to my bed to 
 ravish it of its pillow. Then, with the sight of the hed (I was 
 buying my experience), I knew that that, and not the sofa, 
 was the place for the child, and said so. 
 
 "Put him here, do put him here! " I besought earnestly. 
 * He will sleep for a time here, won't he? " 
 
 " You are very good," said my visitor, hesitating a moment. 
 
 " Put him there! " said I, flushed with excitement, and with 
 the hitherto unknown joy of being able to offer hospitality. 
 
 Courvoisier looked meditatively at me for a short time, then 
 laid the child upon the bed, and arranged the plaid around 
 it as skillfully and as quickly as a woman would have 
 done it. 
 
 " How clever he must be! " I thought, looking at him with
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 113 
 
 awe, and with little less awe contemplating the motionless 
 child. 
 
 " Wouldn't you like something to put over him? " I asked, 
 looking excitedly about. " I have an overcoat. I'll lend it 
 you." And I was rushing off to fetch it, but he laughingly 
 laid his hand upon my arm. 
 
 " Let him alone," said he; " he's all right." 
 
 "He won't fall 'off, will he?" I asked anxiously. 
 
 " No; don't be alarmed. Now, if you will be so good, we 
 will see about the rooms." 
 
 " Dare you leave him? " I asked, still with anxiety, and 
 looking back as we went toward the door. 
 
 " I dare because I must," replied he. 
 
 He closed the door, and we went downstairs to seek- the 
 persons in authority. Courvoisier related his business and 
 condition, and asked to see rooms. The woman hesitated 
 when she heard there was a child. 
 
 " The child will never trouble you, madame," said he 
 quietly, but rather as if the patience of his look were forced. 
 
 "No, never!" I added fervently. "I will answer for 
 that, Frau Schmidt." 
 
 A quick glance, half gratitude, half amusement, shot from 
 his eyes as the woman went on to say that she only took 
 gentlemen lodgers, and could not do with ladies, children, 
 and nursemaids. They wanted so much attending to, and 
 she did not profess to open her house to them. 
 
 " You will not be troubled with either lady or nursemaid," 
 said he. " I take charge of the child myself. You will not 
 know that he is in the house." 
 
 " But your wife " she began. 
 
 " There will be no one but myself and my little boy," he 
 replied, ever politely, but ever, as it seemed to me, with 
 repressed pain or irritation. 
 
 " So! " said the woman, treating him to a long, curious, 
 unsparing look of wonder and inquiry, which made me feel 
 hot all over. He returned the glance quietly and unsmil- 
 ingly. After a pause she said: 
 
 " Well, I suppose I must see about it, but it will be the first 
 child I ever took into the house, in that way, and only as a 
 favor to Herr Ilelfen." 
 
 I was greatly astonished, not having known before that I 
 stood in such high esteem. Courvoisier threw me a smiling 
 glance as we followed the woman up the stairs, up to the top
 
 114 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 of the house, where I lived. Throwing open a door, she said 
 these were two rooms which must go together. Courvoisiex 
 shook his head. 
 
 " I do not want two rooms," said he, " or rather, I don't 
 think I can afford them. What do you charge? " 
 
 She told him. 
 
 " If it were so much," said he, naming a smaller sum, " I 
 soiild do it." 
 
 "Nie!" said the woman curtly, "for that I can't do it. 
 Urn Gotteswillen! One must live." 
 
 She paused, reflecting, and I watched anxiously. She 
 was going to refuse. My heart sunk. Rapidly reviewing 
 my own circumstances and finances, and making a hasty calcu 
 lation in my mind, I said: 
 
 " Why can't we arrange it ? Here is a hig room and a lit 
 tle room. Make the little room into a bedroom, and use the 
 big room for a sitting room. I will join at it, and so it will 
 come within the price you wish to pay." 
 
 The woman's face cleared a little. She had listened with a 
 clouded expression and her head on one side. Now she 
 straightened herself, drew herself up, smoothed down her 
 apron, and said: 
 
 " Yes, that lets itself be heard. If Herr Helfen agreed to 
 that, she would like it." 
 
 " Oh, but I can't think of putting you to the extra ex 
 pense," said Courvoisier. 
 
 " I should like it," said I. " I have often wished I had a 
 little more room, but, like you, I couldn't afford the whole 
 expense. We can have a piano, and the child can play there. 
 Don't you see? " I added with great earnestness, and touching 
 his arm. " It is a large, airy room; he can run about there, 
 ind make as much noise as he likes." 
 
 He still seemed to hesitate. 
 
 "I can afford it," said I. "I've no one but myself, un 
 luckily. If you don't object to my company, let us try it. 
 We shall be neighbors in the orchestra." 
 
 " So! " 
 
 "Why not at home, too? I think it an excellent plan. 
 Let us decide it so." 
 
 I was very urgent about it. An hour ago I could not have 
 conceived anything which could make me so urgent and set 
 my heart beating so. 
 
 " If I did not think it would inconvenience you," he began.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 115 
 
 " Then it is settled? " said I. " Now let us go and see what 
 kind of furniture there is in that big room." 
 
 Without allowing him to utter any further objection, I 
 dragged him to the large room, and we surveyed it. The 
 woman, who, for some unaccountable reason, appeared to have 
 recovered her good temper in a marvelous manner, said quite 
 cheerfully that she would send the maid to make the smaller 
 room ready as a bedroom for two. " One of us won't take 
 much room," said Courvoisier with a laugh, to which she 
 assented with a smile, and then left us. The big room was 
 long, low, and rather dark. Beams were across the ceiling, 
 and two not very large windows looked upon the street below, 
 across to two smaller windows of another lodging house, a 
 little to the left of which was the Tonhalle. The floor was 
 carpetless, but clean; there was a big square table, and some 
 chairs. 
 
 " There," said I, drawing Courvoisier to the window, and 
 pointing across; " there is one scene of your future exertions, 
 the Stiidtische Tonhalle." 
 
 " So! " said he, turning away again from the window it 
 was as dark as ever outside and looking round the room 
 again. " This is a dull-looking place," he added, gazing 
 around it. 
 
 " We'll soon make it different," said I, rubbing my hands 
 and gazing around the room with avidity. " I have long 
 wished to be able to inhabit this room. We must make ft 
 more cheerful, though, before the child comes to it. We'll 
 have the stove lighted, and we'll knock up some shelves, and 
 we'll have a piano in, and the sofa from my room, nicht wahr? 
 Oh, we'll make a place of it, I can tell you! " 
 
 He looked at me as if struck with my enthusiasm, and I 
 bustled about. We set to work to make the room habitable. 
 He was out for a short time at the station and returned with 
 the luggage which he had left there. While he was away 
 I stole into my room and took a good look at my new treas 
 ure; he still slept peacefully and calmly on. We were deep 
 in impromptu carpentering and contrivances for use and com 
 fort, when it occurred to me to look at my watch. 
 
 " Five minutes to seven! " I almost yelled, dashing wildly 
 into my room to wash my hands and get my violin. Cour 
 voisier followed me. The child was awake. I felt a horrible 
 sense of guilt as I saw it looking at me with great, soft, 
 solemn brown eyes, not in the least those of its father; but it
 
 116 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 did not move. I said apologetically that I feared I had 
 awakened it. 
 
 " Oh, no! He's been awake for some time," said Courvoi- 
 sier. The child saw him, and stretched out its arms toward 
 him. 
 
 " Na! junger Taugenichts! " he said, taking it up and kiss 
 ing it. " Thou must stay here till I come back. Wilt be 
 happy till I come? " 
 
 The answer made by the mournful-looking child was a 
 singular one. It put both tiny arms around the big man's 
 neck, laid its face for a moment against his, and loosed him 
 again. Neither word nor sound did it emit during the proc 
 ess. A feeling altogether new and astonishing overcame me. 
 I turned hastily away, and as I picked up my violin case, was 
 ama-zed to find my eyes dim. My visitors were something 
 unprecedented to me. 
 
 " You are not compelled to go to the theater to-night, you 
 know, unless you like," I suggested, as we went downstairs. 
 
 " Thanks; it is as well to begin at once." 
 
 On the lowest landing we met Frau Schmidt. 
 
 " Where are you going, meine Herren ? " she demanded. 
 
 " To work, madame," he replied, lifting his cap with a 
 courtesy which seemed to disarm her. 
 
 " But the child? " she demanded. 
 
 " Do not trouble yourself about him." 
 
 "Is he asleep?" 
 
 " Not just now. He is all right, though." 
 
 She gave us a look which meant volumes. I pulled Cour- 
 voisier out. 
 
 " Come along, do! " cried I. " She will keep you there for 
 half an hour, and it is time now." 
 
 We rushed along the streets too rapidly to have time or 
 breath to speak, and it was five minutes after the time when 
 we scrambled into the orchestra, and found that the overture 
 was already begun. 
 
 Though there is certainly not much time for observing one's 
 fellows when one is helping in the overture to " Tannhauser," 
 yet I saw the many curious and astonished glances which were 
 cast toward our new member, glances of which he took no 
 notice, simply because he apparently did not see them. He 
 had the finest absence of self-consciousness that I ever saw. 
 
 The first act of the opera was over, and it fell to my share to 
 make Courvoisier known to his fellow-musicians. I intro-
 
 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 11* 
 
 duced him to the director, who was not Von Francius, nor 
 any friend of his. Then we retired to one of the small rooms 
 on one side of the orchestra. 
 
 " Hundeivetter ! " said one of the men, shivering. "Have 
 you traveled far to-day ? " he inquired of Courvoisier, by waf 
 of opening the conversation. 
 
 " From Koln, only." 
 
 "Live there?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 The man continued his catechism, but in another direction 
 " Are you a friend of Helfen's? " 
 
 "I rather think Helfen has been a friend to me," said 
 Courvoisier, smiling. 
 
 " Have you found lodgings already? " 
 
 "Yes?" 
 
 " So ! " said his interlocutor, rather puzzled with the new 
 arrival. I remember the scene well. Half a dozen of the 
 men were standing in one corner of the room, smoking, drink 
 ing beer, and laughing over some not very brilliant joke; we 
 three were a little apart. Courvoisier, stately and imposing- 
 looking, and with that fine manner of his, politely answering 
 Ms interrogator, a small, sharp-featured man, who looked up 
 to him and rattled complacently away, while I sat upon the 
 table among the fiddle cases and beer glasses, my foot on a 
 chair, my chin in my hand, feeling my cheeks glow, and a 
 strange sense of dizziness and weakness all over me; a light 
 ness in my head which I could not understand. It had quite 
 escaped me that I had neither eaten nor. drunk since my 
 breakfast at eight o'clock, on a cup of coffee and dry Brbd- 
 chen, and it was now twelve hours later. 
 
 The pause was not a long one, and we returned to our 
 places. But "Tannhauser" is not a short opera. As time 
 went on my sensations of illness and faintness increased. 
 During the second pause I remained in my place. Courvoi 
 sier presently came and sat beside me. 
 
 " I'm afraid you feel ill," said he. 
 
 I denied it. But though I struggled on to the end, yet at 
 last a deadly faintness overcame me. As the curtain went 
 down amid the applause, everything reeled around me. I 
 heard the bustle of the others of the audience going away. 
 I myself could not move. 
 
 " Was ist denn mit ihm ? " I heard Courvoisier say as he 
 stooped over me.
 
 118 THE FIKST VIOLIN. 
 
 "Is that Friedhclm Helfen?" asked Karl Linders, surrey- 
 ing me. " Potz blitz! he looks like a corpse! he's been at his 
 old tricks again, starving himself. I expect he has touched 
 nothing the whole day." 
 
 " Let's get him out and give him some brandy," said Cour- 
 voisier. " Lend him an arm, and I'll give him one on this 
 side." 
 
 Together they hauled me down to the retiring room. 
 
 " Ei ! he wants a schnapps, or something of the kind," said 
 Karl, who seemed to think the whole affair an excellent joke. 
 " Look here, alter Narr! " he added; " you've been going with 
 out anything to eat, nicht ? " 
 
 " I believe I hare," I assented feebly. " But I'm all right; 
 I'll go home." 
 
 Eejecting Karl's pressing entreaties to join him at rapper 
 at his favorite Wirthschaft, we went home, purchasing our 
 supper on the way. Courvoisier's first step was toward the 
 place where he had left the child. He was gone. 
 
 " Verschwunden!" cried he, striding off to the sleeping 
 room, whither I followed him. The little lad had been 
 undressed and put to bed in a small crib, and was sleeping 
 serenely. 
 
 " That's Fran Schmidt, who can't do with children and 
 nursemaids," said I, laughing. 
 
 " It's very kind of her," said he, as he touched the child's 
 cheek slightly with his little finger, and then, without another 
 word, returned to the other room, and we sat down to our 
 long-delayed supper. 
 
 " What on earth made you spend more than twelve hours 
 without food? " he asked me, laying down his knife and fork, 
 and looking at me. 
 
 "I'll tell you sometime, perhaps, not now," said I, for 
 there had begun to dawn upon my mind, like a sun ray, the 
 idea that life held an interest for me two interests a friend 
 and a child. To a miserable, lonely wretch like me, the ide& 
 was divine.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 119 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 Though nothing can bring back the hour 
 
 Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower. 
 
 We will grieve not rather find 
 
 Strength in what remains behind ; 
 
 In the primal sympathy 
 
 Which having been, must ever be. 
 
 In the soothing thoughts that spring 
 
 Out of human suffering ! 
 
 In the faith that looks through death 
 
 In years, that bring the philosophic mind. 
 
 WOBD6WORTH. 
 
 FEOM that October afternoon I was a man saved from my 
 self. Courvoisier had said, in answer to my earnest entreaties 
 about joining housekeeping: " We will try you may not like 
 it, and if so, remember you are at liberty to withdraw when 
 you will." The answer contented me, because I knew that 
 I should not try to withdraw. 
 
 Our friendship progressed by such quiet, imperceptible 
 degrees, each one knotting the past more closely and inextri 
 cably with the present, that I could by no means relate them 
 if I wished it. But I do not wish it. I only know, and am 
 content with it, that it has fallen to my lot to be blessed with 
 that most precious of all earthly possessions, the "friend" 
 that " sticketh closer than a brother." Our union has grown 
 and remained not merely " fest und treu" but immovable, 
 unshakable. 
 
 There was first the child. He was two years old; a strange, 
 weird, silent child, very beautiful as the son of his father 
 could scarcely fail to be but with a different kind of beauty. 
 How still he was, and how patient! Not a fretful child, not 
 given to crying or complaint; fond of resting in one place, 
 with solemn, thoughtful eyes fixed, when his father was there, 
 upon him; when his father was not there, upon the strip oi 
 sky which was to be seen through the window above the 
 house tops. 
 
 The child's name was Sigmund; he displayed a friendly 
 disposition toward me. indeed, he was passively friendly and 
 if one may say such a thing of a baby courteous to all he 
 came in contact with. He had inherited his father's polished 
 manner; one saw that when he grew up he would be a " gen 
 tleman," in the finest outer sense of the word. His inner
 
 120 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 life he kept concealed from us. I believe he had some method 
 ;>f communicating his ideas to Eugen, even if he never spoke. 
 Eugen never could conceal his own mood from the child; it 
 knew let him feign otherwise never so cunningly exactly 
 what he felt, glad or sad, or between the two, and no acting 
 could deceive him. It was a strange, intensely interesting 
 study to me; one to which I daily returned with fresh avidity. 
 He would let me take him in my arms and talk to him; 
 would sometimes, after looking at me long and earnestly, 
 break into a smile a strange, grave, sweet smile. Then I 
 could do no otherwise than set him hastily down and look 
 away, for so unearthly a smile I had never seen. He was, 
 though fragile, not an unhealthy child; though so delicately 
 formed, and intensely sensitive to nervous shocks, had nothing 
 of the coward in him, as was proved to us in a thousand ways; 
 he shivered through and through his little frame at the sight 
 of a certain picture to which he had taken a great antipathy, 
 a picture which hung in the public gallery at the Tonhalle; 
 he hated it, because of a certain evil-looking man portrayed 
 in it; but when his father, taking his hand said to him, " Go, 
 Sigmund, and look at that man; I wish thee to look at him," 
 went without turn or waver, and gazed long and earnestly at 
 the low-type, bestial visage portrayed to him. Eugen had 
 trodden noiselessly behind him; I watched, and he watched, 
 how his two little fists clinched themselves at his sides, while 
 his gaze never wavered, never wandered, till at last Eugen, 
 with a strange expression, caught him in his arms and half 
 killed him with kisses. 
 
 " Mein Liebling! " he murmured, as if utterly satisfied with 
 him. 
 
 Courvoisier himself? There were a great many strong and 
 positive qualities about this man, which in themselves would 
 have set him somewhat apart from other men. Thus he had 
 crotchety ideas about truth and honor, such as one might ex 
 pect from so knightly-looking a personage. It was Karl Lin- 
 ders who, at a, later period of our acquaintance, amused him 
 self by chalking up, " Prinz Eugen, der edle Bitter," beneath 
 his name. His musical talent or rather genius, it was more 
 than talent was at that time not one-fifth part known to me, 
 jet even what I saw excited my wonder. But these, and a 
 long list of other active characteristics, all faded into insig 
 nificance before the towering passion of his existence his 
 love for his child. It was strange, it was touching, to see the
 
 THE F:MST VIOLIN. 121 
 
 bond between father and son. The child's thoughts and 
 words, as told in his eyes and from his lips, formed the man's 
 philosophy. I believe Eugen confided everything to his boy. 
 His first thought in the morning, his last at night, was for der 
 Kleine. His leisure was I cannot say " given up " to the 
 boy but it was always passed with him. 
 
 Courvoisier soon gained a reputation among our comrades 
 for being a sham and a delusion. They said that to look at 
 him one would suppose that no more genial, jovial fellow 
 could exist there was kindliness in his glance, bon camara 
 derie in his voice, a genial, open, human sympathetic kind of 
 influence in his nature, and in all he did. " And yet," said 
 Karl Linders to me, with gesticulation, " one never can get 
 him to go anywhere. One may invite him, one may try to be 
 friends with him, but, no! off he goes home! What does the 
 fellow want at home? He behaves like a young miss of 
 fifteen, whose governess won't let her mix with vulgar 
 companions." 
 
 I laughed, despite myself, at this tirade of Karl. So that 
 Was how Eugen's behavior struck outsiders! 
 
 " And you are every bit as bad as he is, and as soft he has 
 made you so," went on Linders vehemently. "It isn't 
 right. You two ought to be leaders outside as well as in, 
 but you walk yourselves away, and stay at home! At 
 home, indeed! Let green goslings and grandfathers stay at 
 home." 
 
 Indeed, Herr Linders was not a person who troubled home 
 fiuch; spending his time between morning and night be 
 tween the theater and concert-room, restauration and verein. 
 
 " What do you do at home? " he asked irately. 
 
 " That's our concern, mein lieber" said I composedly , think 
 ing of young Sigmund, whose existence was unknown except 
 to our two selves, and laughing. 
 
 " Are you composing a symphony? or an opera buff a? You 
 ipight tell a fellow." 
 
 I laughed again, and said we led a peaceable life, as honest 
 citizens should; and added, laying my hand upon his shoul 
 der, for I had more of a leaning toward Karl, scamp though 
 he was, than to any of the others, " You might do worse than 
 follow our example, old fellow." 
 
 " Bah! " said he with unutterable contempt. " Fm a man; 
 not a milksop. Besides, how do I know what your example 
 is? You say you behave yourselves; but how am I to know
 
 122 TH 3 XST VIOLIN. 
 
 it? I'll drop upon you unawares and catch you some time. 
 See if I don't." 
 
 The next evening, by a rare chance with us, was a free 
 one there was no opera and no concert; we had had probe 
 that morning, and were at liberty to follow the devices and 
 desires of our own hearts that evening. 
 
 These devices and desires led us straight home, followed 
 by a sneering laugh from Heir Landers, which vastly amused 
 me. The year was drawing to a close. Christmas was nigh; 
 the weather was cold and unfriendly. Our stove was lighted, 
 our lamp burned pleasantly on the table; our big room looked 
 homely and charming by these evening lights. Master Sig- 
 mund was wide awake in honor of the occasion, and sat upon 
 my knee while his father ,played the fiddle. I have not 
 spoken of his playing before it was, in its way, unique. It 
 was not a violin that he played it was a spirit that he in 
 voked and a strange answer it sometimes gave forth to his 
 (Summons. To-night he had taken it up suddenly, and sat 
 playing, without book, a strange melody which wrung my 
 heart full of minor cadences, with an infinite wail and weari 
 ness in it. I closed my eyes and listened. It was sad, but it 
 was absorbing. When I opened my eyes again, and looked 
 down, I found that the tears were running from Sigmund's 
 eyes. He was sobbing quietly, his head against my breast. 
 
 " I say, Eugen! Look here! " 
 
 " Is he crying? Poor little chap! He'll have a good deal to 
 go through before he has learned all his lessons," said Eugen, 
 lying down his violin. 
 
 " What was that ? I never heard it before." 
 
 "I have often," said he, resting his chin upon his hand, 
 "in thp sound of streams in the rush of a crowd upon a 
 
 mountain yes, even alone with the woman I " H 
 
 broke off abruptly. 
 
 " BUJ never on a violin before? " said I significantly. 
 
 " No, never." 
 
 " Why don't you print some of those impromptus you are 
 always making? " 1 asked. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. Ere I could pursue the ques 
 tion someone knocked at the door, and in answer to our 
 Herein! appeared a handsome, laughing face, and a head of 
 wavy hair, which, with a tall, shapely figure, I recognized as 
 those of Karl Linders. 
 
 " I told you fellows I'd hunt you up, and I always keep my
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 123 
 
 word/' said he composedly. " You can't very well turn me 
 out for calling upon you." 
 
 He advanced. Courvoisier rose, and, with a courteous cor 
 diality, offered his hand and drew a chair up. Karl came for 
 ward, looking round, smiling and chuckling at the success of 
 his experiment, and as he came opposite to me his eyes fell 
 upon those of the child, who had raised his head and was 
 staring gravely at him. 
 
 Never shall I forget the start the look of amaze, almost 
 of fear which shot across the face of Herr Linders. Amaze 
 ment would be a weak word in which to describe it. He 
 stopped, stood stock-still in the middle of the room; his jaw 
 fell; he gazed from one to the other of us in feeble astonish 
 ment, then said, in a whisper: 
 
 " Donnenvetter ! A child! " 
 
 " Don't use bad language before the little innocent," said 
 I, enjoying his confusion. 
 
 "Which of you does he belong to? Is it he or she?" he 
 inquired in an awe-struck and alarmed manner. 
 
 " His name is Sigmund Courvoisier," said I, with difficulty 
 preserving my gravity. 
 
 " Oh, indeed! I I wasn't aware " began Karl, look 
 ing at Eugen in such a peculiar manner half respectful, hall 
 timid, half ashamed that I could no longer retain my feel 
 ings, but burst into such a shout of laughter as I had not 
 enjoyed for years. After a moment Eugen joined in; we 
 laughed peal after peal of laughter, while poor Karl stood 
 feebly looking from one to the other of the company speech 
 less crestfallen. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said at last; " I won't intrude any 
 longer. Good " 
 
 He was making for the door, but Eugen made a dash after 
 him, turned him round, and pushed him into a chair. 
 
 " Sit down, man," he said, stifling his laughter. " Sit 
 iown, man; do you think the poor little chap will hurt you? " 
 
 Karl cast a distrustful glance sideways at my nursling, and 
 spoke not. 
 
 " I'm glad to see you," pursued Eugen. " Why didn't you 
 come before?" 
 
 At that Karl's lips began to twitch with a humorous smile; 
 presently he, too, began to laugh, and seemed not to know 
 how or when to stop. 
 
 " It beats all I ever saw or heard or dreamed of," said he
 
 124 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 at last. "That's what brought you home in such a hurry 
 every night. Let me congratulate you, Friedel! You make 
 a first-rate nurse; when everything else fails I will give you a 
 character as Kindermadchen clean, sober, industrious, and 
 not given to running after young men." With which he 
 roared again, and Sigmund surveyed him with a somewhat 
 severe, though scarcely a disapproving, expression. Karl 
 seated himself near him, and, though not yet venturing to 
 address him, cast curious glances of blandishment and per 
 suasion upon him. 
 
 Half an hour passed thus, and a second knock was followed 
 by the entrance of Frau Schmidt. 
 
 " Good-evening, gentlemen," she remarked, in a tone which 
 said unutterable things scorn, contempt, pity all finely 
 blended into a withering sneer, as she cast her eyes around, 
 and a slight, but awful, smile played about her lips. " Half- 
 past eight, and that blessed baby not in bed yet. I knew how 
 it would be. And you all smoking, too naturlich! You 
 ought to know better, Herr Courvoisier you ought, at any 
 rate," she added, scorn dropping into heart-piercing reproach. 
 " Give him to me," she added, taking him from me, and apos 
 trophizing him. "You poor, blessed lamb! Well for you that 
 I'm here to look after you, that have had children of my own, 
 and know a little about the sort of way that you ought to be 
 brought up in." 
 
 Evident signs of uneasiness on Karl's part, as Frau 
 Schmidt, with the same extraordinary contortion of the 
 mouth half smile, half sneer brought Sigmund to his 
 father, to say good-night. That process over, he was brought 
 to me; and then, as if it were a matter which " understood 
 itself," to Karl. Eugen and I, like family men, as we were, 
 had gone through the ceremony with willing grace. Karl 
 backed his chair a little, looked much alarmed, shot a queer 
 glance at us, at the child, and then appealingly up into the 
 woman's face. We, through our smoke, watched him. 
 
 " He looks so very very " he began. 
 
 " Come, come, mein Herr, what does that mean? Kiss the 
 little angel, and be thankful you may. The innocent! You 
 ought to be delighted," said she, standing with grenadier-like 
 stiffness beside him. 
 
 "He won't bite you, Karl," I said reassuringly. "He's 
 quite harmless." 
 
 Thus encouraged, Herr Linders stooped forward and
 
 THE FIBST VIOLIN. 12A 
 
 touched the cheek of the child with his lips; then, as if sur 
 prised, stroked it with his finger. 
 
 " Lieber Himmel! how soft! Like satin, or rose-leaves!" 
 he jnurmured, as the woman carried the child away, shut the 
 door and disappeared. 
 
 "Does she tackle you in that way every night?" he in 
 quired next. 
 
 " Every evening," said Eugen. " And I little dare open my 
 lips before her. You would notice how quiet I kept. It's 
 because I'm afraid of her." 
 
 Frau Schmidt, who had at first objected so strongly to the 
 advent of the child, was now devoted to it, and would have 
 resented exceedingly the idea of allowing anyone but herself 
 to put it to bed, dress or undress it, or look after it in general. 
 This state of things had crept on very gradually; she had 
 never said how fond she was of the child, but put her kind 
 ness upon the ground that as a Christian woman she could 
 not stand by and see it mishandled by a couple of men, and 
 oh! the unutterable contempt upon the word " men." Under 
 this disguise she attempted to cover the fact that she delighted 
 to have it with her, to kiss it, fondle it, admire it, and " do 
 for it." We know now that no sooner had we left the house 
 than the child would be brought down, and would never leave 
 the care of Frau Schmidt until our return, or until he was in 
 bed and asleep. She said he was a quiet child, and " did not 
 give so much trouble." Indeed, the little fellow won a 
 friend in whoever saw him. He had made another conquest 
 to-night. Karl Linders, after puffing away for some time, 
 inquired, with an affectation of indifference: 
 
 * How old is he der Heine Bengel? " 
 
 ' Two a little more." 
 
 ' Handsome little fellow! " 
 
 ' Glad you think so." 
 
 ' Sure of it. But I didn't know, Courvoisier so sure as I 
 live, I knew nothing about it! " 
 
 " I dare say not. Did I ever say you did? " 
 
 I saw that Karl wished to ask another question one which 
 had trembled upon my own lips many a time, but which I had 
 never asked which I knew that I never should ask. " The 
 mother of that child is she alive or dead? Why may we 
 never hear one word of her? Why this silence, as of the 
 grave? Was she your wife? Did you love her? Did she love 
 you?"
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Questions which could not fail to come to me, and about 
 which my thoughts would hang for hours. I could imagine 
 a woman being very deeply in love with Courvoisier. Whether 
 he would love very deeply himself, whether love would form a 
 mainspring of his life and actions, or whether it took only a 
 secondary place I speak of the love of woman I could not 
 puess. I could decide upon many points of his character. 
 He was a good friend, a high-minded and a pure-minded man; 
 his everyday life, the turn of his thoughts and conversation, 
 showed me that as plainly as any great adventure could have 
 done. That he was an ardent musician, an artist in the truest 
 and deepest sense, of a quixotically generous and unselfish 
 nature all this I had already proved. That he loved his 
 child with a love not short of passion was patent to me every 
 day. But upon the past, silence so utter as I never before 
 met with. Not a hint; not an allusion; not one syllable. 
 
 Little Sigmund was not yet two and a half. The story 
 upon which his father maintained so deep a silence was not, 
 could not, be a very old one. His behavior gave me no clew 
 as to whether it had been a joyful or a sorrowful one. Mere 
 silence could tell me nothing. Some men are silent about 
 their griefs; some about their joys. I knew not in which 
 direction his disposition lay. 
 
 I saw Karl look at him that evening once or twice, and I 
 trembled lest the blundering, good-natured fellow should, 
 make the mistake of asking some question. But he did not; 
 I need not have feared. People were not in the habit of put 
 ting obtrusive questions to Eugen Courvoisier. The danger 
 vas somehow quickly tided over, the delicate ground avoided. 
 
 The conversation wandered quietly off to commonplace 
 topics the state of the orchestra; tales of its doings; the 
 tempers of our different conductors Malperg of the opera; 
 VVoelff of the ordinary concerts, which took place two or 
 ihree times a week, when we fiddled and the public eat, drank, 
 and listened; lastly, Von Francius, Jconiglicher Musik-direktor. 
 
 Karl Linders gave his opinion freely upon the men in 
 authority. He had nothing to do with them, nothing to hope 
 or fear from them; he filled a quiet place among the violon 
 cellists, and had attained his twenty-eighth year without dis 
 playing any violent talent or tendency to distinguish himself, 
 otherwise than by getting as much mirth out of life as pos 
 sible, and living in a perpetual state of " carlesse contente." 
 
 He desired to know what Courvoisier thought of Von
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 127 
 
 Francius; for curiosity the fault of those idle persons who 
 afterward develop into busybodies was already beginning to 
 leave its traces on Herr Linders. It was less known than 
 guessed that the state of things between Courvoisier and Von 
 Francius was less peace than armed neutrality. The intense 
 politeness of Von Francius to his first violinist, and the 
 punctilious ceremoniousness of the latter toward his chief 
 were topics of sptculation and amusement to the whole 
 orchestra. 
 
 " I think Von Francius would be a fiend if he could," said 
 Karl comfortably. " I wouldn't stand it if he spoke to me as 
 he speaks to some people." 
 
 " Oh, they like it! " said Courvoisier; and Karl stared. 
 " Girls don't object to a little bullying; anything rather than 
 be left quite alone," Courvoisier went on tranquilly. 
 
 " Girls! " ejaculated Karl. 
 
 "You mean the young ladies in the chorus, don't you?" 
 asked Courvoisier unmovedly. " He does bully them, I don't 
 deny; but they come back again." 
 
 " Oh, I see! " said Karl, accepting the rebuff. 
 
 He had not referred to the young ladies of the chorus. 
 
 " Have you heard Von Francius play? " he began next. 
 
 "Natiirlich!" 
 
 " What do you think of it? " 
 
 " I think it is superb! " said Courvoisier. 
 
 Baffled again, Karl was silent. 
 
 " The power and the daring of it are grand," went on 
 Eugen heartily. " I could listen to him for hours. To see 
 him seat himself before the piano, as if he were sitting down 
 to read a newspaper, and do what he does, without moving a 
 muscle, is simply superb there's no other word. Other men 
 may play the piano. He takes the keyboard and plays with 
 it, and it says what he likes." 
 
 I looked at him, and was satisfied. He found the same 
 want in Von Francius' " superb " manipulation that I did 
 the glitter of a diamond, not the glow of a fire. 
 
 Karl had not the subtlety to retort, " Ay, but does it say 
 what we like?" He subsided again, merely giving a meek 
 assent to the proposition, and saying suggestively: 
 
 " He's not liked, though he's such a popular fellow." 
 
 " The public is often a great fool." 
 
 " Well, but you can't expect it to kiss the hand that slaps 
 it in the face, as Von Francius does," said Karl, driven to
 
 128 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 metaphor, probably for the first time in his life, and seeming 
 astonished at having discovered a hitherto unknown mental 
 property pertaining to himself. 
 
 Courvoisier laughed. 
 
 " I'm certain of one thing Von Francius will go on slap 
 ping the public's face. I won't say how it will end; but it 
 would not surprise me in the least to see the public at his 
 feet, as it is now at those of " 
 
 " Humph! " said Karl reflectively. 
 
 He did not stay much longer, but, having finished his cigar, 
 rose. He seemed to feel very apologetic, and out of the full 
 ness of his heart his mouth spake: 
 
 " I really wouldn't have intruded if I had known " 
 
 "Known what?" inquired Eugen with well-assumed 
 surprise. 
 
 " I thought you were just by yourselves, you know, 
 and " 
 
 " So we were; but we can do with other society. Friedel 
 here gets very tedious sometimes in fact, langweilig. Come 
 again, niclit wahr? " 
 
 "If I shan't be in your way," said Karl, looking round 
 the room with somewhat wistful eyes. 
 
 We assured him to the contrary, and he promised, with 
 unnecessary emphasis, to come again. 
 
 " He will return; I know he will! " said Eugen after he 
 had gone. 
 
 The next time that Herr Linders arrived, which was ere 
 many days had passed, he looked excited and important; and, 
 after the first greetings were over, he undid a great number 
 of papers which wrapped and infolded a parcel of consider 
 able dimensions, and displayed to our enraptured view a white : 
 woolly animal of stupendous dimensions, fastened upon a 
 green stand, which stand, when pressed, caused the creature 
 to give forth a howl like unto no lowing of oxen nor bleating 
 of sheep ever heard on earth. This inviting-looking creature 
 he held forth toward Sigmund, who stared at it. 
 
 "Perhaps he's got one already?" said Karl, seeing that 
 the child did not display any violent enthusiasm about the 
 treasure. 
 
 " Oh, no! " said Eugen promptly. 
 
 " Perhaps he doesn't know what it is," I suggested, rather 
 unkindly, scarcely able to keep my countenance at the idea 
 of that baby playing with such a toy.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 129 
 
 "Perhaps not/' said Karl, more cheerfully, kneeling down 
 by my side Sigmund sat on my knee and squeezing the 
 stand, so that the woolly animal howled. " Sieh! Sigmund! 
 Look at the pretty lamb! " 
 
 "Oh, come, Karl! Are you a lamh? Call it an eagle at 
 once," said I skeptically. 
 
 " It is a lamb, aint it? " said he, turning it over. " They 
 called it a lamb at the shop." 
 
 " A very queer lamb not a German breed, anyhow." 
 
 " Now I think of it, my little sister has one; but she calls 
 it a rabbit, I believe." 
 
 " Very likely. You might call that anything, and no one 
 could contradict you." 
 
 " Well, der Kleine doesn't know the difference; it's a toy," 
 said Karl desperately. 
 
 " Not a toy that seems to take his fancy much," said I, as 
 Sigmund, with evident signs of displeasure, turned away from 
 the animal on the green stand, and refused to look at it. 
 Karl looked despondent. 
 
 "He doesn't like the look of it," said he plaintively. 
 " I thought I was sure to be right in this. My little sister " 
 (Karl's little sister had certainly never been so often quoted 
 by her brother before) " plays for hours with that thing that 
 she calls a rabbit." 
 
 Eugen had come to the rescue, and grasped the woolly 
 animal which Karl had contemptuously thrown aside. After 
 convincing himself by near examination as to which was 
 intended for head and which for tail, he presented it to his 
 son, remarking that it was " a pretty toy." 
 
 " I'll pray for you after that, Eugen often and earnestly," 
 said I. 
 
 Sigmund looked appealingly at him, but seeing that his 
 father appeared able to endure the presence of t'te beast, and 
 seemed to wish him to do the same, from some dark and in- 
 scrutable reason not to be grasped by so young a mind for 
 he was modest as to his own intelligence he put out his 
 small arm, received the creature into it, and embraced it 
 round the body, held it to his side, and looked at Eugen with 
 a pathetic expression. 
 
 "Pretty plaything, nicht wahr?" said Eugen encour 
 agingly. 
 
 Sigmund nodded silently. The animal emitted a howl; 
 the child winced, but looked resigned. Eugen rose and stood
 
 130 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 at soni3 little distance, looking on. Sigmimd continued to 
 embrace the anima 1 with the same resigned expression, until 
 Karl, stooping, took it away. 
 
 " You mustn't make him, just because I brought it," said 
 he. " Better luck next time! I see he's not a common child. 
 I must try to think of something else." 
 
 We commanded our countenances with difficulty, but pre- 
 eerved them. Sigmund's feelings had been severely wounded. 
 For many days he eyed Karl with a strange, cold glance, 
 which the latter used every art in his power to change, and 
 at last succeeded. Woolly lambs became a forbidden subject. 
 Nothing annoyed Karl more than for us to suggest, if Sig- 
 mund happened to be a little cross or mournful, " Suppose 
 you just go home, Karl, and fetch the ' lamb-rabbit-lion.' 
 I'm sure he would like it." From that time the child had 
 another worshiper, and we a constant visitor, in Karl 
 Linders. 
 
 We sat together one evening Eugen and I after Sig- 
 mund had been in bed a long time, after the opera was over, 
 chatting, as we often did, or as often remained silent. He 
 had been reading, and the book from which he read was a 
 volume of English poetry. At last, laying the book aside, he 
 said: 
 
 " The first night we met you fainted away from exhaustion 
 and long fasting. You said you would tell me why you had 
 allowed yourself to do so, but you have never kept your 
 word." 
 
 " I didn't care to eat. People eat to live except those who 
 live to eat and I was not very anxious to live; I didn't care 
 for my life, in fact; I wished I was dead." 
 
 "Why? An unlucky love? " 
 
 " /, bewahre ! I never knew what it was to be in love in my 
 life," said I, with perfect truth. 
 
 " Is that true, Friedel ? " he asked, apparently surprised. 
 
 " As true as possible. I think a timely love affair, however 
 unlucky, would have roused me and brought me to my 
 senses again." 
 
 " General melancholy? " 
 
 "Oh! I was alone in the world. I had been reading, read 
 ing, reading; my brain was one dark and misty muddle of 
 Kant, Schopenhauer, Von Hartmann, and a few others. I 
 read them one after another, as quickly as possible; the 
 mixture had the same effect upon my mind as the indiscrim*
 
 THE FIR8T VIOLIN. 131 
 
 inate contents of a taffy-shop would have upon Sigmund's 
 stomach it made me sick. In my crude, ungainly, unfin 
 ished fashion I turned over my information, laying down big 
 generalizations upon a foundation of experience of the small 
 est possible dimensions, and all upon one side." 
 
 He nodded. " Ei! I know it." 
 
 " And after considering the state of the human race that 
 is to say, the half-dozen people I knew and the miseries of 
 the human lot as set forth in the books I had read, and having 
 proved to myself all up in that little room, you know " (I 
 pointed to my bedroom) " that there neither was nor could 
 be Heaven or Hell, or any future state; and having decided, 
 also from that room, that there was no place for me in the 
 world, and that I was very likely actually filling the place 
 of some other man, poorer than I was, and able to think life 
 a good thing " (Eugen was smiling to himself in great amuse 
 ment), " I came to the conclusion that the best thing I could 
 do was to leave the world." 
 
 " Were you going to starve yourself to death? That is 
 rather a tedious process, nicht wahr? " 
 
 " Oh, no! I had not decided upon any means of effacing 
 myself; and it was really your arrival which brought on that 
 fainting fit, for if you hadn't turned up when you did I 
 should probably have thought of my interior some time before 
 seven o'clock. But you came. Eugen, I wonder what sent 
 you up to my room just at that very time, on that very day! " 
 
 " Von Francius," said Eugen tranquilly. " I had seen him, 
 and he was very busy, and referred me to you that's all." 
 
 " Well let us call it Von Francius." 
 
 " But what's the end of it? Is that the whole story? " 
 
 " I thought I might as well help you a bit," said I rather 
 awkwardly. " You were not like other people, you see it 
 was the child, I think. I was as much amazed as Karl, if I 
 didn't show it so much, and after that " 
 
 "After that?" 
 
 " Well there was the child, you see, and things seemed 
 quite different somehow. I've been very comfortable " (this 
 was my way of putting it) " ever since, and I am curious to 
 see what the boy will be like in a few years. Shall you make 
 him into a musician, too?" 
 
 (Jourvoisier's brow clouded a little. 
 
 " I don't know," was all he said. Later I learned the rea.- 
 son of that "don't know."
 
 132 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " So it was no love affair," said Eugen again. " Then I 
 have been wrong all the time. I quite fancied it was some 
 girl " 
 
 " What could make you think so? " I asked with a whole 
 hearted laugh. " I tell you I don't know what it is to be in 
 love. The other fellows are always in love. They are in a 
 constant state of schwarmerei about some girl or other. It 
 goes in epidemics. They have not each a separate passion. 
 The whole lot of them will go mad about one young woman. 
 I can't understand it. I wish I could, for they seem to enjoy 
 it so much." 
 
 " You heathen! " said he, but not in a very bantering tone. 
 
 "Why, Eugen, do you mean to say that you are so very 
 susceptible? Oh! I beg your pardon," I added hastily, 
 shocked and confused to find that I had been so nearly over 
 stepping the boundary which I had always marked out for 
 myself. And I stopped abruptly. 
 
 "That's like you, Friedhelm," said he in a tone which 
 was in some way different from his usual one. " I never knew 
 such a ridiculous, chivalrous, punctilious fellow as you are. 
 Tell me something did you never speculate about me ? " 
 
 "Never impertinently, I assure you, Eugen," said I 
 earnestly. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 "You impertinent! That is amusing, I must say. But 
 surely you have given me a thought now and then, have won 
 dered whether I had a history, or sprung out of nothing? " 
 
 " Certainly, and wondered what your story was; but I dfl 
 not need to know it to " 
 
 " I understand. Well, but it is rather difficult to say this 
 to such an unsympathetic person; you won't understand it. 
 I have been in love, Friedel." 
 
 " So I can suppose." 
 
 I waited for the corollary " And been loved in return " 
 but it did not come. He said, " And received as much regard 
 in return as I deserved perhaps more." 
 
 As I could not cordially assent to this proposition, I re- v 
 mained silent. 
 
 After a pause, he went on: "I am eight-and-twenty, and 
 have lived my life. The story won't bear raking up now 
 perhaps never. For a long time I went on my own way, and 
 was satisfied with it blindly, inanely, densely satisfied with 
 it; then, all at once, I was brought to reason " He
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 133 
 
 laughed, not a very pleasant laugh. " Brought to reason," he 
 resumed, " but how? By waking one morning to find myself 
 a spoiled man, and spoiled by myself, too." 
 
 A pause, while I turned this information over in my mind, 
 and then said composedly: 
 
 " I don't quite believe in your being a spoiled man. 
 Granted that you have made some fiasco even a very bad 
 one what is to prevent your making a life again? " 
 
 " Ha, ha! " said he ungenially. " Things not dreamed of, 
 Friedel, by your straightforward philosophy. One night I 
 was, take it all in all, straight with the world and my destiny; 
 the next night I was an outcast, and justly so. I don't com 
 plain. I have no right to complain." 
 
 Again he laughed. 
 
 " I once knew someone," said I, " who used to say that 
 many a good man and many a great man was lost to the world 
 simply because nothing interrupted the course of his 
 prosperity." 
 
 " Don't suppose that I am an embryo hero of any descrip 
 tion," said he bitterly. " I am merely, as I said, a spoiled 
 man brought to his senses, and with life before him to go 
 through as best he may, and the knowledge that his own 
 fault has brought him to what he is." 
 
 " But look here! If it is merely a question of name or 
 money," I began. 
 
 " It is not merely that; but suppose it were, what then? " 
 
 " It lies with yourself. You may make a name either as a 
 composer or performer your head or your fingers will secure 
 you money and fame." 
 
 " None the less should I be, as I said, a spoiled man," he 
 said quietly. " I should be ashamed to come forward. It was 
 I myself wb sent myself and my prospects caput;* and for 
 that sort obscurity is the best taste and the right sphere." 
 
 " But there's the boy," I suggested. " Let him have the 
 advantage." 
 
 " Don't, don't! " he said suddenly, and wincing visibly, as 
 if I had touched a raw spot. " No; my one hope for him is 
 that he may never be known as my son." 
 
 But but " 
 
 " Poor little beggar! I wonder what will become of him," 
 
 * Caput a German slang expression with the general significance of 
 the English " gone to smash," but also a hundred other and wider mean 
 ings, impossible to render in brief.
 
 184 THE FIRST VIOL1X. 
 
 he uttered after a pause, during which I did not speak 
 again. 
 
 Eugen puffed fitfully at his cigar, and, at last knocking the 
 ash from it, and avoiding my eyes, he said in a low voice: 
 
 " I suppose some time I must leave the boy." 
 
 " Leave him! " I echoed. 
 
 " When he grows a little older before he is old enough to 
 feel it very much, though, I must part from him. It will be 
 better." 
 
 Another pause. No sign of emotion, no quiver of the lips, 
 no groan, though the heart might be afaint. I sat speechless. 
 
 " I have net come to the conclusion lately. I've always 
 known it," he went on, and spoke slowly. " I have known 
 it and have thought about it so as to get accustomed to it 
 see?" 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 " At that time as you seem to have a fancy for the child 
 will you give an eye to him sometimes, Friedel that is, 
 if you care enough for me " 
 
 For a moment I did not speak. Then I said: 
 
 " You are quite sure the parting must take place? " 
 
 He assented. 
 
 " When it does, will you give him to me to my charge 
 altogether? " 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " If he must lose one father, let me grow as like another 
 to him as I can." 
 
 " Friedhelm " 
 
 " On no other condition," said I. " I will not ' have an 
 eye' to him occasionally. I will not let him go out alone 
 among strangers, and give a look in upon him now and 
 then." 
 
 Eugen had covered his face with his hands, but spoke not. 
 
 " I will have him with me altogether, or not at all," I fin 
 ished, with a kind of jerk. 
 
 "Impossible!" said he, looking up with a pale face, and 
 eyes full of anguish the more intense in that he uttered not 
 a word of it. " Impossible! You are no relation he has not 
 a claim there is not a reason not the wildest reason for 
 such a " 
 
 "Yes, there is; there is the reason that I won't have it 
 otherwise," said I doggedly. 
 
 "It is fantastic, like your insane self," he said with a
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 135 
 
 forced smile, which cut me, somehow, more than if he had 
 groaned. 
 
 "Fantastic! I don't know what you mean. What good 
 would it be to me to see him with strangers. I should only 
 make myself miserable with wishing to have him. I don't 
 know what you mean by fantastic." 
 
 He drew a long breath. " So be it, then," said he at last. 
 " And he need know nothing about his father. I may even 
 see him from time to time without his knowing see him 
 growing into a man like you, Friidel; it would be worth the 
 separation, even if one had not to make a merit of necessity; 
 yes, well worth it." 
 
 " Like me? Nie, mein lieber; he shall be something rather 
 better than I am, let us hope," said I; "but there is time 
 enough to talk about it." 
 
 " Oh, yes! In a year or two from now," said he, almobu 
 inaudibly. " The worst of it is that in a case like this the 
 years go so fast so cursedly fast." 
 
 I could make no answer to this, and he added: " Give me 
 thy hand upon it, Friedel." 
 
 I held out my hand. We had risen, and stood looking 
 steadfastly into each other's eyes. 
 
 " I wish I were what I might have been to pay you for 
 this," he said hesitatingly, wringing my hand and laying his 
 left for a moment on my shoulder; then, without another 
 word, went into his room, shutting the door after him. 
 
 I remained still sadder, gladder than I had ever been 
 before. Never had I so intensely felt the deep, eternal sor 
 row of life that sorrow which can be avoided by none who 
 rightly live; yet never had life towered before me so rich and 
 so well worth living out, so capable of high exultation, pure 
 purpose, full satisfaction, and sufficient reward. My quarrel 
 with existence was made up.
 
 136 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 * 4 The merely great are, all in all, 
 No more than what the merely small 
 
 Esteem them. Man's opinion 
 Neither conferred nor can remove 
 
 This man's dominion." 
 
 THREE years passed an even way. In three years there 
 happened little of importance little, that is, of open impor 
 tance to either of us. I read that sentence again, and can 
 not help smiling " to either of us." It shows the progress 
 that our friendship has made. Yes, it had grown every day. 
 
 I had no past, painful or otherwise, which I could even 
 wish to conceal; I had no thought that I desired hiddeD 
 from the man who had become my other self. What there 
 was of good in me, what of evil, he saw. It was laid open 
 to him, and he appeared to consider that the good predomi 
 nated over the bad; for, from that first day of meeting, our 
 intimacy went on steadily in one direction increasing, deep 
 ening. He was six years older than I was. At the end of thi# 
 time of which I speak he was one-and-thirty, I five-and- 
 twenty; but we met on equal ground not that I had any 
 thing approaching his capacities in any way. I do not think 
 that had anything to do with it. Our happiness did not de 
 pend on mental supremacy. I loved him because I could 
 not help it; he me, because upon my word, I can think oi 
 no good reason probably because he did. 
 
 And yet we were as unlike as possible. He had habits of 
 reckless extravagance, or what seemed to me reckless extrav 
 agance, and a lordly manner (when he forgot himself) of 
 speaking of things, which absolutely appalled my economical 
 burgher soul. I had certain habits, too, the outcomes of my 
 training, and my sparing, middle-class way of living, which 
 I saw puzzled him very much. To cite only one insignificant 
 incident. We were both great readers, and, despite our some 
 times arduous work, contrived to get through a good amount 
 of books in the year. One evening he came home with a 
 brand-new novel, in three volumes, in his hands. 
 
 " Here, Friedel; here is some mental dissipation for to 
 night. Drop that Schopenhauer, and study Heyse. Here 
 is ' Die Kinder der Welt '; it will suit our case exactly, or 
 it is what we are ourselves."
 
 THE FIEST VIOLIN. 13'/ 
 
 "How clean it looks!" I observed innocently. 
 
 " So it ought, seeing that I have just paid for it." 
 
 "Paid for it! "I almost shouted. "Paid for it! You don't 
 mean that you have bought the book! " 
 
 "Calm thy troubled spirit! You don't surely mean that 
 you thought me capable of stealing the book? " 
 
 " You are hopeless. You have paid at least eighteen marks 
 for it." 
 
 " That is the figure, to a pfennig." 
 
 " Well," said I, with conscious superiority, " you might 
 have had the whole three volumes from the library for five or 
 six groschen." 
 
 " I know. But their copy looked so disgustingly greasy I 
 couldn't have touched it; so I ordered a new one." 
 
 " Very well. Your accounts will look well when you come 
 to balance and take stock," I retorted. 
 
 " What a fuss about a miserable eighteen marks! " said he, 
 stretching himself out, and opening a volume. " Come, Sig, 
 learn how the children of the world are wiser in their genera 
 tion than the children of light, and leave that low person to 
 prematurely age himself by beginning to balance his ac 
 counts before they are ripe for it." 
 
 " I don't know whether you are aware that you are talk 
 ing the wildest and most utter rubbish that was ever con 
 ceived," said I, nettled. " There is simply no sense in it. 
 Given an income of 
 
 " Aber, ich bitte Dich!" he implored, though laughing; 
 and I was silent. 
 
 But his three volumes of " Die Kinder der Welt " furnished 
 me with many an opportunity to " point a moral or adorn a 
 tale," and I believe really warned him off on one or two other 
 similar extravagances. The idea of men in our position reck 
 lessly ordering three-volume novels because the circulating 
 library copy happened to be greasy, was one I could not get 
 over for a long time. 
 
 We still inhabited the same rooms at No. 45, in the 
 Wehrhahn. We had outstayed many other tenants; men had 
 come and gone, both from our house and from those rooms 
 over the way whose windows faced ours. We passed our time 
 in much the same way hard work at our profession, and, 
 with Eugen, at least, hard work out of it; the education of 
 his boy, whom he made his constant companion in . every 
 leisure moment, and taught with a wisdom I could hardly
 
 238 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 believe it seemed so like inspiration composition, transla 
 tion, or writing of his own incessant employment of some 
 kind. He never seemed able to pass an idle moment; and yet 
 there were times when, it seemed to me, his work did not sat 
 isfy him, but rather seemed to disgust him. 
 
 Once when I asked him if it were so, he laid down his pen 
 and said, " Yes." 
 
 " Then why do you do it? " 
 
 " Because for no reason that I know; But because I am 
 an unreasonable fool." 
 
 "An unreasonable fool to work hard?" 
 
 " No; but to go on as if hard work now can ever undo 
 what years of idleness have done." 
 
 " Do you believe in work? " I asked. 
 
 " I believe it is the very highest and holiest thing there is, 
 and the grandest purifier and cleanser in the world. But it 
 is not a panacea against every ill. I believe that idleness is 
 sometimes as strong as work, and stronger. You may do that 
 in a few years of idleness which a lifetime of afterwork won't 
 cover, mend, or improve. You may make holes in your coat 
 from sheer laziness, and then find that no amount of stitching 
 will patch them up again." 
 
 I seldom answered these mystic monologues. Love gives 
 a wonderful sharpness even to dull wits; it had sharpened 
 mine so that I often felt he indulged in those speeches out of 
 sheer desire to work off some grief or bitterness from his heart, 
 but that a question might, however innocent, overshoot the 
 mark and touch a sore spot the thing I most dreaded. And 
 I did not feel it essential to my regard for him to know every 
 item of his past. 
 
 In such cases, however, when there is something behind 
 when one knows it, only does not know what it is (and Eugen 
 had never tried to conceal from me that something had hap 
 pened to him which he did not care to tell) then, even 
 though one accept the fact, as I accepted it, without dispute 
 or resentment, one yet involuntarily builds theories, has ideas, 
 or rather the ideas shape themselves about the object of in 
 terest, and take their coloring from him, one cannot refrain 
 from conjectures, surmises. Mine were necessarily of the 
 most vague and shadowy description; more negative than 
 active; less theories as to what he had been or done than 
 inferences, from what he had let fall in talk or conduct, as to 
 what he had not been or done.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 139 
 
 In our three years' acquaintance, it is true, there had not 
 been much opportunity ior any striking display, on his part, 
 of good or bad qualities; hut certainly ample opportunity of 
 testing whether he were, taken all in all, superior, even with, 
 or inferior to the average man of our average acquaintance. 
 And, briefly speaking, to me he had become a standing model 
 of a superior man. 
 
 I had by this time learned to know that when there were 
 many ways of looking at a question, that one, if there were 
 such an one, which was less earthily practical, more ideal and 
 less common than the others, would most inevitably be the 
 view taken by Eugen Courvoisier, and advocated by him with 
 warmth, energy, and eloquence to the very last. The point 
 from which he surveyed the things and the doings of life was, 
 taken all in all, a higher one than that of other men, and was 
 illumined with something of the purple splendor of that 
 " light that was never on sea or land." A less practical con 
 duct, a more ideal view of right and wrong sometimes a little 
 fantastic even always imbued with something of the knight- 
 liness which sat upon him as a natural attribute. Ritterlich, 
 Karl Linders called him, half in jest, half in earnest; and 
 ritterlich he was. 
 
 In his outward demeanor to the world with which he came 
 in contact, he was courteous to men; to a friend or intimate, 
 as myself, an ever-new delight and joy; to all people, truthful 
 to fantasy; and to women, on the rare occasions on which I 
 ever saw him in their company, he was polite and deferential 
 but rather overwhelmingly so; it was a politeness which 
 raised a barrier, and there was a glacial surface to the 
 manner. I remarked this and speculated about it. He 
 seemed to have one manner to every woman with whom he 
 had anything to do: the maidservant who, at her leisure or 
 pleasure, was supposed to answer our behests (though he 
 would often do a thing himself, alleging that he preferred 
 doing so to " seeing that poor creature's apron "), old Frau 
 Henschel who sold the programmes at the kasse at the con 
 certs, to the young ladies who presided behind a counter, to 
 every woman to whom he spoke a chance word, up to Frau 
 Sybel, the wife of the great painter, who came to negotiate 
 about lessons for the lovely Fraulein, her daughter, who 
 wished to play a different instrument from that affected by 
 everyone else. The same inimitable courtesy, the same un 
 ruffled, quiet indifference, and the same utter unconscious-
 
 140 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 ness that he, or his appearance, or behavior, or anything 
 about him, could possibly interest them. And yet he was a 
 man eminently calculated to attract women, only he never to 
 this day has been got to believe so, and will often deprecate 
 his power of entertaining ladies. 
 
 I often watched this little byplay of behavior from and to 
 the fairer sex with silent amusement, more particularly when 
 Eugen and I made shopping expeditions for Sigmund's bene 
 fit. We once went to buy stockings winter stockings for 
 him; it was a large miscellaneous and small-ware shop, full 
 of young women behind the counters and ladies of all ages 
 before them. 
 
 We found ourselves in the awful position of being the only 
 male creatures in the place. Happy in my insignificance 
 and plainness, I survived the glances that were thrown upon 
 us; I did not wonder that they fell upon my companions. 
 Eugen consulted a little piece of paper on which Frau 
 Schmidt had written down what we were to ask, and, march 
 ing straight up to a disengaged shop woman, requested to 
 be shown some colored woolen stockings. 
 
 "For yourself, mein Herr?" she inquired with a fasci 
 nating smile. 
 
 "No, thank you; for my little boy," says Eugen politely, 
 glancing deferentially round at the piles of wool and packets 
 of hosen around. 
 
 "Ah, so! For the young gentleman? Bitte, meine 
 Herren, be seated." And she gracefully pushes chairs for us; 
 on one of which I, unable to resist so much affability, sit 
 down. 
 
 Eugen remains standing; and Sigmund, desirous of hav 
 ing a voice in the matter, mounts upon his stool, kneels upon 
 it, and leans his elbows on the counter. 
 
 The affable young woman returns, and with a glance at 
 Eugen that speaks of worlds beyond colored stockings, pro 
 ceeds to untie a packet and display her wares. He turns 
 them over. Clearly he does not like them, and does not 
 understand them. They are striped; some are striped lati- 
 tudinally, others longitudinally. Eugen turns them over, and 
 the young woman murmurs that they are of the best quality. 
 
 " Are they? " says he, and his eyes roam all round the shop. 
 " Well, Sigmund, wilt thou have legs like a stork, as these 
 long stripes will inevitably make them, or wilt thou hava 
 legs like a zebra's back? "
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 141 
 
 "I should like legs like a little boy, please," is Sigmund's 
 modest expression of a reasonable desire. 
 
 Eugen surveys them. 
 
 " Von der besten qualitat" repeats the young woman 
 impressively. 
 
 "Have you no blue ones?" demands Eugen. "All blue, 
 you know. He wears blue clothes." 
 
 " Assuredly, mein Herr, but of a much dearer description; 
 real English, magnificent." 
 
 She retires to find them, and a young lady who has been 
 standing near us turns and observes: 
 
 " Excuse me you want stockings for your little boy? " 
 
 We both assent. It if? a joint affair, of equal importance 
 to both of us. 
 
 " I wouldn't have those," says she, and I remark her face. 
 
 I have seen her ofteu before moreover, I have seen her 
 look very earnestly at Eugen. I learned later that her name 
 was Anna Sartorius- Ere she could finish, the shopwoman, 
 with wreathed smiles still lingering about her face, returns 
 and produces stockings fine, blue-ribbed stockings, such as 
 the children of rich English parents wear. Their fineness, 
 and the smooth quality of the wool, and the good shape appear 
 to soothe Eugen's feelings. He pushes away his heap of 
 striped ones, which look still coarser and commoner now, 
 observing hopefully and cheerily: 
 
 " Ja wolil! That is more what I mean." (The poor dear 
 fellow had meant nothing, but he knew what he wanted 
 when he saw it.) " These look more like thy legs, Sigmund, 
 nlcU wahr? I'll take " 
 
 I dug him violently in the ribs. 
 
 " Hold on, Eugen! How much do they cost the pair, 
 Fraulein? " 
 
 " Two thalers twenty-five; the very best quality," she says, 
 with a ravishing smile. 
 
 " There! eight shillings a pair! " say I. " It is ridiculous." 
 
 " Eight shillings! " he repeats ruefully. " That is too 
 much." 
 
 " They are real English, mein Herr," she says feelingly. 
 
 " But, um Gotteswitten ! don't we make any like them in 
 Gemany." 
 
 " Oh, sir! " she says reproachfully. 
 
 " Those others are such brutes," he remarks, evidently 
 wavering.
 
 142 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 I am in despair. The young woman is annoyed to find 
 that he does not even see the amiable looks she has bestowed 
 upon him, so she sweeps back the heap of striped stockings 
 and announces that they are only three marks the pair 
 naturally inferior, but you cannot have the best article for 
 nothing. 
 
 Fraulein Sartorius, about to go, says to Eugen: 
 
 " Mein Herr, ask for such and such an article. I know 
 they keep them, and you will find it what you want." 
 
 Eugen, much touched and much surprised (as he always is 
 and has been) that anyone should take an interest in him, 
 makes a bow and a speech, and rushes off to open the door 
 for Fraulein Sartorius, thanking her profusely for her good 
 ness. The young lady behind the counter smiles bitterly, 
 and now looks as if butter would not melt in her mouth. I, 
 assuming the practical, mention the class of goods referred 
 to by Fraulein Sartorius, which she unwillingly brings forth, 
 and we straightway purchase. The errand accomplished, 
 Eugen takes Sigmund by the hand, makes a grand bow to the 
 young woman, and instructs his son to take off his hat, and, 
 this process being complete, we sally forth again, and half 
 way home Eugen remarks that it was very kind of that young 
 lady to help us. 
 
 " Very," I assent dryly, and when Sigmund has contrib 
 uted the artless remark that all the ladies laughed at us and 
 looked at us, and has been told by his father not to be so self- 
 conceited, for that no one can possibly wish to look at us, we 
 arrive at home, and the stockings are tried on. 
 
 Constantly I saw this willingness to charm on the part of 
 women; constantly the same utter ignorance of any such 
 thought on the part of Eugen, who was continually express 
 ing his surprise at the kindness of people, and adding with 
 the gravest simplicity that he had always found it so, at which 
 announcement Karl laughed till he had to hold his sides. 
 
 And Sigmund? Since the day when Courvoisier had said 
 to me, slowly and with difficulty, the words about parting, 
 he had mentioned the subject twice always with the same 
 intention expressed. Once it was when I had been out dur 
 ing the evening, and he had not. I came into our sitting 
 room, and found it in "darkness. A light came from the 
 inner room, and, going toward it, I found that he had placed 
 the lamp upon a distant stand, and was sitting by the child's 
 crib, his arms folded, his face calm and sad. He rose when
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 143 
 
 he saw me, brought the lamp into' the parlor again, and 
 said: 
 
 " Pardon, Friedel, that I left you without light. The time 
 of parting will come, you know, and I was taking a look in 
 anticipation of the time when there will be no one there to 
 look at." 
 
 I bowed. There was a slight smile upon his lips, but I 
 would rather have heard a broken voice and seen a mien leas 
 serene. 
 
 The second, and only other time up to now, and the events 
 I am coming to, was once when he had been giving Sigmund 
 a music lesson, as we called it that is to say, Eugen took his 
 violin and played a melody, but incorrectly, and Sigmund 
 told him every time a wrong note was played, or false time 
 kept. Eugen sat, giving a look now and then at the boy, 
 whose small, delicate face was bright with intelligence, whose 
 dark eyes blazed with life and fire, and whose every gesture 
 betrayed spirit, grace, and quick understanding. A child for 
 a father to be proud of. INO meanness there; no littleness 
 in the fine, high-bred features; everything that the father's 
 heart could wish, except, perhaps, some little want of robust 
 ness; one might have desired that the limbs were less ex 
 quisitely graceful and delicate more stout and robust. 
 
 As Eugen laid aside his violin, he drew the child toward 
 him, and asked (what I had never heard him ask before) : 
 
 "What wilt thou be, Sigmund, when thou art a man?" 
 
 " Ja, lieber Vater, I will be just like thee." 
 
 "How just like me?" . 
 
 " I will do what thou dost." 
 
 " So! Thou wilt be a musiker like me and Friedel?" 
 
 " Ja wohl!" said Sigmund; but something else seemed to 
 weigh upon his small mind. He eyed his father with a re 
 flective look, then looked down at his own small hands and 
 slender limbs (his legs were cased in the new stockings). 
 
 " How? " inquired his father. 
 
 " I should like to be a musician," said Sigmund, who had 
 a fine confidence in his sire, and confided his every thought 
 to him. 
 
 " I don't know how to say it," he went on, resting his 
 elbows upon Eugen's knee, and propping his chin upon his 
 two small fists, he looked up into his father's face. 
 
 " Friedhelm is a musician, but he is not like thee," he 
 pursued. Eugen reddened; I laughed.
 
 144 THE FIRST VIOLIN- 
 
 " True as can be, Sigmund," said I. 
 
 " ' I would I were as honest a man/ " said Eugen, slightly 
 altering " Hamlet "; but as he spoke English I contented 
 myself with shaking my head at him. 
 
 " I like Friedel," went on Sigmund. " I love him; he is 
 good. But thou, mein Vater " 
 
 "Well?" asked Eugen again. 
 
 "I will be like thee," said the boy vehemently, his eyes 
 filling with tears. " I will. Thou saidst that men who try 
 can do all they will and I will, I will." 
 
 " Why, my child? " 
 
 It was a long, earnest look that the child gave the man. 
 Eugen had said to me some few days before, and I had fully 
 agreed with him: 
 
 " That child's life is one strife after the beautiful in art, 
 and nature, and life how will he succeed in the searqh? " 
 
 I thought of this it flashed subtly through my mind as 
 Sigmund gazed at his father with a childish adoration then, 
 suddenly springing round his neck, said passionately: 
 
 " Thou art so beautiful so beautiful! I must be like thee." 
 
 Eugen bit his lip momentarily, saying to me in English: 
 
 " I am his God, you see, Friedel. What will he do when 
 he finds out what a common clay figure it was he worshiped? " 
 
 But he had not the heart to banter the child; only held 
 the little clinging figure to his breast; the breast which Sig 
 mund recognized as his heaven. 
 
 It was after this that Eugen said to me when we were alone: 
 
 " It must come before he thinks less of me than he does 
 now, Friedel." 
 
 To these speeches I could never make any answer, and he 
 always had the same singular smile the same paleness about 
 the lips and unnatural light in the eyes when he spoke so. 
 
 He had accomplished one great feat in those three years 
 he had won over to himself his comrades, and that without, 
 so to speak, actively laying himself out to do so. He had 
 struck us all as something so very different from the rest of 
 us, that, on his arrival and for some time afterward, there 
 lingered some idea that he must be opposed to us. But I 
 very soon, and the rest, by gradual degrees, got to recognize 
 that though in, not of us, yet he was no natural enemy of 
 ours; if he made no advances, he never avoided or repulsed 
 any, but, on the very contrary, seemed surprised and pleased 
 that anyone should take an interest in him. We soon found
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 145 
 
 that he was extremely modest as to his own merits and eager 
 to acknowledge those of other people. 
 
 " And," said Karl Linders once, twirling his mustache, 
 and smiling in the consciousness that his own outward pre 
 sentment was not to be called repulsive, " he can't help his 
 looks; no fellow can." 
 
 At the time of which I speak, his popularity was much 
 greater than he knew, or would have believed if he had been 
 told of it. 
 
 Only between him and Von Francius there remained a 
 constant gulf and a continual coldness. Von Francius never 
 stepped aside to make friends; Eugen most certainly never 
 went out of his way to ingratiate himself with Von Francius. 
 Courvoisier had been appointed contrary to the wish of Von 
 Francius, which, perhaps, caused the latter to regard him 
 a little coldly even more coldly than was usual with him, 
 and he was never enthusiastic about anyone or anything, 
 while to Eugen there was absolutely nothing in Von Francius 
 which attracted him, save the magnificent power of his musical 
 talent a power which was as calm and cold as himself. 
 
 Max von Francius was a man about whom there were vari 
 ous opinions, expressed and unexpressed; he was a person 
 who never spoke of himself, and who contrived to live a life 
 more isolated and apart than anyone I have ever known, con 
 sidering that he went much in society, and mixed a good deal 
 with the world. In every circle in Elberthal which could by 
 any means be called select, his society was eagerly sought, 
 nor did he refuse it. His days were full of engagements; 
 he was consulted, and his opinion deferred to in a singular 
 manner singular, because he was no sayer of smooth things, 
 but the very contrary; because he hung upon no patron, sub 
 mitted to no dictation, was in his way an autocrat. This 
 state of things he had brought about entirely by force of his 
 own will and in utter opposition to precedent, for the former 
 directors had been notoriously under the thumb of certain 
 influential outsiders, who were in reality the directors of the 
 director. It was the universal feeling that though the Herr 
 Direktor was the busiest man, and had the largest circle of 
 acquaintance of anyone in Elberthal, yet that he was less 
 really known than many another man of half his importance. 
 His business as musik-direktor took up much of his time; 
 the rest might have been filled t overflowing with private 
 lessons, but Von Francius was not a man to make himself
 
 146 
 
 FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 cheap: it was a distinction to be taught by him, t t c more t* 
 as the position or circumstances of a would-be pupil appeared 
 to make not the very smallest impression upon him. Dis 
 tinguished for hard, practical common sense, a ready sneer 
 at anything high-flown or romantic, discouraging not so much 
 enthusiasm as the outward manifestation of it, which he 
 called melodrama, Max von Francius was the cynosure of all 
 eyes in Elberthal, and bore the scrutiny with glacia' 
 indifference. 
 
 CHAPTER iV. 
 
 FBIEDHELM'S STORY. 
 
 JOACHIM /Unr. Op. 177. 
 
 1 ^1 
 
 " MAKE yourself quite easy, Hen Concertmeister. N"o 
 that was left to my charge was ever fen own to com* 1
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 147 
 
 Thus Frau Schmidt to Eugen, as she stood with dubious 
 smile and folded arms in our parlor, and harangued him, 
 while he and I stood, violin-cases in our hands, in a great 
 hurry, and anxious to be off. 
 
 " You are very kind, Frau Schmidt; I hope he will not 
 trouble you." 
 
 " He is a well-behaved child, and not nearly so disagree 
 able and bad to do with as most. And at what time will you 
 be back? " 
 
 " That is uncertain. It just depends upon the length of 
 the probe." 
 
 " Ha! It is all the same. I am going out for a little ex 
 cursion this afternoon, to the Grafenberg, and I shall take 
 the boy with me." 
 
 " Oh, thank you," said Eugen; " that will be very kind. 
 He wants some fresh air, and I've had no time to take him 
 out. You are very kind." 
 
 " Trust to me, Herr Concertmeister trust to me," said 
 she, with the usual imperial wave of her hand, as she at last 
 moved aside from the doorway, which she had blocked up, 
 and allowed us to pass out. A last wave of the hand from 
 Eugen to Sigmund, and then we hurried away to the station. 
 We were bound for Cologne where, that year, the Lower 
 Rhine Musikfest was to be held. It was then somewhat past 
 the middle of April, and the fest came off at Whitsuntide, in 
 the middle of May. We, among others, were engaged to 
 strengthen the Cologne orchestra for the occasion, and we 
 were bidden this morning to the first probe. 
 
 We just caught our train, seeing one or two faces of com 
 rades we knew, and in an hour were in Koln. 
 
 " The Tower of Babel," and Raff's Fifth Symphonic, that 
 called " Lenore," were the subjects we had been summoned 
 to practice. They, together with Beethoven's " Choral 
 Fantasia" and some solos, were to come off on the third 
 evening of the fest. 
 
 The probe lasted a long time; it was three o'clock when we 
 left the concert hall, after five hours' hard work. 
 
 " Come along, Eugen," cried I, " we have just time to 
 catch the three-ten, but only just." 
 
 " Don't wait for me," he answered with an absent look. 
 " I don't think I shall come by it. Look after yourself, 
 Friedel, and auf wiedersehen ! " 
 
 I was scarcely surprised, for I had seen that the music
 
 148 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 had deeply moved him, and I can understand the wish of any 
 man to be alone with the remembrance or continuance of such 
 emotions. Accordingly I took my way to the station, and 
 there met one or two of my Elberthal comrades, who had been 
 on the same errand as myself, and, like me, were returning 
 home. 
 
 Lively remarks upon the probable features of the coming 
 fest, and the circulation of any amount of loose and hazy 
 gossip respecting composers and soloists followed, and we 
 all went to our usual restauration and dined together. There 
 was an opera that night to which we had probe that after 
 noon, and I scarcely had time to rush home and give a look 
 at Sigmund before it was time to go again to the theater. 
 
 Eugen's place remained empty. For the first time since 
 he had come into the orchestra he was absent from his post, 
 and I wondered what could have kept him. 
 
 Taking my way home, very tired, with fragments of airs 
 from " Czar und Zimmermann," in which I had just been 
 playing, the " March " from " Lenore," and scraps of 
 choruses and airs from the " Thurm zu Babel/' all ringing 
 in my head in a confused jumble, I sprang up the stairs (up 
 which I used to plod so wearily and so spiritlessly), and went 
 into the sitting room. Darkness! After I had stood still 
 and gazed about for a time, my eyes grew accustomed to the 
 obscurity. I perceived that a dim gray light still stole in at 
 the open window, and that someone reposing in an easy-chair 
 was faintly shadowed against it. 
 
 "Is that you, Friedhelm? " asked Eugen's voice. 
 
 " Lieber Himmel! Are you there? What are you doing in 
 the dark? " 
 
 " Light the lamp, my Friedel! Dreams belong to darkness, 
 and facts to light. Sometimes I wish light and facts had 
 never been invented." 
 
 I found the lamp and lighted it, carried it up to him, and 
 stood before him, contemplating him curiously. He lay 
 back in our one easy-chair, his hands clasped behind his head, 
 his legs. outstretched. He had been idle for the first time, I 
 think, since I had known him. He had been sitting in the 
 dark, not even pretending to do anything. 
 
 " There are things new under the sun," said I in mingled 
 amusement and amaze. " Absent from your post, to the 
 alarm and surprise of all who know you, here I find you moon 
 ing in the darkness, and when I illuminate you, you smile
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIli, i49 
 
 up at me in a somewhat imbecile manner, and say nothing 
 What may it portend? " 
 
 He roused himself, sat up, and looked at me with an 
 ambiguous half smile. 
 
 "Most punctual of men! most worthy, honest, fidgety old 
 friend! " said he with still the same suppressed smile, "how 
 I honor you! How I wish I could emulate you! How 1 
 wish I were like you! and yet, Friedel, old boy, you have 
 missed something this afternoon." 
 
 "So! I should like to know what you have been doing. 
 Give an account of yourself." 
 
 " I have erred and gone astray, and have found it pleas 
 ant. I have done that which I ought not to have done, and 
 am sorry, for the sake of morality and propriety, to have to 
 say that it was delightful; far more delightful than to go on 
 doing just what one ought to do. Say, good Mentor, does 
 it matter? For this occasion only. Never again, as I am a 
 living man." 
 
 " I wish you would speak plainly," said I, first putting the 
 lamp and then myself upon the table. I swung my legs> 
 about and looked at him. 
 
 " And not go on telling you stories like that of Mun- 
 chausen, in Arabesks, eh? I will be explicit; I will use the 
 indicative mood, present tense. Now then! I like Cologne; 
 I like the cathedral of that town; I like the Hotel du Nord; 
 and, above all, I love the railway station." 
 
 " Are you raving? " 
 
 "Did you ever examine the Cologne railway station?" he 
 went on, lighting a cigar. " There is a great big waiting 
 room, which they lock up; there is a delightful place in which 
 you may get lost, and find yourself suddenly alone in a de 
 serted wing of the building, with an impertinent porter, who 
 doesn't understand one word of Eng of your native 
 tongue : " 
 
 " Are you mad ? " was my varied comment. 
 
 " And while you are in the greatest distress, separated from 
 your friends, who have gone on to Elberthal (like mine), and 
 struggling to make this porter understand you/you may be 
 encountered by a mooning individual a native of the land 
 and you may address him. He drives the fumes of music 
 from his brain, and looks at you, and finds you charming 
 more than charming. My dear Friedhelm, the look in your 
 eyes is quite painful to see. By the exercise of a little diplo-
 
 150 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 macy, which, as you are charmingly nai've, you do not see 
 through, he manages to seal an alliance by which you and he 
 agree to pass three or four hours in each other's society, for 
 mutual instruction and entertainment. The entertainment 
 consists of cutlets, potatoes the kind called kartoffeln 
 frittes, which they give you very good at the Nord and the 
 wine known to us as Doctorberger. The instruction is varied, 
 <md is carried on chiefly in the aisle of the Kb'lner Dom, to 
 the sound of music. And when he is quite spellbound, in a 
 magic circle, a kind of golden net or cloud, he pulls out an 
 earthly watch, made of dust and dross (' More fool he,' your 
 eye says, and you are quite right), and sees that time is advanc 
 ing. A whole army of horned things with stings, called 
 feelings of propriety, honor, correctness, the right thing, etc., 
 come in thick battalions in sturmschritt upon him, and with 
 a hasty word he hurries her he gets off to the station. 
 There is still an hour, for both are coming to Elberthal an 
 hour of unalloyed delight; then" he snapped his fingers 
 " a drosky, an address, a crack of the whip, and ade! " 
 
 I sat and stared at him while he wound up this rhodomon- 
 tade by singmg: 
 
 " Ade, ade, ade! 
 Ja, Scheiden und Meiden thut Weh!" 
 
 " You are too young and fair," he presently resumed, " too 
 slight and sober for apoplexy; but a painful fear seizes me 
 that yowr mental faculties are under some slight cloud. 
 There is a vacant look in your usually radiant eyes; a want 
 
 of intelligence in the curve of your rosy lips " 
 
 " Eugen! Stop that string of fantastic rubbish! Where 
 have you been, and what have you been doing? " 
 
 " I have not deserved that from you. Haven't I been tell- 
 >ng you all this time where I have been and what I have been 
 doing? There is a brutality in your behavior which is to a 
 refined mind most lamentable." 
 
 " But where have you been, and what have you done? " 
 " Another time, mein lieber another time! " 
 With this misty promise I had to content myself. I specu 
 lated upon the subject for that evening, and came to the con 
 clusion that he had invented the whole story, to see whether 
 I would believe it (for we had all a reprehensible habit of that 
 kind), and very soon the whole circumstance dropped from 
 my memory.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 151 
 
 On the following morning I had occasion to go to the pub 
 lic eye hospital. Eugen and I had interested ourselves to 
 procure a ticket for free, or almost free treatment as an out 
 patient for a youth whom we knew one of the second violins 
 whose sight was threatened, and who, poor boy, could not 
 afford to pay for proper treatment. Eugen being busy, I 
 went to receive the ticket. 
 
 It was the first time I had been in the place. I was shown 
 into a room with the light somewhat obscured, and there had 
 to wait some few minutes. Everyone had something the 
 matter with his or her eyes at least so I thought, until my 
 own fell upon a girl who leaned, looking a little tired and a 
 little disappointed, against a tall desk at one side of the room. 
 
 She struck me on the instant as no feminine appearance 
 had ever struck me before. She, like myself, seemed to be 
 waiting for someone or something. She was tall and supple 
 in figure, and her face was girlish and very innocent-looking; 
 and yet, both in her attitude and countenance there was a 
 little pride, some hauteur. It was evidently natural to her, 
 and sat well upon her. A slight but exquisitely molded 
 figure, different from those of our stalwart Elberthaler 
 Madchen finer, more refined and distinguished, and a face 
 to dream of. I thought it then, and I say it now. Masses, 
 almost too thick and heavy, of dark auburn hair, with here 
 and there a glint of warmer hue, framed that beautiful face 
 half woman's, htolf child's. Dark gray eyes, with long dark 
 lashes and brows; cheeks naturally very pale, but sensitive, 
 like some delicate alabaster, showing the red at every wave of 
 emotion; something racy, piquant, unique, enveloped the 
 whole appearance of this young girl. I had never seen any 
 thing at all like her before. 
 
 She looked wearily round the room, and sighed a little. 
 Then her eyes met mine; and seeing the earnestness with 
 which I looked at her, she turned away, and a slight, very 
 slight, flush appeared in her cheek. 
 
 I had time to notice (for everything about her interested 
 me) that her dress was of the very plainest and simplest 
 kind, so plain as to be almost poor, and in its fashion not of 
 the newest, even in Elberthal. 
 
 Then my name was called out. I received my ticket, and 
 went to the probe at the theater.
 
 153 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Wishes are pilgrims to the vale of tears." 
 
 A WEEK ten days passed. I did not see the beautiful 
 girl again nor did I forget her. One night at the opera I 
 found her. It was " Lohengrin " but she has told all that 
 story herself how Eugen came in late (he had a trick of 
 never coming in till the last minute, and I used to think he 
 had some reason for it) and the recognition and the cut 
 direct, first on her side, then on his. 
 
 Eugen and I walked home together, arm in arm, and I felt 
 provoked with him. 
 
 "I say, Eugen, did you see the young lady with Vincent 
 and the others in the first row of the parquet? " 
 
 " I saw some six or eight ladies of various ages in the first 
 row of the parquet. Some were old and some were young. 
 One had a knitted shawl over her head, which she kept on 
 during the whole of the performance." 
 
 " Don't be so maddening! I said the young lady with 
 Vincent and Fraulein Sartorius. By the bye, Eugen, do you 
 know, or have you ever known her? " 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Fraulein Sartorius." 
 
 "Who is she?" 
 
 " Oh, bother! The young lady I mean sat exactly oppo 
 site to you and me a beautiful young girl; an Engldnderin 
 fair, with that hair that we never see here, and " 
 
 " In a brown hat sitting next to Vincent. I saw her 
 yes." 
 
 " She saw you, too." 
 
 " She must have been blind if she hadn't." 
 
 " Have you seen her before ? " 
 
 " I have seen her before yes." 
 
 " And spoken to her? " 
 
 " Even spoken to her." 
 
 " Do tell me what it all means." 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " But, Eugen " 
 
 "Are you so struck with her, Friedel? Don't lose your 
 heart to her, I warn you." 
 
 "Why?" I inquired wilily, hoping the answer would give 
 me some clew to his acquaintance with her.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 153 
 
 "Because, mein Bester, she is a cut above you and me, in 
 a different sphere, one that we know nothing about. What 
 is more, she knows it, and shows it. Be glad that you can 
 not lay yourself open to the snub that I got to-night." 
 
 There was so much bitterness in his tone that I was sur 
 prised. But a sudden remembrance flashed into my mind 
 of his strange remarks after I had left him that day at Co 
 logne, and I laughed to myself, nor, when he asked me, would 
 I tell him why. That evening he had very little to say to Karl 
 Linders and myself. 
 
 Eugen never spoke to me of the beautiful girl who had 
 behaved so strangely that evening, though we saw her again 
 and again. 
 
 Sometimes I used to meet her in the street, in company 
 with the dark, plain girl, Anna Sartorius, who, I fancied, 
 always surveyed Eugen with a look of recognition. The two 
 young women formed in appearance an almost startling con 
 trast. She came to all the concerts, as if she made music a 
 study generally she was with a stout, good-natured-looking 
 German Fraulein, and the young Englishman, Vincent. 
 There was always something rather melancholy about her 
 grace and beauty. 
 
 Most beautiful she was, with long, slender, artist-like 
 hands, the face a perfect oval, but the features more piquant 
 than regular; sometimes a subdued fire glowed in her eyes 
 and compressed her lips, which removed her altogether from 
 the category of spiritless beauties a genus for which I never 
 had the least taste. 
 
 One morning Courvoisier and I, standing just within the 
 entrance to the theater orchestra, saw two people go by. 
 One, a figure well enough known to everyone in Elberthal, 
 and especially to us that of Max von Francius. Did I ever 
 say that Von Francius was an exceedingly handsome fellow, 
 in a certain dark, clean-shaven style? On that occasion he 
 was speaking with more animation than was usual with him, 
 and the person to whom he had unbent so far was the fair 
 Englishwoman that enigmatical beauty who had cut my 
 friend at the opera. She also was looking animated and very 
 beautiful; her face turned to his with a smile a glad, grati 
 fied smile. He was saying: 
 
 " But in the next lesson, you know " 
 
 They passed on. I turned to ask Eugen if he had seen. 
 I needed not to put the question. He had seen. There was a
 
 154 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 forced smile upon his lips. Before I could speak he had 
 said: 
 
 " It's time to go in, Friedel; come along! " With which 
 he turned into the theater, and I followed thoughtfully. 
 
 Then it was rumored that at the coming concert the 
 benefit of Von Francius a new soprano was to appear a 
 young lady of whom report used varied tones; some believ 
 able facts, at least, we learned about her. Her name, they 
 said, was Wedderburn; she was an Englishwoman, and had 
 i most wonderful voice. The Herr Direktor took a very deep 
 interest in her; he not only gave her lessons, he had asked 
 to give her lessons, and intended to form of her an artiste who 
 should one day be to the world a kind of Patti, Lucca, or 
 Nilsson. 
 
 I had no doubt in my own mind as to who she was, but for 
 all that I felt considerable excitement on the evening of the 
 haupt-probe to the " Verlorenes Paradies/' 
 
 Yes, I was right. Miss Wedderburn, the pupil of Von 
 Francius, of whom so much was prophesied, was the beau 
 tiful, forlorn-looking English girl. The feeling which grew 
 upon me that evening, and which I never found reason after 
 ward to alter, was that she was modest, gentle, yet spirited, 
 very gifted, and an artiste by nature and gift, yet sadly ill at 
 ease and out of place in that world into which Von Francius 
 wished to lead her. 
 
 She sat quite near to Eugen and me, and I saw how alone 
 she was, and how she seemed to feel her loneliness. I saw 
 how certain young ladies drew themselves together, and 
 looked at her (it was on this occasion that I first began to 
 notice the silent behavior of women toward each other, and 
 the more I have observed, the more has my wonder grown 
 and increased), and whispered behind their music, and 
 shrugged their shoulders when Von Francius, seeing how 
 isolated she seemed, bent forward and said a few kind words 
 to her. 
 
 I liked him for it. After all, he was a man. But his dis 
 tinguishing the child did not add to the delights of her posi 
 tion rather made it worse. I put myself in her place as well 
 as I could, and felt her feelings when Von Francius intro 
 duced her to one of the young ladies near her, who first stared 
 at him, then at her, then inclined her head a little forward 
 and a little backward, turned her back upon Miss Wedder 
 burn, and appeared lost in conversation of the deepest im-
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 155 
 
 portance with her neighbor. And 1 thought of the words 
 which Karl Linders had said to us in haste and anger, and 
 after a disappointment he had lately hud, " Das Weib ist der 
 Teufel." Yes, woman is the devil sometimes, thought I, and 
 a mean kind of devil, too. A female Mephistopheles would 
 not have damned Gretchen's soul, nor killed her body; she 
 would have left the latter on this earthly sphere, and damned 
 her reputation. 
 
 Von Francius was a clever man, but he made a grand mis 
 take that night, unless he were desirous of making his pro 
 tegee as uncomfortable as possible. How could those ladies 
 feel otherwise than insulted at seeing the man of ice so sud 
 denly attentive and bland to a nobody, an upstart, and a 
 beautiful one? 
 
 The probe continued, and still she sat alone and unspoken 
 to, her only acquaintance or companion seeming to be 
 Fraulein Sartorius, with whom she had come in. I saw how, 
 when Von Francius called upon her to do her part, and the 
 looks which had hitherto been averted from her were now 
 turned pitilessly and unwinkingly upon her, she quailed. 
 She bit her lip; her hand trembled. I turned to Eugen with 
 a look which said volumes. He sat with his arms folded, and 
 his face perfectly devoid of all expression, gazing straight 
 before him. 
 
 Miss Wedderburn might have been satisfied to the full with 
 her revenge. That was a voice! such a volume of pure, ex 
 quisite melody as I had rarely heard. After hearing that, all 
 doubts were settled. The gift might be a blessing or a curse 
 let everyone decide that for himself, according to his style 
 of thinking; but it was there. She possessed the power which 
 put her out of the category of commonplace, and had the 
 most melodious " Open Sesame! " with which to besiege the 
 doors of the courts in which dwell artists creative and in 
 terpretative. 
 
 The performance finished the gap between her and her 
 companions. Their looks said, " You are not one of 
 us." My angry spirit said, " No; you can never be like 
 her." 
 
 She seemed half afraid of what she had done when it was 
 over, and shrunk into herself with downcast eyes and nerv 
 ous quivering of the lips at the subdued applause of the men. 
 I wanted to applaud, too; but I looked at Eugen. I had in 
 stinctively given him some share in the affairs of this lovely
 
 156 THE FIRST. VIOLIN. 
 
 creature a share which he always strenuously repudiated, 
 both tacitly and openly. 
 
 Nevertheless, when I saw him, I abstained from applaud 
 ing, knowing, by a lightning-quick intuition, that it would 
 be highly irritating to him. He showed no emotion; if he 
 had done, I should not have thought the occasion was any 
 thing special to him. It was his absurd gravity, stony inex- 
 pressiveness, which impressed me with the fact that he was 
 moved moved against his will and his judgment. He could 
 no more help approving both of her and her voice than he 
 could help admiring a perfect, half-opened rose. 
 
 It was over, and we went out of the saal, across the road, 
 and home. 
 
 Sigmund, who had not been very well that day, was awake 
 and restless. Eugen took him up, wrapped him in a little 
 bed-gown, carried him into the other room, and sat down 
 with him. The child rested his head on the loved breast, 
 and was soothed. 
 
 She had gone; the door had closed after her. Eugen 
 turned to me, and took Sigmund into his arms again. 
 
 " M ein Voter, who is the beautiful lady, and why did you 
 speak so harshly to her? Why did you make her cry? " 
 
 The answer, though ostensibly spoken to Sigmund, was a 
 revelation to me. 
 
 " That I may not have to cry myself," said Eugen, kissing 
 him. 
 
 " Could the lady make thee cry? " demanded Sigmund, 
 sitting up, much excited at the idea. 
 
 Another kiss and a half laugh was the answer. Then he 
 bade him go to sleep, as he did not understand what he was 
 talking about. 
 
 By and by Sigmund did drop to sleep. Eugen carried 
 him to his bed, tucked him up, and returned. We sat in 
 silence such an uncomfortable, constrained silence as had 
 never before been .between us. I had a book before me. I 
 saw no word of it. I could not drive the vision away the 
 lovely, pleading face, the penitence. Good Heavens! How 
 could he repulse her as he had done? Her repeated request 
 that he would take that money what did it all mean? And, 
 moreover, my heart was sore that he had concealed it 'all from 
 me. About the past I felt no resentment; there was a secret
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 157 
 
 there which I respected; but I was cut up at this. The more 
 I thought of it, the keener was the pain I felt. 
 
 " Friedel! " 
 
 I looked up. Eugen was leaning across the table, and his 
 hand was stretched toward me; his eyes looked full into 
 mine. I answered his look, but I was not clear yet. 
 
 "Forgive me!" 
 
 " Forgive thee what ? " 
 
 " This playing with thy confidence." 
 
 " Don't mention it! " I forced myself to say, but the sore 
 feeling still remained. " You have surely a right to keep 
 your affairs to yourself if you choose." 
 
 "You will not shake hands? Well, perhaps I have r/ 
 right to ask it; but I should like to tell you all about it." 
 
 I put my hand into his. 
 
 " I was wounded," said I, " it is true. But it is over." 
 
 " Then listen, Friedel." 
 
 He told me the story of his meeting with Miss Wedder- 
 burn. All he said of the impression she had made upon him 
 was: 
 
 " I thought her very charming, and the loveliest creature 
 I had ever seen. And about the trains. It stands in this 
 way. I thought a few hours of her society would make me 
 very happy, and would be like oh, well! I knew that in the 
 future, if she ever should see me again, she would either treat 
 me with distant politeness, as an inferior, or, supposing she 
 discovered that I had cheated her, would cut me dead. And, 
 as it did not matter, as I could not possibly be an acquaint 
 ance of hers in the future, I gave myself that pleasure then. 
 It has turned out a mistake on my part, but that is nothing 
 new; my whole existence has been a monstrous mistake. 
 However, now she sees what a churl's nature was under my 
 fair-seeming exterior, her pride will show her what to do. 
 She will take a wrong view of my character, but what does 
 that signify? She will say that to be deceitful first, and un 
 civil afterward, are the main features of the German char 
 acter, and when she is at Cologne on her honeymoon, she will 
 tell her bridegroom about this adventure, and he will re 
 mark that- the fellow wanted horsewhipping, and she " 
 
 " There! You have exercised your imagination quite suffi 
 ciently. Then you intend to keep up this farce of not recog 
 nizing her? Why? "
 
 1*8 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 He hesitated, looked as nearly awkward as he could, and 
 said, a little constrainedly: 
 
 " Because I think it will be for the best." 
 
 " For you or for her? " I inquired, not very fairly, but I 
 could not resist it. 
 
 Eugen flushed all over his face. 
 
 " What a question! " was all he said. 
 
 " I do not think it such a remarkable question. Either you 
 have grown exceedingly nervous as to your own strength of 
 resistance, or you fear for hers." 
 
 " Friedhelm," said he in a cutting voice, " that is a tone 
 which I should not have believed you capable of taking. It 
 is vulgar, my dear fellow, and uncalled for; and it is so un- 
 like you that I am astonished. If you had been one of the 
 other fellows " 
 
 I fired up. 
 
 " Excuse me, Eugen, it might be vulgar if I were merely 
 chaffing you, but I am not; and I think, after what you have 
 told me, that I have said very little. I am not so sure of her 
 despising you. She looks much more as if she were distressed 
 at your despising her." 
 
 " Pre pos ter ous! " 
 
 " If you can mention an instance in her behavior thi;r 
 evening which looked as if she were desirous of snubbing 
 you, I should be obliged by your mentioning it," I continued. 
 
 " Well well! " 
 
 " Well well! If she had wished to snub you she would 
 have sent you that money through the post, and made an end 
 of it. She simply desired, as was evident all along, to apolo 
 gize for having been rude to a person who had been kind to 
 her. I can quite understand it, and I am not sure that 
 your behavior will not have the opposite effect to that you 
 expect." 
 
 " I think you are mistaken. However, it does not matter; 
 our paths lie quite apart. She will have plenty of other 
 things to take up her time and thoughts. Anyhow, I am 
 glad that you and I are quits once more." 
 
 So was I. We said no more upon the subject; but I always 
 felt as if a kind of connecting link existed between my friend 
 and me, and that beautiful, solitary English girl. 
 
 The link was destined to come yet closer. The concert was 
 over at which she sung. She had a success. I see she has 
 not mentioned it; a success which isolated her still more from
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. i59 
 
 her companions, inasmuch as it made her more distinctly 
 professional and them more severely virtuous. 
 
 One afternoon when Eugen and I happened to have noth 
 ing to do, we took Sigmund to the Grafenberg. We wan 
 dered about in the fir wood, and at last came to a pause and 
 rested. Eugen lay upon his back, and gazed up into the 
 thickness of brown-green fir above, and perhaps guessed at 
 the heaven beyond the dark shade. I sat and stared before 
 me through the straight, red-brown stems across the ground, 
 
 " With sheddings from the pining umbrage tinged," 
 
 to an invisible beyond, which had charms for me, and was 
 a kind of symphonic beauty in my mind. Sigmund lay flat 
 upon his stomach, kicked his heels, and made intricate pat 
 terns with the fir needles, while he hummed a gentle song 
 to himself in a small, sweet voice, true as a lark's, but sadder. 
 There was utter stillness and utter calm all round. 
 
 Presently Eugen's arm stole around Sigmund, and drew 
 him closer and closer to him, and they continued to look at 
 each other until a mutual smile broke upon both faces, and 
 the boy said, his whole small frame, as well as his voice, 
 quivering (the poor little fellow had nerves that vibrated tc 
 the slightest emotion) : " I love thee." 
 
 A light leaped into the father's eyes; a look of pain fol 
 lowed it quickly. 
 
 "And I shall never leave thee," said Sigmund. 
 
 Eugen parried the necessity of speaking by a kiss. 
 
 " I love thee, too, Friedel," continued he, taking my hand. 
 " We are very happy together, aren't we? " And he laughed 
 placidly to himself. 
 
 Eugen, as if stung by some tormenting thought, sprung 
 up, and we left the wood. 
 
 Oh, far-back, bygone day! There was a soft light over you 
 shed by a kindly sun. That was a time in which joy ran a 
 golden thread through the gray homespun of everyday life. 
 
 Back to the restauration at the foot of the lerg, where Sig 
 mund was supplied with milk and Eugen and I with beer, 
 where we sat at a little wooden table in a garden, and the 
 pleasant clack of friendly conversation sounded around; 
 where the women tried to make friends with Sigmund, and 
 the girls whispered behind their coffee-cups or (pace, elegant 
 fiction!) their beer glasses, and always happened to be looking
 
 160 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 up if our eyes roved that way. Two poor musiker and a 
 little boy; persons of no importance whatever, who could 
 scrape their part in the symphony with some intelligence, 
 and feel they had done their duty. Well, well! it is not all 
 of us who can do even so much. I know some instruments 
 that are always out of tune. Let us be complacent where we 
 justly can. The opportunities are few. 
 
 We took our way home. The days were long, and it was 
 yet light when we returned and found the reproachful face 
 of Frau Schmidt looking for us, and her arms open to re 
 ceive the weary little lad, who had fallen asleep on his father's 
 shoulder. 
 
 I went upstairs, and, by a natural instinct, to the window. 
 Those facing it were open; someone moved in the room. 
 Two chords of a piano were struck. Someone came and stood 
 by the window, shielded her eyes from the rays of the setting 
 sun which streamed down the street, and looked westward. 
 Eugen was passing behind me. I pulled him to the window, 
 and we both looked silently, gravely. 
 
 The girl dropped her hand; her eyes fell upon us. The 
 color mounted to her cheek; she turned away, and went to 
 the interior of the room. It was May Wedderburn. 
 
 "Also!" said Eugen after a pause. "A new neighbor; it 
 reminds me of one of Andersen's 'Marchen/ but I don't 
 know which."
 
 BOOK IV. 
 CHILDREN OF THE WORLD. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 " For though lie lived aloof from ken, 
 The world's unwitnessed denizen, 
 
 The love within him stirs 
 Abroad, and with the hearts of men 
 
 His own confers." 
 
 THE story of my life from day to day was dull enough, 
 same enough, for some time after I went to live at the 
 Wehrhahn. I was studying hard, and my only variety was 
 the letters I had from home; not very cheering, these. One, 
 which I received from Adelaide, puzzled me somewhat. 
 After speaking of her coming marriage in a way which made 
 me sad and uncomfortable, she condescended to express her 
 approval of what I was doing, and went on: 
 
 " I am catholic in my tastes. I suppose all our friends 
 would faint at the idea of there being a ' singer ' in the 
 family. Now, I should rather like you to be a singer only 
 be a great one not a little twopenny-halfpenny person, who 
 has to advertise for engagements. 
 
 " Now, I am going to give you some advice. This Herr 
 von Francius your teacher or whatever he is. Be cautious 
 what you are about with him. I don't say more, but I say 
 that again be cautious! Don't burn your fingers. Now, I 
 Qave not much time, and I hate writing letters, as you know. 
 In a week I am to be married, and then nous verrons. We 
 to Paris first, and then on to Eome, where we shall win 
 ter to gratify my taste, I wonder, or Sir Peter's, for molder- 
 ing ruins, ancient pictures, and the Coliseum by moonlight? 
 I have no doubt that we shall do our duty by the respectable 
 old structures. Eemember what I said, and write to me now 
 and then. A."
 
 162 THE FIRST V10LIJ\. 
 
 I frowned and puzzled a little over this letter. Be cau 
 tious? In what possible way could I be cautious? What 
 meed could there be for it when all that passed between me 
 and Von Francius was the daily singing lesson at which he 
 was so strict and severe, sometimes so sharp and cutting with 
 me. I saw him then; I saw him also at the constant proben 
 to concerts whose season had already begun; proben to the 
 " Passions-musik," the " Messiah," etc. At one or two of 
 these concerts I was to sing. I did not like the idea, but I 
 could not make Von Francius see it as I did. He said I must 
 sing it was part of my studies, and I was fain to bend to his 
 will. 
 
 Von Francius I looked at Adelaide's letter, and smiled 
 again. Von Francius had kept his word; he had behaved to 
 me as a kind elder brother. He seemed instinctively to 
 understand the wish, which was very strong on my part, not 
 to live entirely at Miss Hallam's expense to provide par 
 tially at any rate, for myself, if possible. He helped me to 
 do this. Now he brought me some music to be copied; now 
 he told me of a young lady who wanted lessons in English 
 now of one little thing, now of another, which kept me, to 
 my pride and joy, in such slender pocket-money as I needed. 
 Truly, I used to think in those days, it does not need much 
 money nor much room for a person like me to keep her place 
 in the world. I wished to trouble no one only to work as 
 hard as I could, and do the work that was set for me as well 
 as I knew how. I had my wish and so far was not unhappy. 
 
 But what did Adelaide mean? True, I had once described 
 Von Francius to her as young, that is youngish, clever, and 
 handsome. Did she, remembering my well-known suscepti 
 bility, fear that I might fall in love with him and compromise 
 myself by some silly Schwarmerei? I laughed about all by 
 myself at the very idea of such a thing. Fall in love with 
 Von Francius, and my eyes fell upon the two windows over 
 the way. No; my heart was pure of the faintest feeling for 
 him, save that of respect, gratitude, and liking founded at 
 that time more on esteem than spontaneous growth. And 
 he I smiled at that idea, too. 
 
 In all my long interviews with Von Francius throughout 
 our intercourse he maintained one unvaried tone, tjiat of a 
 kind, frank, protecting interest, with something of the patron 
 on his part. Pie would converse with me about Schiller and 
 Goethe, true; he would also caution me against such and such
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 163 
 
 shopkeepers as extortioners, and tell me the place where they 
 gave the largest discount on music paid for on the spot; 
 would discuss the " Waldstein " or " Appassionata " with me, 
 or the beauties of Eubinstein or the deep meanings of Schu 
 mann, also the relative cost of living en pension or providing 
 for one's self. 
 
 No. Adelaide was mistaken. I wished, parenthetically, 
 that she could make the acquaintance of Von Francius, and 
 learn how mistaken and again my eyes fell upon the oppo 
 site windows. Friedhelm Helfen leaned from one, holding 
 fast Courvoisier's boy. The rich Italian coloring of the 
 lovely young face; the dusky hair; the glow upon the cheeks, 
 the deep blue of his serge dress, made the effect of a warmly 
 tinted southern flower; it was a flower-face, too; delicate and 
 rich at once. 
 
 Adelaide's letter dropped unheeded to the floor. Those 
 two could not see me, and I had a joy in watching them. 
 
 To say, however, that I actually watched my opposite 
 neighbors would not be true. I studiously avoided watching 
 them; never sat in the window; seldom snowed myself at it, 
 though in passing I sometimes allowed myself to linger, and 
 so had glimpses of those within. They were three and I was 
 one. They were the happier by two. Or if I knew that they 
 were out, that a probe was going on, or an opera or concert, 
 there was nothing I liked better than to sit for a time and 
 look to the opposite windows. They were nearly always open, 
 as were also mine, for the heat of the stove was oppressive to 
 me, and I preferred to temper it with a little of the raw out 
 side air. I used sometimes to hear from those opposite rooms 
 the practicing or playing of passages on the violin and violon 
 cello scales, shakes, long complicated flourishes and phrases. 
 Sometimes I heard the very strains that I had to sing to: airs, 
 scraps of airs, snatches from operas, concerts, and symphonies. 
 They were always humming and singing things. They came 
 home haunted with " The Last Eose," from " Marta " now 
 borne air from " Faust," " Der Freischiitz," or " Tannhauser." 
 
 But one air was particular to Eugen, who seemed to be per 
 fectly possessed by it that which I had heard him humming 
 when I first met him the March from " Lenore." He 
 whistled it and sung it; played it on violin, 'cello, and piano; 
 hummed it first thing in the morning and last thing at night; 
 harped upon it until in despair his companion threw books 
 and music at him, and he, dodging them, laughed, begged par-
 
 264 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 don, was silent for five minutes, and then the Marcn da capo 
 set in a halting kind of measure to the ballad. 
 
 By way of a slight and wholesome variety there was the 
 whole repertory of " Volkslieder," from 
 
 " Du, du, liegst mir im Herzen ; 
 Du, du, liegst mir im Sinn," 
 
 up to 
 
 " Madele, ruck, ruck, ruck 
 An meine griine Seite." 
 
 Sometimes they one or both of them with the boy might 
 be seen at the window leaning out, whistling or talking. 
 When doors banged and quick steps rushed up or down the 
 stairs, two steps at a time, I knew it was Courvoisier. Fried- 
 helm Helfen's movements were slower and more sedate. I 
 grew to know his face as well as Eugen's, and to like it better 
 the more I saw of it. A quite young, almost boyish face, with 
 an inexpressibly pure, true, and good expression upon the 
 mouth and in the dark brown eyes. Eeticent, as most good 
 faces are, but a face which made you desire to know the owner 
 of it, made you feel that you could trust him in any trial. 
 His face reminded me in a distant manner of two others, also 
 faces of musicians, but greater in their craft than he, they 
 being creators and pioneers, while he was .only a disciple of 
 Beethoven and of the living master, Eubinstein. A gentle, 
 though far from weak face, and such a contrast in expression 
 and everything else to that of my musician, as to make me 
 wonder sometimes whether they had been drawn to each other 
 frbm very oppositeness of disposition and character. That 
 they were very great friends I could not doubt; that the 
 leadership was on Courvoisier's side was no less evident. 
 Eugen's affection for Helfen seemed to have something 
 fatherly in it, while I could see that both joined in an absorb 
 ing worship of the boy, who was a very Croesus in love if in 
 nothing else. Sigmund had, too, an adorer in a third musi 
 cian, a violoncellist, one of their comrades, who apparently 
 spent much of his spare substance in purchasing presents of 
 toys and books and other offerings, which he laid at the shrine 
 of St. Sigmund, with what success I could not tell. Beyond 
 this young fellow, Karl Linders, they had not many visitors. 
 Young men used occasionally to appear with violin-cases in 
 their hands, coming for lessons, probably.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 165 
 
 All these things I saw without absolutely watching for 
 them; they made that impression upon me which the most 
 trifling facts connected with a person around whom cling all 
 one's deepest pleasures and deepest pains ever do and must 
 make. I was glad to know them, but at the same time they 
 impressed the loneliness and aloofness of my own life more 
 decidedly upon me. 
 
 I remember one small incident which, at the time it hap 
 pened, struck home to me. My windows were open; it was 
 an October afternoon, mild and sunny. The yellow light 
 shone with a peaceful warmth upon the afternoon quietness 
 of the street. Suddenly that quietness was broken. The 
 sound of music, the peculiar blatant noise of trumpets., smote 
 the air. It came nearer, and with it the measured tramp of 
 feet. I rose and went to look out. A Hussar regiment was 
 passing; before them was borne a soldier's coffin; they carried 
 a comrade to his grave. The music they played was the 
 " Funeral March for the Death of a Hero," from the " Sin- 
 fonia Eroica." Muffled, slow, grand, and mournful, it went 
 wailing and throbbing by. The procession passed slowly on 
 in the October sunshine, along the Schadowstrasse, turning 
 off by the Hofgarten, and so on to the cemetery. I leaned 
 out of the window and looked after it forgetting all outside, 
 till just as the last of the procession passed by my eyes fell 
 upon Courvoisier going into his house, and who presently 
 entered the room. He was unperceived by Friedhelm and 
 Sigmund, who were looking after the procession. The 
 child's face was earnest, almost solemn he had not seen his 
 father come up. I saw Helfen's lips caress Sigmund's loose 
 black hair that waved just beneath them. 
 
 Then I saw a figure only a black shadow to my eyes, which 
 were dazzled by the sun come behind them. One hand was 
 laid upon Helfen's shoulder, another turned the child's chin. 
 What a change! Friedhelm's grave face smiled; Sigmund 
 sprung aside, made a leap to his father, who stooped to him. 
 and clasping his arms tight round his neck was raised up in 
 his arms. 
 
 They were all satisfied all smiling all happy. I turned 
 away. That was a home that was a meeting of three affec 
 tions. What more could they want? I shut the window 
 shut it all out, and myself with it into the cold, feeling my 
 lips quiver. It was very fine, this life of independence and 
 self-support, but it was dreadfully lonely.
 
 166 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 The days went on. Adelaide was now Lady Le Marchant, 
 She had written to me again, and warned me once more to be 
 careful what I was about. She had said that she liked her 
 life at least she said so in her first two or three letters, and 
 then there fell a sudden utter silence about herself which 
 seemed to me ominous. 
 
 Adelaide had always acted upon the assumption that Sir 
 Peter was a far from strong-minded individual, with a certain 
 hardness and cunning perhaps in relation to money matters, 
 but nothing that a clever wife, with a strong enough sense of 
 her own privileges, could not overcome. 
 
 She said nothing to me about herself. She told me about 
 Eome; who was there; what they did and looked like; what 
 she wore; what compliments were paid to her that was all. 
 
 Stella told me my letters were dull and I dare say they 
 were and that there was no use in her writing, because noth 
 ing ever happened in Skernford, which was also true. And 
 as for Eugen, we were on exactly the same terms or rather no 
 terms as before. Opposite neighbors, and as far removed as 
 if we had lived at the antipodes. 
 
 My life, as time went on, grew into a kind of fossilized 
 dream, in which I rose up and lay down, practiced so many 
 hours a day, ate and drank and took my lesson, and it seemed 
 as if I had been living so for years, and should continue to 
 live on so to the end of my days until one morning my eyes 
 would not open again, and for me the world would have come 
 to an end. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 " And nearer still shall further be, 
 And words shall plague and vex and buffet thee." 
 
 IT was December, close upon Christmas. Winter at last 
 in real earnest. A black frost. The earth bound in fetters 
 of iron. The land gray; the sky steel; the wind a dagger. 
 The trees, leafless and stark, rattled their shriveled boughs 
 together in that wind. 
 
 It met you at corners and froze the words out of your 
 mouth; it whistled a low, fiendish, malignant whistle round 
 the houses; as vicious and little louder than the buzz of a 
 mosquito. It swept thin, keen, and cutting down the 
 Konigsallee, and blew fine black dust into one's face.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 167 
 
 It cut up the skaters upon the pond in the Neue Anlage, 
 which was in the center of the town, and comparatively shel 
 tered; but it was in its glory, whistling across the flat fields 
 leading to the great skating-ground of Elberthal in general 
 the Schwanenspiegel at the Grafenbergerdahl. 
 
 The Grafenberg was a low chain of what, for want of a 
 better name, may be called hills, lying to the north of Elber 
 thal. The country all around this unfortunate apology for a 
 range of hills was, if possible, natter than ever. The Grafen 
 bergerdahl was, properly, no " dale " at all, but a broad plain 
 of meadows, with the railway cutting them at one point, then 
 diverging and running on under the Grafenberg. 
 
 One vast meadow which lay, if possible, a trifle lower than 
 the rest, was flooded regularly by the autumn rains, but not 
 deeply. It was frozen over now, and formed a model skating 
 place, and so, apparently, thought the townspeople, for they 
 came out, singly or in bodies, and from nine in the morning 
 till dusk the place was crowded, and the merry music of the 
 iron on the ice ceased not for a second. 
 
 I discovered this place of resort by accident one day when 
 I was taking a constitutional, and found myself upon the bor 
 ders of the great frozen mere covered with skaters. I stood 
 looking at them, and my blood warmed at the sight. If there 
 were one thing, one accomplishment upon which I prided 
 myself, it was this very one skating. 
 
 In a drawing room I might feel awkward confused among 
 clever people, bashful among accomplished ones; shy about 
 music and painting, diffident as to my voice, and deprecatory 
 in spirit as to the etiquette to be observed at a dinner party. 
 Give me my skates and put me on a sheet of ice, and I was 
 at home. 
 
 As I paused and watched the skaters, it struck me that 
 there was no reason at all why I should deny myself that 
 seasonable enjoyment. I had my skates, and the mere was 
 large enough to hold me as well as the others indeed, I saw 
 in the distance great tracts of virgin ice to which no skater 
 seemed yet to have reached. 
 
 I went home, and on the following afternoon carried out 
 my resolution; though it was after three o'clock before I 
 could set out. 
 
 A long, bleak way. First up the merry Jagerhofstrasse, 
 then through the Malkasten garden, up a narrow lane, then 
 out upon the open, bleak road, with that bitter wind going
 
 168 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 ping-ping at one's ears and upon one's cheek. Through a big 
 gateway, and a courtyard pertaining to an orphan asylum 
 along a lane bordered with apple trees through a rustic arch, 
 and, hurrah! the field was before me not so thickly covered 
 as yesterday, for it was getting late, and the Elberthalers did 
 not seem to understand the joy of careering over the black ice 
 by moonlight, in the night wind. It was, however, as yet far 
 from dark, and the moon was rising in silver yonder, in a sky 
 <jf a pale but clear blue. 
 
 I quickly put on my skates stumbled to the edge, and set 
 off. I took a few turns, circling among the people then, 
 seeing several turn to look at me, I fixed my eyes upon a dis 
 tant clump of reeds rising from the ice, and resolved to make 
 it my goal. I could only just see it, even with my long 
 sighted eyes, but struck out for it bravely. Past group after 
 group of the skaters, who turned to look at my scarlet shawl as 
 it flashed past. I glanced at them and skimmed smoothly on, 
 till I came to the outside circle where there was a skater all 
 alone, his hands thrust deep into his greatcoat pockets, the 
 collar of the same turned high about his ears, and the inevita 
 ble little gray cloth StudentenJiut crowning the luxuriance of 
 waving dark hair. He was gliding round in complicated 
 figures and circles, doing the outside edge for his own solitary 
 gratification, so far as I could see; active, graceful, and mus 
 cular, with practiced ease and assured strength in every limb. 
 It needed no second' glance on my part to assure me who he 
 was even if the dark bright eyes had not been caught by the 
 flash of my cloak, and gravely raised for a moment as I flew 
 by. I dashed on, breasting -the wind. To reach the bunch 
 of reeds seemed more than ever desirable now. I would make 
 it my sole companion until it was time to go away. At least 
 he had seen me, and I was safe from any contretemps he 
 would avoid me as strenuously as I avoided him. But the 
 first fresh lust after pleasure was gone. Just one moment's 
 glance into a face had had the power to alter everything so 
 much. I skated on, as fast, as surely as ever, but, 
 
 " A joy has taken flight." 
 
 The pleasant sensation of solitude, which I could so easily 
 have felt among a thousand people had he not been counted 
 among them, was gone. The roll of my skates upon the ice 
 had lost its music for me; the wind felt colder I sadder. V:
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 169 
 
 least I thought so. Should I go away again, now that this 
 disturbing element had appeared upon the scene? No, no, 
 no! said something eagerly within me, and I bit my lip, and 
 choked back a kind of sob of disgust as I realized that, 
 despite my gloomy reflections, my heart was beating a high, 
 rapid march of joy! as I skimmed, all alone, far away from 
 the crowd, among the dismal withered reeds, and round the 
 little islets of stiffened grass and rushes, which were frozen 
 upright in their places. 
 
 The. daylight faded, and the moon rose. The people were 
 going away. The distant buzz of laughter had grown silent. 
 I could dimly discern some few groups, but very few, still 
 left, and one or two solitary figures. Even my preternatural 
 eagerness could not discern who they were. The darkness, 
 the long walk home, the probe at seven, which I should be 
 too tired to attend, all had quite slipped from my mind; it 
 was possible that among those figures, which I still dimly 
 saw, was yet remaining that of Courvoisier, and surely there 
 was no harm in my staying here. 
 
 I struck out in another direction, and flew on in the keen 
 air; the frosty moon shedding a weird light upon the black 
 ice; I saw the railway lines, polished, gleaming too in the 
 light; the belt of dark firs to my right; the red sand soil 
 frozen hard and silvered over with frost. Flat and tame, but 
 still beautiful. I felt a kind of rejoicing in it; I felt it home. 
 I was probably the first person who had been there since the 
 freezing of the mere, thought I, and that idea was soon con 
 verted to a certainty in my mind, for in a second my rapid 
 career was interrupted. At the furthest point from help or 
 human presence the ice gave way with a crash, and I shrieked 
 aloud at the shock of the bitter water. Oh, how cold it was! 
 how piercing, frightful, numbing! It was not deep scarcely 
 above my knees, but the difficulty was how to get out. Put 
 my hand where I would, the ice gave way. I could only 
 plunge in the icy water, feeling the sodden grass under my 
 feet. What sort of things might there not be in that water? 
 A cold shudder, worse than any ice, shot through me at the 
 idea of newt* and rats and water-serpents, absurd though it 
 was. I screamed again in desperation, and tried to haul my 
 self out by catching at the rushes. They were rotten with 
 the frost and gave way in my hand. I made a frantic effort 
 at the ice again; stumbled and fell on my knees in the water. 
 I was vet all over now, and I gasped. My limbs ached ago-
 
 170 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 nizingly with * cold. I should be, if not drowned, yet he- 
 numbed, frozen to death here alone in the great mere, among 
 the frozen reeds and under the steely sky. 
 
 I was pausing, standing still, and rapidly becoming almost 
 too benumbed to think or hold myself up, when I heard the 
 sound of skates and the weird measure of the " Lenore 
 March " again. I held my breath; I desired intensely to call 
 out, shriek aloud for help, but I could not. Not a word 
 would come. 
 
 " I did hear someone/' he. muttered, and then in the moon 
 light he came skating past, saw me, and stopped. 
 
 " Sie, Fraulein! " he began quickly, and then altering his 
 tone, " The ice has broken. Let me help you." 
 
 " Don't come too near; the ice is very thin it doesn't hold 
 at all," I chattered, scarcely able to get the words out. 
 
 "You are cold?" he asked, and smiled. I felt the smile 
 cruel; and realized that I probably looked rather ludicrous. 
 
 " Cold! " I repeated with an irrepressible short sob. 
 
 He knelt down upon the ice at about a yard's distance 
 from me. 
 
 " Here it is strong," said he, holding out his arms. " Lean 
 this way, mein Frauhin, and I will lift you out." 
 
 " Oh, no! You will certainly fall in yourself." 
 
 " Do as I tell you," he said imperatively, and I obeyed, 
 leaning a little forward. He took me round the waist, lifted 
 me quietly out of the water, and placed me upon the ice at a 
 discreet distance from the hole in which I had been stuck, 
 then rose himself, apparently undisturbed by the effort. 
 
 Miserable, degraded object that I felt! My clothes cling 
 ing round me; icy cold, shivering from head to foot; so 
 aching with cold that I could no longer stand. As he opened 
 his mouth to say something about its being " happily accom 
 plished," I sunk upon my knees at his feet. My strength had 
 deserted me; I could no longer support myself. 
 
 " Frozen! " he remarked to himself, as he stooped and half 
 raised me. " I see what must be done. Let me take off 
 your skates sonst geht's nicht." 
 
 I sat down upon the ice, half hysterical, partly from the 
 sense of the degrading, ludicrous plight I was in, partly from 
 intense yet painful delight at being thus once more with him, 
 seeing some recognition in his eyes again, and hearing some 
 cordiality in his voice. 
 
 He unfastened my skates deftly and quickly, slung them
 
 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 171 
 
 over his arm, and helped me up again. I essayed feebly to 
 walk, but my limbs were nurnb with cold. I could not put 
 one foot before the other, but could only cling to his arm in 
 silence. 
 
 "So!" said he, with a little laugh. "We are all alone 
 here! A fine time for a moonlight skating." 
 
 " Ah, yes! " said I wearily, " but I can't move." 
 
 " You need not," said he. " I am going to carry you away 
 in spite of yourself, like a popular preacher." 
 
 He put his arm round my waist and bade me hold fast to 
 his shoulder. I obeyed, and directly found myself carried 
 along in a swift, delightful movement, which seemed to my 
 drowsy, deadened senses, quick as the nimble air, smooth as a 
 swallow's flight. He was a consummate master in the art of 
 skating that was evident. A strong, unfailing arm held me 
 fast. I felt no sense of danger, no fear lest he should fall or 
 stumble; no such idea entered my head. 
 
 We had far to go from one end of the great Schwanen- 
 spiegel to the other. Despite the rapid motion, numbness 
 overcame me; my eyes closed, my head sunk upon my hands, 
 which were clasped over his shoulder. A sob rose to my 
 throat. In the midst of the torpor that was stealing over me, 
 there shot every now and then a shiver of ecstasy so keen as 
 to almost terrify me. But then even that died away. Every 
 thing seemed to whirl round me the meadows and trees, th 
 stiff rushes and the great black sheet of ice, and the white 
 moon in the inky heavens became only a confused dream. 
 Was it sleep or faintness, or coma? What was it that seemed 
 to make my senses as dull as my limbs, and as heavy? I 
 scarcely felt the movement, as he lifted me from the ice to the 
 ground. His shout did not waken me, though he sent the 
 full power of his voice ringing out toward the pile of build 
 ings to our left. 
 
 With the last echo of his voice I lost consciousness entirely^ 
 all failed and faded, and then vanished before me, until I 
 apened my eyes again feebly, and found myself in a great 
 stony-looking room, before a big black stove, the door of 
 which was thrown open. I was lying upon a sofa, and a 
 woman was bending over me. At the foot of the sofa, lean 
 ing against the wall, was Courvoisier, looking down at me, 
 his arms folded, his face pensive. 
 
 " Oh, dear! " cried I, starting up. " What is the matter? 
 J must go home."
 
 172 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " You shall when you can," said Courvoisier, smiling as 
 he had smiled when I first knew him, before all these 
 miserable misunderstandings had come between us. 
 
 My apprehensions were stilled. It did me good, warmed 
 me, sent the tears trembling to my eyes, when I found that 
 his voice had not resumed the old accent of ice, nor his e} r es 
 that cool, unrecognizing stare which had frozen me so many 
 a time in the last few weeks. 
 
 " Trinlcen Sie 'mal, Fraulein" said the woman, holding a 
 glass to my lips; it held hot spirits and water, which smoked. 
 
 " Bah! " replied I gratefully, and turning away. 
 
 " Nie, nie ! " she repeated. " You must drink just a 
 Schnappschen, Fraulein." 
 
 I pushed it away with some disgust. Courvoisier took it 
 from her hand and held it to me. 
 
 " Don't be so foolish and childish! Think of your voice 
 after this," said he smiling kindly; and I, with an odd sensa 
 tion, choked down my tears and drank it. It was bad 
 despite my desire to please, I found it very bad. 
 
 " Yes, I know," said he, with a sympathetic look, as I 
 made a horrible face after drinking it, and he took the glass. 
 " And now this woman will lend you some dry things. Shall 
 I go straight to Elberthal and send a drosky here for you, or 
 will you try to walk home? " 
 
 " Oh, I will walk. I am sure it would be the best if do 
 you think it would? " 
 
 " Do you feel equal to it? is the question," he answered, 
 and I was surprised to see that though I was looking hard at 
 him he did not look at me, but only into the glass he held. 
 
 " Yes," said I. " And they say that people who have been 
 nearly drowned should always walk; it does them good." 
 
 " In that case then," said he, repressing a smile, " I should 
 say it would be better for you to try. But pray make haste 
 and get your wet things off, or you will come to serious 
 harm." 
 
 " I will be as quick as ever I can." 
 
 "Now hurry," he replied, sitting down, and pulling one of 
 the woman's children toward him. " Come, mein Junge, tell 
 me how old you are ? " 
 
 I followed the woman to an inner room, where she divested 
 me of my dripping things, and attired me in a costume con 
 sisting of a short full brown petticoat, a blue woolen jacket, 
 thick blue knitted stockings, and a pair of wide low shoes,
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 173 
 
 which habiliments constituted the uniform of the orphan 
 asylum of which she was matron, and belonged to her niece. 
 
 She expatiated upon the warmth of the dress, and did not 
 produce any outer wrap or shawl, and I, only anxious to go, 
 said nothing, hut twisted up my loose hair, and went hack 
 into the large stony room before spoken of, from which a 
 great noise had been proceeding for some time. 
 
 I stood in the doorway and saw Eugen surrounded by other 
 children, in addition to the one he had first called to him. 
 There were likewise two dogs, and they the children, the 
 dogs, and Herr Concertmeister Courvoisier most of all were 
 making as much noise as they possibly could. I paused for a 
 moment to have the small gratification of watching the scene. 
 One child on his knee and one on his shoulder pulling his 
 hair, which was all ruffled and on end, a laugh upon his face, 
 a dancing light in his eyes as if he felt happy and at home 
 among all the little flaxen heads. 
 
 Could he be the same man who had behaved so coldly to 
 me? My heart went out to him in this kinder moment. 
 Why was he so genial with those children and so harsh to me, 
 who was little better than a child myself? 
 
 His eye fell upon me as he held a shouting and kicking 
 child high in the air, and his own face laughed all over in 
 mirth and enjoyment. 
 
 " Come here, Miss Wedderburn; this is Hans, there is 
 Fritz, and here is Franz a jolly trio; aren't they? " 
 
 He put the child into his mother's arms, who regarded him 
 with an eye of approval, and told him that it was not every 
 one who knew how to ingratiate himself with her children, 
 who were uncommonly spirited. 
 
 "Keady?" he asked, surveying me and my costume, and 
 laughing. " Don't you feel a stranger in these garments? " 
 
 "No! Why?" 
 
 " I should have said silk and lace and velvet, or fine mus 
 lins and embroideries, were more in your style." 
 
 " You are quite mistaken. I was just thinking how ad 
 mirably this costume suits me, and that I should do well to 
 adopt it permanently." 
 
 " Perhaps there was a mirror in the inner room," he sug 
 gested. 
 
 "A mirror! Why?" 
 
 " Then your idea would quite be accounted for. Young 
 ladies must of course wish to wear that which becomes them."
 
 174 TIIE FIRST VIOLI8. 
 
 " Very becoming! " I sneered grandly. 
 
 " Very! " he replied emphatically. " It makes me wish to 
 be an orphan." 
 
 " Ah, mein Herr" said the woman reproachfully, for he 
 had spoken German. " Don't jest about that. If you have 
 parents ; 
 
 " No, I haven't," he interposed hastily. 
 
 " Or children either? " 
 
 " I should not else have understood yours so well," he 
 laughed. " Come, my Miss Wedderburn, if you are ready." 
 
 After arranging with the woman that she should dry my 
 things and return them, receiving her own in exchange, we 
 left the house. 
 
 It was quite moonlight now; the last faint streak of twilight 
 had disappeared. The way that we must traverse to reach 
 the town stretched before us, long, straight, and flat. 
 
 " Where is your shawl ? " he asked suddenly. 
 
 " I left it; it was wet through." 
 
 Before I knew what he was doing, he had stripped off his 
 heavy overcoat, and I felt its warmth and thickness about my 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Oh, don't! " I cried, in great distress, as I strove to re 
 move it again, and looked imploringly into his face. " Don' 41 
 do that! You will get cold; you will " 
 
 " Get cold! " he laughed, as if much amused, as he drew 
 the coat around me and fastened it, making no more ado of 
 my resisting hands than if they had been bits of straw. 
 
 " So! " said he, pushing one of my arms through the sleeve. 
 " Now," as he still held it fastened together, and looked half 
 laughingly at me, " do you intend to keep it on or not? " 
 
 " I suppose I must." 
 
 " I call that gratitude. Take my arm so! You are weak 
 
 yet." 
 
 We walked on in silence for some time. I was happy; for 
 the first time since the night I had heard " Lohengrin " I <was 
 happy and at rest. True, no forgiveness had been asked or 
 extended; but he had ceased to behave as if I were not for 
 given. 
 
 " Am I not going too fast? " he inquired. 
 
 " N-no." 
 
 "Yes, I am, I see. We will moderate the pace a little." 
 
 We walked more slowly. Physically 1 was inexpressibly 
 weary. The reaction after my drenching had set in; I felt
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 175 
 
 a languor which amounted to pain, and an aching and weak 
 ness in every limb. I tried to regret the event, but could not; 
 tried to wish it were not such a long walk to Elberthal, and 
 found myself perversely regretting that it was such a short 
 one. 
 
 At length the lights of the town came in sight. I heaved a 
 deep sigh. Soon it would be over "the glory and the 
 dream." 
 
 " I think we are exactly on the way to your house, nicht 
 wahr?" said he. 
 
 " Yes; and to yours since we are opposite neighbors." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " You are not as lonely as I am, though; you have com 
 panions." 
 
 " I oh Friedhelm; yes." 
 
 " And your little boy." 
 
 " Sigmund also," was all he said. 
 
 But " auch Sigmund " may express much more in German 
 than in English. It did so then. 
 
 "And you?" he added. 
 
 " I am alone," said I. 
 
 I did not mean to be foolishly sentimental. The sigh that 
 followed my words was involuntary. 
 
 " So you are. But I suppose you like it? " 
 
 " Like it? What can make you think so? " 
 
 <c Well, at least you have good friends." 
 
 "Have I? Oh, yes, of course!" said I, thinking of Von 
 Francius. 
 
 71 Do you get on with your music? " he next inquired. 
 
 " I hope so. I do you think it strange that I should live 
 there all alone?" I asked, tormented with a desire to know 
 what he did think of me, and crassly ready to burst into 
 explanations on the least provocation. I was destined to be 
 undeceived. 
 
 " I have not thought about it at all; it is not my business." 
 
 Snub number one. He had spoken quickly, as if to clear 
 himself as much as possible from any semblance of interest 
 to me. 
 
 I went on, rashly plunging into further intricacies of con 
 versation: 
 
 " It is curious that you and I should not only live near to 
 each other, but actually have the same profession at last." 
 
 "How?"
 
 176 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Snub number two. But I persevered. 
 
 " Music. Your profession is music, and mine will be." 
 
 " I do not see the resemblance. There is little point of 
 likeness between a young lady who is in training for a prima 
 donna and an obscure musiker, who contributes his share of 
 shakes and runs to the symphony." 
 
 " I in training for a prima donna! How can you say so? " 
 
 "Do we not all know the forte of Herr von Francius? 
 And excuse me are not your windows opposite to ours, and 
 open as a rule? Can I not hear the music you practice, and 
 shall I not believe my own ears?" 
 
 "I am sure your own ears do not tell you that a future 
 prima donna lives opposite to you," said I, feeling most 
 insanely and unreasonably hurt and cut up at the idea. 
 
 "Will you tell me that you are not studying for the stage? " 
 
 " I never said I was not. I said I was not a future prima 
 donna. My voice is not half good enough. I am not clever 
 enough, either." 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " As if voice or cleverness had anything to do with it! 
 Personal appearance and friends at court are the chief things. 
 I have known prima donne, seen them, I mean, and from 
 my place below the footlights I have had the impertinence to 
 judge them upon their own merits. Provided they were 
 handsome, impudent, and unscrupulous enough, their public 
 seemed gladly to dispense with art, cultivation, or genius in 
 their performances and conceptions." 
 
 " And you think that I am, or shall be in time, handsome, 
 impudent, and unscrupulous enough," said I in a low, choked 
 tone. 
 
 My fleeting joy was being thrust back by hands most ruth 
 less. Unmixed satisfaction for even the brief space of an 
 hour or so was not to be included in my lot. 
 
 "0, ~bewalire!" said he, with a little laugh, that chilled 
 me still further. " I think no such thing. The beauty is 
 there, mein Frdulein pardon me for saying so " 
 
 Indeed, I was well able to pardon it. Had he been inform 
 ing his grandmother that there were' the remains of a hand 
 some woman to be traced in her, he could not have spoken 
 more unenthusiastically. 
 
 " The beauty is there. The rest, as I said, when one has 
 friends, these things are arranged for one." 
 
 " But I have no friends."
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 177 
 
 "No!" with again that dry little laugh. "Perhaps they 
 will be provided at the proper time, as Elijah was fed by the 
 ravens. Seme fine night who knows 1 may sit with my 
 violin in the orchestra at your benefit, and one of the bouquets 
 with which you are smothered may fall at my feet and bring 
 me aus der Fuge. When that happens, will you forgive me if 
 I break a rose from the bouquet before I toss it on to the feet 
 of its rightful owner? I promise that I will seek for no note, 
 nor spy out any ring or bracelet. I will only keep the rose in 
 remembrance of the night when I skated with you across the 
 Schwanenspiegel, and prophesied unto you the future. It 
 will be a kind of ' I told you so,' on my part." 
 
 Mock sentiment, mock respect, mock admiration; a sneer 
 in the voice, a dry sarcas/n in the words. What was I to 
 think? Why did he veer round in this way, and from pro 
 tecting kindness return to a raillery which was more cruel 
 than his silence? My blood rose, though, at the mockingness 
 of his tone. 
 
 " I don't know what you mean," said I coldly. " I am 
 studying operatic music. If I have any success in that line, 
 I shall devote myself to it. What is there wrong in it? The 
 person who has her living to gain must use the talents that 
 have been given her. My talent is my voice; it is the only 
 thing I have except, perhaps, some capacity to love those 
 who are kind to me. I can do that, thank God! Beyond 
 that I have nothing, and I did not make myself." 
 
 " A capacity to love those who are kind to you," he said 
 hastily. " And do you love all who are kind to you? " 
 
 *' Yes," said I stoutly, though I felt my face burning. 
 
 " And hate them that despitefully use you? " 
 
 " Naturally," I said with a somewhat unsteady laugh. A 
 rush of my ruling feeling propriety and decent reserve 
 tied my tongue, and I could not say, " Not all not always." 
 
 He, however, snapped, as it were, at my remark or admis 
 sion, and chose to take it as if it were in the deepest earnest; 
 for he said quickly, decisively, and, as I thought, with a kind 
 of exultation: 
 
 " Ah! then I will be disagreeable to you." 
 
 This remark, and the tone in which it was uttered, came 
 upon me with a shock which I cannot express. He would be 
 disagreeable to me because I hated those who were disagree 
 able to me, ergo he wished me to hate him. But why? What 
 was the meaning of the whole extraordinary proceeding?
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 * Why? " I asked mechanically, and asked nothing more. 
 
 " Because then you will hate me, unless you have the good 
 sense to do so already." 
 
 " Why? What effect will my hatred have upon you? " 
 
 " None. Not a jot. Gar keine. But I wish you to hate 
 me, nevertheless." 
 
 " So you have begun to he disagreeable to me by pull 
 ing me out of the water, lending me your coat, and giving 
 me your arm all along this hard, lonely road," said I com 
 posedly. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " That was before I knew of your peculiarity. From to 
 morrow morning on I shall begin. I will make you hate me. 
 I shall be glad if you hate me." 
 
 I said nothing. My head felt bewildered; my under 
 standing benumbed. I was conscious that I was very weary 
 conscious that I should like to cry, so bitter was my dis 
 appointment. 
 
 As we came within the tewn, I said: 
 
 " I am very sorry, Herr Courvoisier, to have given you so 
 much trouble." 
 
 " That means that I am to put you into a cab and relieve 
 you of my company." 
 
 " It does not," I ejaculated passionately, jerking my hand 
 from his arm.. "How can you say so? How dare you 
 say so?" 
 
 " You might meet some of your friends, you know." 
 
 " And I tell you I have no friends except Herr von 
 Francius, and I am not accountable to him for my actions." 
 
 " We shall soon be at your house now." 
 
 " Herr Courvoisier, have you forgiven me?" 
 
 " Forgiven you what? " 
 
 " My rudeness to you once." 
 
 " Ah, mein Fraulein" said he, shrugging his shoulders 
 a little and smiling slightly, " you are under a delusion about 
 that circumstance. How can I forgive that which I never 
 resented ? " 
 
 This was putting the matter in a new, and, for me, an 
 humbling light. 
 
 " Never resented! " I murmured confusedly. 
 
 " Never. Why should I resent it? I forgot myself, nicht 
 wahr! and you showed me at one and the same time my 
 proper place and your own excellent good sense. You did not
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 17 
 
 wish to know me, and I did not resent it. I had no right to 
 resent it." 
 
 " Excuse me," said I, my voice vibrating against my will; 
 "you are wrong there, and either you are purposely saying 
 what is not true, or you have not the feelings of a gentle 
 man." His arm sprung a little aside as I went on, amazed at 
 my own boldness. " I did not show you your ' proper place.' 
 I did not show my own good sense. I showed my ignorance, 
 vanity, and surprise. If you do not know that, you are not 
 what I take you for a gentleman." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said he, after a pause. " You certainly did 
 not take me for one then. Why should I be a gentleman? 
 What makes you suppose I am one ? " 
 
 Questions which, however satisfactorily I might answer 
 them to myself, I could not well reply to in words. I felt 
 that I had rushed upon a topic which could not be explained, 
 since he would not own himself offended. I had made a fool 
 of myself and gained nothing by it. While I was racking my 
 brain for some satisfactory closing remark, we turned a corner 
 and came into the Wehrhahn. A clock struck seven. 
 
 " Gott im Himmel!" he exclaimed. "Seven o'clock! The 
 opera da geht's schon an! Excuse me, Fraulein, I must go. 
 Ah, here is your house." 
 
 He took the coat gently from my shoulders, wished me gute 
 besserung, and ringing the bell, made me a profound bow, and 
 either not noticing or not choosing to notice the hand which 
 I stretched out toward him, strode off hastily toward the 
 theater, leaving me cold, sick, and miserable, to digest my 
 humble pie with what appetite I might. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 cm BONO? 
 
 CHRISTMAS morning. And how cheerfully I spent it! T 
 tried first of all to forget that it was Christmas and only suc 
 ceeded in impressing the fact more forcibly and vividly upon 
 my mind, and with it others; the fact that I was alone espe 
 cially predominating. And a German Christmas is not the 
 kind of thing to let a lonely person forget his loneliness in; 
 its very bustle and union serve to emphasize their solitude to 
 solitary people.
 
 180 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 I had seen such quantities of Christmas trees go past the 
 day before. One to every house in the neighborhood. One 
 had even come here, and the widow of the piano-tuner had 
 hung it with lights and invited some children to make merry 
 for the feast of Weihnachten Abend. 
 
 Everyone had a present except me. Everyone had some 
 one with whom to spend their Christmas except me. A 
 little tiny Christmas tree had gone to the rooms whose win 
 dows faced mine. I had watched its arrival; for once I had 
 broken through my rule of not deliberately watching my 
 neighbors, and had done so. The tree arrived in the morn 
 ing. It was kept a profound mystery from Sigmimd, 
 who was relegated, much to his disgust, to the society of Frau 
 Schmidt downstairs, who kept a vigilant watch upon him and 
 would not let him go upstairs on any account. 
 
 The afternoon gradually darkened down. My landlady in 
 vited me to join her party downstairs; I declined. The 
 rapturous, untutored joy of half a dozen children had no 
 attraction for me; the hermit-like watching of the scene over 
 the way had. I did not light my lamp. I was secure of not 
 being disturbed; for Frau Lutzler, when I would not come to 
 her, had sent my supper upstairs, and said she would not be 
 able to come to me again that evening. 
 
 " So much the better! " I murmured, and put myself in a 
 window corner. 
 
 The lights over the way were presently lighted. For a 
 moment I trembled lest the blinds were going to be put down, 
 and all my chance of spying spoiled. But no; my neighbors 
 were careless fellows not given to watching their neighbors 
 themselves nor to suspecting other people of it. The blinds 
 were left up, and I was free to observe all that passed. 
 
 Toward half-past five I saw by the light of the street-lamp, 
 which was just opposite, two people come into the house; a 
 young man who held the hand of a little girl. The young 
 man was Karl Linders, the violoncellist; the little girl, I sup 
 posed, must be his sister. They went upstairs, or rather Karl 
 went upstairs; his little sister remained below. 
 
 There was a great shaking of hands and some laughing 
 when Karl came into the room. He produced various pack 
 ages which were opened, their contents criticised, and hung 
 upon the tree. Then the three men surveyed their handi 
 work with much satisfaction. I could see the whole scene.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 181 
 
 They could not see my watching face pressed against the win 
 dow, for they were in light and I was in darkness. 
 
 Friedhelm went out of the room, and, I suppose, exerted 
 his lungs from the top of the stairs, for he came back, flushed 
 and laughing, and presently the door opened, and Frau 
 Schmidt, looking like the mother of the Gracchi, entered, 
 holding a child by each hand. She never moved a muscle, 
 She held a hand of each, and looked alternately at them. 
 Breathless, I watched. It was almost as exciting as if I had 
 been joining in the play more so, for to me everything was 
 sur I'imprevu revealed piecemeal, while to them some degree 
 of foreknowledge must exist, to deprive the ceremony of some 
 of its charms. 
 
 There was awed silence for a time. It was a pretty scene. 
 In the middle of the room a wooden table; upon it the small 
 green fir, covered with little twinkling tapers; the orthodox 
 waxen angels, and strings of balls and bonbons hanging about 
 the white Christ-kind at the top in the arms of Father 
 Christmas. The three men standing in a semicircle at one 
 side; how well I could see them! A suppressed smile upon 
 Eugen's face, such as it always wore when pleasing other 
 people. Friedhelm not allowing the smile to fully appear 
 upon his countenance, but with a grave delight upon his face, 
 and with great satisfaction beaming from his luminous brown 
 eyes. Karl with his hands in his pockets, and an attitude by 
 which I knew he said, " There! what do you think of that? " 
 Frau Schmidt and the two children on the other side. 
 
 The tree was not a big one. The wax-lights were probably 
 cheap ones; the gifts that hung upon the boughs or lay on 
 the table must have been measured by the available funds of 
 three poor musicians. But the whole affair did its mission 
 admirably even more effectively than an official commission 
 to (let us say) inquire into the cause of the loss of an ironclad. 
 It the tree I mean, not the commission was intended to 
 excite joy and delight, and it did excite them to a very high 
 extent. It was meant to produce astonishment in unsophisti 
 cated minds it did that too, and here it has a point in com 
 mon with the proceedings of the commission respectfully 
 alluded to. 
 
 The little girl, who was a head taller than Sigmund, had 
 quantities of flaxen hair plaited in a pigtail and tied with 
 light blue ribbon new; and a sweet face which was a soft-
 
 182 TEE FI77ST VIOLIN. 
 
 ened girl miniature of her brother's. She jumped for joy, 
 and eyed the tree and the bonbons, and everything else wiui 
 irrepressible rapture. Sigmund was not given to effusive 
 declaration of his emotion, but after gazing long and solemnly 
 at the show, his eyes turned to his father, and the two smiled 
 in the odd manner they had, as if at some private understand 
 ing existing between themselves. Then the festivities were 
 considered inaugurated. 
 
 Friedhelm Helfen took the rest of the proceedings into his 
 own hands; and distributed the presents exactly as if he had 
 found them all growing on the tree, and had not the least idea 
 what they were nor whence they came. A doll which fell to 
 the share of the little Gretchen was from Sigmund, as I found 
 from the lively demonstrations that took place. Gretchen 
 kissed him, at which everyone laughed, and made him kiss the 
 doll, or receive a kiss from it a waxy salute which did not 
 seem to cause him much enthusiasm. 
 
 I could not see what the other things were, only it was evi 
 dent that everyone gave everyone else something, and Frau 
 Schmidt's face relaxed into a stern smile on one or two occa 
 sions, as the young men presented her one after the other 
 with some offering, accompanied with speeches and bows and 
 ceremony. A conspicuous parcel done up in white paper was 
 left to the last. Then Friedhelm took it up, and apparently 
 made a long harangue, for the company especially Karl Lin- 
 ders became attentive. I saw a convulsive smile twitch 
 Eugen's lips now and then, as the oration proceeded. Karl 
 by and by grew even solemn, and it was with an almost awe 
 struck glance that he at last received the parcel from Fried- 
 helm's hands, who gave it as if he were bestowing his blessing. 
 
 Great gravity, eager attention on the part of the children, 
 who pressed up to him as he opened it; then the last wrapper 
 was torn off, and to my utter amazement and bewilderment 
 Karl drew forth a white woolly animal of indefinite race, on 
 a green stand. The look which crossed his face was in 
 describable; the shout of laughter which greeted the discovery 
 penetrated even to my ears. 
 
 With my face pressed against the window I watched; it 
 was really too interesting. But my spying was put an end 
 to. A speech appeared to be made to Fran Schmidt, to which 
 she answered by a frosty smile and an elaborate courtesy. 
 She was apparently saying good-night, but, with the instinct 
 of a housekeeper, set a few chairs straight, pulled a table-
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 183 
 
 cloth, and pushed a footstool to its place, and in her tour 
 around the room her eyes fell upon the windows. She came 
 and put the shutters to. In one moment it had all flashed 
 from my sight tree and faces and lamplight and brightness. 
 
 I raised my chin from my hands and found that I was 
 cold, numb, and stiff. I lighted the lamp and passed my 
 hands over my eyes; but could not quite find myself, and, 
 instead of getting to some occupation of my own, I sat with 
 liichter's " Thorough Bass and Harmony " before me and b 
 pen in my hand, and wondered what they were doing now. 
 
 It was with the remembrance of this evening in my mind 
 to emphasize my loneliness that I woke on Christmas 
 morning. 
 
 At post-time my landlady brought me a letter, scented, 
 monogrammed, with the Roman postmark. Adelaide wrote: 
 
 " I won't wish you a merry Christmas. I think it is such 
 nonsense. Who does have a merry Christmas now, except 
 children and paupers? And, all being well or rather ill, 
 so far as I am concerned we shall meet before long. We 
 are coming to Elberthal. I will tell you why when we meet. 
 It is too long to write and too vexatious " (this word vH&s 
 half erased), " troublesome. I will let you know when we 
 come, and our address. How are you getting on? 
 
 " ADELAIDE." 
 
 I was much puzzled with this letter and meditated long 
 over it. Something lay in the background. Adelaide was 
 not happy. It surely could not be that Sir Peter gave her 
 any cause for discomfort. Impossible! Did he not dote 
 upon her? Was not the being able to "turn him around 
 her finger " one of the principal advantages of her marriage ? 
 And yet, that she should be coming to Elberthal of her own 
 will was an idea which my understanding declined to accept 
 She must have been compelled to it and by nothing pleasant. 
 This threw another shadow over my spirit. 
 
 Going to the window I saw again how lonely I was. The 
 people were passing in groups and throngs; it was Christmas 
 time; they were glad. They had nothing in common with 
 me. I looked inside my room bare, meager chamber that 
 it was the piano the only thing in it that was more than 
 barely necessary, and a great wonder came over me. 
 
 "What is the use of it all? What is the use of working
 
 184 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 hard? Why am I leading this life? To earn money, and 
 perhaps applause some time. Well, and when I have got 
 it even supposing, which is extremely improbable, that I 
 win it while I am young and can enjoy it what good will 
 it do me? I don't believe it will make me .very happy. 1 
 don't know that I long for it very much. I don't know why 
 I am working for it, except because Herr von Francius has 
 a stronger will than I have and rather compels me to it 
 Ot/hsrwisG 
 
 "Well, what should I like? What do I wish for?" At 
 the moment I seemed to feel myself free from all prejudice 
 and all influence, and surveying with a calm, impartial eye 
 possibilities and prospects. I could not discover that there 
 was anything I particularly wished for. Had something 
 within me changed during the last night? 
 
 I had been so eager before; I felt so apathetic now. I 
 looked across the way. I dimly saw Courvoisier snatch up 
 his boy, hold him in the air, and then, gathering him to him, 
 cover him with kisses. I smiled. At the moment I felt 
 neutral experienced neither pleasure nor pain from the 
 sight. I had loved the man so eagerly and intensely with 
 such warmth, fervor, and humility. It seemed as if now 
 a pause had come (only for a time, I knew, but still a pause) 
 in the warm current of delusion, and I contemplated facts 
 with a dry, unmoved eye. After all what was he? A man 
 who seemed quite content with his station not a particularly 
 good or noble man that I could see, with some musical talent 
 which he turned to account to earn his bread. He had a fine 
 figure, a handsome face, a winning smile, plenty of presence 
 of mind, and an excellent opinion of himself. 
 
 Stay! Let me be fair. He had only asserted his right to 
 be treated as a gentleman by one whom he had treated in 
 every respect as a lady. He did not want me nor to know 
 anything about me else why could he laugh for very glee 
 as his boy's eyes met his? Want me? No! he was rich 
 already. What he had was sufficient for him, and no wonder, 
 I thought, with a jealous pang. 
 
 Who could want to have anything to do with grown-up 
 people, with their larger selfishnesses, more developed self- 
 seeking robus* jealousies and full-grown exactions and 
 sophistications, Avhen they had a beautiful little one like that? 
 A child of one'" wn not any child, but that very child 
 to love in that idea. 1 way. It was a relation that one scarcelv
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 185 
 
 sees out of a romance. It was the most beautiful thing I 
 ever saw. 
 
 His life was sufficient to him. He did not suffer as I had 
 been suffering. Suppose someone were to offer him a better 
 post than that he now had. He would be glad and would 
 take it without a scruple. Perhaps, for a little while, some 
 casual thought of me might now and then cross his mind 
 but not for long; certainly in no importunate or troublesome 
 manner. While I why was I there, if not for his sake? 
 What, when I accepted the proposal of Von Francius, had 
 been my chief thought? It had been, though all unspoken, 
 scarcely acknowledged yet a whispered force " I shall not 
 lose sight of him of Eugen Courvoisier." I was rightly 
 punished. 
 
 I felt no great pain just now in thinking of this. I saw 
 myself, and judged myself, and remembered how Faust had 
 said once, in an immortal passage, half to himself, half to 
 Mephisto: 
 
 " Entbehren sollst du ; sollst entbehren." 
 
 And that read both ways, it comes to the same thing. 
 " Entbehren sollst du ; sollst entbehren." 
 
 It flitted rhythmically through my mind on this dreamful 
 morning, when I seemed a stranger to myself, or, rather, 
 when I seemed to stand outside myself and contemplate, 
 calmly and judicially, the heart which had of late beaten 
 and throbbed with such vivid and such unreasoning, uncon 
 nected pangs. It is as painful and as humiliating a descrip 
 tion of self -vivisection as there is, and one not without its 
 peculiar merits. 
 
 The end of my reflections was the same as that which is, 
 I believe, often arrived at by the talented class called philoso 
 phers, who spend much learning and science in going into 
 the questions about whose skirts I skimmed; many of them, 
 like me, after summing up, say, Cui bono? 
 
 So passed the morning, and the gray cloud still hung over 
 my spirits. My landlady brought me a slice of Kuchen at 
 dinner time, for Christmas, and wished me guten Appetit to 
 it, for which I thanked her with gravity. 
 
 In the afternoon I turned to the piano. After all it was 
 Christmas day. After beginning a bravura singing exercise.
 
 186 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 I suddenly stopped myself, and found myself, before I knew 
 what I was about, singing the " Adeste Fideles " till I could 
 not sing any more. Something rose in my throat. Ceasing 
 abruptly, I burst into tears and cried plentifully over the 
 piano keys. 
 
 " In tears, Fraulein May. .4&er what does that mean? " 
 
 I looked up. Von Francius stood in the doorway, looking 
 not unkindly at me, with a bouquet in his hand of Christmas 
 ises and ferns. 
 
 " It is only because it is Christmas," said I. 
 
 " Are you quite alone? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " So am I." 
 
 " Yen! But you have so many friends." 
 
 " Have I ? It is true that, if friends count by the number 
 of invitations that one has, I have many. Unfortunately, 
 I could not make up my mind to accept any. As I passed 
 through the flower market this morning I thought of you 
 naturally. It struck me that perhaps you had no one to come 
 and wish you the Merry Christmas and Happy New Year 
 which belongs to you of right, so I came, and have the pleas 
 ure to wish it you now, with these flowers, though truly 
 they are not Maiblumchen." 
 
 He raised my hand to his lips, and I was quite amazed at 
 the sense of strength, healthiness, and new life which his 
 presence brought. 
 
 " I am very foolish," I remarked; " I ought to know better. 
 But I am unhappy about my sister, and also I have been fool 
 ishly thinking of old times, when she and I were at home 
 together." 
 
 "EH That is foolish. Those things old times and all 
 that are the very deuce for making one miserable. Strauss 
 he who writes dance music has made a waltz and called 
 it ' The Good Old Times.' Lieber Himmel! Fancy waltzing 
 to the memory of old times. A requiem or a funeral march 
 would have been intelligible." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, you must not sit here and let these old times say 
 what they like to you. Will you come out with me? " 
 
 " Go out! " I echoed, witt an unwilling shrinking from it. 
 My soul preferred rather to shut herself up in her case and 
 turn surlily away from the light outside. But, as usual, he 
 liar) his way.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 1*1 
 
 "Yes out. The two loneliest people in Elberthal will 
 make a little zauberfest for themselves. 1 will show you 
 some pictures. There are some new ones at the exhibition. 
 Make haste! " 
 
 So calm, so matter-of-fact was his manner, so indisputable 
 did he seem to think his proposition, that I half rose; then 
 I sat down again. 
 
 " I don't want to go out, Herr von Francius." 
 
 " That is foolish. Quick! before the daylight fades and 
 it grows too dark for the pictures." 
 
 Scarcely knowing why I complied I went to my room and 
 put on my things. What a shabby sight I looked! I felt it 
 keenly; so much that, when I came back and found him seated 
 at the piano, and playing a wonderful in-and-out fugue of 
 immense learning and immense difficulty, and quite without 
 pathos or tenderness, I interrupted him incontinently. 
 
 " Here I am, Herr von Francius. You have asked the 
 most shabbily dressed person in Elberthal to be your com 
 panion. I have a mind to make you hold to your bargain, 
 whether you like it or not." 
 
 Von Francius turned, surveying me from head to foot with 
 a smile. All the pedagogue was put off. It was holiday 
 time. I was half vexed at myself for beginning to feel as 
 if it were holiday with me, too. 
 
 We went out together. The wind was raw and cold, the 
 day dreary, the streets not so full as they had been. We 
 went along the street past the Tonhalle, and there we met 
 Courvoisier alone. He looked at us, but though Von Fran 
 cius raised his hat he did not notice us. There was a pallid 
 change upon his face, a fixed look in his eyes> a strange, 
 drawn, subdued expression upon his whole countenance. My 
 heart leaped with an answering pang. That mood of the 
 morning had fled. I had " found myself again," but again 
 not " happily." 
 
 I followed Von Francius up the stairs of the picture ex 
 hibition. No one was in the room. All the world had othei 
 occupations on Christmas afternoon, or preferred the stove- 
 side and the family circle. 
 
 Von Francius showed me a picture which he said every 
 one was talking about. 
 
 " Why? " I inquired, when I had contemplated it and failed 
 to find it lovely. 
 
 " The drawing, the grouping are admirable, as you must
 
 188 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 see. The art displayed is wonderful. I find the picture 
 excellent." 
 
 " But the subject? " said I. 
 
 It was not a large picture, and represented the interior of 
 an artist's atelier. In the foreground a dissipated-looking 
 young man tilted his chair backward as he held his gloves 
 in one hand and with the other stroked his mustache, while 
 he contemplated a picture standing on an easel before him. 
 The face was hard, worn, blase; the features, originally good, 
 and even beautiful, had had all the latent loveliness worn 
 out of them by a wrong, unbeautiful life. JJe wore a tall 
 hat, very much to one side, as if to accent the fact that the 
 rest of the company, upon whom he had turned his back, 
 certainly did not merit that he should be at the trouble of 
 baring his head to them. And the rest of the company a 
 girl, a model, seated on a chair upon a raised dais, dressed in 
 a long, flounced white skirt, not of the freshest, some kind of 
 Oriental wrap falling negligently about it arms, models of 
 shapeliness, folded, and she crouching herself together as if 
 wearied, or contemptuous, or perhaps -a. nttle chilly. Upon 
 a divan near her a man presumably the artist to whom the 
 establishment pertained stretched at full length, looking up 
 carelessly into her face, a pipe in his mouth, with indifference 
 and scarcely impertinence it did not take the trouble to 
 be a fully developed impertinence in every gesture. This 
 was the picture; faithful to life, significant in its very insig 
 nificance, before which Von Francius sat and declared that 
 the drawing, coloring, and grouping were perfect.* 
 
 "The subject?" he echoed, after a pause. "It is only 
 a scrap of artist life." 
 
 "Is that artist life?" said I, shrugging my shoulders. 
 "I do not like it at all; it is common, low, vulgar. There 
 is no romance about it; it only reminds one of stale tobacco 
 and flat champagne." 
 
 " You are too particular," said Von Francius, after a pause, 
 and with a flavor of some feeling which I did not quite under 
 stand tincturing his voice. 
 
 For my part I was looking at the picture and thinking 
 of what Courvoisier had said : " Beauty, impudence, assur 
 ance, and an admiring public." The girl was beautiful 
 at least, she had the battered remains of a decided beauty; 
 
 * The original is by Charles Herman of Brussels.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 189 
 
 she had impucfence certainly, and assurance, too, and an 
 admiring public, I supposed, which testified its admiration 
 by lolling on a couch and staring at her, or keeping its hat 
 on and turning its back to her. 
 
 " Do you really admire the picture, Herr von Francius? " 
 I inquired. 
 
 " Indeed I do. It is so admirably true. That is the kind 
 of life into ^hic-h. I was born, and in which I was for a long 
 time brought up; but I escaped from it." 
 
 I looked at him in astonishment. It seemed so extraordi 
 nary that that model of reticence should speak to me, above 
 all, about himself. It struck me for the very first time that 
 no one ever spoke of Von Francius as if he had anyone 
 belonging to him. Calm, cold, lonely, self-sufficing and 
 self-sufficing, too, because he must be so, because he had none 
 other to whom to turn that was his character, and viewing 
 him in that manner I had always judged him. But what 
 might the truth be? 
 
 " Were you not happy when you were young? " I asked, 
 on a quick impulse. 
 
 " Happy! Who expects to be happy? If I had been sim 
 ply not miserable I should have counted my childhood a good 
 one; but 
 
 He paused a moment, then went on: 
 
 "Your great novelist, Dickens, had a poor, sordid kind 
 of childhood in outward circumstances. But mine was spirit 
 ually sordid hideous, repulsive. There are some plants 
 which spring from and flourish in mud and slime; they are 
 but a flabbv, nesti^^us growth, as you may suppose. I was, 
 to begin wiwi, a human specimen of that kind; I was in an 
 atmosphere of moral mud, an intellectual hot-bed. I don't 
 know what there was in me that set me against the life; that 
 I never can tell. It was a sort of hell on earth that I was 
 living in. One day something happened I was twelve years 
 old then something happened, and it seemed as if all my 
 nature its good and its evil, its energies and indolence, its 
 pride and humility all ran together, welded by the furnace 
 of passion into one furious, white-hot rage of anger and rebel 
 lion. In an instant I had decided my course; in an hour I 
 had acted upon it. I am an odd kind of fellow, I believe. I 
 quitted that scene and have never visited it since. I cannot 
 describe to you the anger I then felt and to which I yielded. 
 Twelve years old I was then. I fought hard for many years;
 
 Itt THE FIRST VIOLlH. 
 
 but, met Frdulein," he looked at me and paused a moment, 
 "that was the first occasion upon which I ever was really 
 angry; it has been the last. I have never felt the sensation 
 of anger since I mean personal anger. Artistic anger I have 
 known; the anger at bad work, at false interpretation, at 
 charlatanry in art; but I have never been angry with the anger 
 that resents. I tell you this as a curiosity of character. With 
 that brief flash all resentment seemed to evaporate from me 
 to exhaust itself in one brief, resolute, effective attempt at 
 ^elf-cleansing, self-government." 
 
 He paused. 
 
 " Tell me more, Herr von Francius," I besought. " Do 
 not leave off there. Afterward? " 
 
 " You really care to hear? Afterward I lived through 
 hardships in plenty; but I had effectually severed the whole 
 connection with that which dragged me down. I used all 
 my will to rise. I am not boasting, but simply stating a 
 peculiarity of my temperament when I tell you that what I 
 determine upon I always accomplish. I determined upon 
 rising, and I have risen to what I am. I set it, or something 
 like it, before me as my goal, and I have attained it." 
 
 "Well?" I asked with some eagerness; for I, after all my 
 unfulfilled strivings, had asked myself, Cui bono ? " And 
 what is the end of it? Are you satisfied?" 
 
 " How quickly and how easily you see! " said he with 
 a smile. "I value the position I have, in a certain way 
 that is, I see the advantage it gives me, and the influence. 
 But that deep inner happiness, which lies outside of condition 
 and circumstances that feeling of the poet in 'Faugf 
 don't you remember? 
 
 " ' I nothing had, and yet enough' 
 
 all that is unknown to me. For I ask myself, Cui bono? " 
 
 " Like me," I could not help saying. 
 
 He added: 
 
 :t Fraulein May, the nearest feeling I have had to happiness 
 has been the knowing you. Do you know that you are a 
 person who makes joy? " 
 
 :< No, indeed, I did not." 
 
 "It is true, though. I should like, if you do not mind 
 if you can say it truly to hear from your lips that you look 
 upon me as your friend." 
 
 "Indeed, Herr von Francius, I feel you my very best
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 191 
 
 friend, and I would not lose your regard for anything," I was 
 able to assure him. 
 
 And then, as it was growing dark, the woman from the 
 receipt of custom by the door came in and told us that she 
 must close the rooms. 
 
 We got up and went out. In the street the lamps were 
 lighted, and the people going up and dwn. 
 
 Von Francius left me at the door of my lodgings. 
 
 " Good-evening, liebes Frdulein; and thank you for your 
 company this afternoon." 
 
 A light burned steadily all evening in the sitting room of 
 my opposite neighbors; but the shutters were closed. I only 
 saw a thin stream coming through a chink. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ' Es 1st bestimmt, in Gottes Rath, 
 Dass man vom Liebsten was man hat 
 Muss scheiden." 
 
 OUR merry little zauberfest of Christmas eve was over. 
 Christmas morning came. I remember that morning well 
 a gray, neutral kind of day, whose monotony outside em 
 phasized the keenness of emotion within. 
 
 On that morning the postman came a rather rare occur 
 rence with us; for, except with notes from pupils, notices of 
 proben, or other official communications, he seldom trou 
 bled us. 
 
 It was Sigmund who opened the door; it was he who took 
 the letter and wished the postman "good-morning" in his 
 courteous little way. I dare say that the incident gave an 
 additional pang afterward to the father, if he marked it, and 
 seldom did the smallest act or movement of his child escape 
 him. 
 
 " Father, here is a letter," he :aid, giving it into Eugen's 
 hand. 
 
 " Perhaps it is for Friedel; thou art too ready to think 
 that everything appertains to thy father," said Eugen with 
 a smile, as he took the letter and looked at it; but before he 
 had finished speaking the smile had faded. There remained 
 a whiteness, a blank, a haggardness.
 
 192 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 I had caught a glimpse of the letter. It was large, square, 
 massive, and there was a seal upon the envelope a regular 
 letter of fate out of a romance. 
 
 Eugen took it into his hand, and for once he made no 
 answer to the caress of his child, who put his arms around 
 his neck and wanted to climb upon his knee. He allowed 
 the action, but passively. 
 
 "Let me open it!" cried Sigmund. "Let me open thy 
 letter! " 
 
 " No, no, child! " said Eugen in a sharp, pained tone. 
 " Let it alone! " 
 
 Sigmund looked surprised and recoiled a little, a shock 
 clouding his eyes. It was all right if his father said no, but 
 a shade presently crossed his young face. His father did not 
 usually speak so; did not usually have that white and pallid 
 look about the eyes above all, did not look at his son with 
 a look that meant nothing. 
 
 Eugen was usually prompt enough in all he did, but he 
 laid aside that letter, and proposed in subdued tone that 
 we should have breakfast. Which we had, and still the 
 letter lay unopened. And when breakfast was over he even 
 took up his violin and played runs and shakes and scales 
 and the air of a drinking song, which sounded grotesque in 
 contrast with the surroundings. This lasted for some time, 
 and yet the letter was not opened. It seemed as if he could 
 aot open it. I knew that it was with a desperate effort that 
 he at last took it up, and went into his room and shut the 
 door. 
 
 I was reading that is, I had a book in my hands, and was 
 stretched out in the full luxury of an unexpected holiday 
 upon the couch; but I could no more have read under the new 
 influence, could no more have helped watching Sigmund, 
 than I could help breathing and feeling. 
 
 He, Sigmund, stood still for a moment, looking at the 
 closed door, gazing at it as if he expected it to open and 
 a loved hand to beckon him within. But it remained pitilessly 
 shut, and the little boy had to accommodate himself as well 
 as he could to a new phase in his mental history the being 
 excluded left out in the cold. After making an impulsive 
 step toward the door he turned, plunged his hands into his 
 pockets as if to keep them from attacking the handle of that 
 closed door, and, walking to the window, gazed out, silent and 
 motionless. I watched; I was compelled to watch. He was
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 19' 
 
 listening with every faculty, every fiber, for the least nois< 
 the faintest movement from the room from which he wai 
 shut o 1 it. I did not dare to speak to him. I was very misera 
 ble myself; and a sense of coming loss and disaster was driven 
 firmly into my mind and fixed there a heavy prevision of 
 inevitable sorrow' and pain overhung my mind. I turned 
 to my book and tried to read. It was one of the most de 
 lightful of romances that I held no other than " Die Kinder 
 der Welt" and the scene was that in which Edwin and 
 Toinette make that delightful, irregular Sunday excursion 
 to the Charlottenburg, but I understood none of it. With 
 that pathetic little real figure taking up so much of my con 
 sciousness, ard every moment more insistently so, I could 
 think of nothing else. 
 
 Dead silence from the room within; utter and entire 
 silence, which lasted so long that my misery grew acute, and 
 still that little figure, which was now growing terrible to me, 
 neither spoke nor stirred. I do not know how long by the 
 clock we remained in these relative positions; by my feelings 
 it was a week; by those of Sigmund, I doubt not, a hundred 
 years. But he turned at last, and with a face from which all 
 trace of color had fled walked slowly toward the closed door. 
 
 " Sigmund! " I cried in a loud vhisper. " Come here, my 
 child! Stay here, with me." 
 
 " I must go in," said he. He did not knock. He opened 
 the door softly and went in, closing it after him. I know not 
 what passed. There was silence as deep as before, after one 
 short, inarticulate murmur. There are some moments in 
 this our life which are at onco sacrificial, sacramental, and 
 strong with the virtue of absolution for sins past; moments 
 which are a crucible from which a stained soul may come out 
 white again. Such were these I know it now in which 
 father and son were alone together. 
 
 Alter a short silence, during which my book hung unheeded 
 from my hand, I left the house, out of a sort of respect for 
 my two friends. I had nothing particular to do, and so 
 strolled aimlessly about, first into the Hofgarten, where I 
 watched the Rhine, and looked Hollandward along its low, 
 flat shores, to where there was a bend, and beyond the bend, 
 Kaiserswerth. It is now long since I saw the river. Fair 
 are his banks highe: up not at Elberthal would he have 
 struck the stranger as being a stream for which to fight and 
 die; but to me there is no part of his banks so lovely as the
 
 194 v THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 poor old Schone Aussicht in the Elberthal Kofgarten, from 
 whence I have watched the sun set flaming over the broad 
 water, and felt my heart beat to the sense of precious posses 
 sions in the homely town behind. Then I strolled through 
 the town, and coming down the Konigsallee, beheld some 
 bustle in front of a large, fmposing-looking house, which 
 had long been shut up and uninhabited. It had been a ven 
 ture by a too shortly successful banker. He had built the 
 house, lived in it three months, and finding himself bank 
 rupt, had one morning disposed of himself by cutting his 
 throat. Since then the house had been closed, and had had 
 an ill name, though it was the handsomest building in the 
 most fashionable part of the town, with a grand porte-cochere 
 in front, and a pleasant, enticing kind of bowery garden be 
 hind the house faced the Exerzierplatz, and was on the 
 promenade of Elberthal. A fine chestnut avenue made the 
 street into a pleasant wood, and yet Konigsallee No. 3 always 
 looked deserted and depressing. I paused to watch the 
 workmen who were throwing open the shutters and uncover 
 ing the furniture. There were some women-servants busy 
 with brush and duster in the hall, and a splendid barouche 
 was being pushed through the porte-cochere into the back 
 premises; a couple of trim-looking English grooms with four 
 horses followed. 
 
 "Is someone coming to live here?" I demanded of a 
 workman, who made answer: 
 
 " Ja wohl! A rich English milord has taken the house 
 furnished for six months Sir Le.Marchant, oder so etwas. 
 I do not know the name quite correctly. He conies in a few 
 days." 
 
 " So! " said I, wondering what attraction Elberthal could 
 offer to a rich English sir or milord, and feeling at the same 
 time a mild glow of curiosity as to him and his circumstances, 
 for I humbly confess it I had never seen an authentic 
 milord. Elberthal and Koln were almost the extent of my 
 travels, and I only remembered that at the Niederrheinisches 
 Musikfest last year someone had pointed out to me a decrepit- 
 looking old gentleman, with a bottle-nose and a meaningless 
 eye, as a milord very, very rich, and exceedingly good. I 
 had sorrowed a little at the time in thinking that he did not 
 personally better grace his circumstances and character, but 
 until this moment I had never thought of him again. 
 
 " That is his secretary," pursued the workman to me in an
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 195 
 
 under tone, as he pointed out a young man who was standing 
 in the middle of the hall, notebook in hand. "Herr Ark- 
 wright. He is looking after us." 
 
 "When does the Englander come?" 
 
 " In a few days, with his servants and milady, and milady's 
 maid and dogs and bags and everything. And she milady 
 is to have those rooms " he pointed overhead, and 
 grinned "those where Banquier Klein was found with his 
 throat cut. He!" 
 
 He laughed, and began to sing lustily, "In Berlin, 
 sagt' er." 
 
 After giving one more short survey to the house, and won 
 dering why the apartments of a suicide should be assigned to 
 a young and beautiful woman (for I instinctively judged her 
 to be young and beautiful), I went on my way, and my 
 thoughts soon returned to Eugen and Sigmund, and that 
 trouble which I felt was hanging inevitably over us. 
 
 Eugen was, that evening, in a mood of utter, cool aloofness. 
 His trouble did not appear to be one that he could confide 
 at present, at least. He took up his violin and discoursed 
 most eloquent music, in the dark, to which music Sigmund 
 and I listened. Sigmund sat upon my knee, and Eugen went 
 on playing improvising, or rather speaking the thoughts 
 which were uppermost in his heart. It was wild, strange, 
 melancholy, sometimes sweet, but ever with a ringing note of 
 woe so piercing as to stab, recurring perpetually such a note 
 as comes throbbing to life now and then in the " Senate 
 Pathetique," or in Kaff's Fifth Symphony. 
 
 Eugen always went to Sigmund after he had gone to bed, 
 and talked to him or listened to him. I do not know if he 
 taught him something like a prayer at such times, or spoke 
 to him of supernatural things, or upon what they discoursed. 
 J only know that it was an interchange of soul, and that 
 usually he <\ime away from it looking glad. But to-night, 
 after remaining longer than usual, he returned with a face 
 more haggard than I had seen it yet. 
 
 He sat down opposite me at the table, and there was 
 silence, with an ever-deepening, sympathetic pain on my part. 
 At last I raised my eyes to his face; one elbow rested upon 
 the table, and his head leaned 'upon his hand. The lamp 
 light fell full upon his face, and there was that in it which 
 would let me be silent no longer, any more than one could
 
 19 THE FIRST VIOLIH. 
 
 see a comrade bleeding to death, and not try to stanch the 
 wound. I stepped up to him and laid my hand upon his 
 shoulder. He looked up drearily, unrecognizingly, unsmil- 
 ingly at me. 
 
 " Eugen, what hast thou? " 
 
 " La mort dans Vame" he answered, quoting from a poem 
 which we had both been reading. 
 
 " And what has caused it? " 
 
 " Must you know, friend? " he asked. " If I did not need 
 to tell it, I should be very glad." 
 
 " I must know it, or or leave you to it! " said I, choking 
 back some emotion. " I cannot pass another day like this." 
 
 " And I had no right to let you spend such a day as this," 
 he answered. " Forgive me once again, Friedel you who 
 have forgiven so much and so often." 
 
 " Well," said I, " let us have the worst, Eugen. It is some 
 thing about " 
 
 I glanced toward the door, on the other side of which Sig- 
 mund was sleeping. 
 
 His face became set, as if of stone. One word, and one 
 alone, after a short pause, passed his lips " Ja!" 
 
 I breathed again. It was so, then. 
 
 " I told you, Friedel, that I should have to leave him? " 
 
 The words dropped out one by one from his lips, distinct, 
 short, steady. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That was bad, very bad. The worst, I thought, that 
 could befall; but it seems that my imagination was limited." 
 
 " Eugen, what is it? " 
 
 " I shall not have to leave him. I shall have to send him 
 away from me." 
 
 As if with the utterance of the words, the very core and 
 fiber of resolution melted away and vanished, and the broken 
 spirit turned, writhing and shuddering, from the phantom 
 that extended its arms for the sacrifice; he flung his arms 
 upon the table; his shoulders heaved. I heard two sup 
 pressed, choked-down sobs the sobs of a strong man 
 strong alike in body and mind; strongest of all in the heart 
 and spirit and purpose to love and cherish. 
 
 "La mort dans I'ame" indeed! He could have chosen no 
 fitter expression. 
 
 " Send him away! " I echoed, beneath my breath. 
 
 " Send my child away from me as if I did not want
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 197 
 
 him/' said Courvoisier slowly, and in a voice made low and 
 halting with anguish, as he lifted his gaze, dim with the des 
 perate pain of coming parting, and looked me in the face. 
 
 I had begun in an aimless manner to pace the room, my 
 heart on fire, my hrain reaching wildly after some escape from 
 *he fetters of circumstance, invisible but iron strong, relent 
 less as cramps and glaives of tempered steel. I knew no rea 
 son, of course. I knew no outward circumstances of my 
 friend's life or destiny. I did not wish to learn any. I did 
 know that since he said it was so it must be so. Sigmund 
 must be sent away! He we must be left alone; two poor 
 men, with the brightness gone from our lives. 
 
 The scene does not let me rightly describe it. It was an 
 anguish allied in its intensity to that of Gethsemane. Let 
 me relate it as briefly as I can. 
 
 I made no spoken assurance of sympathy. I winced 
 almost at the idea of speaking to him. I knew then that we 
 may contemplate, or believe we contemplate, some coming 
 catastrophe for years, believing that so the suffering, when it 
 finally falls, will be lessened. This is a delusion. Let the 
 blow rather come short, sharp, and without forewarning; 
 preparation heightens the agony. 
 
 " Friedel," said he at last, " you do not ask why must 
 this be." 
 
 " I do not need to ask why. I know that it must be, or 
 you would not do it." 
 
 " I would tell you if I could if I might." 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, don't suppose that I wish to pry " 
 
 I began. He interrupted me. 
 
 " You will make me laugh in spite of myself," said he. 
 " You wish to pry! Now, let me see how much more I can 
 tell you. You perhaps think it wrong, in an abstract light, 
 for a father to send his young son away from him. That is 
 because you do not know what I do. If you did, you would 
 
 say, as I do, that it must be so I never saw it till now. 
 
 That letter was a revelation. It is now all as clear as 
 sunshine." 
 
 I assented. 
 
 " Then you consent to take my word that it must be so, 
 without more." 
 
 " Indeed, Eugen, I wish for no more." 
 
 He looked at me. " If I were to tell you," said he sud 
 denly, and an impulsive light beamed i? his eyes. A look of
 
 198 THE ,JRST VIOLIN. 
 
 relief it was nothing else 6f hope, crossed his face. Then 
 he sunk again into his former attitude as if tired and 
 wearied with some hard battle; exhausted, or what we more 
 xpressly call niedergeschlagen. 
 
 " Now something more," he went on; and I saw the frown 
 of desperation that gathered upon his brow. He went on 
 quickly, as if otherwise he could not say what had to be said: 
 " When he goes from me, he goes to learn to become a 
 stranger to me. I promise not to see him, nor write to him, 
 nor in any way communicate with him, or influence him. 
 We part utterly and entirely." 
 
 "Eugen! Impossible! Herrgott! Impossible!" cried I, 
 coming to a stop, and looking incredulously at him. That I 
 did not believe. "Impossible!" I repeated, beneath my 
 breath. 
 
 " By faith men can move mountains," he retorted. 
 
 This, then, was the flavoring which made the cup so in 
 tolerable. 
 
 " You say that that is and must be wrong under all circum 
 stances," said Eugen, eying me steadily. 
 
 I paused. I could almost have found it in my heart to 
 say, " Yes, I do." But my faith in and love for this man 
 had grown with me; as a daily prayer grows part of one's 
 thoughts, so was my confidence in him part of my mind. He 
 looked as if he were appealing to me to say that it must be 
 wrong, and so give him some excuse to push it aside. But I 
 could not. After wavering for a moment, I answered: 
 
 " No. I am sure you have sufficient reasons." 
 
 " I have. God knows I have! " 
 
 In the silence that ensued my mind was busy. Eugen 
 Courvoisier was not a religious man, as the popular meaning 
 of religious runs. He did not say of his misfortune, " It is 
 God's will," nor did he add, " and therefore sweet to me ' : 
 He said nothing of whose will it was; but I felt that had thai 
 cause been a living thing had it been a man, for instance 
 he would have gripped it and fastened to it until it lay dead 
 and impotent, and he could set his heel upon it. 
 
 But it was no strong, living, tangible thing. It was a 
 breathless abstraction a something existing in the minds of 
 men, and which they call " Eight! " and being that not an 
 outside law which an officer of the law could enforce upon 
 him; being that abstraction, he obeyed it. 
 
 As for saying that because it was right he liked it, or felt
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIK 199 
 
 any consolation from the knowledge he never once pre 
 tended to any such thing; but, true to his character of Child 
 of the World, hated it with a hatred as strong as his love for 
 the creature which it deprived him of. Only he did it. 
 He is not alone in such circumstances. Others have obeyed 
 and will again obey this invisible law in circumstances as 
 anguishing as those in which he stood, will steel their hearts 
 to hardness while every fiber cries out, " Eelent! " or will, 
 like him, writhe under the lash, shake their chained hands at 
 Heaven, and submit. 
 
 " One more question, Eugen. When?" 
 
 " Soon." 
 
 " A year would seem soon to any of us three." 
 
 " In a very short time. It may be in weeks; it may be in 
 days. Now, Friedhelm, have a little pity and don't probe 
 any further." 
 
 But I had no need to ask any more questions. The dreary 
 evening passed somehow over, and bedtime came, and the 
 morrow dawned. 
 
 For us three it brought the knowledge that for an indefi 
 nite time retrospective happiness must play the part of sun 
 on our mental horizon. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 "My Lady's Glory." 
 
 " KONIGSALLEE, No. 3," wrote Adelaide to me, "is the 
 house which has been taken for 'us. We shall be there on 
 Tuesday evening." 
 
 I accepted this communication in my own sense, and did 
 not go to meet Adelaide, nor visit her that evening, but wrote 
 a card, saying I would come on the following morning. I 
 had seen the house which had been taken for Sir Peter and 
 Lady Le Marchant a large, gloomy-looking house, with a 
 tragedy attached to it, which had stood empty ever since I 
 had come to Elberthal. 
 
 Up to the fashionable Konigsallee, under the naked chest 
 nut avenue, and past the great long Caserne and Exerzier- 
 platz a way on wliich I did not as a rule intrude my ancient 
 and poverty-stricken garments, I went on the morning after 
 Adelaide's arrival.- Lady Le Marchant had not yet left her
 
 200 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 room, but if I were Miss Wedderburn I was to be taken to her 
 immediately. Then I was taken upstairs, and had time to 
 remark upon the contrast between my sister's surroundings 
 and my own, before I was delivered over to a lady's-maid 
 French in nationality who opened a door and announced 
 me as Mile. Veddairebairne. I had a rapid, dim impression 
 that it was quite the chamber of a grande dame, in the midst 
 of which stood my lady herself, having slowly risen as I 
 2ame in. 
 
 " At last you have condescended to come," said the old 
 proud, curt voice. 
 
 " How are you, Adelaide? " said I originally, feeling that 
 any display of emotion would be unwelcome and inappro 
 priate, and moreover, feeling any desire to indulge in the 
 same suddenly evaporate. 
 
 She took my hand loosely, gave me a little chilly kiss on 
 the cheek, and then held me off at arms'-length to look at me. 
 
 I did not speak. I could think of nothing agreeable to say. 
 The only words that rose to my lips were, " How very ill you 
 look! " and I wisely concluded not to say them. She was 
 very beautiful, and looked prouder and more imperious than 
 erer. But she was changed. I could not tell what it was, 
 I could find no name for the subtle alteration; ere long 1 
 knew only too well what it was. Then, I only knew that she 
 was different from what she had been, and different in a way 
 that aroused tenfold all my vague forebodings. 
 
 She was wasted too had gone, for her, quite thin; and 
 the repressed restlessness of her eyes made a disagreeable im 
 pression upon me. Was she perhaps wasted with passion and 
 wicked thoughts? She looked as if it would not have taken 
 much to bring the smoldering fire into a blaze of full fury 
 as if fire and not blood ran in her veins. 
 
 She was in a loose silk dressing gown, which fell in long 
 folds about her stately figure. Her thick black hair was 
 twisted into a knot about her head. She was surrounded on 
 all sides with rich and costly things. All the old severe sim 
 plicity of style had vanished it seemed as if she had gratified 
 every passing fantastic wish or whim of her restless, reckless 
 spirit, and the result was a curious medley of the ugly, gro 
 tesque, ludicrous, and beautiful a feverish dream of Cleo 
 patra-like luxury, in the midst of which she stood, as 
 beautiful and sinuous as a serpent, and looking as if she could 
 be, upon occasion, as poisonous as the same.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 201 
 
 She looked me over from head to foot with piercing eyes, 
 and then said half scornfully, half enviously: 
 
 " How well a stagnant life seems to suit some people! 
 Now you you are immensely improved unspeakably im 
 proved. You have grown into a pretty woman more than 
 a pretty woman. I shouldn't have tfiought a few months 
 could make such an alteration in anyone." 
 
 Her words struck me as a kind of satire upon herself. 
 
 " I might say the same to you," said I constrainedly. " I 
 think you are very much altered." 
 
 Indeed I felt strangely ill at ease with the beautiful crea 
 ture who, I kept trying to convince myself, was my iister 
 Adelaide, but who seemed further apart from me than ever. 
 But the old sense of fascination which she had been wont to 
 exercise over me returned again in all or in more than its 
 primitive strength. 
 
 " I want to talk to you," said she, forcing me into a deep 
 easy-chair. " I have millions of things to ask you. Take 
 off your hat and mantle. You must stay all day. Heavens! 
 how shabby you are! I never saw anything so worn out 
 and yet your dress suits you, and you look nice in it." (She 
 sighed deeply.) " Nothing suits me now. Formerly I 
 looked well in everything. I should have looked well in rags, 
 and people would have turned to look after me. Now, what 
 ever I put on makes me look hideous." 
 
 " Nonsense! " 
 
 " It does And I am glad of it," she added, closing 
 
 her lips as if she closed in some bitter joy. 
 
 " I wish you would tell me why you have come here," I 
 inquired innocently. " I was so astonished. It was the last 
 place I should have thought of your coming to." 
 
 " Naturally. But you see Sir Peter adores me so that he 
 hastens to gratify my smallest wish. I expressed a desire 
 one day to see you, and two days afterward we were en route. 
 He said I should have my wish. Sisterly love was a beautiful 
 thing, and he felt it his duty to encourage it." 
 
 I looked at her, and could not decide whether she were in 
 jest or earnest. If she were in jest, it was but a sorry kind of 
 joke if in earnest, she chose a disagreeably flippant man 
 ner of expressing herself. 
 
 " Sir Peter has great faith in annoying and thwarting me," 
 she went on. " He has been looking better and more cheer 
 ful ever since we left Rome."
 
 202 THE FIRST VIOLIfc 
 
 i 
 
 " But, Adelaide if you wished to leave Rome - 
 
 " But I did not wish to leave Rome. I wished to stay so 
 we came away, you know." 
 
 The suppressed rage and hatred in her tone made me feel 
 uncomfortable. I avoided speaking, but I could not alto 
 gether avoid looking at her. Our eyes met, and Adelaide 
 burst into a peal of harsh laughter. 
 
 " Oh, your face, May! It is a study! I had a particulai 
 objection to coming to Elberthal, therefore Sir Peter in 
 stantly experienced a particular desire to come. When you 
 are married you will understand these things. I was almost 
 enjoying myself in Rome; I suppose Sir Peter was afraid that 
 familiarity might bring dislike, or that if we stayed too long 
 I might feel it dull. This is a gay, lively place, I believe 
 we came here, and for aught I know we are going to stay 
 here." 
 
 She laughed again, and I sat aghast. I had been miserable 
 about Adelaide's marriage, but I had very greatly trusted in 
 what she had prognosticated about being able to do what she 
 liked with him. I began now to think that there must have 
 been some miscalculation that she had mistaken the metal 
 and found it not quite so ductile as she had expected. I 
 knew enough of her to be aware that I was probably the first 
 person to whom she had spoken in such a manner, and that 
 not even to me would she have so spoken unless some strong 
 feeling had prompted her to it. This made me still more 
 uneasy. She held so fast by the fine polish of the outside of 
 the cup and platter. Very likely the world in general sup 
 posed that she and Sir Peter were a model couple. 
 
 " I am glad you are here," she pursued. " It is a relief to 
 have someone else than Arkwright to speak to." 
 
 "Who is Arkwright?" 
 
 " Sir Peter's secretary a very good sort of boy. He 
 knows all about our domestic bliss and other concerns be 
 cause he can't help. Sir Peter tells him " 
 
 A hand on the door-handle outside. A pause ere the per 
 sons came in, for Sir Peter's voice was audible, giving direc 
 tions to someone, prebably the secretary of whom Adelaide 
 had spoken. She started violently; the color fled from her 
 face; pale dismay painted itself for a moment upon her lips, 
 but only for a moment. In the next she was outwardly her 
 self again. But the hand trembled which passed her hand 
 kerchief over her lips.
 
 THE FIEST VIOLIN. 203 
 
 The door was fully opened, and Sir Peter came in. 
 
 Yes; tlmt was the same face, the same pent-house of 
 ragged eyebrow over the cold and snaky eye beneath, the 
 same wolfish mouth and permanent hungry smile. But he 
 looked better, stouter, stronger; more cheerful. It seemed 
 as if my lady's society had done him a world of good, and 
 acted as a kind of elixir of life. 
 
 I observed Adelaide. As he came in her eyes dropped; 
 her hands closed tightly over the handkerchief she held, 
 crushing it together in her grasp; she held her breath; then, 
 recovered, she faced him. 
 
 " Heyday! Whom have we here? " he asked, in a voice 
 which time and a residence in hearing of the language of 
 music had not mollified. " Whom have we here? Your 
 dressmaker, my lady? Have you had to send for a dress 
 maker already? Ha! what? Your sister? Impossible! 
 Miss May, I am delighted to see you again! Are you very 
 well? You look a little a shabby, one might almost say, 
 my dear a little seedy, hey?" 
 
 I had no answer ready for this winning greeting. 
 
 " Eather like my lady before she was my lady," he con 
 tinued pleasantly, as his eyes roved over the room, over its 
 furniture, over us. 
 
 There was power a horrible kind of strength and vitality 
 in that figure a crushing impression of his potency to make 
 one miserable, conveyed in the strong, rasping voice. Quite 
 a different Sir Peter from my erstwhile wooer. He was a 
 masculine, strong, planning creature, whose force of will was 
 able to crush that of my sister as easily as her forefinger 
 might crush a troublesome midge. He was not blind or 
 driveling; he could reason, plot, argue, concoct a systematic 
 plan for revenge, and work it out fully and in detail; he was 
 able at once to grasp the broadest bearing and the minute 
 details of a position, and to act upon their intimations with 
 crushing accuracy. He was calm, decided, keen, and all in a 
 certain small, bounded, positive way which made him all the 
 more efficient as a ruling factor in this social sphere, where 
 small, bounded, positive strength, without keen sympathies 
 save in the on-e direction self and without idea of gener 
 osity, save with regard to its own merits, pays better than a 
 higher kind of strength better than the strength cf Joan of 
 Arc, of St. Stephen, or Christ. 
 
 This was the real Sir Peter, and before the revelation I
 
 204 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 stood aghast. And that look in Adelaide's eyes, that tone 
 in her voice, that restrained spring in her movements, would 
 have been rebellion, revolution, but in the act of breaking 
 forth it became fear. She had been outwitted, most thor 
 oughly and completely. She had got a jailer and a prison. 
 She feared the former, and every tradition of her life bade 
 her remain in the latter. 
 
 Sir Peter, pleasantly exhilarated by my confusion and my 
 lady's sullen silence, proceeded with an agreeable smile: 
 
 " Are you never coming downstairs, madam? I have been 
 deprived long enough of the delights of your society. Come 
 down! I want you to read to me." 
 
 "I am engaged, as you may see," she answered in a low 
 voice of opposition. 
 
 " Then the engagement must be deferred. There is a 
 great deal of reading to do. There is the Times for a 
 week." 
 
 " I hate the Times, and I don't understand it." 
 
 " So much the more reason why you should learn to do so. 
 In half an hour," said Sir Peter, consulting his watch, " I 
 shall be ready, or say in quarter of an hour." 
 
 " Absurd! I cannot be ready in quarter of an hour. 
 Where is Mr. Arkwright? " 
 
 " What is Mr. Arkwright to you, my dear? You may be 
 sure that Mr. Arkwright's time is not being wasted. If his 
 mamma knew what he was doing she would be quite satis 
 fied oh, quite! In quarter of an hour." 
 
 He was leaving the room, but paused at the door, with a 
 suspicious look. 
 
 " Miss May, it is a pity for you to go away. It will do you 
 good to see your sister, I am sure. Pray spend the day with 
 us. Now, my lady, waste no more time." 
 
 With that he finally departed. Adelaide's face was white, 
 but she did not address me. She rang for her maid. 
 
 " Dress my hair, Toinette, and do it as quickly as possible. 
 Is my dress ready? " was all she said. 
 
 " Mais out, madame." 
 
 " Quick! " she repeated. " You have only quarter of an 
 hour." 
 
 Despite the suppressed cries, expostulations, and announce 
 ments that it was impossible, Adelaide was dressed in quarter 
 of an hour. 
 
 "You will stay, May?" said she; and I knew it was only
 
 THE FIRST F/0Z/A. 205 
 
 the presence of Toinette which restrained her from urgently 
 imploring me to stay. 
 
 I remained, though not all day; only until it was time to 
 
 fo and have my lesson from Von Francius. During my stay, 
 owever, I had ample opportunity to observe how things 
 were. 
 
 Sir Peter appeared to have lighted upon a congenial occu 
 pation somewhat late in life, or perhaps previous practice had 
 made him an adept in it. His time was fully occupied in 
 carrying out a series of experiments upon his wife's pride, 
 with a view to humble and bring it to the ground. If he did 
 not fully succeed in that, he succeeded in making her hate 
 him as scarcely ever was man hated before. 
 
 They had now been married some two or three months, and 
 had forsworn all semblance of a pretense at unity or concord. 
 She thwarted him as much as she could, and defied him as far 
 as she dared. He played round and round his victim, spring 
 ing upon her at last, with some look or word, or hint, or smile, 
 which meant something I know not what that cowed her. 
 
 Oh, it was a pleasant household! a cheerful, amiable 
 scene of connubial love, in which this fair woman of two-and~ 
 twenty found herself, with every prospect of its continuing 
 for an indefinite number of years; for the Le Marchants were 
 a long-lived family, and Sir Peter ailed nothing. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Wenn Menschen aus einander gehen, 
 So sagen sie, Auf Wiedersehen I 
 Auf Wiedersehen ! " 
 
 ETTGEN had said, " Very soon it may be weeks, it may be 
 days." and had begged me not to inquire further into the 
 matter. Seeing his anguish, I had refrained; but when two 
 or three days had passed, and nothing was done or said, I 
 began to hope that the parting might not be deferred even a 
 few weeks; for I believe the father suffered, and with him 
 the child, enough each day to wipe out years of transgression. 
 
 It was impossible to hide from Sigmund that some great 
 grief threatened, or had already descended upon his fathe^*, 
 and therefore upon him. The child's sympathy with the 
 man's nature, with every mood and feeling 1 had almort
 
 208 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 said his intuitive understanding of his father's ver> thoughts 
 was too keen and intense to be hoodwinked or turned aside. 
 He did not behave like other children, of coui-se versteht 
 sick, as Eugen said to me with a dreary smile. He did not 
 hang about his father's neck, imploring to hear what was the 
 matter; he did not weep or wail, or make complaints. After 
 that first moment of uncontrollable pain nnd anxiety, when 
 he had gone into the room whose door was closed upon him, 
 and in which Eugen had not told him all that was coming, he 
 displayed no violent emotion; but he did what was to Eugen 
 and me much more heart-breaking brodded silently; grew 
 every day wanner and thinner, and spent long intervals in 
 watching his father, with eyes which nothing could divert 
 and nothing deceive. If Eugen tried to be cheerful, to put 
 on a little gayety of demeanor which he did not feel in hia 
 heart, Sigmund made no answer to it, but continued to look 
 with the same solemn, large, and mournful gaze. 
 
 His father's grief was eating into his own young heart. 
 He asked not what it was; but both Eugen and I knew that 
 in time, if it went on long enough, he would die of it. The 
 picture, " Innocence Dying of Blood-stain," which Haw* 
 thorne has suggested to us, may have its prototypes and 
 counterparts in unsuspected places. Here was one. Nor did 
 Sigmund, as some others, children both of larger and smaller 
 growth, might have done, turn to me and ask me to tell him 
 the meaning of the sad change which had crept silently and 
 darkly into our lives. He outspartaned the Spartan in many 
 ways. His father had not chosen to tell him; he would die 
 rather than ask the meaning of the silence. 
 
 One night when some three days had passed since the 
 letter had come as Eugen and I sat alone, it struck me that 
 I heard a weary turning over in the little bed in the next 
 room, and a stifled sob coming distinctly to my ears. I lifted 
 my head. Eugen had heard too; he was looking, with an 
 expression of pain and indecision, toward the door. With a 
 vast effort the greatest my regard for him had yet made I 
 took it upon myself, laid my hand on his arm, and coercing 
 him again into the chair from which he had half risen, 
 whispered : 
 
 " I will tell him. You cannot. NicJit waJir? " 
 
 A look was the only, but a very sufficient answer. 
 
 I went into the inner room and closed the door. A dim 
 whiteness of moonlight struggled through the shutters, and
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 207 
 
 very, very faintly showed me the outline of the child who was 
 dear to me. Stooping down beside him, I asked if he were 
 awake. 
 
 " Ja, ich wache," he replied in a patient, resigned kind of 
 small voice. 
 
 "Why dost thou not sleep, Sigmund? Art thou not 
 well?" 
 
 " No, I am not well/' he answered; but with an expres 
 sion of double meaning. " Mir ist's nicht wohl" 
 
 " What ails thee? " 
 
 " If you know what ails him, you know what ails me/' 
 
 " Do you not know yourself? " I asked. 
 
 " No," said Sigmund, with a short sob. " He says he can 
 not tell me." 
 
 I slipped upon my knees beside the little bed, and paused 
 a moment. I am not ashamed to say that I prayed to some 
 thing which in my mind existed outside all earthly things 
 perhaps to the " Freude " which Schiller sung and Beethoven 
 composed to for help in the hardest task of my life. 
 
 " Cannot tell me." No wonder he could not tell that soft- 
 eyed, clinging warmth; that subtle mixture of fire and soft 
 ness, spirit and gentleness that spirit which in the years of 
 trouble they had passed together had grown part of his very 
 nature that they must part! No wonder that the father, 
 upon whom the child built his every idea of what was great 
 and good, beautiful, right, and true in every shape and form, 
 could not say, " You shall not stay with me; you shall be 
 thrust forth to strangers; and, moreover, I will not see you 
 nor speak to you, nor shall you hear my name; and this I 
 will do without telling you why" that he could not say 
 this what had the man been who could have said it? 
 
 As I kn'elt in the darkness by Sigmund's little bed, and felt 
 his pillow wet with his silent tears, and his hot cheek touch 
 ing my hand, I knew it all. I believe I felt for once as a 
 man who has begotten a child and must hurt it, repulse it, 
 part from it, feels. 
 
 " No, my child, he cannot tell thee, because he loves thee 
 so dearly," said I. " But I can tell thee; I have his leave to 
 tell thee, Sigmund." 
 
 "Friedel?" 
 
 " Thou art a very little boy, but thou art not like other 
 boys; thy father is not just like other fathers." 
 
 "I know it."
 
 208 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " He is very sad." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And his life which he has to live will be a sad one." 
 
 The child began to weep again. I had to pause. How 
 was I to open my lips to instruct this baby upon the fearful, 
 profound abyss of a subject the evil and the sorrow that are 
 in the world how, how force those little tender, bare feet, 
 from the soft grass on to the rough up-hill path all strewed 
 with stones, and all rugged with ups and downs? It was 
 horribly cruel. 
 
 " Life is very sad sometimes, mein Sigmund." 
 
 "Is it?" 
 
 " Yes. Some people, too, are much sadder than others. 
 I think thy father is one of those people. Perhaps thou art 
 to be another." 
 
 " What my father is I will be," said he softly; and I 
 thought that it was another and a holier version of Eugen's 
 words to me, wrung out of the inner bitterness of his heart, 
 " The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children, 
 even unto the third and fourth generation, whether they 
 deserve it or not." The child, who knew nothing of the 
 ancient saying, merely said with love and satisfaction swell 
 ing his voice to fullness, " What my father is, I will be." 
 
 " Couldst thou give up something very dear for his sake? " 
 
 " What a queer question! " said Sigmund. " I want noth 
 ing when I am with him." 
 
 " Ei, mein Kind! Thou dost not know what I mean. 
 What is the greatest joy of thy life? To be near thy father 
 and see him, hear his voice, and touch him, and feel him 
 near thee; nicht? " 
 
 " Yes," said he, in a scarcely audible whisper. 
 
 There was a pause, during which I was racking my brains 
 to think of some way of introducing the rest without shock 
 ing him too much, when suddenly he said, in a clear, low 
 voice: 
 
 " That is it. He would never let me leave him, and he 
 would never leave me." 
 
 Silence again for a few moments, which seemed to deepen 
 some sneaking shadow in the boy's mind, for he repeated 
 through clinched teeth, and in a voice which fought hard 
 against conviction, " Never, never, never! " 
 
 " Sigmund never of his own will. But remember what 
 I said, that he is sad, and there is something in his life which
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 209 
 
 makes him not only unable to do what he likes, but obliged 
 to do exactly what he does not like what he most hates and 
 fears to to part from thee." 
 
 " Nein, nein, nein ! " said he. " Who can make him do 
 anything he does not wish? Who can take me away from 
 him?" 
 
 " I do not know. I only know that it must be so. There 
 is no escaping from it, and no getting out of it. It is horrible 
 but it is so. Sometimes, Sigmund, there are things in the 
 world like this." 
 
 " The world must be a very cruel place," he said, as if first 
 struck with that fact. 
 
 " Now dost thou understand, Sigmund, why he did not 
 speak? Couldst thou have told him such a thing?" 
 
 " Where is he? " 
 
 " There, in the next room, and very sad for thee." 
 
 Sigmund, before I knew what he was thinking of, was out 
 of bed and had opened the door. I saw that Eugen looked 
 up, saw the child standing in the doorway, sprung up, and 
 Sigmund bounded to meet him.' A cry as of a great terror 
 came from the child. Self-restraint, so long maintained, 
 broke down; he cried in a loud, frightened voice: 
 
 " Mein Vater, Friedel says I must leave thee!" and burst 
 into a storm of sobs and crying such as I had never before 
 known him yield to. Eugen folded him in his arms, laid his 
 head upon his breast, and clasping him very closely to him, 
 paced about the room with him in silence, until the first fit of 
 grief was over. I, from the dark room, watched them in a 
 kind of languor, for I was weary, as though I had gone 
 through some physical struggle. 
 
 They passed to and fro like some moving dream. Bit by 
 bit the child learned from his father's lips the pitiless truth, 
 down to the last bitter drop; that the parting was to be com 
 plete, and they were not to see each other. 
 
 " But never, never? " asked Sigmund, in a voice of terror 
 and pain mingled. 
 
 "When thou art a man, that will depend upon thyself," 
 said Eugen. " Thou wilt have to choose." 
 
 " Choose what? " 
 
 " Whether thou wilt see me again." 
 
 " When I am a man may I choose? " he asked, raising his 
 head with sudden animation. 
 
 " Yes; I shall see to that."
 
 210 THE fIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 "" Oh, very well! I have chosen now/' said Sigmund, and 
 the thought gave him visible joy and relief. 
 
 Eugen kissed him passionately. Blessed ignorance of the 
 hardening influences of the coming years! Blessed tender 
 ness of heart and singleness of affection which could see no 
 possibility that circumstances might make the acquaintance 
 of a now loved and adored superior being appear undesirable! 
 And blessed sanguineness of five years old, which could 
 bridge the gulf between then and manhood, and cry, Auf 
 wiedersehtn ! 
 
 During the next few days more letters were exchanged. 
 Eugen received one which he answered. Part of the answer 
 he showed to me, and it ran thus: 
 
 " I consent to this, but only upon one condition, which is 
 that when my son is eighteen years old, you tell him all, and 
 give him his choice whether he see me again or not. My 
 word is given not to interfere in the matter, and I can trust 
 yours when you promise that it shall be as I stipulate. I 
 want your answer upon this point, which is very simple, and 
 the single condition I make. It is, however, one which I 
 cannot and will not waive." 
 
 " Thirteen years, Eugen," said I. 
 
 " Yes; in thirteen years I shall be forty-three." 
 
 " You will let me know what the answer to that is? " I 
 went on. 
 
 He nodded. By return of post the answer came. 
 
 " It is * yes,' " said he, and paused. " The day after to 
 morrow he is to go." 
 
 " Not alone, surely? " 
 
 " No; someone will come for him." 
 
 I heard some of the instructions he gave his boy. 
 
 " There is one man where you are going, whom I wish you 
 to obey as you would me, Sigmund," he told him. 
 
 : 'Is he like thee?" 
 
 " No; much better and wiser than I am. But, remember, 
 he never commands twice. Thou must not question and 
 delay as thou dost with thy weak-minded old father. He is 
 the master in the place thou art going to." 
 
 "Is it far from here?" 
 
 " Not exceedingly far."
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 211 
 
 "Hast thou been there?" 
 
 " Oh, yes/' said Eugen, in a peculiar tone, " often." 
 
 "What must I call this man? " inquired Sigmund. 
 
 " He will tell thee that. Do thou obey him and endeavor 
 to do what he wishes, and so thou mayest know thou art best 
 pleasing me." 
 
 " And when I am a man I can choose to see thee again. 
 But where wilt thou be?" 
 
 " When the time comes thou wilt soon find me if it is 
 
 necessary And thy music," pursued Eugen. "Kemem- 
 
 ber that in all troubles that may come to thee, and whatever 
 thou mayst pass through, there is one great, beautiful goddess 
 who abides above the troubles of men, and is often most beau 
 tiful in the hearts that are most troubled. Eemember 
 whom? " 
 
 " Beethoven," was the prompt reply. 
 
 "Just so. And hold fast to the service of the goddess 
 Music, the most beautiful thing in the world." 
 
 " And thou art a musician," said Sigmund, with a little 
 laugh, as if it " understood itself " that his father should 
 naturally be a priest of " the most beautiful thing in the 
 world." ' 
 
 I hurry over that short time before the parting came. 
 Eugen said to me: 
 
 " They are sending for him an old servant. I am not 
 afraid to trust him with him." 
 
 And one morning he came the old servant. Sigmund 
 happened at the moment not to be in the sitting room; 
 Kugen and I were. There was a knock, and in answer to our 
 Herein! there entered an elderly man of soldierly appear 
 ance, with a grizzled mustache, and stiff, military bearing; 
 he was dressed in a very plain, but very handsome livery, and 
 on entering the room and seeing Eugen, he paused just 
 within the door, and saluted with a look of deep respect; nor 
 did he attempt to advance further. Eugen had turned very 
 pale. 
 
 It struck me that he might have something to say to this 
 messenger of fate, and with some words to that effect I rose 
 to leave them together. Eugen laid his hand upon my arm. 
 
 " Sit still, Friedhelm." And turning to the man, he 
 added: " How were all when you left, Heinrich? " 
 
 " AVell, Herr Gr " 
 
 " Courvoisier,"
 
 212 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " All were well, mein Herr." 
 
 " Wait a short time," said he. 
 
 A silent inclination on the part of the man. Eugen went 
 into the inner room where Sigmund was, and closed the door. 
 There was silence. How long did it endure? What was 
 passing there? What throes of parting? What grief not to 
 be spoken or described? 
 
 Meanwhile the elderly man-servant remained in his sen- 
 ;inel attitude, and with fixed expressionless countenance 
 within the doorway. Was the time long to him, or short? 
 
 At last the door opened, and Sigmund came out alone. 
 God help us all! It is terrible to see such an expression upon 
 a child's soft face. White and set and worn as if with years 
 of suffering was the beautiful little face. The elderly man 
 started, surprised from his impassiveness, as the child came 
 into the room. An irrepressible flash of emotion crossed his 
 face; he made a step forward. Sigmund seemed as if he did 
 not see us,, He was making a mechanical way to the door, 
 when I interrupted him. 
 
 " Sigmund, do not forget thy old Friedhelm! " I cried, 
 clasping him in my arms, and kissing his little pale face, 
 thinking of the day, three years ago, when his father had 
 brought him wrapped up in the plaid on that wet afternoon, 
 and my heart had gone out to him. 
 
 " Lieber Friedhelm!" he said, returning my embrace, 
 "Love my father when I am gone. And auf auf 
 wiedersehen ! " 
 
 He loosed his arms from round my neck and went up to 
 the man, saying: 
 
 " I am ready." 
 
 The large horny hand clasped round the small delicate one. 
 The servant-man turned, and with a stiff, respectful bow to 
 me, led Sigmund from the room. The door closed after 
 him he was gone. The light of two lonely lives was put 
 out. Was our darling right or wrong in that persistent Auf 
 wiedersehen cf his?
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIX. 21a 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Resignation f Welch' elendes Hillfsmittel ! und doch bleibt es mir 
 Jase inzig Uebrige. Brief e BEETHOVEN s. 
 
 SEVERAL small events which took place at this time had 
 all their indirect but strong bearing on the histories of the 
 characters in this veracious narrative. The great concert of 
 the " Passions-musik " of Bach came off on the very evening 
 of Sigmund's departure. It was, I confess, with some fear 
 and trembling that I went to call Eugen to his duties, for he 
 had not emerged from his own room since he had gone into 
 it to send Sigmund away. 
 
 He raised his face as I came in; he was sitting looking out 
 of the window, and told me afterward that he had sat there, 
 he believed, ever since he had been unable to catch another 
 glimpse of the carriage which bore his darling away from 
 him. 
 
 " What is it, Friedel? " he asked, when I came in. 
 
 I suggested in a subdued tone that the concert began in 
 half an hour. 
 
 "Ah, true!" said he, rising; "I must get ready. Let me 
 see, what is it?" 
 
 rt The Passions-musik/ " 
 
 " To be sure! Most appropriate music! I feel as if I 
 could write a Passion Music myself just now/' 
 
 We had but to cross the road from our dwelling to the 
 concert room. As we entered the corridor two ladies also 
 stepped into it from a very grand carriage. They were 
 accompanied by a young man, who stood a little to one side 
 to let them pass; and as they came up and we came up, Von 
 Francius came up too. 
 
 One of the ladies was May Wedderburn, who was dressed 
 in black and looked exquisitely lovely to my eyes, and, I felt, 
 to some others, with her warm auburn hair in shining coils 
 upon her head. The other was a woman in whose pale, 
 magnificent face I traced some likeness to our fair singer, 
 but she was different; colder, grander, more severe. It so 
 happened that the ladies barred the way as we arrived, and 
 we had to stand by for a few moments as Von Francius shook 
 hands with Miss Wedderburn and asked her smilingly if she 
 were in good voice.
 
 214 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 She answered in the prettiest broken German 1 ever heard, 
 and then turned to the lady, saying: 
 
 " Adelaide, may I introduce Herr von Francius Lady Le 
 Marchant." 
 
 A stately bow from the lady a deep reverence, with a 
 momentary glance of an admiration warmer than I had ever 
 seen in his eyes, on the part of Von Francius a glance which 
 was instantly suppressed to one of conventional inexpressive- 
 ness. I was pleased and interested with this little peep at 
 a rank which I had never seen, and could have stood watch 
 ing them for a long time; the splendid beauty and the great 
 pride of bearing of the English lady were a revelation to me, 
 and opened quite a large, unknown world before my mental 
 eyes. Romances and poems, and men dying of love, or kill 
 ing each other for it, no longer seemed ridiculous; for a smile 
 or a warmer glance from that icily beautiful face must be 
 something not to forget. 
 
 It was Eugen who pushed forward, with a frown on his 
 brow, and less than his usual courtesy. I saw his eyes and 
 Miss Wedderb urn's meet; I saw the sudden flush that ran 
 over her fair face; the stern composure of his. He would 
 own nothing; but I was strangely mistaken if he could say 
 that it was merely because he had nothing to own. 
 
 The concert was a success so far as Miss Wedderburn went. 
 If Von Francius had allowed repetitions, one song at least 
 would have been encored. As it was, she was a success. 
 And Von Francius spent his time in the pauses with her and 
 her sister; in a grave, sedate way he and the English lady 
 seemed to " get on." 
 
 The concert was over. The next thing that was of any 
 importance to us occurred shortly afterward. Von Francius 
 had long been somewhat unpopular with his men, and at 
 silent enmity with Eugen, who was, on the contrary, a uni 
 versal favorite. There came a crisis, and the men sent a 
 deputation to Eugen to say that if he would accept the post 
 of leader they would strike and refuse to accept any other 
 than he. 
 
 This was an opportunity for distinguishing himself. He 
 declined the honor: his words were few; he said something 
 about how kind we had all been to him, " from the time when 
 I arrived; when Friedhelm Helfen, here, took me in, gave 
 me every help and assistance in his power, and showed how 
 appropriate his name was;* and so began a friendship which,
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 213 
 
 please Heaven, shall last till death divides us, and perhaps 
 go on afterward." He ended by saying some words which 
 made a deep impression upon me. After saying that he 
 might possibly leave Elberthal, he added: " Lastly, I cannot 
 be your leader because I never intend to be anyone's leader 
 more than I am now," he added with a faint smile. " A 
 kind of deputy, you know. I am not fit to be a leader. I 
 have no gift in that line " 
 
 " Dock ! " from half a dozen around. 
 
 " None whatever. I intend to remain in my present con 
 dition no lower if I can help it, but certainly no higher. 
 I have good reasons for knowing it to be my duty to do so." 
 
 And then he urged them so strongly to stand by Herr von 
 Francius that we were quite astonished. He told them that 
 Von Francius would some time rank with Schumann, Raff, 
 or Rubinstein, and that the men who rejected him now would 
 then be pointed out as ignorant and prejudiced. 
 
 And amid the silence that ensued he began to direct us 
 we had a probe to Liszt's " Prometheus," I remember. 
 
 He had won the day for Von Francius, and Von Francius, 
 getting to hear of it, came one day to see him and frankly 
 apologized for his prejudice in the past and asked Eugen for 
 his friendship in the future. Eugen's answer puzzled me. 
 
 " I am glad you know that I honor your genius and wish 
 you well," said he, "and your offer of friendship honors 
 me. Suppose I say I accept it until you see cause to with 
 draw it." 
 
 " You are putting rather a remote contingency to the 
 front," said Von Francius. 
 
 " Perhaps perhaps not," said Eugen with a singular 
 smile. " At least I am glad to have had this token of your 
 sense of generosity. We are on different paths, and my 
 friends are not on the same level as yours 
 
 " Excuse me; every true artist must be a friend of every , 
 other true artist. We recognize no division of rank or 
 possession." 
 
 Eugen bowed, still smiling ambiguously, nc3 could Von 
 Francius prevail upon him to say anything nearer or more 
 certain. They parted, and long afterward I learned 'the 
 truth, and knew the bitterness which must have been in 
 Eugen's heart; the shame, the gloom; the downcast sorrow, 
 as he refused indirectly but decidedly the thing he would 
 have liked so well to shake the hand of a man high in posi-
 
 216 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 tion and honorable in name look him in the face and say, 
 " I accept your friendship nor need you be ashamed of 
 wearing mine openly." 
 
 He refused the advance; he refused that and every other 
 opening for advancement. The man seemed to have a horror 
 of advancement, or of coming in any way forward. He re 
 jected even certain offers which were made that he should 
 perform some solos at different concerts in Elberthal and the 
 neighborhood. I once urged him to become rich and have 
 Sigmund back again. He said: " If I had all the wealth in 
 Germany, it would divide us further still." 
 
 I have said nothing about the blank which Sigmund's 
 absence made in our lives, simply because it was too great 
 a blank to describe. Day after day we felt it, and it grew 
 keener and the wound smarted more sharply. One cannot 
 work all day long, and in our leisure hours we learned to 
 know only too well that he was gone and gone indeed. 
 That which remained to us was the " Eesignation," the 
 " miserable assistant " which poor Beethoven indicated with 
 such a bitter smile. We took it to us as inmate and Haus- 
 freund, and made what we could of it.
 
 BOOK V. 
 
 VICTIS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 " So runs the world away. 
 
 KONIGSALLEE, No. 3, could scarcely be called a happy 
 establishment. I saw much of its inner life, and what I saw 
 made me feel mortally sad envy, hatred, and malice; no 
 hour of satisfaction; my sister's bitter laughs and sneers and 
 jibes at men and things; Sir Peter's calm consciousness of 
 his power, and his no less calm, crushing, unvarying manner 
 of wielding it of silently and horribly making it felt. Ade 
 laide's very nature appeared to have changed. From a lofty 
 indifference to most things, to sorrow and joy, to the hopes, 
 fears, and feelings of others, she had become eager, earnest, 
 passionate, resenting ill-usage, strenuously desiring her own 
 way, deeply angry when she could not get it. To say that 
 Sir Peter's influence upon her was merely productive of a 
 negative dislike would be ridiculous. It was productive of 
 an intense, active hatred, a hatred which would gladly, if 
 it could, have vented itself in deeds. That being impossible, 
 it showed itself in a haughty, unbroken indifference of de 
 meanor which it seemed to be Sir Peter's present aim in some 
 way to break down, for not only did she hate him he 
 hated her. 
 
 She used to the utmost what liberty she had. She was 
 not a woman to talk of regret for what she had done, or to 
 own that she had miscalculated her game. Her life was 
 a great failure, and that failure had been brought home to 
 her mind in a mercilessly short space of time; but of what 
 use to bewail it? She was not yet conquered. The bitter 
 ness of spirit which she carried about with her took the form 
 
 217
 
 818 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 of a scoffing pessimism. A hard laugh at the things which 
 made other people shake their heads and uplift their hands; 
 a ready scoff at all tenderness; a sneer at anything which 
 could by any stretch of imagination be called good; a deter 
 mined running up of what was hard, sordid, and worldly, 
 and a persistent and utter skepticism as to the existence of 
 the reverse of those things; such was now the yea, yea, and 
 nay, nay of her communication. 
 
 To a certain extent she had what she had sold herself for: 
 outside pomp and show in plenty carriages, horses, servants, 
 jewels, and clothes. Sir Peter liked, to use his own expres 
 sion, " to see my lady blaze away " only she must blaze away 
 in his fashion, not hers. He declared he did not know how 
 long he might remain in Elberthal; spoke vaguely of " busi 
 ness at home," about which he was waiting to hear, and said 
 that until he heard the news he wanted he could not move 
 from the place he was in. He was in excellent spirits at 
 seeing his wife chafing under the confinement to a place she 
 detested, and appeared to find life sweet. 
 
 Meanwhile she, using her liberty, as I said, to the utmost 
 extent, had soon plunged into the midst of the fastest set in 
 Elberthal. 
 
 There was a fast set there as there was a musical set, am 
 artistic set, a religious set, a free-thinking set; for though 
 it was not so large or so rich as many dull, wealthy towns in 
 England, it presented from its mixed inhabitants various 
 phases of society. 
 
 This set into which Adelaide had thrown herself was the 
 fast one a coterie of officers, artists, the richer merchants 
 and bankers, medical men, literati, and the young (and some 
 times old) wives, sisters, and daughters of the same, many of 
 them priding themselves upon not being natives of Elberthal, 
 but coming from larger and gayer towns Berlin, Dresden, 
 Hamburg, Frankfurt, and others. 
 
 They led a gay enough life among themselves a life of 
 theater, concert, and opera-going, of dances private at home, 
 public at the Malkasten or Artists' Club flirtations, mar 
 riages, engagements, disappointments, the usual dreary and 
 monotonous round. They considered themselves the only 
 society worthy the name in Elberthal, and whoever was not 
 of their set was niemand. 
 
 I was partly dragged, partly I went to a certain extent 
 of my own will, into this vortex. I felt myself to have
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 219 
 
 earned a larger experience now of life and life's realities. 
 I questioned when I should once have discreetly inclined 
 the head and held my peace. I had a mind to examine this 
 clique and the characters of some of its units and see in what 
 it was superior to some other acquaintances (in an humbler 
 sphere) with whom my lot had been cast. As time went on 
 I found the points of superiority to decrease those of in 
 feriority rapidly to increase. 
 
 I troubled myself little about them and their opinions. 
 My joys and griefs, hopes and fears, lay so entirely outside 
 their circle that I scarce noticed whether they noticed me 
 or not. I felt and behaved coldly toward them! to the 
 women because their voices never had the ring of genuine 
 liking in speaking to me; to the men because I found them, 
 as a rule, shallow, ignorant, and pretentious; repellent to me, 
 as I dare say I, with my inability to understand them, was 
 to them. I saw most men and things through a distort 
 ing glass; that of contrast, conscious or unconscious, with 
 Courvoisier. 
 
 My musician, I reasoned, wrongly or rightly, had three 
 times their wit, three times their good looks, manners, and 
 information, and many times three times their common sense, 
 as well as a juster appreciation of his own merits; besides 
 which, my musician was not a person whose acquaintance 
 and esteem were to be had for the asking or even for a great 
 deal more than the asking, while it seemed that these young 
 gentlemen gave their society to anyone who could live in 
 a certain style and talk a certain argot, and their esteem to 
 everyone who could give them often enough the savory meat 
 that their souls loved, and the wine of a certain quality which 
 made glad their hearts and rendered them of a cheerful 
 countenance. 
 
 But my chief reason for mixing with people who were cer 
 tainly, as a rule, utterly distasteful and repugnant to me 5 
 was because I could not bear to leave Adelaide alone. I 
 pitied her in her lonely arid alienated misery; and I knew that 
 it was some small solace to her to have me with her. 
 
 The tale of one day will give an approximate idea of most 
 of the days I spent with her. I was at the time staying with 
 her. Our hours were late. Breakfast was not over till ten, 
 that is, by Adelaide and myself. Sir Peter was an exceed 
 ingly active person, both in mind and body, who saw aftei 
 the mana Cement of his affairs in England in the minutest
 
 220 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 manner that absence would allow. Toward half-past eleven 
 he strolled into the room in which we were sitting, and asked 
 what we were doing. 
 
 "Looking over costumes/' said I, as Adelaide made no 
 answer, and I raised my eyes from some colored illustrations. 
 
 " Costumes what kind of costumes? " 
 
 " Costumes for the maskenball," I answered, taking refuge 
 in brevity of reply. 
 
 " Oh! " He paused. Then, turning suddenly to Ade 
 laide: 
 
 " And what is this entertainment, my lady? " 
 
 " The Carnival Ball," said she almost inaudibly, between 
 her closed lips, as she shut the book of illustrations, pushed 
 it away from her, and leaned back in her chair. 
 
 " And you think you would like to go to the Carnival Ball, 
 hey? " 
 
 " No, I do not," said she, as she stroked her lap-dog with 
 a long, white hand on which glittered many rings, and 
 steadily avoided looking at him. She did wish to go to the 
 ball, but she knew that it was as likely as not that if sh dis 
 played any such desire he would prevent it. Despite her 
 curt reply she foresaw impending the occurrence which she 
 most of anything disliked a conversation with Sir Peter. 
 He placed himself in our midst and requested to look at the 
 pictures. In silence I handed him the book. I never could 
 force myself to smile when he was there, nor overcome a cer 
 tain restraint of demeanor, which rather pleased and flattered 
 him than otherwise. He glanced sharply around in the 
 silence which followed his joining our company, and, turning 
 over the illustrations, said: 
 
 "I thought I heard some noise when I came in. Don't 
 let me interrupt the conversation." 
 
 But the conversation was more than interrupted; it was 
 dead the life frozen out of it by his very appearance. 
 
 " When is the carnival, and when does this piece of tom 
 foolery come off? " he inquired with winning grace of diction, 
 
 " The carnival begins this year on the 26th of February. 
 The ball is on the 27th," said I, confining myself to facts 
 and figures. 
 
 " And how do you get there? By paying? " 
 
 "Well, you have to pay yes. But you must get your 
 tickets from some member of the Malkasten Club. It is the 
 artists' ball, and they arrange all."
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 221 
 
 "H'm! Ha! And as what do you think of going, Ade 
 laide?" he inquired, turning with suddenness toward her. 
 
 " I tell you I had not thought of going nor thought any 
 thing about it. Herr Ton Francius sent us the pictures, and 
 we were looking over them. That is all." 
 
 Sir Peter turned over the pages and looked at the common 
 place costumes therein suggested Joan of Arc, Cleopatra, 
 Picardy Peasant, Maria Stuart, a Snow Queen, and all thf 
 rest of them. 
 
 " Well, I don't see anything here that I would wear if I 
 were a woman," he said, as he closed the book. " February, 
 did you say?" 
 
 " Yes," said I, as no one else spoke. 
 
 " Well, it is the middle of January now. You had better 
 be looking out for something; but don't let it be anything 
 in those books. Let the beggarly daubers see how English 
 women do things." 
 
 " Do you intend me to understand that you wish us to go 
 to the ball? " inquired Adelaide in an icy kind of voice. 
 
 "Yes, I do," almost shouted Sir Peter. Adelaide could, 
 despite the whip and rein with which he held her, exasperate 
 and irritate him by no means more thoroughly than by pre 
 tending that she did not understand his grandiloquent allu 
 sions, and the vague grandness of the commands which he 
 sometimes gave. " I mean you to go, and your little sister 
 here, and Arkwright too. I don't know about myself. Now, 
 I am going to ride. Good-morning." 
 
 As Sir Peter went out Von Francius carne in. Sir Peter 
 greeted him with a grin and exaggerated expressions of affa 
 bility at which Von Francius looked silently scornful. Sir 
 Peter added: 
 
 " These two ladies are puzzled to know what they shall 
 wear at the Carnival Ball. Perhaps you can give them your 
 assistance." 
 
 Then he went away. It was as if a half-muzzled wolf had 
 left the room. 
 
 Von Francius had come to give me my lesson, which was 
 now generally taken at my sister's house and in her presence, 
 and after which Von Francius usually remained, some half 
 hour or so, in conversation with one or both of us. He had 
 become an intime of the house. I was glad of this, and that 
 without him nothing seemed complete, no party rounded, 
 scarcely an evening finished.
 
 222 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 When he was not with us in the evening we were some 
 where where he was; either at a concert or a probe, or at the 
 theater or opera, or one of the fashionable lectures which 
 were then in season. 
 
 It could hardly be said that Von Francius was a more fre 
 quent visitor than some other men at the house, but from 
 the first his attitude with regard to Adelaide had been differ 
 ent. Some of those other men were, or professed to be, 
 desperately in love with the beautiful Englishwoman; there 
 was always a half gallantry in their behavior, a homage which 
 might not be very earnest, but which was homage all the 
 same, to a beautiful woman. With Von Frarcius it had 
 never been thus, but there had been a gravity and depth 
 about their intercourse which pleased me. I had never had 
 the least apprehension with regard to those other people; 
 she might amuse herself with them; it would only be amuse 
 ment, and some contempt. 
 
 But Von Francius was a man of another mettle. It had 
 struck me almost from the first that there might be some 
 danger, and I was uufeienedly thankful to see that as time 
 went (til/ fcad his visits grew more and more ^requent and the 
 intimacy deeper, not a look, not a sign occurred to hjnt that 
 it ever was or would be more than acquaintance, liking-, ap 
 preciation, friendship, in successive stages. Von Francius 
 had never from the first treated her as an ordinary person, 
 but with a kind of tacit understanding that something not 
 to be spoken of lay behind all she did and said, with the con 
 sciousness that the skeleton in Adelaide's cupboard was more 
 ghastly to look upon than most people's secret specters, and 
 that it persisted, with the intrusiveness and want of breeding 
 peculiar to guests of that caliber, in thrusting its society upon 
 her at all kinds of inconvenient times. 
 
 I enjoyed these music lessons, I must confess. Von Fran 
 cius had begun to teach me music now, as well as singing. 
 By this time I had resigned myself to the conviction that 
 such talent as I might have lay in my voice, not my fingers, 
 and accepted it as part of the conditions which ordain that 
 in every human life shall be something manque, something 
 incomplete. 
 
 The most memorable moments with me have been those 
 in which pain and pleasure, yearning and satisfaction, knowl 
 edge and seeking have been so exquisitely and so intangibly 
 blended, in listening to some deep sonata, some stately and
 
 THE FIMti'l VIOLIN. 223 
 
 pathetic old ciacconna or gavotte, some concerto or symphony. 
 The thing nearest heaven is to sit apart with closed eyes while 
 the orchestra or the individual performer interprets for one 
 the mystic poetry, or the dramatic fire, or the subtle cobweb 
 refinements of some instrumental poem. 
 
 I would rather have composed a certain little " Trau- 
 merei " of Schumann's or a " Barcarole " of Rubinstein's, or 
 a, sonata of Schubert's than have won all the laurels of Grisi. 
 all the glory of Malibran and Jenny Lind. 
 
 But it was not to be. I told myself so, and yet I tried so 
 hard in my halting, bungling way to worship the goddess of 
 my idolatry that my master had to restrain me. 
 
 "Stop!" said he this morning, when I had been weakly 
 endeavoring to render a ciacconna from a suite of Lachner's, 
 which had moved me to thoughts too deep for tears at the 
 last symphonic concert. " Stop, Fraulein May! Duty first; 
 your voice before your fingers." 
 
 " Let me try once again! " I implored. 
 
 He shut up the music and took it from the desk. 
 
 " Enfbehren sollst du; sollst entbehren! " said he dryly. 
 
 I took my lesson and then practiced shakes for an hour, 
 while he talked to Adelaide; and then, she being summoned 
 to visitors, he went away. 
 
 Later I found Adelaide in the midst of a lot of visitors 
 Herr Hauptmann This, Herr Lieutenant That, Herr Maler 
 The Other, Herr Concertmeister So-and-So for Von Fran- 
 cius was not the only musician who followed in her train. 
 But there I am wrong. He did not follow in her train; he 
 might stand aside and watch the others who did; but follow 
 ing was not in his line. 
 
 There were ladies there too gay young women, who rallied 
 around Lady Le Marchant as around a master spirit in the 
 art of Zeitvertreib. 
 
 This levee lasted till the bell rang for lunch, when we went 
 into the dining room, and found Sir Peter and his secretary, 
 young Arkwright, already seated. He Arkwright was a 
 good-natured, tender-hearted lad, devoted to Adelaide. I do 
 not think he was very happy or very well satisfied with his 
 place, but from his salary he half supported a mother and 
 sister, and so was fain to " grin and bear it." 
 
 Sir Peter was always exceedingly affectionate to me. I 
 hated to be in the same room with him, and while I detested 
 him, was also conscious of an unheroic fear of him. For
 
 224 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Adelaide's sake I was as attentive to him as I could make 
 myself, in order to free her a little from his surveillance, for 
 poor Adelaide Wedderburn, with her few pounds of annual 
 pocket-money and her proud, restless, ambitious spirit, had 
 been a free, contented woman in comparison with Lady Le 
 Marchant. 
 
 On the day in question he was particularly amiable, called 
 me " my dear " every time he spoke to me, and complimented 
 me upon my good looks, telling me I was growing monstrous 
 handsome ay, devilish handsome, by Gad! far outstripping 
 my lady, who had gone off dreadfully in her good looks, 
 hadn't she, Arkwright? 
 
 Poor Arkwright, tingling with a scorching blush, and ready 
 to sink through the floor with confusion, stammered out that 
 he had never thought of venturing to remark upon my Lady 
 Le Marchant's looks. 
 
 " What a lie, Arkwright! You know you watch her as if 
 she was the apple of your eye," chuckled Sir Peter, smiling 
 round upon the company with his cold, glittering eyes. 
 "What are you blushing so for, my pretty May? Isn't 
 there a song something about my pretty May, my dearest 
 May, eh? " 
 
 " My pretty Jane, I suppose you mean," said I, nobly tak 
 ing his attention upon myself, while Adelaide sat motionless 
 and white as marble, and Arkwright cooled down somewhat 
 from his state of shame and anguish at being called upon to 
 decide which of us eclipsed the other in good looks. 
 
 " Pretty Jane! Who ever heard of a pretty Jane? " said 
 Sir Peter. "If it isn't May, it ought to be. At any rate, 
 there was a Charming May." 
 
 " The month not a person." 
 
 " Pretty Jane, indeed! You must sing me that after lunch, 
 and then we can see whether the song was pretty or not, my 
 dear, eh?" 
 
 " Certainly, Sir Peter, if you like." 
 
 " Yes, I do like. My lady here seems to have lost her voice 
 lately. I can't imagine the reason. I am sure she has every 
 thing to make her sing for joy; have you not, my dear? " 
 
 " Everything, and more than everything," replies my lady 
 laconically. 
 
 " And she has a strong sense of duty, too; loves those 
 whom she ought to love, and despises those whom she ought 
 to despise. She always has done, from her infancy up to the
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN 225 
 
 time when she loved me and despised public opinion for my 
 sake." 
 
 The last remark was uttered in tones of deeper malignity, 
 while the eyes began to glare, and the under lip to droop, and 
 the sharp eye-teeth, which lent such a very emphatic point to 
 all Sir Peter's smiles, sneers, and facial movements in generaJ, 
 gleamed. 
 
 Adelaide's lips quivered for a second; her color momen 
 tarily faded. 
 
 In this kind of light and agreeable badinage the meal 
 passed over, and we were followed into the drawing room by 
 Sir Peter, loudly demanding " ' My Pretty Jane ' or May, or 
 whatever it was." 
 
 "We are going out," said my lady. "You can have it 
 another time. May cannot sing the moment she has finished 
 lunch." 
 
 " Hold your totfgue, my dear," said Sir Peter; and inspired 
 by an agreeable and playful humor, he patted his wife's shoul 
 der and pinched her ear. 
 
 The color fled from her very lips and she stood pale and 
 rigid with a look in her eyes which I interpreted to mean a 
 shuddering recoil, stopped by sheer force of will. 
 
 Sir Peter turned with an engaging laugh to me: 
 
 " Miss May bonny May made me a promise, and she 
 must keep it; or if she doesn't, I shall take the usual forfeit. 
 We know what that is. Upon my word, I almost wish she 
 would break her promise." 
 
 " I have no wish to break my promise," said I, hastening to 
 the piano, and then and there singing " My Pretty Jane," and 
 one or two others, after which he released us, chuckling at 
 having contrived to keep my lady so long waiting for her 
 drive. 
 
 The afternoon's programme was, I confess, not without at 
 traction to me; for I knew that I was pretty, and I had not 
 one of the strong and powerful minds which remained 
 unelated by admiration and undepressed by the absence 
 of it. 
 
 We drove to the picture exhibitions, and at both of them 
 had a little crowd attending us. That crowd consisted chief!)- 
 of admirers, or professed admirers of my sister, with Von 
 Francius in addition, who dropped in at the first exhibition. 
 
 Von Francius did not attend my sister; it was by my side 
 that he remained and it was to me that he talked. He looked
 
 226 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 on at the men who were around her, but scarcely addressed 
 her himself. 
 
 There was a clique of young artists who chose to consider 
 the wealth of Sir Peter Le Marchant as fabulous, and who 
 paid court to his wife from mixed motives; the prevailing one 
 being a hope that she would be smitten by some picture of 
 theirs at a fancy price, and order it to be sent home as if she 
 ever saw with anything beyond the most superficial outward 
 eye those pictures, and as if it lay in her power to order any 
 one, even the smallest and meanest of them. These ingenu 
 ous artists had yet to learn that Sir Peter's picture purchases 
 were formed from his own judgment, through the medium of 
 himself or his secretary, armed with strict injunctions as to 
 price, and upon the most purely practical and businesslike 
 principles not in the least at the caprice of his wife. 
 
 We went to the larger gallery last. As we entered it I 
 turned aside with Von Francius to look at a picture in a small 
 back room, and when we turned to follow the others, they had 
 all gone forward into the large room; but standing at the 
 door by which we had entered, and looking calmly after us, 
 was Courvoisier. 
 
 A shock thrilled me. It was some time since I had seen 
 him; for I had scarcely been at my lodgings for a fortnight, 
 and we had had no hauptproben lately. I had heard some 
 rumor that important things or, as Frau Lutzler gracefully 
 expressed it, was wichtiges had taken place between Von 
 Francius and the kapelle, and that Courvoisier had taken a 
 leading part in the affair. To-day the greeting between the 
 two men was a cordial if a brief one. 
 
 Eugen's eyes scarcely fell upon me; he included me in his 
 bow that was all. All my little day-dream of growing self- 
 complacency was shattered, scattered; the old feeling of sore 
 ness, smallness, wounded pride, and bruised self-esteem came 
 back again. I felt a wild, angry desire to compel some other 
 glance from those eyes than that exasperating one of quiet 
 indifference. I felt it like a lash every time I encountered it. 
 Its very coolness and absence of emotion stung. me and made 
 me quiver. 
 
 We and Courvoisier entered the large room at the same 
 time. While Adelaide was languidly making its circuit, Von 
 Francius and I sat upon the ottoman in the middle of the 
 room. I watched Eugen. even if he took no notice of me 
 watched him till every feeling of rest, every hard-won convic-
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 227 
 
 tion of indifference to him, and feeling of regard conquered, 
 came tumbling down in ignominious ruins. I knew he had 
 had a fiery trial. His child, for whom I used to watch his 
 adoration with a dull kind of envy, had left him. There was 
 some mystery about it, and much pain. Frau Lutzler had be 
 gun to tell me a long story culled from one told her by Frau 
 Schmidt, and I had stopped her, but knew that " Herr Cour- 
 vroisier was not like the same man any more." 
 
 That trouble was visible in firmly marked lines, even now| 
 he looked subdued, older, and his face was thin and worn. 
 Yet never had I noticed so plainly before the bright light of 
 intellect in his eye; the noble stamp of ^mind upon his brow. 
 There was more than the grace of a kindly nature in the pleas 
 ant curve of the lips there was thought, power, intellectual 
 strength. I compared him with the young men who were at 
 this moment dangling round my sister. Not one among them 
 could approach him not merely in stature and breadth and 
 the natural grace and dignity of carriage, but in far better 
 things in the mind that dominates sense; the will that holds 
 back passion with a hand as strong and firm as that of a 
 master over the dog whom he chooses to obey him. 
 
 This man I write from knowledge had the capacity tc 
 appreciate and enjoy life to taste its pleasures never to ex 
 cess, but with no ascetic's lips. But the natural prompting - 
 the moral " eat, drink, and be merry," was held back with a 
 ruthless hand, with chain of iron, and biting thong to chastise 
 pitilessly each restive movement. He dreed out his weird 
 most thoroughly, and drank the cup presented to him to the 
 last dregs. 
 
 When the weird is very long and hard, when the flavor of 
 the cup is exceeding bitter, this process leaves its effects in 
 the form of sobered mien, gathering wrinkles, and a perma 
 nent shadow on the brow, and in the eyes. So it was with 
 him. 
 
 He went round the room, looking at a picture here and 
 there with the eye of a connoisseur then pausing before the 
 one which Von Francius had brought me to look at on Christ 
 mas day, Courvoisier, folding his arms, stood before it and 
 surveyed it, straightly, and without moving a oiuscle; coolly, 
 criticisingly, and very fastidiously. The blase-looking indi 
 vidual in the foreground received, I saw, a share of his atten 
 tion the artist, too, in the background; the model, with the 
 white dress, Oriental fan, bare arms, and half-bored, half-
 
 228 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 cynic look. Ho looked at them all long attentively then 
 turned away; the only token of -approval or disapproval which 
 he vouchsafed being a slight smile and a slight shrug, both so 
 very slight as to be almost imperceptible. Then he passed 
 on glanced at some other pictures at my sister, on whom 
 his eyes dwelt for a moment as if he thought that she at least 
 made a very beautiful picture; then out of the room. 
 
 " Do you know him? " said Von Francius, quite softly to 
 me. 
 
 I started violently. I had utterly forgotten that he was at 
 my side, and I know not what tales my face .had been telling. 
 I turned to find the dark and impenetrable eyes of Von Fran 
 cius fixed on me. 
 
 " A little," I said. 
 
 " Then you know a generous, high-minded man a man 
 who has made me feel ashamed of myself and a man to 
 whom I made an apology the other day with pleasure." 
 
 My heart warmed. This praise of Eugen by a man whom 
 I admired so devotedly as I did Max von Francius seemed to 
 put me right with myself and the world. 
 
 Soon afterward we left the exhibition, and while the others 
 went away it appeared somehow by the merest casualty that 
 Von Francius was asked to drive back with us and have after 
 noon tea, englischerweise which he did, after a moment's 
 hesitation. 
 
 AfteT tea he left for an orchestra probe to the next Satur 
 day's concert; but with an Anf wiedersehen, for the probe will 
 not last long, and we shall meet again at the opera and later 
 at the Malkasten Ball. 
 
 I enjoyed going to the theater. I knew my dress was 
 pretty. I knew that I looked nice, and that people would 
 look at me, and that I, too, should have my share of admira 
 tion and compliments as a schone Engldnderin. 
 
 We were twenty minutes late naturally. All the people 
 in the place stare at us and whisper about us, partly because 
 we have a conspicuous place the proscenium loge to the 
 right of the stage; partly because we are in full toilet an 
 almost unprecedented circumstance in that homely theater 
 partly, I suppose, because Adelaide is supremely beautiful. 
 
 Mr. Arkwright was already with us. Von Francius joined 
 us after the first act, and remained until the end. Almost 
 the only words he exchanged with Adelaide were: 
 
 " Have you seen this onera before, Lady Le Marchant? "
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 229 
 
 "No; never." 
 
 It was Auber's merry little opera, " Des Teufels Antheil." 
 The play was played. Von Francius was beside me. When 
 ever I looked down I saw Eugen, with the same calm, placid 
 indifference upon his face; and again I felt the old sensation 
 of soreness, shame, and humiliation. I feel wrought up to a 
 great pitch of nervous excitement when we leave the theatei 
 and drive to the Malkasten, where there is more music dance 
 music and where the ball is at its height. And in a few mo 
 ments I find myself whirling down the room in the arms of 
 Von Francius, to the music of " Mein schonster Tag in 
 Baden/' and wishing very earnestly that the heart-sickness I 
 feel would make me ill or faint, or anything that would send 
 me home to quietness and him. But it does not have the 
 desired effect. I am in a fever; I am all too vividly conscious, 
 and people tell me how well I am looking, and that rosy 
 cheeks become me better than pale ones. 
 
 They are merry parties, these dances at the Malkasten, in 
 the quaintly decorated saal of the artists' clubhouse. There 
 is a certain license in the dress. Velvet coats, and coats, too, 
 in many colors, green and prune and claret, vying with black, 
 are not tabooed. There are various uniforms of hussars, in 
 fantry, and uhlans, and some of the women, too, are dressed 
 in a certain fantastically picturesque style to please their artist 
 brothers or fiances. 
 
 The dancing gets faster, and the festivities are kept up late. 
 Songs are sung which perhaps would not be heard in a quiet 
 drawing room; a little acting is done with them. Music is 
 played, and Von Francius, in a vagrant mood, sits down and 
 improvises a fitful, stormy kind of fantasia, which in itself 
 and in his playing puts me much in mind of the weird per 
 formances of the Abbate Liszt. 
 
 I at least hear another note than of yore, another touch. 
 The soul that it wanted seems gradually creeping into it. He 
 tells a strange story upon the quivering keys it is becoming 
 tragic, sad, pathetic. He says hastily to me and in an under 
 tone: " Fraulein May, this is a thought of one of your own 
 poets: 
 
 " ' How sad, and mad, and bad it was, 
 And yet how it was sweet.' " 
 
 I am almost in tears, and every face is affording illustra 
 tions for " The Expressions of the Emotions in Men and
 
 i30 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Women," when it suddenly breaks off with a loud, Ha! ha! 
 ha! which sounds as if it came from a human voice, and jars 
 upon me, and then he breaks into a waltz, pushing the aston 
 ished musicians aside, and telling the company to dance while 
 he pipes. 
 
 A mad dance to a mad tune. Ho plays and plays on, ever 
 faster, and ever a wilder measure, with strange eerie clanging 
 chords in it which are not like dance notes, until Adelaide 
 prepares to go, and then he suddenly ceases, springs up, and 
 comes with us to our carriage. Adelaide looks white and 
 worn. 
 
 Again at the carriage door, " a pair of words " passes be 
 tween them. 
 
 "Milady is tired?" from him, in a courteous tone, as his 
 dark eyes dwell upon her face. 
 
 " Thanks, Herr Direktor, I am generally tired," from her. 
 with a slight smile, as she folds her shawl across her breast 
 with one hand, and extends the other to him. 
 
 " Milady, adieu." 
 
 " Adieu, Herr von Francius." 
 
 The ball is over, and I think we have all had enough of it. 
 
 THE CABNIVAL BALL. 
 
 " AREN'T you coming to the ball, Eugen? " 
 
 "I? No." 
 
 " I would if I were you." 
 
 " But you are yourself, you see, and I am I. What was it 
 that Heinrich Mohr in ' The Children of the World ' was 
 always saying? Ich bin ich, und setz mich selbst. Ditto me. 
 that's all." 
 
 " It is no end of a lark," I pursued. 
 
 " My larking days are over." 
 
 " And you can talk to anyone you like." 
 
 " I am going to talk to myself, thanks. I have long wanted 
 a little conversation with that interesting individual, and 
 while you are masquerading, I will be doing the reverse. By 
 the time you come home I shall be so thoroughly self-investi-
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 231 
 
 gated and set to rights that a mere look at me will shake all 
 the frivolity out of you." 
 
 " Miss Wedderburn will be there." 
 
 " I hope she may enjoy it." 
 
 " At least she will look so lovely that she will make others 
 enjoy it." 
 
 He made no answer. 
 
 "You won't go quite certain?" 
 
 " Quite certain, mein lieber. Go yourself, and may you 
 have much pleasure." 
 
 Finding that he was in earnest, I went out to hire one 
 domino and purchase one mask, instead of furnishing myself, 
 as I had hoped, with two of each of those requisites. 
 
 It was Sunday, the first day of the carnival, and that de 
 voted to the ball of the season. There were others given, but 
 this was the Malerball, or artists' ball. It was considered 
 rather select, and had I not been lucky enough to have one or 
 two pupils, members of the club, who had come forward with 
 offerings of tickets, I might have tried in vain to gain 
 admittance. 
 
 Everybody in Elberthal who was anybody would be at this 
 ball. I had already been at one like it, as well as at several 
 of the less select and rougher entertainments, and I found a 
 pleasure, which was somewhat strange even to myself, in 
 standing to one side and watching the motley throng and the 
 formal procession which was every year organized by the 
 artists who had the management of the proceedings. 
 
 The ball began at the timely hour of seven; about nine I 
 enveloped myself in my domino, and took my way across the 
 road to the scene of the festivities, which took up the whole 
 three saals of the Tonhall*. 
 
 The night was bitter cold, but cold with that rawness which 
 speaks of a coming thaw. The lamps were lighted, and de 
 spite the cold there was a dense crowd of watchers round the 
 front of the building and in the gardens, with cold, inquisi 
 tive noses flattened against the long glass doors through 
 which I have seen the people stream in the pleasant May even 
 ings after the concert or musikfest into the illuminated 
 gardens. 
 
 The last time I had been in the big saal had been to attend 
 a dry probe to a dry concert the " Erste Walpurgisnacht " 
 of Mendelssohn. The scene was changed now; the whole 
 room was a mob "motley the only wear." It was full to
 
 232 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 excess, so that there was scarcely room to move about, much 
 less for dancing. For that purpose the middle saal of the 
 three had been set aside, or rather a part of it railed off. 
 
 J felt a pleasant sense of ease and well-being a security 
 that I should not be recognized, as I had drawn the pointed 
 hood of my domino over my head, and enveloped myself 
 closely in its ample folds, and thus I could survey the brilliant 
 Maskenball, as I surveyed life, from a quiet, unnoticed ob 
 scurity, and wifhout taking part in its active affairs. 
 
 There was music going on as I entered. It could scarcely 
 be heard above the Babel of tongues which was sounding. 
 People were moving as well as they could. I made my way 
 slowly and unobtrusively toward the upper end of the saal, 
 intending to secure a place on the great orchestra, and thence 
 survey the procession. 
 
 I recognized dozens of people whom I knew personally, or 
 by sight, or name, transformed from sober Khenish burgers, 
 or youths of the period, into persons and creatures whose ap 
 propriateness or inappropriateness to their everyday character 
 it gave me much joy to witness. The most foolish young man 
 I knew was attired as Cardinal Eichelieu; the wisest, in cer 
 tain respects, had a buffoon's costume, and plagued the states 
 man and churchman grievously. 
 
 By degrees I made my way through the mocking, taunting, 
 flouting, many-colored crowd, to the orchestra, and gradually 
 up its steps until I stood upon a fine vantage ground. Near 
 me were others; I looked round. One party seemed to keep 
 very much together a party which for richness and correct 
 ness of costume outshone all others in the room. Two ladies, 
 one dark and one fair, were dressed as Elsa and Ortrud. A 
 man, whose slight, tall, commanding figure I soon recognized, 
 was attired in the blue mantle, silver helm and harness of 
 Lohengrin the son of Percivale; and a second man, too boyish- 
 looking for the character, was masked as Frederic of Telra- 
 mund. Henry the Fowler was wanting, but the group was 
 easily to be recognized as personating the four principal char 
 acters from Wagner's great opera. 
 
 They had apparently not been there long, for they had not 
 yet unmasked. I had, however, no difficulty in recognizing 
 any of them. The tall, fair girl in the dress of Elsa was Miss 
 \Vedderburn; the Ortrud was Lady Le Marchant, and right 
 well she looked the character. Lohengrin was Von Francius, 
 and Friedrich von Telramund was Mr. Arkwright, Sir Peter's
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 233 
 
 secretary. Here was a party in whom I could take some 
 interest, and I immediately and in the most unprincipled 
 manner devoted myself to watching them myself unnoticed. 
 
 "Who in all that motley crowd would I wish to be?" I 
 thought, as my eyes wandered over them. 
 
 The procession was just forming; the voluptuous music of 
 " Die Tausend und eine Nacht " waltzes was floating from 
 the gallery and through the room. They went sweeping 
 past or running, or jumping; a ballet-girl whose mustache 
 had been too precious to be parted with, and a lady of the 
 vielle cour beside her, nuns and corpses; Christy Minstrels 
 (English, these last, whose motives were constantly mis 
 understood), fools and astrologers, Gretchens, Clarchens, 
 devils, Egmonts, Joans of Arc enough to have rescued France 
 a dozen times, and peasants of every race: Turks and Finns; 
 American Indians and Alfred the Great it was tedious and 
 dazzling. 
 
 Then the procession was got into order; a long string of 
 German legends, all the misty chronicle of Gudrun, the 
 " Mbelungenlied " and the " Rheingold " Siegfried and 
 Kriemhild those two everlasting figures of beauty and hero 
 ism, love and tragedy, which stand forth in hues of pure 
 brightness that no time can dim; Brunhild and Von Tronje- 
 Hagen this was before the days of Bayreuth and the 
 Tetralogy Tannhauser and Lohengrin, the Loreley, Walther 
 von der Vogelweide, the two Elizabeths of the Wartburg, 
 dozens of obscure legends and figures from " Volkslieder " 
 and Folklore which I did not recognize; " Dornroschen," 
 Rubezahl; and the music to which they marched was the 
 melancholy yet noble measure, " The Last Ten of the Fourth 
 Regiment." 
 
 I surveyed the masks and masquerading for some time, 
 keeping my eye all the while upon the party near me. They 
 presently separated. Lady Le Marchant took the arm which 
 Von Francius offered her, and they went down the steps. 
 Miss Wedderburn and the young secretary were left alone. I 
 was standing near them, and two other masks, both in 
 domino, hovered about. One wore a white domino with a 
 scarlet rosette on the breast. The other was a black domino, 
 closely disguised, who looked long after Von Francius and 
 Lady Le Marchant, and presently descended the orchestra 
 steps and followed in their wake. 
 
 " Do not remain with me, Mr. Arkwright," I heard Mise
 
 234 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Wedderburn say. "You want to dance. Go and enjoy 
 yourself/' 
 
 "I could not think of leaving you alone, Miss Wedder- 
 burn." 
 
 " Oh, yes, you could, and can. I am not going to move 
 from here. I want to look on not to dance. You will find 
 me here when you return." 
 
 Again she urged him not to remain with her, and finally he 
 departed in search of amusement among the crowd below. 
 
 Miss Wedderburn was now alone. She turned; her eyes, 
 through her mask, met mine through my mask, and a certain 
 thrill shot through me. This was such an opportunity as I 
 had never hoped for, and I told myself that I should be a 
 great fool if I let it slip. But how to begin? I looked at 
 her. She was very beautiful, this young English girl, with 
 the wonderful blending of fire and softness which had made 
 me from the first think her one of the most attractive women 
 I had ever seen. 
 
 As I stood, awkward and undecided, she beckoned me to 
 her. In an instant I was at her side, bowing but maintaining 
 silence. 
 
 " You are Hen* Helfen, nicht wahr? " said she inquiringly. 
 
 " Yes," said I, and removed my mask. " How did you 
 know it? " 
 
 " Something in your figure and attitude. Are you not 
 dancing? " 
 
 "I oh, no!" 
 
 " Nor I I am not in the humor for it. I never felt less 
 like dancing, nor less like a masquerade." Then hesitat 
 ingly " Are you alone to-night? " 
 
 " Yes. Eugen would not come." 
 
 " He will not be here at all? " 
 
 "Not at all?" 
 
 "I am surprised." 
 
 " I tried to persuade him to come," said I apologetically. 
 "But he would not. He said he was going to have a little 
 conversation at home with himself." 
 
 " So! " She turned to me with a mounting color, which I 
 saw flush to her brow above her mask, and with parted 
 lips. 
 
 " He has never cared for anything since Sigmund left us," 
 I continued. 
 
 " Sigmund was that the dear little boy? "
 
 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 235 
 
 "" You say very truly." 
 
 " Tell me about him. Was not his father very fond of 
 I a?" 
 
 ( Fond! I never saw a man idolize his child so much. It 
 w i only need the hardest need that made them part/' 
 
 "How need? You do not mean poverty?" said she 
 son ewhat awe-struck. 
 
 " Oh, no! Moral necessity. I do not know the reason. I 
 h, vt- never asked. But I know it was like a death-blow." 
 
 " Ah! " said she, and with a sudden movement removed 
 h ,T mask, as if she felt it stifling her, and looked me in the 
 free with her beautiful clear eyes. 
 
 " Who could oblige him to part with his own child? " she 
 asKed. 
 
 " That I do not know, mein Fraulein. What I do know is 
 that some shadow darkens my friend's life and embitters it 
 that he not only cannot do what he wishes, but is forced to do 
 what he hates and that parting was one of the things." 
 
 She looked at me with eagerness for some moments; then 
 said quickly: 
 
 " I cannot help being interested in all this, but I fancy I 
 ought not to listen to it, for for I don't think he would 
 like it. He he I believe he dislikes me, an<J perhaps you 
 had better say no more." 
 
 " Dislikes you! " I echoed. " Oh, no! " 
 
 " Oh, yes! he does," she repeated, with a faint smile, which 
 struggled for a moment with a look of pain, and then was 
 extinguished. " I certainly was once very rude to him, but 
 I should not have thought he was an ungenerous man 
 should you?" 
 
 " He is not ungenerous; the very reverse; he is too gen 
 erous." 
 
 " It does not matter, I suppose," said she, repressing some 
 emotion. " It can make no difference, but it pains me to be 
 so misunderstood and so behaved to by one who was at first so 
 kind to me for he was very kind." 
 
 " Mein Fraulein," said I, eager, though puzzled, " I can 
 not explain it; it is as great a mystery to me as to you. I 
 know nothing of his past nothing of what he has been or 
 done; nothing of who he is only of one thing I am sure 
 that he is not what he seems to be. He may be called Eugen 
 Courvoisier, or he may call himself Eugen Courvoisicr; he 
 was once known by some name in a very different world to
 
 236 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 that he lives in now. I know nothing about that, but I know 
 this that I believe in him. 1 have lived more than three 
 years with him; he is true and honorable; fantastically, chiv 
 alrously honorable " (her eyes were downcast and her cheeks 
 burning). " He never did anything false or dishonest 
 
 A slight, low, sneering laugh at my right hand caused me to 
 look up. That figure in a white domino with a black mask, 
 and a crimson rosette on the breast, stood leaning up against 
 the foot of the organ, but other figures were near; the laugh 
 might have come from one of them; it might have nothing to 
 do with us or our remarks. I went on in a vehement and 
 eager tone: 
 
 " He is what we Germans call a ganzer Kerl thorough in 
 all out and out good. Nothing will ever make me believe 
 otherwise. Perhaps the mystery will never be cleared up. 
 It doesn't matter to me. It will make no difference in my 
 opinion of the only man I love." 
 
 A pause. Miss Wedderburn was looking at me; her eyes 
 were full of tears; her face strangely moved. Yes she loved 
 him. It stood confessed in the very strength of the effort 
 she made to be calm and composed. As she opened her lips 
 t speak, that domino that I mentioned glided from her place 
 and stooping down between us, whispered or murmured: 
 
 " You are a fool for your pains. Believe no one least of all 
 those who look most worthy of belief. He is not honest; he 
 is not honorable. It is from shame and disgrace that he hides 
 himself. Ask him if he remembers the 20th of April five 
 years ago; you will hear what he has to say about it, and how 
 brave and honorable he looks." 
 
 Swift as fire the words were said, and rapidly as the same 
 she had raised herself and disappeared. We were left gazing 
 at each other. Miss "Wedderburn's face was blanched she 
 stared at me with large dilated eyes, and at last in a low voice 
 of anguish and apprehension said: 
 
 " Oh, what does it mean? " 
 
 Her voice recalled me to myself. 
 
 " It may mean what it likes," said I calmly. " As I said, 
 it makes no difference to me. I do not and will not believe 
 that he ever did anything dishonorable." 
 
 " Do you not? " said she tremulously. " But but Anna 
 Sartorius does know something of him." 
 
 "Who is Anna Sartorius?" 
 
 *" Why, that domino who spoke to us just now. But I for-
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 23? 
 
 got. You will not know her.. She wanted long ago to tell me 
 about him, and I would not let her, so she said I might learn 
 for myself, and should never leave off until I knew the lesson 
 hy heart. I think she has kept her word," she added with a 
 heartsick sigh. 
 
 " You surely would not believe her if she said the same 
 thing fifty times over," said I, not very reasonably, certainly. 
 
 " I do not know," she replied hesitatingly. " It is very 
 difficult to know." 
 
 " Well, I would not. If the whole world accused him 1 
 would believe nothing except from his own lips." 
 
 " I wish I knew all about Anna Sartorius," said she slowly, 
 and she looked as if seeking back in her memory to remember 
 some dream. I stood beside her; the motley crowd ebbed 
 and flowed beneath us, but the whisper we had heard had 
 changed everything; and yet, no to me not changed, but 
 only darkened things. 
 
 In the meantime it had been growing later. Our conversa 
 tion, with its frequent pauses, had taken a longer time than 
 we had supposed. The crowd was thinning. Some of the 
 women were going. 
 
 "I wonder where my sister is! " observed Miss Wedder- 
 burn rather wearily. Her face was pale, and her delicate 
 head drooped as if it were overweighted and pulled down by 
 the superabundance of her beautiful chestnut hair, which 
 came rippling and waving over her shoulders. A white satin 
 petticoat, stiff with gold embroidery; a long trailing blue 
 mantle of heavy brocade, fastened on the shoulders with 
 golden clasps; a golden circlet in the gold of her hair; such 
 was the dress, and right royally she became it. She looked a 
 vision of loveliness. I wondered if she would ever act Elsa in 
 reality; she would be assuredly the loveliest representative of 
 that fair and weak-minded heroine who ever trod the boards. 
 Supposing it ever came to pass that she acted Elsa to some 
 one else's Lohengrin, would she think of this night? Would 
 she remember the great orchestra- and me, and the lights, 
 and the people our words a whisper? A pause. 
 
 " But where can Adelaide be? " she said at last. " I have 
 not seen them since they left us." 
 
 "They are there," said I, surveying from my vantage- 
 grofnd the thinning ranks. " They are coming up here, too. 
 And there is the other gentleman, Graf von Telramund, fol 
 lowing them."
 
 238 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 They drew up to the foot of the orchestra, and then Mr. 
 Arkwright came up to seek us. 
 
 " Miss Wedderburn, Lady Le Marchant is tired and thinks 
 it is time to be going." 
 
 " So am I tired/' she replied. I stepped back, but before 
 she went away she turned to me, holding out her hand: 
 
 " Good-night, Herr Helfen. I, too, will not believe with 
 out proof." 
 
 We shook hands, and she went away. 
 
 The lamp still burning, the room cold, the stove extinct, 
 Eugen seated motionless near it. 
 
 " Eugen, art thou asleep? " 
 
 " I asleep, my dear boy! Well, how was it? " 
 
 " Eugen, I wish you had been there." 
 
 " Why? " He roused himself with an effort and looked at 
 me. His brow was clouded, his eyes too. 
 
 " Because you would have enjoyed it. I did. I saw Miss 
 Wedderburn, and spoke to her. She looked lovely." 
 
 " In that case it would have been odd indeed if you had not 
 enjoyed yourself." 
 
 " You are inexplicable." 
 
 "It is bedtime," he remarked, rising and speaking, as I 
 thought, coldly. 
 
 We both retired. As for the whisper, frankly and honestly, 
 I did not give it another thought.
 
 FliitiT VIOLIN. 
 
 939 
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 HAY'S STOEY. 
 
 tiOBOMAKK. 
 
 FOLLOWING Arkwright, I joined Adelaide and Von Fran- 
 cms at the foot of the orchestra. She had sent word that she 
 was tired. Looking at her I thought indeed she must be very 
 tired, so white, so sad she looked. 
 
 "Adelaide," I expostulated, "why did yon rpmam so 
 long? " 
 
 " Oh, I did not know it was so late. Comei 
 
 We made our way out of the hall through. the veranda to 
 the entrance. Lady Le Merchant's carriage, it seemed, was
 
 240 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 
 
 ready and waiting. It was a pouring night. The thaw had 
 begun. The steady downpour promised a cheerful ending to 
 the carnival doings of the Monday and Tuesday; all but a few 
 homeless or persevering wretches had been driven away. We 
 drove away, too. I noticed that the " good-night " between 
 Adelaide and Von Francius was of the most laconical char 
 acter. They barely spoke, did not shake hands, and he turned 
 and went to seek his cab before we had all got into the 
 carriage. 
 
 Adelaide uttered not a word during our drive home, and 
 I, leaning back, shut my eyes and lived the evening over 
 again. Eugen's friend had laughed the insidious whisper to 
 scorn. I could not deal so summarily with it; nor could I 
 drive the words of it out of my head. They set themselves 
 to the tune of the waltz, and rang in my ears: 
 
 " He is not honest; he is not honorable. It is from shame 
 and disgrace that he is hiding. Ask him if he .remembers 
 the 20th of April five years ago." 
 
 The carriage stopped. A sleepy servant let us in. Ade^ 
 laide, as we went upstairs, drew me into her dressing room. 
 
 " A moment, May. Have you enjoyed yourself? " 
 
 " H'm well yes and no. And you, Adelaide? " 
 
 " I never enjoy myself now," she replied very gently. " I 
 am getting used to that, I think." 
 
 She clasped her jeweled hands and stood by the lamp, whose 
 calm light lighted her calm face, showing it wasted and 
 unutterably sad. 
 
 Something a terror, a shrinking as from a strong men 
 acing hand- -shook me. 
 
 " Are you ill, Adelaide? " I cried. 
 
 "No. Good-night, dear May. Schlaf wohl, as they say 
 here." 
 
 To my unbounded astonishment she leaned forward and 
 grave me &, gentle kiss; then, still holding my hand, asked: 
 
 " Do you still say your prayers, May? " 
 
 "Sometimes." 
 
 "What do you say?" 
 
 " Oh! the same that I always used to say; they are better 
 than any I can invent." 
 
 "Yes. I never do say mine now. I rather think I am 
 afraid to begin again." 
 
 " Good-night, Adelaide," I said inaudibly, and she loosed 
 my hand.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 241 
 
 At the door I turned. She was still standing by the lamp; 
 still her face wore the same strange, subdued look. With 
 a heart oppressed by new uneasiness I left her. 
 
 It must have been not till toward dawn that I fell into a 
 Bleep, heavy, but not quiet filled with fantastic dreams, most 
 of which vanished as soon as they had passed my mind. But 
 one remained. To this day it is as vivid before me as if I 
 had actually lived through it. 
 
 Meseemed again to be at the Grafenbergerdahl, again to 
 be skating, again rescued and by Eugen Courvoisier. But 
 suddenly the scene changed; from a smooth sheet of ice, across 
 which the wind blew nippingly, and above which the stars 
 twinkled frostily, there was a huge waste of water which raged, 
 while a tempest howled around the clear moon was veiled, 
 all was darkness and chaos. He saved me, not by skating 
 with me to the shore, but by clinging with me to some float 
 ing wood until we drove upon a bank and landed. But 
 scarcely had we set foot upon the ground than all was changed 
 again. I was alone, seated upon a bench in the Hofgarten, 
 on a spring afternoon. It was May; the chestnuts and acacias 
 were in full bloom, and the latter made the air heavy with 
 their fragrance. The nightingales sung richly, and I sat 
 looking, from beneath the shade of a great tree, upon the fleet 
 ing Rhine, which glided by almost past my feet. It seemed 
 to me that 1 had been sad so sad as never before. A deep 
 weight appeared to have been just removed from my heart, 
 and yet so heavy had it been that I could not at once recover 
 from its pressure; and even then, in the sunshine, and feeling 
 that I had no single cause for care or grief, I was unhappy, 
 with a reflex mournfulness. 
 
 And as I sat thus, it seemed that someone came and sat 
 beside me without speaking, and I did not turn to look at 
 him; but ever as I sat there and felt that he was beside me, 
 the sadness lifted from my heart, until it grew so full of joy 
 that tears rose to my eyes. Then he who was beside me placed 
 his hand upon mine, and I looked at him. It was Eugen 
 Courvoisier. His face and his eyes were full of sadness; but 
 I knew that he loved me, though he said but one word, " For 
 give! " to which I answered, " Can you forgive? " But I 
 knew that I alluded to something much deeper than that silly 
 little episode of having cut him at the theater. He bowed 
 his head; and then I thought I began to weep, covering nay 
 face with my hands; but they were tears of exquisite joy, and
 
 242 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 the peace at my heart was the most entire I had ever felt 
 And he loosened my hands and drew me to him and kissed 
 me, saying " My love! " And as I felt yes, actually felt 
 the pressure of his lips upon mine, and felt the spring shin 
 ing upon me, and heard the very echo of the twitter of the 
 birds, saw the light fall upon the water, and smelled the scent 
 of the acacias, and saw the Lotushlume as she 
 
 " Duftet und weinot und zittert 
 Vor Liebe und Liebesweh," 
 
 I awoke and confronted a gray February morning, felt a raw 
 chilliness in the air, heard a cold, pitiless rain driven against 
 the window; knew that my head ached, my heart harmonized 
 therewith; that I was awake, not in a dream; that there had 
 been no spring morning, no acacias, no nightingales; above 
 all, no love remembered last night, and roused to the con 
 sciousness of another day, the necessity of waking up and 
 living on. 
 
 Nor could I rest or sleep. I rose and contemplated 
 through the window the driving rain and the soaking street, 
 the sorrowful naked trees, the plain of the parade ground, 
 which looked a mere waste of mud and half -melted ice; the 
 long plain line of the Caserne itself a cheering prospect, 
 truly! 
 
 When I went downstairs I found Sir Peter, in heavy 
 traveling overcoat, standing in the hall; a carriage stood at 
 the door; his servant was putting in his master's luggage and 
 rugs. I paused in astonishment. Sir Peter looked at me 
 and smiled, with the dubious benevolence which he was in 
 the habit of extending to me. 
 
 "I am very sorry to be obliged to quit your charming 
 society, Miss Wedderburn, but business calls me imperatively 
 to England; and, at least, I am sure that my wife cannot be 
 unhappy with such a companion as her sister." 
 
 " You are going to England ? " 
 
 "I am going to England. I have been called so hastily 
 that I can make no arrangements for Adelaide to accompany 
 me, and, indeed, it would not be at all pleasant for her, as 
 I am only going on business; but I hope to return for her and 
 bring her home in a few weeks. I am leaving Arkwright 
 with you. He will see that you will have all you want/' 
 
 Sir Peter was smiling, over smiling, with the smile which 
 was my horror.
 
 . TOE FIRST VIOLIN. 243 
 
 " A brilliant ball last night, was it not? " he added, extend 
 ing his hand to me in farewell, and looking at me intently 
 with eyes that fascinated and repelled me at once. 
 
 " Very, but but you were not there ? " 
 
 " Was I not ? I have a strong impression that I was. Ask 
 my lady if she thinks I was there. And now good-by, and 
 au revoir! " 
 
 He loosened my hand, descended the steps, entered the car 
 riage, and was driven away. His departure ought to have 
 raised a great weight from my mind, but it did not; it im 
 pressed me with a sense of coming disaster. 
 
 Adelaide breakfasted in her room. When I had finished I 
 went to her. Her behavior puzzled me. She seemed elated, 
 excited, at the absence of Sir Peter, and yet, suddenly turn 
 ing to me, she exclaimed eagerly: 
 
 " Oh! May, I wish I had been going to England, too! I 
 wish I could leave this place, and never see it again." 
 
 " Was Sir Peter at the ball, Adelaide? " I asked. 
 
 She turned suddenly pale; her lip trembled; her eye 
 wavered, as she said in a low, uneasy voice: 
 
 " I believe he was yes; in domino." 
 
 "What a sneaking thing to do!" I remarked candidly. 
 " He had told us particularly that he was not coming." 
 
 " That very statement should have put us on our guard," 
 she remarked. 
 
 " On our guard? Against what? " I asked unsuspectingly. 
 
 " Oh, nothing nothing! I wonder when he will return! 
 I would give a world to be in England ! " she said with a 
 heartsick sigh; and I, feeling very much bewildered, left her. 
 
 In the afternoon, despite wind and weather, I sallied forth, 
 and took my way to my old lodgings in the Wehrhahn. 
 Crossing a square leading to the street I was going to, I met 
 Anna Sartorius. She bowed, looking at me mockingly. I 
 returned her salutation, and remembered last night again 
 with painful distinctness. The air seemed full of mysteries 
 and uncertainties; they clung about my mind like cobwebs, 
 and I could not get rid of their soft, stifling influence. 
 
 Having arrived at my lodgings, I mounted the stairs. 
 Frau Lutzler met me. 
 
 " Na na, Fraulein! You do not patronize me much now. 
 My rooms are becoming too small for you, I reckon." 
 
 " Indeed, Frau Lutzler, I wish I had never been in any 
 larger ones," I answered her earnestly.
 
 244 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " So! Well, 'tis true you look thin and worn not as well 
 as you used to. And were you but I heard you were, so 
 where's the use of telling lies about it at the Maskenball 
 last night? And how did you like it? " 
 
 " Oh, it was all very new to me. I never was at one 
 before." 
 
 " Nicht? Then you must have been astonished. They 
 say there was a Mephisto so good he would have deceived the 
 devil himself. And you, Fraulein I heard that you looked 
 very beautiful." 
 
 " So! It must have been a mistake." 
 
 " Dock nicht ! I have always maintained that at certain 
 times you were far from bad-looking, and dressed and got up 
 for the stage, would be absolutely handsome. Nearly anyone 
 can be that if you are not too near the footlights, that is, 
 and don't go behind the scenes." 
 
 With which neat slaying of a particular compliment by a 
 general one, she released me, and let me go on my way 
 upstairs. 
 
 Here I had some books and some music. But the room 
 was cold; the books failed to interest me, and the music did 
 not go the piano was like me out of tune. And yet I felt 
 the need of some musical expression of the mood that was 
 upon me. I bethought myself of the Tonhalle, next door, 
 almost, and that in the rittersaal it would be quiet and undis 
 turbed, as the ball that night was not to be held there, but in 
 one of the large rooms of the Caserne. 
 
 Without pausing to think a second time of the plan, I left 
 the house and went to the Tonhalle, only a few steps away. 
 In consequence of the rain and bad weather almost every 
 trace of the carnival had disappeared. I found the Tonhalle 
 deserted save by a barmaid at the restauration. I asked her 
 if the rittersaal were open, and she said yes. I passed on. 
 As I drew near the door I heard music; the piano was already 
 being played. Could it be Von Francius who was there? I 
 did not think so. The touch was not his neither so prac 
 ticed, so brilliant, nor so sure. 
 
 Satisfied, after listening a moment, that it was not he, I 
 resolved to go in and pass through the room. If it were any 
 one whom I could send away I would do so, if not, I could go 
 away again myself. 
 
 I entered. The room was somewhat dark, but I went in 
 and had almost come to the piano before I recognized the
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 245 
 
 player Courvoisier. Overcome with vexation and confu 
 sion at the contretemps, I paused a moment, undecided 
 whether to turn back and go out again. In any case I re 
 solved not to remain in the room. He was seated with his 
 back to me, and still continued to play. Some music was on 
 the desk of the piano before him. 
 
 I might turn back without being observed. I would do so. 
 Hardly, though a mirror hung directly before the piano, 
 and I now saw that while he continued to play, he was quietly 
 looking at me, and that his keen eyes that hawk's glance 
 which I knew so well must have recognized me. That de 
 cided me. I would not turn back. It would be a silly, sense 
 less proceeding, and would look much more invidious than 
 my remaining. I walked up to the piano, and he turned, 
 still playing. 
 
 " Guten Tag, mein Fraulein" 
 
 I merely bowed, and began to search through a pile of 
 songs and music upon the piano. I would at any rate take 
 some away with me to give some color to my proceedings. 
 Meanwhile he played on. 
 
 I selected a song, not in the least knowing what it was, and 
 rolling it up, was turning away. 
 
 " Are you busy, Miss Wedderburn? " 
 
 " N-no." 
 
 " Would it be asking too much of you to play the piano 
 forte accompaniment ? " 
 
 " I will try," said I, speaking briefly, and slowly drawing 
 off my gloves. 
 
 " If it is disagreeable to you, don't do it," said he, pausing. 
 
 " Not in the very least," said I, avoiding looking at him. 
 
 He opened the music. It was one of Jensen's " Wander- 
 bilder " for piano and violin the " Kreuz am Wege." 
 
 " I have only tried it once before," I remarked, " and I am 
 a dreadful bungler." 
 
 " Bitte sehr! " said he, smiling, arranging his own music on 
 one of the stands and adding, " Now I am ready." 
 
 I found my hands trembling so much that I could scarcely 
 follow the music. Truly this man, with his changes from 
 silence to talkativeness, from ironical hardness to cordiality, 
 was a puzzle and a trial to me. 
 
 " Das Kreuz am Wege " turned out rather lame. I said so 
 when it was over. 
 
 " Suppose we try it again," he suggested, and we did so. I
 
 246 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 found my fingers lingering and forgetting their part as I 
 listened to the piercing beauty of his notes. 
 
 " That is dismal/' said he. 
 
 " It is a dismal subject, is it not? " 
 
 " Suggestive, at least. ' The Cross by the Wayside/ 
 Well, I have a mind for something more cheerful. Did you 
 leave the ball early last night?" 
 
 " No; not very early." 
 
 " Did you enjoy it? " 
 
 " It was all new to me very interesting but I don't think 
 I quite enjoyed it." 
 
 " Ah, you should see the balls at Florence, or Venice, or 
 Vienna! " 
 
 He smiled as he leaned back, as if thinking over past 
 scenes. 
 
 " Yes," said I dubiously; " I don't think I care much for 
 such things, though it is interesting to watch the little drama 
 going on around." 
 
 " And to act in it," I also thought, remembering Anna Sar- 
 torius and her whisper, and I looked at him. " Not honest, 
 not honorable. Hiding from shame and disgrace." 
 
 I looked at him and did not believe it. For the moment 
 the torturing idea left me. I was free from it and at peace. 
 
 " Were you going to practice? " he asked. " I fear I dis 
 turb you." 
 
 " Oh, no! It does not matter in the least. I shall not 
 practice now." 
 
 " I want to try some other things," said he, " and Fried- 
 helm's and my piano was not loud enough for me, nor was 
 there sufficient space between our walls for the sounds of a 
 symphony. Do you not know the mood ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " But I am afraid to ask you to accompany me." 
 
 " Why? " 
 
 " You seem unwilling." 
 
 " I am not; but I should have supposed that my unwilling 
 ness if I had been unwilling would have been an induce 
 ment to you to ask me." 
 
 "Herrgott! Why?" 
 
 " Since you took a vow to be disagreeable to me, and to 
 make me hate you." 
 
 A slight flush passed rapidly over his face, as he paused for 
 a moment and bit his lips.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 247 
 
 " Mein Frdukin that night I was in bitterness of spirit 
 I hardly knew what I was saying " 
 
 " I will accompany you," I interrupted him, my heart beat 
 ing. " Only how can I begin unless you play, or tell me what 
 you want to play? " 
 
 " True," said he, laughing, and yet not moving from his 
 place beside the piano, upon which he had leaned his elbow, 
 and across which he now looked at me with the selfsame 
 kindly, genial glance as that he had cast upon me across the 
 little table at the Koln restaurant. And yet not the selfsame 
 glance, but another, which I would not have exchanged for 
 that first one. 
 
 If he would but begin to play I felt that I should not mind 
 so much; but when he sat there and looked at me and half 
 smiled, without beginning anything practical, I felt the situa 
 tion at least trying. 
 
 He raised his eyes as the door opened at the other end or 
 the saal. 
 
 "Ah, there is Friedhelm," said he, "now he will take 
 seconds." 
 
 " Then I will not disturb you any longer." 
 
 " On the contrary," said he, laying his hand upon my wrist. 
 (My dream of the morning flashed into my mind.) "It 
 would be better if you remained, then we could have a trio. 
 Friedel, come here! You are just in time. Fraulein Wed- 
 derburn will be good enough to accompany us, and we can 
 try the Fourth Symphony." 
 
 "What you call ' Spring'?" inquired Helfen, coming up 
 smilingly. " With all my heart. Where is the score? " 
 
 " What you call Spring? " Was it possible that in winter 
 on a cold and unfriendly day we were going to have spring, 
 leafy bloom, the desert filled with leaping springs, and blos 
 soming like a rose? Full of wonder, surprise, and a certair 
 excitement at the idea, I sat still and thought of my dream, 
 and the rain beat against the windows, and a draughty wind 
 fluttered the tinselly decorations of last night. The floor 
 was strewed with fragments of garments torn in the crush 
 paper and silken flowers, here a rosette, there a buckle, a satin 
 bow, a tinsel spangle. Benches and tables were piled about 
 the room, which was half dark; only to westward, through 
 one window, was visible a paler gleam, which might by com 
 parison be called light. 
 
 The two young men turned over the music, laughing at
 
 248 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 something, and chaffing each other. I never in my life saw 
 two such entire friends as these; they seemed to harmonize 
 most perfectly in the midst of their unlikeness to each 
 other. 
 
 "Excuse that we kept you waiting, mein Fraukin" said 
 Courvoisier, placing some music before me. " This fellow is 
 so slow, and will put everything into order as he uses it." 
 
 " Well for you that I am, mein lieber," eaid Helfen com 
 posedly. "If anyone had the enterprise to offer a prize te 
 the most extravagant, untidy fellow in Europe, the palm 
 would be yours by a long way, too." 
 
 " Friedel binds his music and numbers it," observed Cour 
 voisier. " It is one of the most beautiful and affecting of 
 sights to behold him with scissors, paste-pot, brush, and bind 
 ing. It occurs periodically about four times a year, I think, 
 and moves me almost to tears when I see it." 
 
 " Der edle Ritter leaves his music unbound, and borrows 
 mine on every possible occasion when his own property is 
 scattered to the four winds of heaven." 
 
 " Aber! dber!" cried Eugen. "That is too much! I call 
 Frau Schmidt to witness that all my music is put in one 
 place." 
 
 " I never said it wasn't. But you never find it when you 
 want it, and the confusion is delightfully increased by your 
 constantly rushing off to buy a new partitur when you can't 
 find the old one; so you have three or four of each." 
 
 " This is all to show off what he considers his own good 
 qualities; a certain slow, methodical plodding and a good 
 memory, which are natural gifts, but which he boasts of as if 
 they were acquired virtues. He binds his music because he 
 is a pedant and a prig, and can't help it; a bad fellow to get 
 on with. Now, mein bester, for the ' Friihling.' ' : 
 
 " But the Fraulein ought to have it explained," expostu 
 lated Helfen, laughing. " Everyone has not the misfortune 
 to be so well acquainted with you as I am. He has rather 
 insane fancies sometimes," he added, turning to me," without 
 rhyme or reason that I am aware, and he chooses to assert 
 that Beethoven's Fourth Symphony, or the chief motive of it, 
 occurred to him on a spring day, when the master was, for a 
 time, quite charmed from his bitter humor, and had, perhaps, 
 someone by his side who put his heart in tune with the spring 
 songs of the birds, the green of the grass, the scent of the 
 flowers. So he calls it the ' Friihling Symphonic,' and will
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 249 
 
 persist in playing it as such. I call the idea rather far 
 fetched, but then that is nothing unusual with him." 
 
 " Having said your remarkably stupid say, which Miss 
 Wedderburn has far too much sense to heed in the least, sup 
 pose you allow us to begin," said Courvoisier, giving the other 
 a push toward his violin. 
 
 But we were destined . ~ have yet another coadjutor in the 
 shape of Karl Linders, who it that moment strolled in, and 
 was hailed by his friends with jubilation. 
 
 " Come and help! Your 'cello will give just the mellow 
 ness that is wanted," said Eugen. 
 
 " I must go and get it then, " said Karl, looking at me. 
 
 Eugen, with an indescribable expression as he intercepted 
 the glance, introduced us to one another. Karl and Fried- 
 helm Helfen went off to another part of the Tonhalle to fetch 
 Karl's violoncello, and we were left alone again. 
 
 " Perhaps I ought not to have introduced him. I forgot 
 ' Lohengrin/ " said Eugen. 
 
 " You know that you did not," said I in a low voice. 
 
 " No," he answered, almost in the same tone. " It was 
 thinking of that which led me to introduce poor old Karl to 
 you. I thought, perhaps, that you would accept it as a 
 sign will you ? " 
 
 "A sign of what?" 
 
 " That I feel myself to have been in the wrong through 
 out and forgive." 
 
 As I sat, amazed and a little awed at this almost literal ful 
 fillment of my dream, the others returned. 
 
 Karl contributed the tones of his mellowest of instruments, 
 which he played with a certain pleasant breadth and bright 
 ness of coloring, and my dream came ever truer and truer. 
 The symphony was as springlike as possible. We tried it 
 nearly all through; the hymnlike and yet fairylike first move 
 ment; the second, that song of universal love, joy, and 
 thanksgiving, with Beethoven's masculine hand evident 
 throughout. To the notes there seemed to fall a sunshine 
 into the room, and we could see the fields casting their cover 
 ing of snow, and withered trees bursting into bloom; brooks 
 swollen with warm rain, birds busy at nest-making; clumps 
 of primroses on velvet leaves, and the subtle scent of violets; 
 youths and maidens with love in their eyes; and even a hint 
 of later warmth, when hedges should be white with hawthorn, 
 and the woodland slopes look, with their sheets of hyacinths,
 
 250 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 as if some of heaven's blue had been spilled upon earth's 
 
 As the last strong, melodious modulations ceased, Courvoi- 
 sier pointed to one of the windows. 
 
 "Friedhelm, you wretched unbeliever, behold the refuta 
 tion of your theories! The symphony has brought the sun 
 out." 
 
 " For the first time," said Friedhelm, as he turned his ear 
 nest young face, with its fringe of loose brown hair, toward 
 the sneaking sun-ray, which was certainly looking shyly in. 
 :e As a rule the very heavens weep at the performance. Don't 
 you remember, the last time we tried it, it began to rain 
 instantly? " 
 
 " Miss Wedderburn's co-operation must have secured its 
 success then on this occasion," said Eugen gravely, glancing 
 at me for a moment. 
 
 " Hear! hear! " murmured Karl, screwing up his violon 
 cello and smiling furtively. 
 
 " Oh, I am afraid I hindered rather than helped," said I, 
 " but it is very beautiful." 
 
 " But not like spring, is it? " asked Friedhelm. 
 
 " Well, I think it is." 
 
 " There! I knew she would declare for me," said Courvoi- 
 sier calmly, at which Karl Landers looked up in some 
 astonishment. 
 
 " Shall we try this ' Traumerei,' Miss "Wedderburn, if you 
 are not too tired?" 
 
 I turned willingly to the piano, and we played Schumann's 
 little " Dreams." 
 
 " Ah," said Eugen with a deep sigh (and his face had 
 grown sad), "isn't that the essence of sweetness and poetry? 
 Here's another which is lovely. 'Noch ein Paar/ nicM 
 wahr?" 
 
 , "And it will be ' noch ein Paar ' until ur fingers drop off," 
 scolded Friedhelm, who seemed, however, very willing to 
 await that consummation. "We went through many of the 
 Kinderscenen and some of the Kreissleriana, and just as we 
 finished a sweet little " Bittendes Kind," the twilight grew 
 almost into darkness, and Courvoisier laid his violin down. 
 
 " Miss Wedderburn, thank you a thousand times! " 
 
 " Oh, litte sehr! " was all I could say. I wanted to say so 
 much more; to say that I had been made happy, my sadness 
 dispelled, a dream half fulfilled, but the words stuck, and had
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 251 
 
 they come ever so flowingly I could not have uttered them 
 with Friedhelm Helfen, who knew so much, looking at us, 
 and Karl Linders on his best behavior in what he considered 
 superior company. 
 
 I do not know how it was that Karl and Friedhelm, as we 
 all came from the Tonhalle, walked off to the house, and 
 Eugen and I were left to walk alone through the soaking 
 streets, emptied of all their revelers, and along the dripping 
 Konigsallee, with its leafless chestnuts, to Sir Peter's house. 
 It was cold, it was wet cheerless, dark, and dismal, and J 
 was very happy very insanely so. I gave a glance once or 
 twice at my companion. The brightness had left his face; it 
 was stern and worn again, and his lips set as if with the 
 repression of some pain. 
 
 " Herr Courvoisier, have you heard from your little boy? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 " I do not expect to hear from him, mein Frdulein. When 
 he left me we parted altogether." 
 
 " Oh, how dreadful! " 
 
 No answer. And we spoke no more until he said " Good- 
 evening " to me at the door of No. 3. As I went in I re 
 flected that I might never meet him thus face to face again. 
 Was it an opportunity missed, or was it a brief glimpse of 
 unexpected joy? 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE TEUTH. 
 
 As days went on and grew into weeks, and weeks paired off 
 until a month passed, and I still saw the same stricken lok 
 upon my sister's face, my heart grew full of foreboding. 
 
 One morning the astonishing news came that Sir Peter had 
 gone to America. 
 
 "America!" I ejaculated (it was always I who acted the 
 part of chorus and did the exclamations and questioning), 
 and I looked at Harry Arkwright, who had communicated the 
 news, and who held an open letter in his hand. 
 
 " Yes, to America, to see about a railway which looks very 
 bad. He has no end of their bonds," said Harry, folding up 
 the letter.
 
 252 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " When will he return? " 
 
 " He doesn't know. Meanwhile we are to stay where we 
 are." 
 
 Adelaide, when we spoke of this circumstance, said bitterly: 
 
 " Everything is against me! " 
 
 "Against you, Adelaide?" said I, looking apprehensively 
 at her. 
 
 " Yes, everything! " she repeated. 
 
 She had never been effusive in her behavior to others; she 
 was now, if possible, still less so, but the uniform quietness 
 and gentleness with which she now treated all who came in 
 contact with her, puzzled and troubled me. What was it that 
 preyed upon her mind? In looking round for a cause my 
 thoughts lighted first on one person, then on another; I dis 
 missed the idea of all, except Von Francius, with a smile. 
 Shortly I abandoned that idea too. True, he was a man of 
 very different caliber from the others; a man, too, for whom 
 Adelaide had conceived a decided friendship, though in these 
 latter days even that seemed to be dying out. He did not 
 come so often; when he did come they had little to say to 
 each other. Perhaps, after all, the cause of her sadness lay 
 no deeper than her everyday life, which must necessarily 
 grow more mournful day by day. She could feel intensely, 
 as I had lately become aware, and had, too, a warm, quick 
 imagination. It might be that a simple weariness of life and 
 the anticipation of long years to come of such a life lay so 
 heavily upon her soul as to have wrought that gradual 
 change. 
 
 Sometimes I was satisfied with this theory; at others it 
 dwindled into a miserably inadequate measure. When Ade 
 laide once or twice kissed me, smiled at me, and called me 
 " dear," it was on my lips to ask the meaning of the whole 
 thing, but it never passed them. I dared not speak when it 
 came to the point. 
 
 One day, about this time, I met Anna Sartorius in one of 
 the picture exhibitions. I would have bowed and passed her, 
 but she stopped and spoke to me. 
 
 " I have not seen you often lately," said she; " but I assure 
 you, you will hear more of me some time and before long." 
 
 Without replying, I passed on. Anna had ceased even to 
 pretend to look friendly upon me, and I did not feel much 
 alarm as to her power for or against my happiness or peace of 
 mind.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. . 253 
 
 Regularly, once a month, I wrote to Miss Hallam and occa 
 sionally had a few lines from Stella, who had become a pro 
 tegee of Miss Hallam's, too. They appeared to get on very 
 well together, at which I did not wonder; for Stella, with all 
 her youthfulness, was of a cynical turn of mind which must 
 suit Miss Hallam well. 
 
 My greatest friend in Elberthal was good little Dr. Mitten- 
 dorf, who had brought his wife to call upon me, and to whos*- 
 house I had been invited several times since Miss Hallam's 
 departure. 
 
 During this time I worked more steadily than ever, and 
 with a deeper love of my art for itself. Von Francius was 
 still my master and myvfriend. I used to look back upon the 
 days, now nearly a year ago, when I first saw him, and seeing 
 him, distrusted and only half liked him, and wondered at 
 myself; for I had now as entire a confidence in him as can by 
 any means be placed in a man. He had thoroughly won my 
 esteem, respect, admiration in a measure, too, my affection. 
 I liked the power of him; the strong hand with which he 
 carried things in his own way; the idiomatic language, and 
 quick, curt sentences in which he enunciated his opinions. I 
 felt him like a strong, kind, and thoughtful elder brother, 
 and have had abundant evidence in his deeds and in some 
 brief, unemotional words of his that he felt a great regard of 
 the fraternal kind for me. It has often comforted me, that 
 friendship pure, disinterested, and manly on his side, grate 
 ful and unwavering on mine. 
 
 I still retained my old lodgings in the Wehrhahn, and was 
 determined to do so. I would not be tied to remain in Sir 
 Peter Le Marchant's house unless I chose. Adelaide wished 
 me to come and remain with her altogether. She said Sir 
 Peter wished it too; he had written and said she might ask 
 me. I asked what was Sir Peter's motive in wishing it? 
 Was it not a desire to humiliate both of us, and to show us 
 that we the girl who had scorned him, and the woman 
 who had sold herself to him were in the end depend 
 ent upon him, and must follow his will and submit to his 
 pleasure ? 
 
 She reddened, sighed, and owned that it was true; nor did 
 she press me any further. 
 
 A month, then, elapsed between the carnival in February 
 and the next great concert in the latter end of March. It 
 was rather a special concert, for Von Francius had succeeded,
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 in spite of many obstacles, in bringing out the Choral 
 Symphony. 
 
 He conducted well that night; and he, Courvoisier, Fried- 
 helm, Helfen, Karl Landers, and one or two others, formed 
 in their white heat of enthusiasm a leaven which leavened the 
 whole lump. Orchestra and chorus alike did a little more 
 than their possible, without which no great enthusiasm can 
 be carried out. As I watched Von Francius, it seemed to me 
 that a new soul had entered into the man. I did not believe 
 that a year ago he could have conducted the Choral Sym 
 phony as he did that night. Can anyone enter into the 
 broad, eternal clang of the great " world-story " unless he 
 has a private story of his own which may serve him in some 
 measure as a key to its mystery? I think not. It was a 
 night of triumph for Max von Francius. Not only was the 
 glorious music cheered and applauded, he was called to re 
 ceive a meed of thanks for having once more given to the 
 world a never-dying joy and beauty. 
 
 I was in the chorus. Down below I saw Adelaide and her 
 devoted attendant, Harry Arkwright. She looked whiter and 
 more subdued than ever. All the splendor of the praise of 
 " joy " could not bring joy to her heart 
 
 " Diesen Kuss der ganzen Welt" 
 
 brought no warmth to her cheek, nor lessened the load or her 
 breast. 
 
 The concert over, we returned home. Adelaide and I re 
 tired to her dressing room, and her maid brought us tea. 
 She seated herself in silence. For my part, I was excited and 
 hot, and felt my cheeks- glowing. I was so stirred that I 
 could not sit still, but moved to and fro, wishing that all the 
 woild could hear that music, and repeating lines from the 
 " Ode to Joy," the grand marchlike measure, feeling mj 
 heart uplifted with the exaltation of its opening strain: 
 
 " Freude, schSner GStterfunken ! 
 Tochter aus Elysium 1 " 
 
 As I paced about thus excitedly, Adelaide's maid came in 
 with a note. Mr. Arkwright had received it from Herr von 
 Francius, who had desired him to give it to Lady Le Mar- 
 chant.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 255 
 
 Adelaide opened it and I went on with my chant. I kmow 
 now how dreadful it must have sounded to her. 
 
 " Freude trinken alle Wesen 
 An den Brtlsten der Natur- -=" 
 
 " May! " said Adelaide faintly. 
 
 I turned in my walk and looked at her. White as death, 
 she held the paper toward me with a steady hand, and I, the 
 song of joy slain upon my lips, took it. It was a brief note 
 from Von Francius. 
 
 " I let you know, my lady, first of all that I have accepted 
 
 the post of Musik-direktor in . It will be made known 
 
 to-morrow." 
 
 I held the paper and looked at her. Now I knew the rea 
 son of her pallid looks. I had indeed been blind. I might 
 have guessed better. 
 
 "Have you read it?" she asked, and she stretched her 
 arms above her head, as if panting for breath. 
 
 "Adelaide!" I whispered, going up to her; "Adelaide 
 oh! " 
 
 She fell upon my neck. She did not speak, and I, speech 
 less, held her to my breast. 
 
 " You love him, Adelaide? " I said, at last. 
 
 " With my whole soul! " she answered in a low, very low, 
 but vehement voice. " With my whole soul! " 
 
 " And you have owned it to him? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Tell me," said I, " how it was." 
 
 " I think I have loved him since almost the first time I saw 
 him he made quite a different impression upon me than 
 other men do quite. I hardly knew myself. He mas 
 tered me. No other man ever did except " she shud 
 dered a little, " and that only because I tied myself hand and 
 foot. But I liked the mastery. It was delicious; it was rest 
 and peace. It went on for long. We knew each knew 
 quite well that we loved, but he never spoke of it. He saw 
 how it was with me and he helped me oh, why is he so good ? 
 He never tried to traD me into any acknowledgment. He 
 never made any use of the power he knew he had except to 
 keep me right. But at the Maskenball I do not know how
 
 256 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 it was we were alone in all the crowd there was something 
 said a look. It was all over. But he was true to the last. 
 He did not say, * Throw everything up and come to me.' He 
 said, ' Give me the only joy that we may have. Tell me you 
 love me.' And I told him. I said, ' I love you with my life 
 and my soul, and everything I have, forever and ever.' And 
 that is true. He said, ' Thank you, milady. I accept the 
 condition of my knighthood,' and kissed my hand. There 
 was someone following us. It was Sir Peter. He heard all, 
 and he has punished me for it since. He will punish me 
 again." 
 
 A pause. 
 
 " That is all that has been said. He does not know that 
 Sir Peter knows, for he has never alluded to it since. He has 
 spared me. I say he is a noble man." 
 
 She raised herself, and looked at me. 
 
 Dear sister! With your love and your pride, your sins and 
 your folly, inexpressibly dear to me! I pressed a kiss upon 
 her lips. 
 
 " Von Francius is good, Adelaide; he is good." 
 
 " Von Francius would have told me this himself, but he 
 has been afraid for me; some time ago he said to me that he 
 had the offer of a post at a distance. That was asking my 
 advice. I found out what it was, and said, * Take it.' He 
 has done so." 
 
 " Then you have decided? " I stammered. 
 
 " To part. He has strength. So have I. It was my own 
 fault. May I could bear it if it were for myself alone. I 
 have had my eyes opened now. I see that when people do 
 wrong they drag others into it they punish those they love 
 it is part of their own punishment." 
 
 A pause. Facts, I felt, were pitiless; but the glow oi 
 friendship for Von Francius was like a strong fire. In the 
 midst of the keenest pain one finds a true man, and the dis 
 covery is like a sudden soothing of sharp anguish., or like 
 the finding a strong comrade in a battle. 
 
 Adelaide had been very self-restrained and quiet all this 
 time, but now suddenly broke out into low, quick, half 
 sobbed-out words: 
 
 " Oh, I love him, I love him! It is dreadful! How shall 
 I go through with it? " 
 
 Ay, there was the rub! Not one short, sharp pang, and 
 over all fire quenched in cool mists of death and uncon-
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 257 
 
 3ciousness, but long years to come of daily, hourly, paying the 
 price; incessant compunction, active punishment. A pros 
 pect for a martyr to shirk from, and for a woman who has 
 made a mistake to live through. 
 
 We needed no further words. The secret was told, and 
 the worst known. We parted. Von Francius was from this 
 moment a sacred being to me. 
 
 But from this time he scarcely came near the house not 
 even to give me my lessons. I went to my lodging and had 
 them thera. Adelaide said nothing, asked not a question con 
 cerning him, nor mentioned his name, and the silence on hi? 
 side was almost as profound as that on hers. It seemed as if 
 they feared that should they meet, speak, look each other in 
 the eyes, all resolution would be swept away, and the end 
 hurry resistless on. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " And behold, though the way was light and the sun did shine, yet 
 my heart was ill tt ease, for a sinister blot did now and again fleck the 
 uin, and a muttered sound perturbed the air. And he repeated oft. 
 4 One hath told Vie thus or thus.' " 
 
 KARL LINDERS, our old acquaintance, was now our fast 
 friend. Many changes had taken place in the personnel of 
 our fellow-workmen in the kapelle, but Eugen, Karl, and I 
 remained stationary in the same places and holding the same 
 rank as on the day we had first met. He, Karl, had been 
 from the first more congenial to me than any other of my 
 fellows (Eugen excepted, of course). Why, I could never 
 exactly tell. There was about him a contagious cheerfulness, 
 good-humor, and honesty. He was a sinner, but no rascal; 
 i wild fellow TaugenicMs wilder Gesell, as our phraseology 
 had it, but the furthest thing possible from a knave. 
 
 Since his visits to us and his earnest efforts to curry favor 
 with Sigmund by means of nondescript wool beasts, domestic 
 or of prey, he had grown much nearer to us. He was the 
 only intimate we had the only person who came in and out 
 of our quarters at any time; the only man who sat and 
 smoked' with us in an evening. At the time when Karl put 
 in h;'s first appearance in these pages he was a young man not 
 only not particular, but utterly reckless as to the society he 
 frequented. Anyone, lie was wont to say, was good enough
 
 258 THE FIRST VJOLTK. 
 
 to talk with, or to listen while talked to. Karl's conversation 
 could not be called either affected or pedantic; his taste was 
 catholic, and comprised within wide bounds; he considered 
 all subjects that were amusing appropriate matter of discus 
 sion, and to him most subjects were or were susceptible of 
 being made amusing. 
 
 Latterly, however, it would seem that a process of growth 
 had been going on in him. Three years had worked a differ 
 ence. In some respects he was, thank Heaven! still the old 
 Karl the old careless, reckless, aimless fellow; but in others 
 he was metamorphosed. 
 
 Karl Linders, a handsome fellow himself and a slave to 
 beauty, as he was careful to inform us susceptible in the 
 highest degree to real loveliness so he often told us- and 
 i love on an average, desperately and forever, once a week, 
 had at last fallen really and actually in love. 
 
 For a long time we did not guess it or rather, accepting 
 his being in love as a chronic state of his being one of the 
 "inseparable accidents," which may almost be called quali 
 ties, we wondered what lay at the bottom of his sudden in 
 tense sobriety of demeanor and propriety of conduct, and 
 looked for some cause deeper than love, which did not usually 
 have that effect upon him; we thought it might be debt. 
 We studied the behavior itself; we remarked that for upward 
 of ten days he had never lauded the charms of any young 
 woman connected with the choral or terpsichorean staff of the 
 opera, and wondered. 
 
 We saw that he had had his hair very much cut, and we 
 told him frankly that we did not think it improved him. 
 To our great surprise he told us that we knew nothing about 
 it, and requested us to mind our own business, adding testily, 
 after a pause, that he did not see why on earth a set of men 
 like us should make ourselves conspicuous by the fashion of 
 our hair, as if we were Absaloms or Samsons. 
 
 " Samson had a Delilah, mein lieber" said I, eying him. 
 " She shore his locks for him. Tell us frankly who has acted 
 the part by you." 
 
 " Bah! Can a fellow have no sense in his own head to 
 find such things out? Go and do likewise, and I can tell you 
 you'll be improved." 
 
 But we agreed when he was gone that the loose locks, 
 drooping over the laughing glance, suited him better than 
 that neatly cropped propriety.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 259 
 
 Days passed, and Karl was still not his old self. It became 
 matter of public remark that his easy, short jacket, a mon 
 grel kind of garment to which he was deeply attached, was 
 discarded, not merely for grand occasions, but even upon th 
 ordinary Saturday night concert, yea, even for walking out 
 at midday, and a superior frock-coat substituted for it a 
 frock-coat in which, we told him, he looked quite edel. At 
 which he pished and pshawed, but surreptitiously adjusted 
 his collar before the looking-glass which the propriety and 
 satisfactoriness of our behavior had induced Frau Schmidt 
 to add to our responsibilities, pulled his cuffs down, and 
 remarked en passant that " the 'cello was a horribly ungrace 
 ful instrument." 
 
 " Not as you use it," said we both politely, and allowed 
 him to lead the way to the concert-room. 
 
 A few evenings later he strolled into our room, lighted a 
 cigar, and sighed deeply. 
 
 "What ails thee, then, Karl?" I asked. 
 
 " I've something on my mind," he replied uneasily. 
 
 " That we know," put in Eugen; " and a pretty big lump 
 it must be, too. Out with it, man! Has she accepted the 
 bottle-nosed oboist after all? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Have you got info debt? How much? I dare say we 
 can manage it between us." 
 
 " No oh, no!- I am five thalers to the good." 
 
 Our countenances grew more serious. Not debt? Then 
 what was it, what could it be? 
 
 " I hope nothing has happened to Gretchen," suggested 
 Eugen, for Gretchen, his sister, was the one permanently 
 strong love of Karl's heart. 
 
 " Oh, no! Das Mddel is very well, and getting on in her 
 c-lasses." 
 
 "Then what is it?" 
 
 " I'm engaged to be married." 
 
 I grieve to say that Eugen and I, after staring at him for 
 some few minutes, until we had taken in the announcement, 
 both burst into the most immoderate laughter till the tears 
 ran down our cheeks and our sides ached. 
 
 Karl sat quite still, unresponsive, puffing away at his cigar; 
 and when we had finished, or rather were becoming a little 
 more moderate in the expression of our amusement, he 
 knocked the ash aw,y from his weed, and remarked:
 
 260 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " That's blind jealousy. You both, know that there isn't 
 a Mddchen in the place who would look at you, so you try 
 to laugh at people who are better off than yourselves." 
 
 This was so stinging (from the tone more than the words) 
 as coming from the most sweet-tempered fellow I ever knew, 
 that we stopped. Eugen apologized, and we asked who the 
 lady was. 
 
 " I shouldn't suppose you cared to know," said he rather 
 sulkily. " And it's all very fine to laugh, but let me see the 
 man who even smiles at her he shall learn who I am." 
 
 We assured him, with the strongest expressions that we 
 could call to our aid, that it was the very idea of his being 
 engaged that made us laugh not any disrespect, and begged 
 his pardon again. By degrees he relented. We still urgently 
 demanded the name of the lady. 
 
 " Als verldbte empfehlen sich Karl Linders and who else? " 
 asked Eugen. 
 
 " Als verlobte empfehlen sich * Karl Linders and Clara Stein- 
 mann," said Karl with much dignity. 
 
 " Clara Steinmann," we repeated, in tones of respectful 
 gravity, " I never heard of her." 
 
 " No, she keeps herself rather reserved and select," said 
 Karl impressively. " She lives with her aunt in the Allee- 
 strasse, at number 39." 
 
 " Number 39! " we both ejaculated. 
 
 "Exactly so! What have you to say against it?" demanded 
 Herr Linders, glaring around upon us with an awful majesty. 
 
 " Nothing oh, less than nothing. But I know now where 
 you mean. It is a boarding-house, nicht wahr? " 
 
 He nodded sedately. 
 
 " I have seen the young lady," said I, carefully observing 
 1 1.1 due respect. " Eugen, you must have seen her too. Miss 
 \Vedderburn used to come with her to the Instrumental Con 
 certs before she began to sing." 
 
 "Eight!" said Karl graciously. "She did. Clara liked 
 Miss Wedderburn very much." 
 
 " Indeed! " said we respectfully, and fully recognizing that 
 this was quite a different affair from any of the previous 
 
 * The German custom on an engagement taking place is to announce 
 it with the above words, signifying " M. and N. announce (recommend) 
 themselves as betrothed." This appears in the newspaper as a mar 
 riage with us
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 261 
 
 flirtations with chorus-singers and ballet-girls which, had 
 taken up so much of his attention. 
 
 " I don't know her," said I. " I have not that pleasure, but 
 J am sure you are to be congratulated, old fellow so I do 
 congratulate you very heartily." 
 
 " Thank you," said he. 
 
 " I can't congratulate } r ou, Karl, as I don't know the lady," 
 said Eugen, "but I do congratulate her," laying his hand 
 upon Karl's shoulder; " I hope she knows the kind of man 
 she has won, and is worthy of him." 
 
 A smile of the Miss Squeers description " Tilda, I pities 
 your ignorance and despises you " crossed Karl's lips as he 
 said: 
 
 " Thank you. No one else knows. It only took place 
 decidedly, you know to-night. I said I should tell two 
 friends of mine; she said she had no objection. I should 
 not have liked to keep it from you two. I wish," said Karl, 
 whose eyes had been roving in a seeking manner around the 
 room, and who now brought his words out with a run; "I 
 wish Sigmund had been here, too. I wish she could have 
 seen him. She loves children; she has been very good to 
 Gretchen." 
 
 Eugen's hand dropped from our friend's shoulder. He 
 walked to the window without speaking, and looked out into 
 the darkness as he was then in more senses than one often 
 wont to do nor did he break the silence nor look at us 
 again until some time after Karl and I had resumed the 
 conversation. 
 
 So did the quaint fellow announce his engagement to us. 
 It was quite a romantic little history, for it turned out that 
 he had loved the girl for full two years, but for a long time 
 had not been able even to make her acquaintance, and when 
 that was accomplished, had hardly dared to speak of his love 
 for her; for though she was sprung from much the same class 
 as himself, she was in much better circumstances, and accus 
 tomed to a life of ease and plenty, even if she were little better 
 in reality than a kind of working housekeeper. A second 
 suitor for her hand had, however, roused Karl into boldness 
 and activity; he declared himself and was accepted. Despite 
 the opposition of Frau Steinmann, who thought the match 
 in every way beneath her niece (why, I never could tell), the 
 lovers managed to carry their purpose so far as the betrothal 
 or verlobunq went; marriage was a Question strictlv of the
 
 262 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 future. It was during the last weeks of suspense and uncer 
 tainty that Karl had been unable to carry things off in quite 
 his usual light-hearted manner; it was after finally conquer 
 ing that he came to make us partners in his satisfaction. 
 
 In time we had the honor of an introduction to Fraulein 
 Steinmann, and our amazement and amusement were equally 
 great. Karl was a tall, handsome, well-knit fellow, with an 
 exceptionally graceful figure and what I call a typical German 
 face (typical, I mean, in one line of development) open, 
 frank, handsome, with the broad traits, smiling lips, clear 
 and direct guileless eyes, waving hair and aptitude for 
 geniality which are the chief characteristics of that type not 
 the highest, perhaps, but a good one, nevertheless honest, 
 loyal, brave a kind which makes good fathers and good 
 soldiers how many a hundred are mourned since 187071! 
 
 He had fallen in love with a little stout dumpy Madchen, 
 honest and open as himself, but stupid in all outside domestic 
 matters. She was evidently desperately in love with him, 
 and could understand a good waltz or a sentimental song, so 
 that his musical talents were not altogether thrown away. I 
 liked her better after a time. There was something touching 
 in the way in which she said to me once: 
 
 " He might have done so much better. I am such an ugly, 
 stupid thing, but when he said did I love him or could I love 
 him, or something like that, um Ootteswillen, Herr Helfen, 
 what could I say? " 
 
 "I am sure you did the best possible thing both for 
 him and for you," I was able to say, with emphasis and 
 conviction. 
 
 Karl had now become a completely reformed and domes 
 ticated member of society; now he wore the frock-coat several 
 times a week, and confided to me that he thought he must 
 have a new one soon. Now, too, did other strange results ap 
 pear of his engagement to Fraulein Clara (he got sentimental 
 and called her Clarchen sometimes). He had now the entree 
 of Frau Steinmann's house and there met feminine society 
 several degrees above that to which he had been accustomed 
 He was obliged to wear a permanently polite and polished 
 manner (which, let me hasten to say, was not the least trouble 
 to him). No chaffing of these young ladies no offering to 
 take them to places of amusement of any but the very sternest 
 and severest respectability. 
 
 He took Fraulein Clara out for walks. They jogged along
 
 THJS Fiuar viOLIN. 263 
 
 arm in arm, Karl radiant, Clara no less so, and sometimes 
 they were accompanied by another inmate of Frau Stein- 
 mann's house a contrast to them both. She lived en famille 
 with her hostess, not having an income large enough to admit 
 of indulging in quite separate quarters, and her name was 
 Anna Sartorius. 
 
 It was very shortly after his engagement that Karl began 
 to talk to me about Anna Sartorius. She was a clever young 
 woman, it seemed or, as he called her, a gescheidtes Madchen. 
 3he could talk most wonderfully. She had traveled she 
 had been in England and France, and seen the world, said 
 Karl. They all passed very delightful evenings together 
 sometimes, diversified with music and song and the racy jest 
 at which times Frau Steinmann became quite another per 
 son, and he, Karl, felt himself in heaven. 
 
 The substance of all this was told me by him one day at 
 a probe, where Eugen had been conspicuous by his absence. 
 Perhaps the circumstance reminded Karl of some previous 
 conversation, for he said: 
 
 " She must have seen Courvoisier before somewhere. She 
 asks a good many questions about him, and when I said I 
 knew him she laughed." 
 
 " Look here, Karl, don't go talking to ousiders about Eugen 
 or any of us. His affairs are no business of Fraulein Sar 
 torius, or any other busybody." 
 
 " I talk about him! What do you mean? Upon my word 
 I don't know how the conversation took that turn; but I am 
 sure she knows something about him. She said ' Eugen 
 Courvoisier indeed! ' and laughed in a very peculiar way." 
 
 " She is a fool. So are you if you let her talk to you about 
 him." 
 
 " She is no fool, and I want to talk to no one but my own 
 uf adcken,'' said he easily; " but when a woman is talking one 
 3an't stop one's ears." 
 
 Time passed. The concert with the Choral Symphony fol 
 lowed. Karl had had the happiness of presenting tickets to 
 Fraulein Clara and her aunt, and of seeing them, in company 
 with Miss Sartorius, enjoying looking at the dresses, and say 
 ing how loud the music was. His visits to Frau Steinmann 
 continued. 
 
 " Friedel," he remarked abruptly one day to me, as we 
 paced down the Casernenstrasse, " I wonder who Cour 
 voisier is."
 
 264 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " You have managed to exist very comfortably for three of 
 four years without knowing." 
 
 " There is something behind all this secrecy about himself." 
 
 " Fraulein Sartorius says so, I suppose," I remarked dryly. 
 
 " N-no; she never said so; but I think she knows it is so." 
 
 "And what if it be so?' 
 
 " Oh, nothing! But I wonder what can have driven him 
 here." 
 
 " Driven him here? His own choice, of course." 
 
 Karl laughed. 
 
 " Nee, nee, Friedel, not quite." 
 
 " I should advise you to let him and his affairs alone, unless 
 you want a row with him. I would no more think of asking 
 him than of cutting off my right hand." 
 
 " Asking him lieber Himmel! no; but one may wonder. 
 It was a very queer thing his sending poor Sigmund off in 
 that style. I wonder where he is." 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " Did he never tell you? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Queer! " said Karl reflectively. " I think there is some 
 thing odd behind it all." 
 
 "Now, listen, Karl. Do you want to have a row with 
 Eugen? Are you anxious for him never to speak to you 
 again?" 
 
 "Herrgott, no!" 
 
 " Then take my advice, and just keep your mouth shut. 
 Don't listen to tales, and don't repeat them." 
 
 "But, my dear fellow, when there is a mystery about a 
 man " 
 
 "Mystery! Nonsense! What mystery is there in a man's 
 choosing to have private affairs? We didn't behave in this 
 idiotic manner when you were going on like a lunatic about 
 Fraulein Clara. We simply assumed that as you didn't speak 
 you had affairs which you chose to keep to yourself. Just 
 apply the rule, or it may be worse for you." 
 
 " For all that there is something queer," he said, as we 
 turned into the restauration for dinner. 
 
 Yet again, some days later, just before the last concert 
 came off, Karl, talking to me, said, in a tone and with a look 
 as if the idea troubled and haunted him: 
 
 " I say, Friedel, do you think Courvoisier's being here is all 
 square?"
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 265 
 
 A All square? " I repeated scornfully. 
 
 He nodded. 
 
 " Yes. Of course all has been right since he came here; 
 but don't you think there may be something shady in the 
 background?" 
 
 " What do you mean by ' shady '? " I asked, more annoyed 
 than I cared to confess at his repeated returning to the 
 Gubject. 
 
 " Well, you know, there must be a reason for his being 
 here " 
 
 I burst into a fit of laughter, which was not so mirthful 
 as it might seem. 
 
 " I should rather think there must. Isn't there a reason 
 for everyone being somewhere? Why am I here? Why are 
 you here ? " 
 
 " Yes; but this is quite a different thing. We are all agreed 
 that whatever he may be now he has not always been one of 
 us, and I like things to be clear about people." 
 
 " It is a most extraordinary thing that you should only 
 have felt the anxiety lately," said I, withering, and then, 
 after a moment's reflection, I said: 
 
 " Look here, Karl; no one could be more unwilling than 
 I to pick a quarrel with you, but quarrel we must if this 
 talking of Eugen behind his back goes on. It is nothing 
 to either of us what his past has been. I want no references. 
 If you want to gossip about him or anyone else, go to the 
 old women who are the natural exchanges of that com 
 modity. Only if you mention it again to me it comes to 
 a quarrel verstehst du?" 
 
 " I meant no harm, and I can see no harm in it," said 
 he. 
 
 " Very well; but I do. I hate it. So shake hands, and 
 let there be an end of it. I wish now that I had spoken out 
 at first. There's a dirtiness, to my mind, in the idea of specu 
 lating about a person with whom you are intimate, in a way 
 that you wouldn't like him to hear." 
 
 " Well, if you will have it so," said he; but there was not 
 the usual look of open satisfaction upon his face. He did 
 not mention the subject to me again, but I caught him look 
 ing now and then earnestly at Eugen, as if he wished to ask 
 him something. Then I knew that in my anxiety to avoid 
 gossiping about a friend whose secrets were sacred to me, I 
 had made a mistake. I ought to have made Karl tell me
 
 266 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 whether he had heard anything specific about him or against 
 him, and so judge the extent of the mischief done. 
 
 It needed hut little thought on my part to refer Karl's 
 suspicions and vague rumors to the agency of Anna Sar- 
 torius. Lately I had begun to observe this young lady more 
 closely. She was a tall, dark, plain girl, with large, defiant- 
 looking eyes and a bitter mouth; when she smiled there was 
 nothing genial in the smile. When she spoke, her voice had 
 a certain harsh flavor; her laugh was hard and mocking as 
 if she laughed at, not with, people. There was something 
 rather striking in her appearance, but little pleasing. She 
 looked at odds with the world, or with her lot in it, or with 
 her present circumstances, or something. I was satisfied that 
 she knew something of Eugen, though, when I once pointed 
 her out to him and asked if he knew her, he looked at 
 her, and, after a moment's look, as if he remembered, shook 
 his head, saying: 
 
 " There is something a little familiar to me in her face, but 
 I am sure that I have never seen her most assuredly never 
 spoken to her." 
 
 Yet I had often seen her look at him long and earnestly, 
 usually with a certain peculiar smile, and with her head a 
 little to one side as if she examined some curiosity or lusus 
 natures. I was too little curious myself to know Eugen's past 
 to speculate much about it; but I was quite sure that there 
 was some link between him and that dark, bitter, sarcastic- 
 looking girl, Anna Sartorius. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 * Didst thou, or didst thou not ? Just tell me, friend 1 
 Not that mi/ conscience may be satisfied, 
 /never for a moment doubted thee 
 But that I may have wherewithal in hand 
 To turn against them when they point at thee : 
 A whip to flog them with a rock to crush 
 Thy word thy simple downright ' No, I did not.' 
 
 "Why ! How j 
 
 What's this ? He does not, will not speak. Oh, God ! 
 Nay, raise thy head and look me in the eyes ! 
 Canst not ? What is this thing ? " 
 
 IT was the last concert of the season, and the end of April, 
 when evenings were growing pleasantly long and the air
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 26? 
 
 balmy. Those last concerts, and the last nights of the opera, 
 which closed at the end of April, until September, were 
 always crowded. That night I remember we had Liszt's 
 " Prometheus," and a great violinist had been announced to 
 enrapture the audience with the performance of a Concerto 
 of Beethoven's. 
 
 The concert was for the benefit of Von Francius, and was 
 probably the last one at which he would conduct us. He was 
 eaving to assume the post of Koniglicher Musik-direktor at 
 
 . Now that the time came there was not a man among 
 
 as who was not heartily sorry to think of the parting. 
 
 Miss Wedderburn was one of the soloists that evening and 
 _ier sister and Mr. Arkwright were both there. 
 
 Karl Linders came on late. I saw that just before he ap 
 peared by the orchestra entrance, his beloved, her aunt, and 
 Fraulein Sartorius had taken their places in the parquet. 
 Karl looked sullen and discontented, and utterly unlike him 
 self. Anna Sartorius was half smiling. Lady Le Marchant, 
 I noticed, passingly, looked the shadow of her former self. 
 
 Then Von Francius came on; he, too, looked disturbed, for 
 him very much so, and glanced round the orchestra and the 
 room; and then coming up to Eugen, drew him a little aside, 
 and seemed to put a question to him. The discussion, though 
 carried on in low tones, was animated, and lasted some time. 
 Von Francius appeared greatly to urge Courvoisier to some 
 thing the latter to resist. At last some understanding ap 
 peared to be come to. Von Francius returned to his estrade, 
 Eugen to his seat, and the concert began. 
 
 The third piece 011 the list was the Violin Concerto, and 
 when its turn came all eyes turned in all directions in search 
 of , the celebrated, who was to perform it. Von Fran 
 cius advanced and made a short enough announcement. 
 
 " Heine Herrschaften, I am sorry to say that I have received 
 a telegram from Herr , saying that sudden illness pre 
 vents his playing to-night. I am sorry that you should be 
 disappointed of hearing him, but I cannot regret that you 
 should have an opportunity of listening to one who will be a 
 very effectual substitute Herr Concertmeister Courvoisier, 
 your first violin." 
 
 He stepped back. Courvoisier rose. There was a dead 
 silence in the hall. Eugen stood in the well-known position 
 of the prophet without honor, only that he had not yet begun 
 to speak. The rest cf the orchestra and Von Francius were
 
 268 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 waiting to begin Beethoven's Concerto; but Eugen, lifting 
 his voice, addressed them in his turn: 
 
 " I am sorry to say that I dare not venture upon the great 
 Concerto; it is so long since I attempted it. I shall have 
 pleasure in trying to play a Chaconne one of the composi 
 tions of Herr von Francius." 
 
 Von Francius started up as if to forbid it. But Eugen had 
 touched the right key. There was a round of applause, and 
 then an expectant settling down to listen on the part of the 
 audience, who were, perhaps, better pleased to hear Von Fran 
 cius, the Jiving and much discussed, than Beethoven, the dead 
 and undisputed. 
 
 It was a minor measure, and one unknown to the public, 
 for it had not yet been published. Von Francius had lent 
 Eugen the score a few days ago, and he had once or twice said 
 to me that it was full not merely of talent; it was replete wit?* 
 the fire of genius. 
 
 And so, indeed, he proved to us that night. Never, before 
 or since, from professional or private virtuoso, have I heard 
 such playing as that. The work was in itself a fine one; 
 original, strong, terse, and racy, like him who had composed 
 it. It was sad, very sad, but there was a magnificent elevation 
 running all through it which raised it far above a mere com 
 plaint, gave a depth to its tragedy while it pointed at hope. 
 And this, interpreted lay Eugen, whose mood and whose inner 
 life it seemed exactly to suit, was a thing not to be forgotten 
 in a lifetime. To me the scene and the sounds come freshly 
 as if heard yesterday. I see the great hall full of people, 
 attentive more than attentive every moment more in- 
 thralled. I see the pleased smile which had broken upon 
 every face of his fellow-musicians at this chance of distinction 
 gradually subside into admiration and profound appreciation; 
 I feel again the warm glow of joy which filled my own heart; 
 I meet again May's eyes and see the light in them, and see 
 Von Francius shade his face with his hand to conceal the in 
 tensity of the artist's delight he felt at hearing his own crea 
 tion so grandly, so passionately interpreted. 
 
 Then I see how it was all over, and Eugen, pale with the 
 depth of emotion with which he had played the passionate 
 music, retired, and there came a burst of enthusiastic ap 
 plause applause renewed again and again it was a veritable 
 lucres fou. 
 
 But he would make no response to the plaudits. He re-
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 mained obstinately seated, and there was no elation, but 
 rather gloom upon his face. In vain Von Francius besought 
 him to come forward. He declined, and the calls at last 
 ceased. ' It was the last piece on the first part of the pro 
 gramme. The people at last let him alone. But there 
 could be no doubt that he had both roused a great interest in 
 himself and stimulated the popularity of Von Francius in no 
 common degree. And at last he had to go down the orchestra 
 steps to receive a great many congratulations, and go through 
 several introductions, while I sat still and mentally rubbed ray 
 hands. 
 
 Meanwhile Karl Linders, with nearly all the other instru 
 mentalists, had disappeared from the orchestra. I saw him 
 appear again in the body of the hall, among all the people, 
 who were standing up, laughing and discussing and roving 
 about to talk to their friends. He had a long discussion with 
 Fraulein Clara and Anna Sartorius. 
 
 And then I turned my attention to Eugen again, who, look 
 ing grave and unelated, released himself as soon as possible 
 from his group of new acquaintance and joined me. 
 
 Then Von Francius brought Miss Wedderburn up the steps, 
 and left her sitting near us. She turned to Eugen and said, 
 " Ich gratullre" to which he only bowed rather sadly. Her 
 chair was quite close to ours, and Von Francius stood talking 
 to her. Others were quickly coming. One or two were 
 around and behind us. 
 
 Eugen was tuning his violin, when a touch on the shoulder 
 roused me. I looked up. Karl stood there, leaning across 
 me toward Eugen. Something in his face told me that it 
 that which had been hanging so long over us was coming. 
 His expression, too, attracted the attention of several other 
 people of all who were immediately around. 
 
 Those who heard Karl were myself, Von Francius, Miss 
 Wedderburn, and some two or three others, who had 
 looked up as he came, and had paused to watch what was 
 coming. 
 
 " Eugen," said he, " a foul lie has been told about you." 
 
 "So!" 
 
 " Of course I don't believe a word of it. I'm not such a 
 fool. But I have been challenged to confront you with it. 
 It only needs a syllable on your side to crush it instantly; for 
 I will take your word against all the rest of the world put 
 together "
 
 270 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " Well ? " said Eugen, whose face was white and whose 
 voice was low. 
 
 " A lady has said to me that you had a brother who had 
 acted the part of father to you, and that you rewarded his 
 kindness by forging his name for a sum of money which you 
 could have had for the asking, for he denied you nothing, it 
 is almost too ridiculous to repeat, and I beg your pardon for 
 doing it; but I was obliged. Will you give me a word of 
 denial?" 
 
 Silence! 
 
 I looked at Eugen. We were all looking at him. Three 
 things I looked for as equally likely for him to do; but he did 
 none. He did not start up in an indignant denial; he did not 
 utter icily an icy word of contempt; he did not smile and 
 ask Karl if he were out of his senses. He dropped his eyes, 
 and maintained a deadly silence. 
 
 Karl was looking at him, and his candid face changed 
 Doubt, fear, dismay succeeded one another upon it. Then, 
 in a lower and changed voice, as if first admitting the idea 
 that caution might be necessary: 
 
 " Urn Gotteswillen, Eugen! Speak! " 
 
 He looked up so may look a dog that is being tortured 
 and my very heart sickened; but he did not speak. 
 
 A few moments not half a minute did we remain thus. 
 It seemed a hundred years of slow agony. But during that 
 time I tried to comprehend that my friend of the bright, clear 
 eyes, and open, fearless glance; the very soul and flower of 
 honor; my ideal of almost Quixotic chivalrousness, stood with 
 eyes that could not meet ours that hung upon him; face 
 white, expression downcast, accused of a crime which came, if 
 ever crime did, under the category " dirty," and not deny 
 ing it! 
 
 Karl, the wretched beginner of the wretched scene, camo 
 nearer, took the other's hand, and, in a hoarse whisper, said: 
 
 " For God's sake, Eugen, speak! Deny it! You can deny 
 it you must deny it! " 
 
 He looked up at last, with a tortured gaze; looked at Karl, 
 at me, at the faces around. His lips quivered faintly. 
 Silence yet. And yet it seemed to me that it was loathing 
 that was most strongly depicted upon his face; the loathing 
 of a man who is obliged to intimately examine some unclean 
 thing; the loathing of one who nas to drag a corpse about 
 with him.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 271 
 
 *' Say it is a lie, Eugen! " Karl conjured him. 
 
 At last came speech; at lest an answer; slow, low, tremu 
 lous, impossible to mistake or explain away. 
 
 " No; I cannot say so." 
 
 His head that proud, high head dropped again, as if he 
 would fain avoid our eyes. 
 
 Karl raised himself. His face too was white. As if 
 stricken with some mortal blow, he walked away. Some 
 people who had surrounded us turned aside and began to 
 whisper to each other behind their music. Von Francius 
 looked impenetrable; May Wedderburn white. The noise 
 and bustle was still going on all around, louder than before. 
 The drama had not taken three minutes to play out. 
 
 Eugen rested his brow for a moment on his hand, and his 
 face was hidden. He looked up, rising as he did so, and his 
 eyes met those of Miss Wedderburn. So sad, so deep a gaze 
 I never saw. It was a sign to me, a significant one, that he 
 could meet her eyes. 
 
 Then he turned to Von Francius. 
 
 " Herr Direktor, Helfen will take my place, nicht wahr? " 
 
 Von Francius bowed. Eugen left his seat, made his way, 
 without a word, from the orchestra, and Von Francius rapped 
 sharply, the preliminary tumult subsided; the concert began. 
 
 I glanced once or twice toward Karl; I received no answer 
 ing look. I could not even see his face; he had made himself 
 as small as possible behind his music. 
 
 The concert over it seemed to me interminable I was 
 hastening away, anxious only to find Eugen, when Karl Lin- 
 ders stopped me in a retired corner, and holding me fast, said: 
 
 "Friedel, I am a d d fool." 
 
 " I am sorry not to be able to contradict you." 
 
 " Listen," said he. " You must listen, or I shall follow 
 you and make you. I made up my mind not to hear another 
 word against him, but when I went to die Clara after the 
 solo, I found her and that confounded girl whispering to 
 gether. She Anna Sartorius said it was very fine for such 
 scamps to cover their sins with music. I asked her pretty 
 stiffly what she meant, for she is always slanging Eugen, and 
 I thought she might have let him alone for once. She said 
 she meant that he was a blackguard that's the word she 
 used ein lauter Spitzbube a forger, and worse. I told her 
 I believed it was a lie. I did not believe it. 
 
 "'Ask him/ said she. I said I would be something-
 
 272 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 first. But Clara would have nothing to say to me, and they 
 both badgered me until for mere quietness I agreed to do as 
 they wished." 
 
 He went on in distress for some time. 
 
 " Oh, drop it! " said I impatiently. " You have done the 
 mischief. I don't want to listen to your whining over it. Go 
 to the Fraulein Steinmann and Sartorius. They will confer 
 the reward of merit upon you." 
 
 "Gott beMte!" 
 
 I shook myself loose from him and took my way home. It 
 was with a feeling not far removed from tremulousness that 
 I entered the room. That poor room formed a temple which 
 I had no intention of desecrating. 
 
 He was sitting at the table when I entered, and looked at 
 me absently. Then, with a smile in which sweetness and 
 bitterness were strangely mingled, said: 
 
 " So you have returned? I will not trouble you much 
 longer. Give me house-room for to-night. In the morning 
 I shall be gone." 
 
 I went up to him, pushed the writing materials which lay 
 before him away, and took his hands, but could not speak for 
 ever so long. 
 
 " Well, Friedhelm," he asked after a pause, during which 
 the drawn and tense look upon his face relaxed somewhat, 
 " what have you to say to the man who has let you think him 
 honest for three years? " 
 
 "Whom I know, and ever have known, to be an honest 
 man." 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " There are degrees and grades even in honesty. One kind 
 of honesty is lower than others. I am honest now because 
 my sin has found me out; I can't keep up appearance any 
 longer." 
 
 " Pooh! do you suppose that deceives me? " said I con 
 temptuously. " Me, who have known you for three years? 
 That would be a joke, but one that no one will enjoy at my 
 expense." 
 
 A momentary expression of pleasure unutterable flashed 
 across his face and into his eyes; then was repressed, as he 
 said: 
 
 " You must listen to reason. Have I not told you all along 
 that my life had been spoiled by my own fault? that I had 
 disqualified myself to take any leading part among men?
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 275 
 
 " No; but a place where there are no mistakes." 
 
 "No mistakes?" 
 
 " Ja wohl! Where it would not be possible for a man with 
 fair chances to spoil his whole career by a single mistake. Or, 
 if there were mistakes, I would arrange that the punishment 
 should be in some proportion to them not a large punish 
 ment for a little sin, and vice versa." 
 
 " Well, I should think that if there is any heaven there 
 would be some arrangement of that kind." 
 
 " As for hell," he went on, in a low, calm tone which I had 
 learned to understand meant with him intense earnestness, 
 "there are people who wonder that anyone could invent a 
 hell. My only wonder is why they should have resorted to 
 fire and brimstone to "enhance its terrors when they had the 
 earth full of misery to choose from." 
 
 " You think this world a hell, Eugen? " 
 
 " Sometimes I think it the very nethermost hell of hells, 
 and I think, if you had my feelings, you would think so, too. 
 A poet, an English poet (you do not know the English poets 
 as you ought, Friedhelm), has said that the fiercest of all hells 
 is the failure in a great purpose. I used to think that a fine 
 sentiment; now I sometimes wonder whether to a man who 
 was once inclined to think well of himself it may not be a 
 much fiercer trial to look, back and find that he has failed to 
 be commonly honest and upright. It is a nice little distinc 
 tion a moral wire-drawing which I would recommend to the 
 romancers, if I knew any." 
 
 Once and only once was Sigmund mentioned between us, 
 and Eugen said: 
 
 " Nine years, were you speaking of? No not in nineteen, 
 nor in ninety-nine shall I ever see him again." 
 
 " Why? "' 
 
 " The other night, and what occurred then, decided me. 
 Till then I had some consolation in thinking that the blot 
 might perhaps be wiped out the shame lived down. Now I 
 see that that is a fallacy. With God's help I will never see 
 him nor speak to him again. It is better that he should for 
 get me." 
 
 His voice did not tremble as he said this, though I knew 
 that the idea of being forgotten by Sigmund must be to him 
 anguish of a refinement not to be measured by me. 
 
 I bided my time, saying nothing. I at least was too much 
 engrossed with my own affairs to foresee the cloud then first
 
 276 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 dawning on the horizon, which they who looked toward 
 France and Spain might perhaps perceive. 
 
 It had not come yet the first crack of that thunder which 
 rattled so long over our land, and when we saw the dingy old 
 Jager Hof at one end of the Hofgarten, and heard by chance 
 the words of Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen, no premonition 
 touched us. My mind was made up that, let Eugen go wher/ 
 Jid where he would, I would go with him. 
 
 I had no ties of duty, none of love or of ambition to sepa 
 rate me from him; his God should be my God, and his people 
 my people; if the God were a jealous God, dealing out wrath 
 and terror, and the people should dwindle to outcasts and 
 pariahs, it mattered not to me. I loved him. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Nein, Janger kann ich diesen Kampf niclit kiimpfen, 
 
 Den Riesenkampf der Pflicht. 
 Kannst du des Herzens Flammentrieb niclit dampfen, 
 
 So fordre, Tugend, dieses Opfer riicht. 
 
 Geschworen hab' ich 's, ja, ich hab's geschworen, 
 
 Mich selbst zu bSndigen. 
 Hier ist dein Kranz, er sei auf ewig mir verloren ; 
 
 Nimm ihn zuruck und lass mich sundigen. 
 
 SCHILLEB. 
 
 IF I had never had a trouble before I had one now large 
 stalwart, robust. For what seemed to me a long time there 
 was present to my mind's eye little but the vision of a large, 
 lighted room a great undefined crowd surging around and 
 below, a small knot of persons and faces in sharp distinctness 
 immediately around me, low-spoken words with a question; 
 10 answer vehement imploring for an answer still no 
 reply; yet another sentence conjuring denial, and then the 
 answer itself the silence that succeeded it; the face which 
 had become part of my thoughts all changed and downcast 
 the man whom I had looked up to, feared, honored, as chiv 
 alrous far beyond his station and circumstances, slowly walk 
 ing away from the company of his fellows, disgraced, fallen, 
 having himself owned to the disgrace being merited; pointed 
 at as a cheat bowing to the accusation. 
 
 It drove me almost mad to think of it. I suffered the more 
 keenly because I could speak to no one of what had happened.
 
 Tim FIRST VIOLIN. 273 
 
 that others might advance, but I should remain where I was? 
 And have you not the answer to all here ? You are a gen 
 erous soul, I know, like few others. My keenest regret now 
 is that I did not tell you long ago how things stood, but it 
 would have cost me your friendship, and I have not too many 
 things to make life sweet to me." 
 
 "Eugen, why did you not tell me before? I know the 
 reason; for the very same reason which prevents you from 
 looking me in the eyes now, and saying, * I am guilty. I did 
 that of which I am accused,' because it is not true. I chal 
 lenge you; meet my eyes, and say, ' I am guilty! ' " 
 
 He looked at me; his eyes were dim with anguish: He 
 said: 
 
 " Friedel, I cannot tell you that I am innocent." 
 
 " I did not ask you to do so. I asked you to say you were 
 guilty, and on your soul be it if you lie to me. That I could 
 never forgive." 
 
 Again he looked at me, strove to speak, but no word came. 
 I never removed my eyes from his; the pause grew long, till 
 I dropped his hands and turned away with a smile. 
 
 " Let a hundred busybodies raise their clamoring tongues, 
 they can never divide you and me. If it were not insulting I 
 should ask you to believe that every feeling of mine for you is 
 unchanged, and will remain so as long as I live.' 
 
 " It is incredible. Such loyalty, such Friedel, you are a 
 fool! " 
 
 His voice broke. 
 
 " I wish you could have heard Miss Wedderburn sing her 
 English song after you were gone. It was called, ' What 
 would You do, Love? ' and she made us all cry." 
 
 '' Ah, Miss Wedderburn! How delightful she is! " 
 
 " If it is any comfort to you to know, I can assure you that 
 she thinks as I do. I am certain of it." 
 
 " Comfort not much. It is only that if I ever allowed 
 myself to fall in love again, which I shall not do, it would be 
 with Miss Wedderburn." 
 
 The tone sufficiently told me that he was much in love with 
 her already. 
 
 " She is bewitching," he added. 
 
 " If you do not mean to allow yourself to fall in love with 
 her," I remarked sententiously, " because it seems that ' allow 
 ing ' is a matter for her to decide, not the men who happen 
 to know her."
 
 274 THE FIRST v 
 
 " 3 shall not see much more of her. I shall not remain 
 here." 
 
 As this was what I had fully expected to hear, I said 
 nothing, but I thought of Miss Wedderburn, and grieved 
 for her. 
 
 " Yes, I must go forth from hence," he pursued. " I sup 
 pose I ought to be satisfied that I have had three years here. 
 I wonder if there is any way in which a man could kill all 
 trace of his old self; a man who has every desire to lead 
 henceforth a new life, and be at peace and charity with all 
 men. I suppose not no. I suppose the brand has to be 
 carried about till the last; and how long it may be before that 
 ' last ' comes! " 
 
 I was silent. I had put a good face upon the matter and 
 spoken bravely about it. I had told him that I did not be 
 lieve him guilty that my regard and respect were as high as 
 ever, and I spoke the truth. Both before and since then he 
 had told me that I had a bump of veneration and one of be 
 lief ludicrously out of proportion to the exigencies of the age 
 in which I lived. 
 
 Be it so. Despite my cheerful words, and despite the belief 
 I did feel in him, I could not help seeing that he carried him 
 self now as a marked man. The free, open look was gone; a 
 blight had fallen upon him, and he withered under it. There 
 was what the English call a " down " look upon his face, 
 which had not been there formerly, even in those worst days 
 when the parting from Sigmund was immediately before and 
 behind us. 
 
 In the days which immediately followed the scene at the 
 concert I noticed how he would set about things with a kind 
 of hurried zeal, then suddenly stop and throw them aside, as 
 if sick of them, and fall to brooding with head sunk upon his 
 breast, and lowering brow; a state and a spectacle which 
 caused me pain and misery not to be described. He would 
 oegin sudden conversations with me, starting with some ques 
 tion, as: 
 
 " Friedtl, do you believe in a future state? " 
 
 " I do, and I don't. I mean to say that I don't know any 
 thing about it." 
 
 " Do you know what my idea of heaven would be? " 
 
 "Indeed, don't I! " said I, feebly endeavoring a feeble joke. 
 "A place where all the fiddles are by Stradivarius and 
 Guarnarius, and all the music comes up to Beethoven."
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 279 
 
 more than a lesson, a remembrance to carry with me forever, 
 for he had been playing Beethoven and Schubert to me. 
 
 " Fraulein May, everything concerning you and yours will 
 ever be of the very deepest interest to me," he said, looking 
 earnestly at me. " Take a few words of advice and informa 
 tion from one who has never felt anything for you, since he 
 first met you, but the truest friendship. You have in you the 
 materials of a great artist; whether you have the Spartan 
 courage and perseverance requisite to attain the position, I can 
 hardly tell. If you choose to become an artist, eine volkom- 
 mene Kunstlerin, you must give everything else up love and 
 marriage and all that interferes with your art, for, liebes Frau 
 lein, you cannot pursue two things at once." 
 
 " Then I have every chance of becoming as great an artist 
 as possible," said I; " for none of those things will ever inter 
 fere with the pursuit of art." 
 
 "Wait till the time of probation comes; you are but 
 eighteen yet," said he kindly, but skeptically. 
 
 " Herr von Francius " the words started to my lips as the 
 truth into my mind, and fell from them in the strong desire 
 to speak to someone of the matter that then filled my whole 
 soul " I can tell you the truth you will understand the 
 time of probation has been it is over past. I am free for 
 the future." 
 
 " So! " said he in a very low voice, and his eyes were filled, 
 less with pity than with a fellow-feeling which made them 
 "wondrous kind." "You too have suffered, and given up. 
 There are then four people you and I, and one whose name 
 I will not speak, and may I guess once, Fraulein May? " 
 
 I bowed. 
 
 " My first violinist, nicht wahr? " 
 
 Again I assented silently. He went on: 
 
 "Fate is perverse about these things. And now, my fail 
 pupil, you understand somewhat more that no true artist is 
 possible without sorrow and suffering and renunciation. And 
 you will think sometimes of your old, fault-finding, grum 
 bling master ja? " 
 
 " Oh, Herr von Francius! " cried I, laying my head upon 
 the keyboard of the piano and sobbing aloud. " The kind 
 est, best, most patient, gentle " 
 
 I could say no more. 
 
 " That is mere nonsense, my dear May," he said, passing 
 his hand over my prostrate head; and I felt that it the strong
 
 280 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 hand trembled. "I want a promise from you. Will you 
 sing for me next season? " 
 
 " If I am alive, and you send for me, I will." 
 
 " Thanks. And one other word. Someone very dear to 
 us both is very sad; she will become sadder. You, my child, 
 have the power of allaying sadness and soothing grief and 
 bitterness in a remarkable degree. Will you expend some 
 of that power upon her when her burden grows very hard ; 
 and think that with each word of kindness to her you bind 
 my heart more fast to yourself? " 
 
 " I will indeed I will! " 
 
 " We will not say good-by, but only auf iviedersehen ! " 
 said he. " You and I shall meet again. I am sure of that. 
 Heine, liebe, gute Schulerin, adieu! " 
 
 Choked with tears, I passively let him raise my hand to 
 his lips. I hid my face in my handkerchief to repress my 
 fast-flowing tears. I would not, because I dared not, look 
 at him. The sight of his kind and trusted face would give 
 me too much pain. 
 
 He loosed my hand. I heard steps; a door opened and 
 closed. He was gone! My last lesson was over. My trusty 
 friend had departed. He was to leave Elberthal on the fol 
 lowing day. 
 
 The next night there was an entertainment half concert, 
 half theatricals, wholly dilettante at the Malkasten, the 
 Artists' Club. We, as is the duty of a decorous English 
 family, buried all our private griefs and appeared at the en 
 tertainment, to which, indeed, Adelaide had received a special 
 invitation. I was going to remain with Adelaide until Sii 
 Peter's return, which, we understood, was to bt m the course 
 
 of a few weeks, and then I was going to > 'yy the advice of 
 
 Von Francius, there to finish my studies. 
 
 Dearly though I loved Music, divine as sb-f ever has been, 
 and will be, to me, yet the idea of leaving V OL Francius for 
 other masters had at first almost shaken my resolution to 
 persevere. But, as I said, all this was taken out of my hands 
 by an irresistible concourse of circumstances over which I had 
 gimply no control whatever. 
 
 Adelaide, Harry, and I went to the Malkasi^n, The gar- 
 dens were gayly illuminated; there was a torchlight proces 
 sion around the little artificial lake, and chorus singing 
 merry choruses, such a" " Wenn ?< w ri siob ant sind, sie finden
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN 277 
 
 What sympathy should I get from any living soul by explain 
 ing my sick looks and absent demeanor with the words, " I 
 love that man who is disgraced?" I smiled dryly in the 
 midst of my anguish, and locked it the deeper in my own 
 breast. 
 
 1 had believed in him so devotedly, so intensely, had loved 
 him so entirely, and with such a humility, such a conscious 
 ness of my own shortcomings and of his superiority. The 
 recoil at first was such as one might experience who embraces 
 a veiled figure, presses his lips to where its lips should be, 
 and finds that he kisses a corpse. 
 
 Such, I say, was the recoil at first. But a recoil, from its 
 very nature, is short and vehement. There are some natures, 
 I believe, which after a shock turn and flee from the shock 
 ing agent. Not so I. After figuratively springing back 
 and pressing my hands over my eyes, I removed them again, 
 and still saw his face and it tortured me to have to own it, 
 but I had to do so still loved that face beyond all earthly 
 things. 
 
 It grew by degrees familiar to me again. I caught myself 
 thinking of the past and smiling at the remembrance of the 
 jokes between Eugen and Helfen on Carnival Monday, then 
 pulled myself up with a feeling of horror, and the conviction 
 that I had no business to be thinking of him at all. But I 
 did think of him day by day and hour by hour, and tortured 
 myself with thinking of him, and wished, yet dreaded, to see 
 him, and wondered how I possibly could see him, and could 
 only live on in a hope which was not fulfilled. For I had no 
 right to seek him out. His condition might be much very 
 much to me. My sympathy or pity or thought as I felt all 
 too keenly could be nothing to him. 
 
 Meanwhile, as is usual in such cases, Circumstance com 
 posedly took my affairs into her hands and settled them for 
 me without my being able to move a finger in the matter. 
 
 The time was approaching for the departure of Von Fran- 
 cius. Adelaide and I did not exchange a syllable upon the 
 subject. Of what use? I knew to a certain extent what was 
 passing within her. I knew that this child of the world 
 were we not all children of the world, and not of light? had 
 braced her moral forces to meet the worst, and was awaiting 
 it calmly. 
 
 Adelaide, like me, based her actions not upon religion. 
 Religion was for both of us an utter abstraction; it touched
 
 278 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 us not. That which gave Adelaide force to withstand temp 
 tation, and to remain stoically in the drear sphere in which 
 she .already found herself, was not religion; it was pride on 
 the one hand, and on the other love for Max von Francius. 
 
 Pride forbade her to forfeit her reputation, which was dear 
 to her, though her position had lost the charms with which 
 distance had once gilded it for her. Love for Von Francius 
 made her struggle with all the force of her nature to remain 
 where she was; renounce him blamelessly rather than yield at 
 the price which women must pay who do such things as leave 
 their husbands. 
 
 It was wonderful to me to see how love had developed in 
 her every higher emotion. I remembered how cynical she 
 had always been as to the merits of her own sex. Women, 
 according to her, were an inferior race, who gained their poor 
 eids by poor means. She had never been hard upon female 
 trickery and subterfuge. Bah! she said, how else are they to 
 get what they want? But now, with the exalted opinion of a 
 man, had come exalted ideas as to the woman fit for his wife. 
 
 Since to go to him she must be stained and marked forever, 
 she would remain away from him. Never should any circum 
 stances connected with him be made small or contemptible by 
 any act of hers. I read the motive, and reading it, read her. 
 
 Von Francius was, equally with herself, distinctly and em 
 phatically a child of the world as she honored him he 
 honored her. He proved his strength and the innate nobility 
 of his nature by his stoic abstinence from evasion of or rebel 
 lion against the decree which had gone out against their love. 
 He was a better man, a greater artist, a more sympathetic 
 nature now than before. His passage through the furnace 
 had cleansed him. He was a standing example to me that 
 despite what our preachers and our poets, our philosophers 
 and our novelists, are incessantly dinning into our ears, there 
 are yet men who can renounce men to whom honor and 
 purity are still the highest goddesses. 
 
 I saw him, naturally, and often during these days so dark 
 for all of us. He spoke to me of his prospects in his new 
 post. He asked me if I would write to him occasionally, even 
 if it should be only three or four- times in the year. 
 
 " Indeed I will, if you care to hear from me," said I, much 
 moved. 
 
 This was at our last music lesson, in my dark little room at 
 the Wehrhahn. Von Francius had made it indeed a lesson,
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 283 
 
 anguish were, I saw, mastering her; for Yon Francius, be 
 cause, if Adelaide failed, he must find it almost impossible 
 to repulse her. 
 
 " Herr von Francius," said I, in a quick, low voice, making 
 one step toward him and laying my hand upon his arm, 
 " leave us! If you do love us," 1 added in a whisper, " leave 
 us! Adelaide, say good-by to him let him go! " 
 
 " You are right," said Von Francius to me, before Ade 
 laide had time to speak; " you are quite right." 
 
 A pause. He stepped up to Adelaide. I dtred not inter 
 fere. Their eyes met, and his will not to yield produced the 
 same in her, in the shape of a passive, voiceless acquiescence 
 in his proceedings. He took her hands, saying: 
 
 if My lady, adieu! Heaven send you peace, or death, which 
 brings it, or whatever is best." 
 
 Loosing her hands, he turned to me, saying distinctly: 
 
 " As you are a woman and her sister, do not forsake her 
 now." 
 
 Then he was gone. She raised her arms, and half fell 
 against the trunk of the giant acacia beneath which we had 
 been sitting, face forward, as if drunk with misery. 
 
 Von Francius, strong and generous, whose very submission 
 seemed to brace one to meet trouble with a calmer, firmer 
 front, was gone. I raised my eyes, and did not even feel 
 startled, only darkly certain that Adelaide's evil star was high 
 in the heaven of her fate, when I saw, calmly regarding us, 
 Sir Peter Le Marchant. 
 
 In another moment he stood beside his wife, smiling, and 
 touched her shoulder; with a low cry she raised her face, 
 shrinking away from him. She did not seem surprised either, 
 and I do not think people often are surprised at the presence 
 however sudden and unexpected, of their evil genius. It is 
 good luck which surprises the average human being. 
 
 "You give me a cold welcome, my lady," he remarked. 
 '"You are so overjoyed to see me, I suppose! Your carriage 
 is waiting outside. I came in it, and Arkwright told me I 
 should find you here. Suppose you come home. We shall 
 be less disturbed there than in these public gardens." 
 
 Tone and words all convinced me that he had heard 
 most of what had passed, and would oppress her with it 
 hereafter. 
 
 The late scene had apparently stunned her. After the 
 first recoil she said, scarcely audibly, "I am ready," and
 
 284 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 moved. He offered her his arm; she took it, turning to me 
 and saying, " Come, May! " 
 
 " Excuse me," observed Sir Peter, " you 'are better alone. 
 I am sorry I cannot second your invitation to my charming 
 sister-in-law. I do not think you fit for any society even 
 hers." 
 
 " I cannot leave my sister, Sir Peter; she is not fit to be 
 left," I found voice to say. 
 
 " She is not ' left,' as you say, my dear. She has her hus 
 band. She has me," said he. 
 
 Some few further words passed. I do not chronicle them. 
 Sir Peter was as firm as a rock that I was helpless before 
 him. is a matter of course. I saw my sister handed into her 
 carriage; I saw Sir Peter follow her the carriage drive away. 
 I was left alone, half mad with terror at the idea of her state, 
 to go home to my lodgings. 
 
 Sir Peter had heard the words of Von Francius to me: 
 " do not forsake her now," and had given himself the satis 
 faction of setting them aside as if they had been so much 
 waste paper. Von Francius was, as I well knew, trying to 
 derive comfort in this very moment from the fact that I at 
 least was with her; I who loved them both, and would have 
 laid down my life for them. Well, let him have the comfort! 
 In the midst of my sorrow I rejoiced that he did not know 
 the worst, and would not be likely to imagine for himself 
 a terror grimmer than any feeling I had yet known. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "Some say, "A queen discrowned,' and some call it 'Woman's 
 shame.' Others name it ' A false step,' or ' Social suicide,' just as it 
 happens to strike their minds, or such understanding as they may be 
 blessed with. In these days one rarely hears seriously mentioned such 
 unruly words as 'Love,' or 'Wretchedness,' or 'Despair,' which may 
 nevertheless be important factors in bringing about that result which 
 stands out to the light of day for public inspection." 
 
 THE three days which I passed alone and in suspense were 
 very terrible ones to me. I felt myself physically as well as 
 mentally ill, and it was in vain that I tried to learn anything 
 of or from Adelaide, and I waited in a kind of breathless 
 eagerness for the end of it all, for I knew, as well as if some 
 one had shouted it aloud from the house-tops, that that fare- 
 fell in the Malkasten garden was not the end.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIX. 281 
 
 den Weg" which were cheered and laughed at. The fan 
 tastically dressed artists and their friends were flitting, torch 
 in hand, about the dark alleys under the twisted acacias and 
 elms, the former of which made the air voluptuous with their 
 scent. Then we adjourned to the saal for the concert, and 
 heard on all sides regrets about the absence of Von Francius. 
 
 We sat out the first part of the festivities, which were to 
 conclude the theatricals. During the pause we went into the 
 garden. The May evening was balmy and beautiful; no 
 moonlight, but many stars and the twinkling lights in the 
 garden. 
 
 Adelaide and I had seated ourselves on a circular bench 
 surrounding a big tree, which had the mighty word " Goethe " 
 cut deeply into its rugged bark. When the others began tc 
 return to the Malkasten, Adelaide, turning to Arkwright, 
 said: 
 
 " Harry, will you go in and leave my sister and me here, 
 that's a good boy? You can call for us when the play is 
 over." 
 
 " All right, my lady," assented he amiably, and left us. 
 
 Presently Adelaide and I moved to another seat, near to 
 a small table under a thick shade of trees. The pleasant, 
 cool evening air fanned our faces; all was still and peaceful. 
 Not a soul but ourselves had remained out-of-doors. The 
 still drama of the marching stars was no less attractive than 
 the amateur murdering of " Die Piccolomin " within. The 
 tree tops rustled softly over our heads. The lighted pond 
 gleamed through the low-hanging houghs at the other end 
 of the garden. A peal of laughter and a round of applause 
 came wafted now and then from within. Ere long Adelaide's 
 hand stole into mine, which closed over it, and we sat silent. 
 
 Then there came a voice. Someone a complaisant dilet- 
 '-.antin was singing Thekla's song. We heard the refrain 
 distance lent enchantment; it sounded what it really was, 
 deep as eternity: 
 
 " Ich habe gelcbt und geliebet." 
 
 Adelaide moved uneasily; her hand started nervously, and 
 a sigh broke from her lips. 
 
 ' Schiller wrote from his heart," said she in a low voice. 
 
 " Indeed, yes, Adelaide." 
 
 " Did vou say good-by to Von Francius, May, yesterday? "
 
 282 THE IIR8T VIOLIN. 
 
 r 'Yes at least, we said au revoir. He wants me to sing 
 for him next winter."' 
 
 " Was he very down? " 
 
 " Yes very. He 
 
 A footstep close at hand. A figure passed in the uncertain 
 light, dimly discerned us, paused, and glanced at us. 
 
 " Max! " exclaimed Adelaide in a low voice, full of surprise 
 and emotion, and she half started up. 
 
 " It is you ! That is too wonderf ul ! " said he, pausing. 
 
 " You are not yet gone? " 
 
 " I have been detained to-day. I leave early to-morrow. 
 I thought I would take at least one turn in the Malkasten 
 garden, which I may perhaps never see or enter again. I 
 did not know you were here." 
 
 " We May and I thought it so pleasant that we would 
 not go in again to listen to the play." 
 
 Von Francius had come under the trees and was now lean 
 ing against a massive trunk; his slight, tall figure almost lost 
 against it; his arms folded, and an imposing calm upon his 
 pale face, which was just caught hy the gleam of a lamp out 
 side the trees. 
 
 " Since this accidental meeting has taken place, I may have 
 the privilege of saying adieu to your ladyship." 
 
 " Yes," said Adelaide in a strange, low, much-moved tone. 
 
 I felt uneasy, I was sorry this meeting had taken place. 
 The shock and revulsion of feeling for Adelaide, after she 
 had been securely calculating that Von Francius was a hun 
 dred miles on his way to , was too severe. I could tell 
 
 from the very timbre of her voice and its faint vibration how 
 agitated she was, and as she seated herself again beside me, 
 T fait that she trembled like a reed. 
 
 " It is more happiness than I expected," went on Von Fran- 
 sius, and his voice, too, was agitated. Oh, if he would only 
 say " Farewell " and go! 
 
 " Happiness! " echoed Adelaide, in a tone whose wretched 
 ness was too deep for tears. 
 
 "Ah! You correct me. Still it is a happiness; there are 
 some kinds of joy which one cannot distinguish from griefs, 
 my lady, until one comes to think that one might have been 
 without them, and then one knows their real nature." 
 
 She clasped her hands. I saw her bosom rise and fall with 
 Jong, stormy breaths. 
 
 I trprnbled for both; for Adelaide, whose emotion
 
 THE FIRtiT VIOLIN. 287 
 
 medical man who attended me in my illness. Yes, the world 
 seemed full of kindness, full of kind people who were anxious 
 to keep me in it, and who managed, in spite of my effort to 
 leave it, to retain me. 
 
 Dr. Mittendorf, the oculist, had been my guardian angel. 
 It was he who wrote to my friends and told them of my ill 
 ness; it was he who went to meet Stella and Miss Hallam'f 
 Merrick, who came over to nurse me and take me home. 
 The fiat had gone forth. I was to go home. I made no 
 resistance, but my very heart shrunk away in fear and terror 
 from the parting, till one day something happened which 
 reconciled me to going home, or rather made me evenly and 
 equally indifferent whether I went home, or stayed abroad, 
 or lived, or died, or, in short, what became of me. 
 
 I sat one afternoon for the first time in an armchair oppo 
 site the window. It was June, and the sun streamed warmly 
 and richly in. The room was scented with a bunch of wall 
 flowers and another of mignonette, which Stella had brought 
 in that morning from the market. Stella was very kind to 
 me, but in a superior, patronizing way. I had always felt 
 deferentially backward before the superior abilities of both 
 my sisters, but Stella quite overawed me by her decided 
 opinions and calm way of setting me right upon all possible 
 matters. 
 
 This afternoon she had gone out with Merrick to enjoy 
 a little fresh air. I was left quite alone, with my hands in 
 my lap, feeling very weak, and looking wistfully toward the 
 well-remembered windows on the other side of the street. 
 
 They were wide open; I could see inside the room. No 
 one was there Friedhelm and Eugen had gone out, no 
 doubt. 
 
 The door of my room opened and Frau Lutzler came in. 
 She looked cautiously around, and then, having ascertained 
 that I was not asleep, asked in p, nerve-disturbing whisper 
 if I had everything that I wanted. 
 
 "Everything, thank you, Frau Lutzler," said I. "But 
 come in! I want to speak to you. I am afraid I have given 
 you no end of trouble." 
 
 " Acli, ich bitte Sie, Frauleinf Don't mention the trouble. 
 We have managed to keep you alive." 
 
 How they all did rejoice in having won a victory over that 
 gray- winged angel, Death! I thought to myself, with a curious 
 sensation of wonder-
 
 288 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " You are very kind/' I said, " and 1 want you to tell me 
 something, Frau Lutzler: how long have I been ill?" 
 
 " Fourteen days, Fraulein; little as you may think it." 
 
 "Indeed! I have heard nothing about anyone in that 
 time. Who has been made Musik-direktor in place of Herr 
 von Francius? " 
 
 Frau Lutzler folded her arms and composed herself to tell 
 me a history. 
 
 " Ja, Frdulein, the post would have been offered to Herr 
 Courvoisier, only, you see, he has turned out a good-for- 
 nothing. But perhaps you heard about that?" 
 
 " Oh, yes! I know all about it," said I hastily, as I passed 
 my handkerchief over my mouth to hide the spasm of pain 
 which contracted it. 
 
 " Of course, considering all that, the Direktion could not 
 offer it to him, so they proposed it to Herr Helfen you know 
 Herr Helfen, Fraulein, nicht? " 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 " A good young man! a worthy young man, and so popular 
 with his companions! Aber denJcen Sie nur! The authori 
 ties might have been offering him an insult instead of a good 
 post. Pie refused it then and there; would not stop to con 
 sider about it in fact, he was quite angry about it. The 
 gentleman who was chosen at last was a stranger, from 
 Hanover." 
 
 " Herr Helfen refused it why, do you know ? " 
 
 " They say, because he was so fond of Herr Courvoisier, 
 and would not be set above him. It may be so. I know for 
 a certainty that, so far from taking part against Herr Cour 
 voisier, he would not even believe the story against him, 
 though he could not deny it, and did not try to deny it. 
 Aber, Fraulein what hearts men must have! To have lived 
 three years, and let the world think him an honest man, when 
 all the time he had that on his conscience ! Sclirecklicli ! " 
 
 Adelaide and Courvoisier, it seemed, might almost be pelted 
 with the same stones. 
 
 " His wife, they say, died of grief at the disgrace : 
 
 " Yes," said I, wincing. I could not bear this any longer, 
 nor .to discuss Courvoisier with Frau Lutzler, and the words 
 " his wife," uttered in that speculatively gossiping tone, re 
 pelled me. She turned the subject to Helfen again. 
 
 " Herr Helfen must indeed have loved his friend, for when 
 Herr Courvoisier went away he went with him/'
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 285 
 
 Early one morning, when the birds were singing and the 
 sunshine streaming into the room, Frau Lutzler came into 
 the room and put a letter into my hand, which she said a 
 messenger had left. I took it, and paused a moment before 
 I opened it. I was unwilling to face what I knew was com 
 ing and yet, how otherwise could the whole story have 
 ended? 
 
 " DEAK MAT: You, like me, have been suffering during 
 these days. I have been trying yes, I have tried to believe 
 I could bear this life, but it is too horrible. Isn't it possible 
 that sometimes it may be right to do wrong? It is of no 
 use telling you what has passed, but it is enough. I believe 
 I am only putting the crowning point to my husband's re 
 venge when I leave him. He will be glad he does not mind 
 the disgrace for himself; and he can get another wife, as good 
 as I, when he wants one. When you read this, or not long 
 afterward, I shall be with Max von Francius. I wrote to him 
 I asked him to save me, and he said, ' Come ! ' It is not 
 because I want to go, but I must go somewhere. I have made 
 a great mess of my life. I believe everybody does make a 
 mess of it who tries to arrange things for himself. Kemem- 
 ber that, May. 
 
 " I wonder if we shall ever meet again. Not likely, when 
 you are married to some respectable, conventional man, who 
 will shield you from contamination with such as I. I must 
 not write more or I shall write nonsense. Good-by, good-by, 
 good-by! What will be the end of me? Think of me some 
 times, and try not to think too hardly. Listen to your heart, 
 not to what people say. Good-by again! 
 
 " ADELAIDE." 
 
 I received this stroke without groan or cry, tear or shiver. 
 It struck home to me. The heavens were riven asunder a 
 flash came from them, descended upon my head, and left me 
 desolate. I stood, I know not how long, stock-still in the 
 place where I had read that letter. In novels I had read of 
 such things; they had 'had little meaning to me. In real life 
 I had only heard them mentioned dimly and distantly, and 
 here I was face to face with the awful thing, and so far from 
 being able to deal out hearty, untempered condemnation, I 
 found that the words of Adelaide's letter came to me like 
 throes of a real heart. Bald, dry, disjointed sentences on the
 
 286 THE TT1JST VIOLIN. 
 
 outside; without feeling they might seem, hut to me they 
 were the breathless exclamations of a soul in supreme torture 
 and peril. My sister! with what a passion of love my heart 
 went out to her. Think of you, Adelaide, and think of you 
 not too hardly? Oh, why did not you trust me more? 
 
 I saw her as she wrote these words: " I have made a great 
 mess of it." To make a mess of one's life one mistake 
 after another, till what might have been at least honest, pure, 
 ind of good report, becomes a stained, limp, unsightly thing, 
 at which men feel that they may gaze openly, and from 
 which women turn away in scorn unutterable; and that Ade 
 laide, my proudest of proud sisters, had come to this! 
 
 I was not thinking of what people would say. I was not 
 wondering how it had come about; I was feeling Adelaide's 
 words ever more and more acutely, till they seemed to stand 
 out from the paper and turn into cries of anguish in my very 
 ears. I put my hands to my ears; I could not bear those 
 notes of despair. 
 
 ''What will be the end of me?" she said, and I shook 
 from head to foot as I repeated the question. If her will and 
 that of Von Francius ever came in contact! She had put 
 herself at his mercy utterly; her whole future now depended 
 upon the good pleasure of a man and men were selfish. 
 
 With a faint cry of terror and foreboding I felt everything 
 whirl unsteadily around me; the letter fell from my hand: 
 the icy band that had held me fast gave way. All things 
 faded before me, and I scarcely knew that I was sinking upon 
 the floor. I thought I was dying; then thought faded with 
 the consciousness that brings it. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 '" Allein, allein ! und so soil ich genesen? 
 Allein, allein ! und das des Schicksals Segen ! 
 Allein, allein ! O Gott, ein einzie Wesen, 
 Um dieses Haupt an seine Brust ?,u legen ! " 
 
 I HAD a sharp, if not a long attack of illness, which left me 
 weak, shaken, passive, so that I felt neither ability nor wish 
 to resist those who took me into their hands. I remember 
 being surprised at the goodness of everyone toward me; aston 
 ished at Fran Lutzler's gentle kindness, amazed at the unfail 
 ing goodness of Dr. Mittendorf and his wife, at that of the
 
 THE FIRaT VIOLIN. 289 
 
 '' Herr Courvoisier is gone? }> I inguired, in a voice so like 
 my usual one that I was surprised. 
 
 "Yes, certainly he is gone. I don't know where, I am 
 sure." 
 
 " Perhaps they will return? " 
 
 Frau Lutzler shook her head, and smiled slightly. 
 
 "Nee, Fraulein! Their places were filled immediately. 
 They are gone ganz und gar." 
 
 I tried to listen to her, tried to answer her as she went on 
 giving her opinions upon men and things, but the effort col 
 lapsed suddenly. I had at last to turn my head away and close 
 my eyes, and in that weary, weary moment I prayed to God 
 that he would let me die, and wondered again, and was almost 
 angry with those who had nursed me, for having done their 
 work so well. " We have managed to save you," Frau Lutzler 
 had said. Save me from what, and for what? 
 
 I knew the truth, as I sat there; it was quite too strong and 
 too clear to be laid aside, or looked upon with doubtful eyes. 
 I was confronted by a fact, humiliating or not a fact which 
 I could not deny. 
 
 It was bad enough to have fallen in love with a man who 
 had never showed me by word or sign that he cared for me, 
 but exactly and pointedly the reverse; but now it seemed the 
 man himself was bad, too. Surely a well-regulated mind 
 would have turned away from him uninfluenced. 
 
 If so, then mine was an ill-regulated mind. I had loved 
 him from the bottom of my heart; the world without him 
 felt cold, empty, and baredesolate to live in, and shorn 
 of its sweetest pleasures. He had influenced me, he influ 
 enced me yet I still felt the words true: 
 
 " The greater soul that draweth thee 
 Hath left his shadow plain to see 
 On thy fair face, Persephone ! " 
 
 He had bewitched me; I did feel capable of "making 
 a fool of myself " for his sake. I did feel that life by the 
 side of any other man would be miserable, though never so 
 richly set; and that life by his side would be full and com 
 plete, though never so poor and sparing in its circumstances. 
 I make no excuses, no apologies for this state of things. It 
 simply was so. 
 
 Gone! And Friedhelm with him! I should probably never 
 see either of them again. " I have made a mess of my life,"
 
 290 THE FIRST VIOLIX. 
 
 Adelaide had said, and I felt that I might chant the same 
 dirge. A fine ending to my boasted artistic career! I thought 
 of how I had sat and chattered so aimlessly to Courvoisier 
 in the cathedral at Kb'ln, and had little known how large 
 and how deep a shadow his influence was to cast over my life. 
 I still retained a habit of occasionally kneeling by my bed 
 side and saying my prayers, and this night 1 felt the impulse 
 to do so. I tried to thank God for my recovery. I said the 
 Lord's Prayer; it is a universal petition and thanksgiving; 
 it did not too nearly touch my woes; it allowed itself to be 
 said, but when I came to something nearer, tried to say a 
 thanksgiving for blessings and friends who yet remained, my 
 heart refused, my tongue cleaved to my mouth. Alas! I was 
 not regenerate. I could not thank God for what had hap 
 pened. I found myself thinking of " the pity on't," and cry 
 ing most bitterly till tears streamed through my folded fin 
 gers, and whispering, " Oh, if I could only have died while I 
 was so ill! no one would have missed me, and it would have 
 been so much better for me! " 
 
 In the beginning of July, Stella, Merrick, and I' returned 
 to England, to Skernford, home. I parted in silent tears 
 from my trusted friends, the Mittendorfs, who begged me 
 to come and stay with them at some future day. The 
 anguish of leaving Elberthal did not make itself fully felt at 
 first that remained to torment me at a future day. And 
 soon after our return came, printed in large type in all the 
 newspapers, " Declaration of War between France and Ger 
 many." Mine was among the hearts which panted and beat 
 with sickening terror in England while the dogs of war were 
 fastened in deadly grip abroad. 
 
 My time at home was spent more with Miss Hallam than 
 in my own home. I found her looking much older, much 
 feebler, and much more subdued than when she had been in 
 Germany. She seemed to find some comfort from my society, 
 and I was glad to devote myself to her. But for her I should 
 never have known all those pains and pleasures which, bitter 
 though their remembrance might be, were, and ever would 
 be to me, the dearest thing of my life. 
 
 Miss Hallam seemed to know this; she once asked me: 
 " Would I return to Germany if I could ? " 
 
 "Yes," said I, "I would."' 
 
 To say that I found life dull, even in Skernford;, at that
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 291 
 
 time would be untrue. Miss Hallam was a furious partisan 
 of the French, and I dared not mention the war to her, but 
 I took in the Daily News from my private funds, and read it 
 in my bedroom every night with dimmed eyes, and coming 
 breath, and beating heart. I knew knew well, that Eugen 
 must be fighting unless he were dead. And I knew, too, 
 by some intuition founded, I suppose, on many small negative 
 evidences unheeded at the time, that he would fight, not like 
 the other men who were battling for the sake of hearth and 
 home and sheer love and pride for the Fatherland, but as one 
 who has no home and no fatherland; as one who seeks a 
 grave, not as one who combats a wrong. 
 
 Stella saw the pile of newspapers in my room, and 
 asked me how I could read those dreary accounts of battles 
 and bombardments. Beyond these poor newspapers I had, 
 during the sixteen months that I was at home, but scant 
 tidings from without. I had implored Clara Steinmann 
 to write me now and -then, and tell me the news of 
 Elberthal, but her penmanship was of the most modest 
 and retiring description, and she was, too, so desperately 
 excited about Karl as to be able to think scarce of any 
 thing else. Karl belonged to a Landwehr regiment which 
 had not yet been called out, but to which that frightful 
 contingency might happen any day; and what should she, 
 Clara, do in that case? She told me no news; she lamented 
 over the possibility of Karl's being summoned upon active 
 service. It was, she said, grausam, schrecklich! It made 
 her almost faint to write about it, and yet she did com 
 pose four whole pages in that condition. The barrack, she 
 informed me, was turned into a hospital, and she and 
 " Tante " both worked hard. There was much work dread 
 ful work to do such poor groaning fellows to nurse! " Herr- 
 gott! " cried poor little Clara, " I did not know that the world 
 was such a dreadful place! " Everything was so dear, so 
 frightfully dear, and Karl that was the burden of her song 
 might have to go into battle any day. 
 
 Also through the public papers I learned that Adelaide 
 and Sir Peter Le Marchant were divided forever. As to what 
 happened afterward I was for some time in uncertainty, long 
 ing most intensely to know, not daring to speak of it. Ade 
 laide's name was the signal for a cold stare from Stella, and 
 angry, indignant expostulation from Miss Hallam. To me 
 it was a sorrowful spell which I carried in my heart of hearts.
 
 292 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 One day I saw in a German musical periodical which I took 
 in, this announcement: " Herr Musik-direktor Max von 
 
 Francius in has lately published a new symphony in 
 
 B minor. The productions of this gifted composer are slowly 
 but surely making the mark which they deserve to leave in 
 the musical history of our nation; he has, we believe, left 
 
 for for a few weeks to join his lady (seine Gemah- 
 
 lin), who is one of the most active and valuable hospital 
 nurses of that town, now, alas! little else than a hospital." 
 
 This paragraph set my heart beating wildly. Adelaide 
 was then the wife of Von Francius. My heart yearned from 
 my solitude toward them both. Why did not they write? 
 They knew how I loved them. Adelaide could not suppose 
 that I looked upon her deed with the eyes of the world at 
 large with the eyes of Stella or Miss Hallam. Had I not 
 grieved with her? Had I not seen the dreadful struggle? 
 Had I not proved the nobility of Von Francius? On an 
 impulse I seized pen and paper, and wrote to Adelaide, ad 
 dressing my letter under cover to her husband at the town 
 in which he was musik-direktor; to him I also wrote only 
 a few words: "Is your pupil forgotten by her master? He 
 has never been forgotten by her." 
 
 At last the answer came. On the part of Adelaide it was 
 short: 
 
 " DEAE MAY: I have had no time till now to answer your 
 letter. I cannot reply to all your questions. You ask whether 
 I repent what I have done. I repent my whole life. If I 
 am happy how can I be happy? I am busy now, and have 
 many calls upon my time. My husband is very good; he 
 never interposes between me and my work. Shall I ever 
 come to England again? never. 
 
 " Yours, 
 
 A. VON F." 
 
 No request to write again! No inquiry after friends or 
 relations! This letter showed me that whatever I might feel 
 to her however my heart might beat and long, how warm 
 soever the love I bore her, yet that Adelaide was now apart 
 from me divided in every thought. It was a cruel letter, 
 but in my pain I could not see that it had not been cruelly 
 intended. Her nature had changed. But behind this pain 
 lay comfort. On the back of the same sheet as that on which
 
 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 2&3 
 
 Adelaide's curt epistle wa* written, were some lines in the 
 hand I knew well. 
 
 "LIEBE MAI [they said]: Forgive your master, who can 
 never forget you, nor ever cease to love you. You suffer. I 
 know it; I read it in those short, constrained lines, so unlike 
 your spontaneous words and frank smile. My dear child, 
 remember the storms that are beating on every side, over our 
 country, in on our hearts. Once I asked you to sing for me 
 some time: you promised. When the war i& over I shall re 
 mind you of your promise. At present, believe me, silence is 
 best. 
 
 " Your old music-master, 
 
 " M. v. F." 
 
 Gall and honey, roses and thistles, a dagger at the heart 
 and a caress upon the lips; such seemed to me the character 
 of the two letters on the same sheet which I held in my hand. 
 Adelaide made my heart ache; Von Francius made tears 
 stream from my eyes. I reproached myself for having 
 doubted him, but oh, I treasured the proof that he was true! 
 It was the one tangible link between me, reality, and hard 
 facts, and the misty yet beloved life I had quitted. My heart 
 was full to overflowing; I must tell someone I must speak 
 to someone. 
 
 Once again I tried to talk to Stella about Adelaide, but she 
 gazed at me in that straight, strange way, and said coldly that 
 she preferred not to speak of " that." I could not speak to 
 Miss Hallam about it. Alone in the broad meadows, beside 
 the noiseless river, I sometimes whispered to myself that I 
 was not forgotten, and tried to console myself with the feeling 
 that what Von Francius promised he did I should touch his 
 hand, hear his voice again and Adelaide's. For the rest, I 
 had to lock the whole affair my grief and my love, my long 
 ing and my anxiety fast within my own breast, and did so. 
 
 It was a long lesson a hard one; it was conned with bitter 
 tears, wept long and alone in the darkness; it was a sorrow 
 which lay down and rose up with me. It taught (or rather 
 practiced me until I became expert in them) certain things 
 in which I had been deficient; reticence, self-reliance, a 
 quicker ability to decide in emergencies. It certainlv made 
 me feel old and sad, and Miss Hallam often said that Stella 
 nnd I werr " as quiet as nuns.".
 
 294 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Stella had the power which I so ardently coveted: she was 
 a first-rate instrumentalist. The only topic she and I had in 
 common was the music I had heard and taken part in. To 
 anything concerning that she would listen for hours. 
 
 Meanwhile the war rolled on, and Paris capitulated, and 
 peace was declared. The spring passed and Germany laughed 
 in glee, and bleeding France roused herself to look with a 
 haggard eye around her; what she saw, we all know desola 
 tion, and mourning, and woe. And summer glided by, and 
 autumn came, and I did not write either to Adelaide or Von 
 Francius. I had a firm faith in him and absolute trust. I 
 felt I was not forgotten. 
 
 In less than a year after my return to England, Miss Hal- 
 lam died. The day before her death she called me to her, 
 and said words which moved me very much. 
 
 " May, I am an eccentric old woman, and lest you should 
 be in any doubt upon the subject of my feelings toward you, 
 I wish to tell you that my life has been more satisfactory to 
 me ever since I knew you." 
 
 " That is much more praise than I deserve, Miss Hallam." 
 " No, it isn't. I like both you and Stella. Three months 
 ago I made a codicil to my will by which I endeavored to 
 express that liking. It is nothing very brilliant, but I fancy 
 it will suit the views of both of you." 
 
 Utterly astounded, I stammered out some incoherent words. 
 
 " There, don't thank me," said she. " If I were not sure 
 
 that I shall die to-morrow or thereabouts, I should put my 
 
 plan into execution at once, but I shall not be alive at the 
 
 end of the week." 
 
 Her words proved true. Grim, sardonic, and cynical to 
 the last, she died quietly, gladly closing her eyes which had 
 so long been sightless. She was sixty-five years old, and had 
 lived alone since she was five-and-twenty. 
 
 The codicil to her will, which she had spoken of with so 
 much composure, left three hundred pounds to Stella and me. 
 She wished a portion of it to be devoted to our instruction in 
 music, vocal and instrumental, at any German conservatorium 
 
 we might select. She preferred that of L . Until we 
 
 were of age, our parents or guardians saw to the dispensing of 
 the money, after that it was our own half belonging to each 
 of us; we might either unite our funds or use them separately 
 as we choose. 
 
 It need scarcely be said that we both chose that course
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 295 
 
 which she indicated. Stella's joy was deep and intense 
 mine had an unavoidable sorrow mingled with it. At the end 
 
 of September, 18 , we departed for Germany, and before 
 
 going to L - it was agreed that we should pay a visit at 
 Elberthal, to my friend Dr. Mittendorf. 
 
 It was a gusty September night, with wind dashing angrily 
 about and showers of rain flying before the gale, on which I 
 once again set foot in Elberthai^-the place I had thought 
 lerer more to see.
 
 BOOK vi. 
 
 ROTHENFELS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ' Freude trinken alle Wesen 
 An den BriUten dsr Natur ; 
 Alle Guten, alle Bbsen 
 Folgen ihrer Rosenspur." 
 
 I FELT a deep rapture in being once more in that land where 
 my love, if he did not live, slept. But I forbear to dwell on 
 that rapture, much as it influenced me. It waxes tedious 
 when put into words loses color and flavor, like a pressed 
 flower. 
 
 I was at first bitterly disappointed to find that Stella and I 
 were only to have a few days at Elberthal. Dr. Mittendorf 
 no longer lived there; but only had his official residence in 
 the town, going every week-end to his country house, or 
 " Schloss," as he ambitiously called it, at Lahnburg, a four- 
 hours' railway journey from Elberthal. 
 
 Frau Mittendorf, who had been at Elberthal on a visit, was 
 to take Stella and me with her to Lahnburg on the Tuesday 
 morning after our arrival, which was on Friday evening. 
 
 The good doctor's schloss, an erection built like the con 
 trivances of the White Knight in " Through the Looking- 
 glass," on "a plan of his own invention," had been his pet 
 hobby for years, and now that it was finished, he invited every 
 nvitable person to come and stay at it. 
 
 It was not likely that he would excuse a person for whom 
 he had so much regard as he professed for me from the honor, 
 and I was fain to conceal the fact that I would much rather 
 have remained in Elberthal, and make up my mind to endure 
 as well as. I could the prospect of being buried in the country 
 with Frau Mittendorf and her children. 
 
 It was Sunday afternoon. An equinoctial gale was raging, 
 er rather had been raging all day. It had rained incessantly, 
 
 a*
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 397 
 
 and the wind had howled. The skies were cloud-laden, tht 
 wind was furious. The Ehine was so swollen that the streets 
 in the lower part of the town sloping to the river were undei 
 water, and the people going about in hoats. 
 
 But I was tired of the house; the heated rooms stifled me. 
 I was weary of Frau Mittendorf's society, and thoroughly dis 
 satisfied with my own. 
 
 About five in the afternoon I went to the window and 
 looked out. I perceived a strip of pale, watery blue through a 
 rift in the storm-laden clouds, and I chose to see that, and that 
 only, ignoring the wind-lashed trees of the allee; the leaves, 
 wet, and sodden and sere, hurrying panic-stricken before the 
 gale, ignoring, too, the low wail promising a coming hurri 
 cane, which sighed and soughed beneath the wind's shrill 
 scream. 
 
 There was a temporary calm, and I bethought myself that 
 I would go to church not to the Protestant church attended 
 by the English clique heaven forbid! but to my favorite 
 haunt, the Jesuiten Kirche. 
 
 It was just the hour at which the service would be going on. 
 I asked Stella in a low voice if she would not like to come; 
 she declined with a look of pity at me, so, notifying my inten 
 tion to Frau Mittendorf, and mildly but firmly leaving the 
 room before she could utter any remonstrance. I rushed up 
 stairs, clothed myself in my winter mantle, threw a shawl over 
 my ami, and set out. 
 
 The air was raw but fresh, life-giving, and invigorating. 
 The smell of the stove, which clung to me still, was quickly 
 dissipated by it. I wrapped my shawl around me, turned 
 down a side street, and was soon in the heart of the old part 
 of the town, where all Roman Catholic churches were, the 
 quarter lying near the river and wharves and bridge of boats 
 
 I liked to go to the Jesuiten Kirche, and placing myself in 
 the background, kneel as others knelt, and, without taking 
 part in the service, think my own thoughts and pray my own 
 prayers. 
 
 Here none of the sheep looked wolfish at you unless yon 
 kept to a particular pen, for the privilege of sitting in which 
 you paid so many marks per quartal to a respectable func 
 tionary who came to collect them. Here the men came and 
 knelt down, cap in hand, and the women seemed really to be 
 praying, and aware of what they were praying for, not looking 
 over their nrayer-books at each other's clothes.
 
 299 THE FIRST VIOLIN 
 
 I entered the church. Within the building it was already 
 almost dark. A reddish light hurned in a great glittering 
 censer, which swung gently to and fro in the chancel. 
 
 There were many people in the church, kneeling in groups 
 and rows, and all occupied with their prayers. I, too, kneli 
 down, and presently, as the rest sat up, I sat up too. A sad- 
 looking monk had ascended the pulpit, f sd was beginning to 
 preach. His face was thin, hollow, and ascetic-looking; his 
 ayes blazed bright from deep, sunken sockets. His cowl came 
 almost up to his ears. I could dimly see the white cord round 
 his waist as he began to preach, at first in a low and feeble 
 voice, which gradually waxed into power. 
 
 He was in earnest whether right or wrong, he was in ear 
 nest. I listened with the others to what he said. He 
 preached the beauties of renunciation, and during his dis 
 course quoted the very words which had so often haunted 
 me Enfbehren sollst du! sollst enfbehren! 
 
 His earnestness moved me deeply. His voice was musical, 
 sweet. His accent made the German burr soft; he was half 
 (talian. I had been fit the instrumental concert the previous 
 night, for old association's sake, and they had played the two 
 movements of Schnbert's unfinished symphony the B minor. 
 The refrain in the last movement haunted me a refrain of 
 seven cadences, which rises softly and falls, dies away, is 
 carried softly from one instrument to another, wanders afar, 
 returns agaia, sinks lower and lower, deeper and deeper, till at 
 last the 'oelli (if I mistake not) take it up for the last time, 
 and the melody dies a beautiful death, leaving you undecided 
 whether to weep or smile, but penetrated through and 
 through with its dreamy loveliness. 
 
 This exquisite refrain lingered in my memory and echoed 
 in my mind, like a voice from some heavenly height, telling 
 me to rest and be at peace, in time to the swinging of the 
 censer, in harmony with the musical southern voice of that 
 unknown Brother Somebody. 
 
 By degrees I began to think that the censer did not sway so 
 regularly, so like a measured pendulum as it had done, but 
 was moving somewhat erratically, and borne upon the gale 
 came a low, ominous murmur, which first mingled itself with 
 the voice of the preacher, and then threatened to dominate it. 
 Still the refrain of the symphony rang in my ears, and I was 
 
 to rest by the inimitable nepenthe of music- 
 the murmur of which I had so long been, as it were,
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 299 
 
 half-conscious, swelled and drove other sounds and the 
 thoughts of them from my mind. It grew to a deep, hollow 
 roar a very hurricane of a roar. The preacher's voice 
 ceased, drowned. 
 
 I think none of us were at first certain about what was hap 
 pening; we only felt that something tremendous was going 
 on. Then, with one mighty bang and blow of the tempest, 
 the door by which I had entered the church was blown bodily 
 in, and fell crashing upon the floor; and after the hurricane 
 came rushing through the church with the howl of a tri 
 umphant demon, and hurried round the building, extinguish 
 ing every light, and turning a temple of God into Hades. 
 
 Sounds there were as of things flapping from the walls, as 
 of wood falling; but all was in the pitchiest darkness a very 
 " darkness which might be felt." Amid the roar of the wind 
 came disjointed, broken exclamations of terrified women and 
 angry, impatient men. " Ach Gott!" " Du meine Zeit!" 
 "H err du meine Giite!" "Oh, je!" etc., rang all round, 
 and hurrying people rushed past me, making confusion worse 
 confounded as they scrambled past to try to get out. 
 
 I stood still, not from any bravery or presence of mind, but 
 from utter annihilation of both qualities in the shock and 
 surprise of it all. At last I began trying to grope my way 
 toward the door. I found it. Some people I heard and 
 felt rather than saw were standing about the battered-in 
 door, and there was the sound of water hurrying past the 
 doorway. The Ehine was rushing down the street. 
 
 " We must go to the other door the west door," said some 
 one among the people; and as the group moved I moved too, 
 beginning to wish myself well out of it. 
 
 We reached the west door; it led into a small lane or Gasse, 
 regarding the geography of which I was quite at sea, for I 
 had only been in it once before. I stepped from the street 
 into the lane, which was in the very blackness of darkness, 
 and seemed to be filled with wind and a hurricane which one 
 could almost distinguish and grasp. 
 
 The roar of the wind and the surging of water were all 
 around, and were deafening. I followed, as I thought, some 
 voices which I heard, but scarcely knew where I was going, as 
 the wind seemed to be blowing all ways at once, and there 
 came to me an echo here and an echo there, misleading rather 
 than guiding. In a few moments I felt my foot upon wood, 
 and there was a loud creaking and rattling, as of chains; a
 
 300 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 groaning, splitting, and great uproar going on, as well as a 
 motion as if I were on board a ship. 
 
 After making a few steps I paused. It was utterly impos 
 sible that I could have got upon a boat wildly impossible. 
 I stood still, then went on a few steps. Still the same extraor 
 dinary sounds still such a creaking and groaning still the 
 rush, rush, and swish, swish of water; but not a human voice 
 any more, not a light to be seen, not a sign! 
 
 With my hat long since stripped from my head and 
 launched into darkness and space, my hair lashed about me in 
 all directions, my petticoats twisted round me like ropes, I was 
 utterly and completely bewildered by the thunder and roar of 
 all around. I no longer knew which way I had come nor 
 where to turn. I could not imagine where I was, and my 
 only chance seemed to be to hold fast and firm to the railing 
 against which the wind had unceremoniously banged me. 
 
 The creaking grew louder grew into a crash; there was a 
 splitting of wood, a snapping of chains, a kind of whirl, and 
 then I felt the wind blow upon me, first upon this side, then 
 from that, and became conscious that the structure upon 
 which I stood was moving floating smoothly and rapidly 
 upon water. In an instant (when it was too late) it all 
 flashed upon my mind. I had wandered upon the Schiff- 
 briicke, or bridge of boats which crossed the Rhine from the 
 foot of the market-place, and this same bridge had been 
 broken by the strength of the water and wind, and upon a 
 portion of it I was now floating down the river. 
 
 With my usual wisdom, and " the shrewd application of a 
 wide experience so peculiar to yourself," as someone has since 
 insulted me by saying, I instantly gave myself up as lost. 
 The bridge would run into some other bridge, or dash into a 
 steamer, or do something horrible, and I should be killed, and 
 none would know of my fate; or it would all break into little 
 pieces, and I should have to cling to one of them, and should 
 inevitably be drowned. 
 
 In any case, my destruction was only a matter of time. 
 How I loved my life then! How sweet, and warm, and full, 
 and fresh it seemed! How cold the river, and how undesira 
 ble a speedy release from the pomps and vanities of this 
 wicked world! 
 
 The wind was still howling horribly chanting my funeral 
 dirge. Like grim death, I held on to my railing, and longed, 
 with a desperate longing, for one glimpse of light.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 301 
 
 I had believed myself alone upon my impromptu raft or 
 rather, it had not occurred to me that there might be another 
 than myself upon it; but at this instant, in a momentary lull 
 of the wind, almost by my side I heard a sound that I knew 
 well, and had cause to remember the tune of the wild march 
 from " Lenore," set to the same words, sung by the same voice 
 as of yore. 
 
 My heart stood still for a moment, then leaped on again. 
 Then a faint, sickly kind of dread overcame me. I thought 
 I was going out of my mind was wandering in some delu 
 sion, which took the form of the dearest voice, and sounded 
 with its sound in rny ears. 
 
 But no! The melody did not cease. As the beating of my 
 heart settled somewhat down, I still heard it not loud, but 
 distinct. Then the tune ceased. The voice ah! there was 
 no. mistaking that, and I trembled with the joy that thrilled 
 me as I heard it conned over the words as if struck with 
 their weird appropriateness to the scene, which was certainly 
 marked: 
 
 " Und das Gesindel, husch, husch, husch 
 Kam hinten nachgeprasselt 
 Wie Wirbelwind am Haselbusch 
 Durch diirre Blatter rasselt." 
 
 And Wirbelwind the whirlwind played a wild accompani 
 ment to the words.. 
 
 It seemed to me that a long time passed, during which I 
 could not speak, but could only stand with my hands clasped 
 over my heart, trying to steady its tumultuous beating. I had 
 not been wrong, thank the good God above! I had not been 
 wrong when my heart sung for joy at being once more in this 
 land. He was here he was living he was safe! 
 
 Here were all my worst fears soothed my intensest long 
 ings answered without my having spoken. It was now first 
 that I really knew how much I loved him so much that I felt 
 almost afraid of the strength of the passion. I knew not till 
 now how it had grown how fast and all-dominating it had 
 become. 
 
 A sob broke from my lips, and his voice was silenced. 
 
 " Herr Courvoisier! " I stammered. 
 
 " Who spoke? " he asked in a clear voice. 
 
 " It is you! " I murmured. 
 
 " May! " he uttered, and paused abruptly.
 
 302 THE FIRST VIOLIN. .' 
 
 A hand touched mine warm, firm,, strong his verf 
 hand. In its lightest touch there seemed safety, sheltei 
 comfort. 
 
 " Oh, how glad I am! how glad I am! " I sobbed. 
 
 He murmured " Sonderbar! " as if arguing with himsell 
 and I held his hand fast. 
 
 " Don't leave me! Stay here! " I implored. 
 
 " I suppose there is not much choice about that for either 
 of us," said he, and he laughed. 
 
 I did not remember to wonder how he came there; I only 
 knew that he was there. That tempest, which will not soon 
 be forgotten in Elberthal, subsided almost as rapidly as it had 
 arisen. The winds lulled as if a wizard had bidden them be 
 still. The gale hurried on to devastate fresh fields and 
 pastures new. There was a sudden reaction of stillness, and I 
 began to see in the darkness the outlines of a figure beside me. 
 I looked up. There was no longer that hideous, driving black 
 mist, like chaos embodied, between me and heaven. The sky, 
 though dark, was clear; some stars were gleaming coldly 
 down upon the havoc which had taken place since they last 
 viewed the scene. 
 
 Seeing the heavens so calm and serene, a sudden feeling of 
 shyness and terror overtook me. I tried to withdraw my 
 hand from that of my companion, and to remove myself a 
 little from him. He held my hand fast. 
 
 " You are exhausted with standing? " said he. " Sit down 
 upon this ledge." 
 
 " If you will, too." 
 
 " Oh, of course. I think our voyage will be a long one, 
 and * 
 
 " Speak German," said I. " Let me hear you speaking it 
 again." 
 
 " And I have no mind to stand all the time," he concluded 
 in his own tongue. 
 
 " Is there no one else here but ourselves? " 
 
 " No one." 
 
 I had seated myself and he placed himself beside me. I 
 was in no laughing mood or I might have found something 
 ludicrous in our situation. 
 
 " I wonder where we are now," I half whispered, as the 
 bridge was still hurried ceaselessly down the dark and rush 
 ing river. I dared not allude to anything else. I felt my 
 heart was too full I felt too, too utterly uncertain of him.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 303 
 
 There was sadness in his voice. I, who knew its every 
 cadence, could hear that. 
 
 " I think we are about passing Kaiserswerth," said he. " I 
 wonder where we shall land at last." 
 
 " Do you think we shall go very far? " 
 
 " Perhaps we may. It is on record that the Elberthal boat 
 bridge part of it, I mean once turned up at Eotterdam. 
 It may happen again, warum nicht ? " 
 
 " How long does that take? " 
 
 " Twelve or fourteen hours, I dare say." 
 
 I was silent. 
 
 " I am sorry for you," he said in the gentlest of voices, as 
 he happed my shawl more closely around me. " And you are 
 cold too shivering. My coat must do duty again." 
 
 " No, no! " cried I. " Keep it! I won't have it." 
 
 " Yes you will, because you can't help it if I make you," he 
 answered as he wrapped it round me. 
 
 " Well, please take part of it. At least wrap half of it 
 round you," I implored, " or I shall be miserable." 
 
 " Pray don't! No, keep it! It is not like charity it has 
 not room for many sins at once." 
 
 " Do you mean you or me? " I could not help asking. 
 
 " Are we not all sinners? " 
 
 I knew it would be futile to resist, but I was not happy 
 in the new arrangement, and I touched his coat-sleeve 
 timidly. 
 
 " You have quite a thin coat," I remonstrated, " and I have 
 a winter dress, a thick jacket, and a shawl." 
 
 " And my coat, und dock bist du oh, pardon! and you are 
 shivering in spite of it," said he conclusively. 
 
 " It is an awful storm, is it not? " I suggested next. 
 
 " Was an awful storm, nicht wahr? Yes. And how very 
 strange that you and I, of all people, should have met here, of 
 all places. How did you get here? " 
 
 " I had been to church." 
 
 "So! I had not." 
 
 " How did you come here? " I ventured to ask. 
 
 " Yes you may well ask; but first you have been in 
 England, have you not? " 
 
 " Yes, and am going back again." 
 
 " Well I came here yesterday from Berlin. When the 
 war was over " 
 
 " Ah, you were in the war? " I gasped.
 
 304 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " Natiirlich, mein Frdulein. Where else should I have 
 been?" 
 
 " And you fought? " 
 
 " Also naturlich" 
 
 " Where did you fight? At Sedan? " 
 
 " At Sedan yes." 
 
 " Oh, my God! " I whispered to myself. "And were you 
 wounded? " I added aloud. 
 
 " A mere trifle. Friedhelm and I had the luck to march 
 side by side. I learned to know in spirit and in letter the 
 meaning of Ich hatt' einen guten Kamerad" 
 
 " You were wounded! " I repeated, unheeding all that 
 discursiveness. "Where? How? Were you in the hospital?" 
 
 " Yes. Oh, it is nothing. Since then I have been learn 
 ing my true place in the world, for you see, unluckily I was 
 not killed." 
 
 "Thank God! Thank God! How I have wondered! 
 How I have thought well, how did you come here ? " 
 
 "I coveted a place in one of those graves, and couldn't 
 have it," he said bitterly. " It was a little thing to be denied, 
 but fallen men must do without much. I saw boys falling 
 around me, whose mothers and sisters are mourning for them 
 yet." 
 
 " Oh, don't! " 
 
 " Well Friedel and I are working in Berlin. We shall 
 not stay there long; we are wanderers now! There is no 
 room for us. I have a short holiday, and I came to spend it 
 at Elberthal. This evening I set out, intending to hear 
 the opera ' Der Fliegende Hollander ' very appropriate, 
 wasn't it? " 
 
 " Very! " 
 
 " But the storm burst over the theater just as the perform 
 ance was about to begin, and removed part of the roof, upon 
 which one of the company came before the curtain and dis 
 missed us with his blessing and the announcement that no 
 play would be played to-night. Thus I was deprived of the 
 ungodly pleasure of watching my old companions wrestle 
 with Wagner's stormy music while I looked on like a gentle 
 man." 
 
 " But when you came out of the theater? " 
 
 " When I came out of the theater the storm was so mag 
 nificent, and was telling me so much that I resolved to come 
 down to its center-point and see Vater Khein in one of his
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 305 
 
 grandest furies. I strayed upon the bridge of boats; forgot 
 where I was, listened only to the storm: ere I knew what was 
 happening I was adrift and the tempest howling round me 
 and you, fresh from your devotions to lull it." 
 
 " Are you going to stay long in Elberthal? " 
 
 " It seems I may not. I am driven away by storms and 
 tempests." 
 
 " And me with you," thought I. " Perhaps there is some 
 meaning in this. Perhaps fate means us to breast other 
 storms together. If so, I am ready anything so it be 
 with you." 
 
 " There's the moon," said he; " how brilliant, is she not? " 
 
 I looked up into the sky wherein she had indeed appeared 
 " like a dying lady, lean and pale," shining cold and drear, 
 but very clearly upon the swollen waters, showing us dim 
 outlines of half-submerged trees, cottages, and hedges show 
 ing us that we were in midstream, and that other pieces of 
 wreck were floating down the river with us, hurrying rapidly 
 with the current showing me, too, in a ghostly whiteness, 
 the face of my companion turned toward me, and his elbow 
 rested on his knee and his chin in his hand, and his loose 
 dark hair was blown back from his broad forehead, his 
 strange, deep eyes were resting upon my face, calmly, openly. 
 
 Under that gaze my heart fell. In former days there had 
 been in his face something not unakin to this stormy free 
 night; but now it was changed how changed! 
 
 A year had wrought a terrible alteration. I knew not his 
 past; but I did know that he had long been struggling, and 
 a dread fear seized me that the struggle was growing too hard 
 for him his spirit was breaking. It was not only that the 
 shadows were broader, deeper, more permanently sealed 
 there was a down look a hardness and bitterness which in 
 spired me both with pity and fear. 
 
 " Your fate is a perverse one," he remarked, as I did not 
 speak. 
 
 " So! Why? " 
 
 " It throws you so provokingly into society which must 
 be so unpleasant to you." 
 
 "Whose society?" 
 
 " Mine, naturally." 
 
 " You are much mistaken," said I composedly. 
 
 " It is kind of you to say so. For your sake, I wish it had 
 been anyone but myself who had been thus thrown together
 
 306 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 with you. I promise you faithfully that LS soon as ever we 
 can land I will only wait to see you safely into a train and 
 then I will leave you and 
 
 He was suddenly silenced. I had composed my face to 
 an expression of indifference as stony as I knew how to as 
 sume, and with my hands folded in my lap, had steeled 
 myself to look into his face and listen to him. 
 
 I could find nothing hut a kind of careless mockery in his 
 face a hard half smile upon -his lips as he went on saying 
 the hard things which cut home and left me quivering, and 
 which he yet uttered as if they had been the most harmless 
 pleasantries or the merest whipped-cream compliments. 
 
 It was a.t this moment that the wind, rising again in a brief 
 spasm, blew a tress of my loosened hair across his face. How 
 it changed! flushed crimson. His lips parted a strange, 
 sudden light came into his eyes. 
 
 "I beg your pardon!" said I hastily, startled from my 
 assumed composure, as I raised my hand to push my hair 
 back. But he had gathered the tress together his hand lin 
 gered for one moment a scarcely perceptible moment upon 
 it, then he laid it gently down upon my shoulder. 
 
 " Then I will leave you," he went on, resuming the old 
 manner, but with evident effort, " and not interfere with you 
 any more." 
 
 What was I to think? What to believe? I thought to 
 myself that, had he been my lover and I had intercepted such 
 a glance of his to another woman, my peace of mind had been 
 gone for evermore. But, on the other hand, every cool word 
 he said gave the lie to his looks or did his looks give the lie 
 to his words? Oh, that I could solve the problem once for 
 all, and have done with it forever! 
 
 " And you, Miss Wedderburn have you deserted Ger 
 many? " 
 
 " I have been obliged to live in England, if that is what 
 you mean I am living in Germany at present." 
 
 " And art die Kunst that is cruel! " 
 
 " You are amusing yourself at my expense, as you have 
 always delighted in doing," said I sharply, cut to the quick. 
 
 " Aber, Fraulein May! What do you mean?" 
 
 " From the very first," I repeated, the pain I felt giving 
 a keenness to my reproaches. " Did you not deceive me and 
 draw me out for your amusement that day we met at Koln? 
 You found out then, I suppose, what a stupid, silly creature
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 307 
 
 I was, and you have repeated the process now and then, since 
 much to your own edification and that of Herr Helfen, 
 I do not doubt. Whether it was just, or honorable, or kind 
 is a secondary consideration. Stupid people are only in 
 vented for the amusement of those who are not stupid." 
 
 " How dare you, how dare you talk in that manner? " said 
 he emphatically, laying his hand upon my shoulder, and 
 somehow compelling my gaze to meet his. " But I know 
 why I read the answer in those eyes which dare everything, 
 and yet " 
 
 " Not quite everything," thought I uncomfortably, as the 
 said eyes sunk beneath his look. 
 
 " Fraulein May, will you have the patience to listen while 
 I tell you a little story? " 
 
 " Oh, yes! " I responded readily, as I hailed the prospect 
 of learning something more about him. 
 
 " It is now nearly five years since I first came to Elberthal. 
 I had never been in the town before. I came with my boy 
 may God bless him and keep him! who was then two years 
 old, and whose mother was dead for my wife died early." 
 
 A pause, during which I did not speak. It was something 
 so wonderful to me that he should speak to me of his wife. 
 
 " She was young and very beautiful," said he. " You 
 will forgive my introducing the subject? " 
 
 " Oh, Herr Courvoisier! " 
 
 "And I had wronged her. I came to Friedhelm Helfen, 
 or rather was sent to him, and, as it happened, found such 
 a friend as is not granted to one man in a thousand. When 
 I came here I was smarting under various griefs; about the 
 worst was that I had recklessly destroyed my own prospects. 
 I had a good career a fair future open to me. I had cut 
 short that career, annihilated that future, or any future worth 
 speaking of, by well, something had happened which di 
 vided me utterly and uncompromisingly and forever from the 
 friends, and the sphere, and the respect and affection of those 
 who had been parents and brother and sister to me. Then 
 I knew that their good opinion, their love, was my law and 
 my highest desire. And it wa not their fault it was mine 
 my very own. 
 
 " The more I look back upon it all, the more I see that 
 I have myself to thank for it. But that reflection, as you 
 may suppose, does not add to the delights of a man's position 
 when he is humbled to the dust as I was then. Biting the
 
 308 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 dust you have that phrase in English. Well, I have been 
 biting the dust yes, eating it, living upon it, and deservedly 
 so, for five years; but nothing ever can, nothing ever will, 
 make it taste anything but dry, bitter, nauseating to the last 
 degree." 
 
 " Go on! " said I breathlessly. 
 
 " How kind you are to listen to the dull tale! Well, I had 
 my boy Sigmund, and there were times when the mere fact 
 that he was mine made me forget everything else, and thank 
 my fate for the simple fact that I had lived and was his 
 father. His father he was a part of myself, he could divine 
 my every thought. But at other times, generally, indeed, I 
 was sick of life that life. Don't suppose that I am one of 
 those high-flown idiots who would make it out that no life 
 is worth living; I knew and felt to my soul that the life from 
 which I had locked myself out, and then dropped the key as 
 it were here in midstream, was a glorious life, worth living 
 ten times over. 
 
 " There was the sting of it. For three years I lived thus, 
 and learned a great deal, learned what men in that position 
 are learned to respect, admire, and love some of them 
 learned to understand that man der Mensch is the same, 
 and equally to be honored everywhere. I also tried to 
 grow accustomed to the thought, which grew every day more 
 certain to me, that I must live on so for the future to 
 plan my life, and shape out a certain kind of repentance for 
 sins past. I decided that the only form my atonement could 
 take was that of self-effacement 
 
 " That is why you never would take the lead in anything? " 
 
 " Exactly. I am naturally fond of leading. I love beyond 
 everything to lead those who I know like me, and like follow 
 ing me. When I was haupt I mean, I knew that all that 
 bygone mischief had arisen from doing what I liked, so I 
 dropped doing what I liked and began to do what I disliked. 
 By the time I had begun to get a little into training three 
 years had passed these things are not accomplished in a day, 
 and the effects of twenty-seven years of selfishness are not 
 killed soon. I was killing them, and becoming a machine in 
 the process. 
 
 " One year the Lower Rhenish Musik-fest was to be held 
 at Koln. Long before it came off the Cologne orchestra had 
 sent to us for contingents, and we had begun to attend some 
 proben regularly once or twice a week.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 309 
 
 " One day Friedhelm and I had been at a probe. The 
 ; Tower of Babel ' and the * Lenore ' Symphony were among 
 the things we had practiced. Both of them, the ' Lenore ' 
 particularly, had got into my head. I broke loose for one 
 day from routine, from drudgery and harness. It was a mis 
 take. Friedhelm went off, shrugging his dear old shoulders, 
 and I at last turned up, mooning at the Kolner Bahnhof. 
 Well you know the rest. Nay, do not turn so angrily away. 
 Try to forgive a fallen man one little indiscretion. When 
 I saw you I cannot tell what feeling stole, warm and invigorat 
 ing, into my heart; it was something quite new something 
 I had never felt before: it was so sweet that I could not part 
 with it. Fraulein May, I have lived that afternoon over 
 again many and many a time. Have you ever given a thought 
 to it? " 
 
 " Yes, I have," said I dryly. 
 
 " My conduct after that rose half from pride wounded 
 pride, I mean, for when you cut me, it did cut me I own it. 
 Partly it arose from a worthier feeling the feeling that I 
 could not see very much of you or learn to know you at all 
 well without falling very deeply in love with you. You hide 
 your face you are angry at that " 
 
 " Stop! Did you never throughout all this give a thought 
 to the possibility that I might fall in love with you? " 
 
 I did not look at him, but he said, after a pause: 
 
 " I had the feeling that, if I tried, I could win your love. 
 I never was such a presumptuous fool as to suppose that you 
 would love me unasked or even with much asking on my 
 part bewahre ! " 
 
 I was silent, still concealing my face. He went on: 
 
 " Besides, I knew that you were an English lady. I asked 
 myself what was the right thing to do, and I decided that, 
 though you would consider me an ill-mannered, churlish 
 clown, I would refuse those gracious, charming advances 
 which you in your charity made. Our paths in life were 
 destined to be utterly apart and divided, and what could it 
 matter to you the behavior of an insignificant fiddler? You 
 would forget him just when he deserved to be forgotten, that 
 is instantly. 
 
 " Time went on. You lived near us. Changes took place. 
 Those who had a right to arbitrate for me, since I had by my 
 o\vn deed deprived myself of that right, wrote and demanded 
 my son. I had shown myself incapable of managing my own
 
 310 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 affaire was it likely that I could arrange his? And then he 
 was better away from such a black sheep. It is true. The 
 black sheep gave up the white lambling into the care of a 
 legitimate shepherd, who carried it off to a correct and appro 
 priate fold. Then life was empty indeed, for, strange though 
 it may seem, even black sheep have -feelings ridiculously 
 out of place they are, too." 
 
 " Oh, don't speak so harshly! " said I tremulously, laying 
 my hand for an instant upon his. 
 
 His face was turned toward me; his mien was severe, but 
 serene; he spoke as of some far-past, distant dream. 
 
 " Then it was, in looking round my darkened horizon for 
 Sigmund, I found that it was not empty. You rose trem 
 bling upon it like a star of light, and how beautiful a star! 
 But there! do not turn away. I will not shock you by expa 
 tiating upon it. Enough that I found what I had more than 
 once suspected that I loved you. Once or twice I nearly 
 made a fool of myself; that Carnival Monday do you re 
 member? Luckily Friedel and Karl came in, but in my 
 saner moments I worshiped you as a noble, distant good 
 part of the beautiful life which I had gambled with and 
 lost. Be easy! I never for one instant aspired to you 
 never thought of possessing you; I was not quite mad. I am 
 only telling you this to explain, and 
 
 " And you renounced me? " said I in a low voice. 
 
 " I renounced you." 
 
 I removed my hand from my eyes and looked at him. His 
 eyes, dry and calm, rested upon my face. His countenance 
 was pale; his mouth set with a grave, steady sweetness. 
 
 Light rushed in upon my mind in a radiant flood light 
 and knowledge. I knew what was right; an unerring finger 
 pointed it to me. I looked deep, deep into his sad eyes, read 
 his innermost soul, and found it pure. 
 
 " They say you have committed a crime/' said I. 
 
 " And I have not denied it, cannot deny it," he answered, 
 as if waiting for something further. 
 
 " You need not," said I. " It is all one to me. I want 
 to hear no more about that. I want to know if your heart 
 is mine." 
 
 The wind wuthered wearily; the water rushed. Strange, 
 inarticulate sounds of the night came fitfully across ear and 
 sense, as he answered me: 
 
 " Yours and my honor's. What then? "
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 311 
 
 " This," I answered, stooping, sweeping the loose hair from 
 that broad, sad forehead, and pressing my lips upon it. 
 " This: accept the gift or reject it. As your heart is mine, 
 so mine is yours for ever and ever." 
 
 A momentary silence as I raised myself, trembling, and 
 stood aeide; and the water rushed, and the storm-birds on 
 untiring wing beat the sky and croaked of the gale. 
 
 Then he drew me to him, folded me to his breast without 
 speaking, and gave me a long, tender, yearning kiss, with 
 unspeakable love, little passion in it, fit seal of a love that 
 was deeper and sadder than it was triumphant. 
 
 " Let me have a few moments of this," said he, " just a few 
 moments, May. Let me believe that I may hold you to 
 your noble, pitying words. Then I shall be my own master 
 again." 
 
 Ignoring this hint I laid my hands upon his arm, and, 
 eying him steadily, went on: 
 
 " But understand, the man I love must not be my servant. 
 If you want to keep me, you must be the master; I brook no 
 feeble curb; no weak hand can hold me. You must rule, or 
 I shall rebel; you must show the way, for I don't know it. 
 I don't know whether you understand what you have 
 undertaken." 
 
 " My dear, you are excited. Your generosity carries you 
 away, and your divine, womanly pity and kindness. You 
 speak without thinking. You will repent to-morrow." 
 
 " That is not kind nor worthy of you," said I. " I have 
 thought about it for sixteen months, and the end of my 
 thought has always been the same: I love Eugen Courvoisier, 
 and if he had loved me I should have been a happy woman, 
 and if though I thought it too good to be true, you know 
 if he ever should tell me so, nothing in this world shall 
 make me spoil our two lives by cowardice; I will hold to him 
 against the whole world." 
 
 " It is impossible, May," he said quietly, after a pause. " I 
 wish you had never seen me." 
 
 " It is only impossible if you make it so." 
 
 "My sin found me out even here, in this quiet place, 
 where I knew no one. It will find me out again. You if 
 ever you were married to me would be pointed out as the 
 wife of a man who had disgraced his honor in the blackest, 
 foulest way. I must and will live it out alone." 
 
 " You shall not live it out alone," I said.
 
 312 TEE FIRST VIOLIN, 
 
 The idea that I could now stand by him the fact that he 
 was not prosperous, not stainless before the world that mine 
 would be no ordinary flourishing, meaningless marriage, in 
 which " for better, for worse " signifies nothing but better, 
 no worse all this poured strength on strength into my heart, 
 and seemed to warm it and do it good. 
 
 " I will tell you your duty," said he. " Your duty is to go 
 home and forget me. In due time someone else will find the 
 loveliest and dearest being in the world ' 
 
 " Eugen! Eugen! " I cried, stabbed to the quick. " How 
 can you? You cannot love me, or you could not coldly turn 
 me over to some other man, some abstraction 
 
 " Perhaps if he were not an abstraction I might not be able 
 to do it," he said, suddenly clasping me to him with a jealous 
 movement. "No; I am sure I should not be able to do it. 
 Nevertheless, while he yet is an abstraction, and because of 
 that, I say, leave me! " 
 
 " Eugen, I do not love lightly! " I began, with forced calm. 
 " I do not love twice. My love for you is not a mere fancy 
 I fought against it with all my strength; it mastered me in 
 spite of myself now I cannot tear it away. If you send me 
 away it will be barbarous; away to be alone, to England again, 
 when I love you with my whole soul. No one but a man no 
 one but you could have said such a thing. If you do," I 
 added, terror at the prospect overcoming me, " if you do I 
 shall die I shall die." 
 
 I could command myself no longer, but sobbed aloud. 
 
 * You will have to answer for it," I repeated; " but you 
 will not send me away." 
 
 " What, in Heaven's name, makes you love me so ? " he 
 asked, as if lost in wonder. 
 
 " I don't know. I cannot imagine," said I, with happy 
 politeness. " It is no fault of mine." I took his hand in 
 mine. " Eugen, look at me." His eyes met mine. They 
 brightened as he looked at me. " That crime of which you 
 were accused you did not do it." 
 
 Silence! 
 
 " Look at me and say that you did," I continued. 
 
 Silence still. 
 
 " Friedhelm Helfen always said you had not done it. He 
 was more loyal than I," said I contritely; " but," I added 
 jealously, " he did not love you better than I, for I loved you 
 all the same, even though I almost believed you had done it.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 313 
 
 Well, that is an easy secret to keep, because it is to your 
 credit." 
 
 " That is just what makes it hard. If it were true, one 
 would be anxious, rather than not, to conceal it; but as it is 
 not true, don't you see? Whenever you see me suspected, it 
 will be the impulse of your loyal, impetuous heart to silence 
 the offender, and tell him he lies." 
 
 In my haste I had not seen this aspect of the question. It 
 was quite a new idea to me. Yes, I began to see in truer pro 
 portions the kind of suffering he had suffered, the kind of 
 trials he had gone through, and my breath failed at the idea. 
 When they pointed at him I must not say, " It is a lie; he is 
 as honest as you." It was a solemn prospect. It over 
 powered me. 
 
 " You quail before that? " said he gently, after a pause. 
 
 "No; I realize it I do not quail before it," said I firmly. 
 " But," I added, looking at him with a new element in my 
 glance that of awe " do you mean that for five years you 
 have effaced yourself thus, knowing all the while that you 
 were not guilty? " 
 
 " It was a matter of the clearest duty and honor," he re 
 plied, flushing and looking somewhat embarrassed. 
 
 " Of duty! " I cried, strangely moved. " If you did not do 
 it, who did? Why are you silent? " 
 
 Our eyes met. I shall never forget that glance. It had 
 the concentrated patience, love, and pride, and loyalty, of all 
 the years of suffering past and to come. 
 
 " May, that is the test for you! That is what I shrink from 
 exposing you to; what I know it is wrong to expose you to. I 
 cannot tell you. No one knows but I, and I shall never tell 
 anyone, not even you, if you become my other self and soul 
 and thought. Now you know all." 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 " So that is the truth? " said I. " Thank you for telling it 
 to me. I always thought you were a hero; now I am sure of 
 it. Oh, Eugen! how I do love you for this! And you need 
 not be afraid. I have been learning to keep secrets lately. I 
 shall help, not hinder you. Eugen, we will live it down 
 together." 
 
 At last we understood each other. At last our hands 
 clasped and our lips met upon the perfect union of feeling and 
 purpose for all our future lives. All was clear between us, 
 bright, calm; and I, at least, was supremely happy. How
 
 3U THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 little my past looked now; how petty and insignificant all my 
 former hopes and fears! 
 
 Dawn was breaking over the river. Wild and storm-beaten 
 was the scene on which we looked. A huge waste of swollen 
 waters around us, devastated villages, great piles of wreck on 
 all sides; a watery sun casting pallid beams upon the swollen 
 river. We were sailing Hollandward upon a fragment of the 
 bridge, and in the distance were the spires and towers of a' 
 town gleaming in the sickly sun-rays. I stood up and gazed 
 toward that town, and he stood by my side, his arm round my 
 waist. My chief wish was that our sail could go on forever. 
 
 " Do you know what is ringing in my cars and will not leave 
 my mind? " I asked. 
 
 "Indeed no! You are a riddle find a mystery to me." 
 
 I hummed the splendid air from the Choral Symphony, the 
 motif of the music to the choruses to " Joy " which follow. 
 
 " Ah! " said he, taking up its deep, solemn gladness, " you 
 are right, May quite right. There is a joy, if it be ' beyond 
 the starry belt.' ' ; 
 
 " I wonder what that town is? " I said, after a pause. 
 
 " I am not sure, but I fancy it is Emmerich. I am sure I 
 hope so." 
 
 Whatever the town, we were floating straight toward it. I 
 suddenly thought of my dream long ago, and told it to him, 
 adding: 
 
 " I think this must have been the floating wreck to which 
 you and I seemed clinging; though I thought that all of the 
 dream that was going to be fulfilled had already come to pass 
 on that Carnival Monday afternoon." 
 
 The boat had got into one of the twisting currents, and wax 
 being propelled directly toward the town. 
 
 Eugen looked at me and laughed. I asked why. 
 
 " What for a lark! as they say in your country." 
 
 " You are quite mistaken. I never heard such an expres 
 sion. But what is such a lark? " 
 
 "We have no hats; we want something to eat; we must 
 have tickets to get back to Elberthal, and I have just two 
 thalers in my pocket oh! and a two-pfennige piece. I left 
 my little all behind me." 
 
 " Hurrah ! At last you will be compelled to take back that 
 three thalers ten." 
 
 We both laughed at this jeu d'esprit as if it had been some-
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 31* 
 
 thing exquisitely witty; and I forgot my disheveled condi 
 tion in watching the sun rise over the broad river, in feeling 
 our noiseless progression over it, and, above all, in the divine 
 sense of oneness and harmony with him at my side a feeling 
 which I can hardly describe, utterly without the passionate 
 fitfulness of the orthodox lover's rapture, but as if for a long 
 time I had been waiting for some quality to make me com 
 plete, and had quietly waked to find it there, and the world 
 understandable life's riddle read. 
 
 Eugen's caresses were few, his words of endearment quiet; 
 but I knew what they stood for; a love rooted in feelings 
 deeper than those of sense, holier than mere earthly love 
 feelings which had taken root in adversity, had grown in dark 
 ness and " made a sunshine in a shady place " feelings which 
 in him had their full and noble growth and beauty of develop 
 ment, but which it seems to be the aim of the fashionable 
 education of this period as much as possible to do away with 
 the feeling of chivalry, delicacy, reticence, manliness, 
 modesty. 
 
 As we drew nearer the town he said to me: 
 
 " In a few hours we shall have to part, May, for a time. 
 While we are here alone, and you are uninfluenced, let me ask 
 you something. This love of yours for me what will it carry 
 you through ? " 
 
 " Anything, now that I am sure of yours for me." 
 
 "In short, you are firmly decided to be my wife some 
 time?" 
 
 <e When you tell me you are ready for me," said I, putting 
 my hand in his. 
 
 " And if I find it best to leave my Fatherland, and begin 
 life quite anew?" 
 
 " Thy God is my God, and thy people are my people, 
 Eugen." 
 
 " One other thing. How do you know that you can marry? 
 Your friends " 
 
 " I am twenty years old. In a year I can do as I like," said 
 I composedly. " Surely we can stand firm and faithful for 
 a year ? " 
 
 He smiled, and it was a new smile sweet, hopeful, if not 
 merry. 
 
 With this silent expression of determination and trust we 
 settled the matter.
 
 316 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 14 What's failure or success to me? 
 I have subdued my life to the one purposa." 
 
 ETJGEN sent a telegram from Emmerich to Frau Mittendorf 
 to reassure her as to my safety. At four in the afternoon we 
 left that town, refreshed and rehatted, to reach Elberthal 
 at six. 
 
 I told Eugen that we were going away the next day to stay 
 a short time at a place called Lahnburg. 
 
 He started and looked at me. 
 
 " Lahnburg! I when you are there nein, das ist 
 
 You are going to Lahnburg? " 
 
 "Yes. Why not?" 
 
 " You will know why I ask if you go to Schloss Rothenfels." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " I say no more, dear May. I will leave you to form your 
 own conclusions. I have seen that this fair head could think 
 wisely and well under trying circumstances enough. I am 
 rather glad that you are going to Lahnburg." 
 
 " The question is will you still be at Elberthal when I 
 return." 
 
 " I cannot say. We had better exchange addresses. I am 
 at Frau Schmidt's again my old quarters. I do not know 
 when or how we shall meet again. I must see Friedhelm, and 
 you when you tell your friends, you will probably be 
 separated at once and completely from me." 
 
 " Well, a year is not much out of our lives. How old are 
 you, Eugen?" 
 
 " Thirty-two. And you ? " 
 
 " Twenty and two months; then you are twelve years older 
 than I. You were a schoolboy when I was born. What were 
 you like? " 
 
 " A regular little brute, I should suppose, as they all are." 
 
 " When we are married," said I, " perhaps I may go on with 
 my singing, and earn some more money by it. My voice will 
 be worth something to me then." 
 
 " I thought you had given up art." 
 
 " Perhaps I shall see Adelaide," I added; " or, rather, I will 
 see her." I looked at him rather inquiringly. To my relief, 
 he said:
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 317 
 
 " Have you not seen her since her marriage? " 
 
 " No; have you? " 
 
 " She was my angel nurse when I was lying in hospital 
 
 at . Did you not know that she has the Iron Cross? 
 
 And no one ever won it more nobly." 
 
 "Adelaide your nurse the Iron Cross ?" I ejaculated. 
 " Then you have seen her? " 
 
 " Seen her shadow to bless it." 
 
 " Do you know where she is now? " 
 
 " With her husband at . She told me that you were 
 
 in England, and she gave me this." 
 
 He handed me a yellow, much-worn folded paper, which, 
 on opening, I discovered to be my own letter to Adelaide, 
 written during the war, and which had received so curt an 
 answer. 
 
 " I begged very hard for it," said he, " and only got it with 
 difficulty, but I represented that she might get more of them, 
 whereas I " 
 
 He stopped, for two reasons. I was weeping as I returned 
 it to him, and the train rolled into the Elberthal station. 
 
 On my way to Dr. Mittendorf's I made up my mind what 
 to do. I should not speak to Stella, nor to anyone else, of 
 what had happened, but I should write very soon to my par 
 ents and tell them the truth. I hoped they would not refuse 
 their consent, but I feared they would. I should certainly 
 not attempt to disobey them while their authority legally 
 bound me, but as soon as I was my own mistress, I should act 
 upon my own judgment. I felt no fear of anything; the one 
 fear of my life the loss of Eugen had been removed, and 
 all others dwindled to nothing. My happiness, I am and was 
 well aware, was quite set upon things below; if I lost Eugen 
 I lost everything, for I, like him, and like all those who have 
 been and are dearest to both of us, was a Child of the World. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 " Oftmals hab' ich geirrt, und habe mich wiedergef unden, 
 Aber gliicklicher nie." 
 
 IT was beginning to be dusk when we alighted the next day 
 at Lahnburg, a small wayside-station, where the doctor's 
 brand-new carriage met us, and after we had been bidden wei-
 
 318 TBS fTRST VIOLIN. 
 
 come, whirled us off to the doctor's brand-new schloss, full of 
 brand-new furniture. I skip it all the renewed greetings, 
 the hospitality, the noise. They were very kind. It was all 
 right to me, and I enjoyed it immensely. I was in a state of 
 mind in which I verily believe I should have enjoyed eating 
 a plate of porridge for supper or a dish of sauerkraut for 
 dinner. 
 
 The subject for complacency and contemplation in Frau 
 Mittendorf's life was her intimacy with the Von Rothenfels 
 family, whose great, dark old schloss, or rather, a portion of 
 it, looking grimly over its woods, she pointed out to me from 
 the windows of her salon. I looked somewhat curiously at it, 
 chiefly because Eugen had mentioned it, and also because it 
 was such a stern, imposing old pile. It was built of red stone, 
 and stood upon red-stone foundations. Eed were the rocks 
 of this country, and hence its name, "Rothen-fels," the red 
 rocks. Woods, also dark, but now ablaze with the last fiery 
 autumn tints, billowed beneath it; on the other side, said Frau 
 Mittendorf, was a great plateau covered with large trees, inter 
 sected by long, straight avenues. She would take us to look 
 at it; the Grafin von Rothenfels was a great friend of hers. 
 
 She was entertaining us with stories to prove the great 
 regard and respect of the countess for her (Frau Mittendorf) 
 on the morning after our arrival, while I was longing to go 
 out and stroll along some of those pleasant breezy upland 
 roads, or explore the sleepy, quaint old town below. 
 
 Upon her narrative came an interruption. A servant threw 
 open the door very wide, announcing the Grafin von Rothen 
 fels. Frau Mittendorf rose in a tremulous hurry and flutter 
 to greet her noble guest, and then introduced us to her. 
 
 A tall, melancholy, meager-looking woman, far past youth 
 on the very confines of middle age, with iron-gray haii 
 banded across a stern, much-lined brow. Colorless features 
 of a strong, large, not unhandsome type from which all live 
 liness and vivacity had long since fled. A stern mouth 
 steady, luster! ess, severe eyes; a dignity yes, even a majesty 
 of mien which she did not attempt to soften into gracious- 
 ness; black, trailing draperies; a haughty pride of movement. 
 
 Such was the first impression made upon me by Hilde- 
 garde, Countess of Rothenfels a forbidding, if grand figure 
 aristocrat in every line; utterly alien and apart, I thought, 
 from me and every feeling of mine. 
 
 But, on looking again, the human element was found in
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 318 
 
 the deeply planted sadness which no reserve pride could con 
 ceal. Sad the eyes, sad the mouth; she was all sad together 
 and not without reason, as I afterward learned. 
 
 She was a rigid Eoman Catholic, and at sixteen had been 
 married for les convenances to her cousin, Count Bruno von 
 Kothenfels, a man a good deal older than herself, though not 
 preposterously so, and whose ample possessions and old name 
 gave social position of the highest kind. But he was a 
 Protestant by education, a thinker by nature, a rationalist by 
 conviction. 
 
 That was one bitter grief. Another was her childlessness. 
 She had been married twenty-four years; no child had sprung 
 from the union. This was a continual grief, which embittered 
 her whole existence. 
 
 Since then I have seen a portrait of her at twenty a splen 
 did brunette, with high spirit and resolute will and noble 
 beauty in every line. Ah, me! What wretches we become! 
 Sadness and bitterness, proud aloofness and a yearning wist- 
 fulness, wre subtly mingled in the demeanor of Grafin von 
 Rothenfels. 
 
 She bowed to us, as Frau Mittendorf introduced us. She 
 did not bestow a second glance upon Stella; but bent a long 
 look, a second, a third scrutinizing gaze upon me. I I am 
 not ashamed to own it quivered somewhat under her search 
 ing glance. She impressed and fascinated me. 
 
 She seated herself, and slightly apologizing to us for intrud 
 ing domestic affairs, began to speak with Frau Mittendorf of 
 some case of village distress in which they were both inter 
 ested. Then she turned again to us, speaking in excellent 
 English, and asked us whether we were staying there, after 
 which she invited us to dine at her house the following day 
 with Frau Mittendorf. After the invitation had been ac 
 cepted with sufficient reverence by that lady, the countess rose 
 as if to go, and, turning again to me with still that pensive, 
 half- wistful, half -mistrustful gaze, she said: 
 
 " I have my carriage here. Would you like to come with 
 me to see our woods and house? They are sometimes inter 
 esting to strangers." 
 
 " Oh, very much! " I said eagerly. 
 
 " Then come," said she. " I will see that you are escorted 
 back when you are tired. It is arranged that you remain 
 until you feel gene, nicht wahr? " 
 
 u Oh, thank you! " said I again, hastening to make myself
 
 320 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 ready, and parenthetically hoping, as I ran upstairs, that Frau 
 Mittendorf s eyes might not start quite out of her head with 
 pride at the honor conferred upon her house and visitors. 
 
 Very soon I was seated beside the Grafin in the dark green 
 clarence, with the grand coachman and the lady's own jager 
 beside him, and we were driving along a white road with 
 a wild kind of country spreading roud moorland stretches, 
 and rich deep woods. Up and down, for the way was uneven, 
 till we entered a kind of park,%nd to the right, high above, 
 I saw the great red pile with its little pointed towers crowned 
 with things like extinguishers ending in a lightning-rod, and 
 which seemed to spring from all parts of the heavy mass of the 
 main building. 
 
 That, then, was Schloss Eothenfels. It looked the very 
 image of an aristocratic, ancient feste burg, grim and grand; 
 it brooded over us like a frown, and dominated the landscape 
 for miles around. I was deeply impressed; such a place had 
 always been like a dream to me. 
 
 There was something so imposingly conservative about it; 
 it looked as if it had weathered so many storms; defying such 
 paltry forces as wind and weather, and would through so 
 many more, quite untouched by the roar of life and progress 
 outside a fit and firm keeping-place for old shields, for 
 weapons honorably hacked and dinted, for tattered loyal flags 
 for art treasures and for proud beauties. 
 
 As we gained the height, I perceived the huge scale on 
 which the schloss was constructed. It was a little town in 
 itself. I saw, too, that plateau on the other side, of which 
 I had heard; later I explored it. It was a natural plain 
 a kind of tableland, and was laid out in what have always, 
 since I was a child, impressed me more than any other kind 
 of surroundings to a house mile-long avenues of great trees, 
 stretching perfectly straight, like lines of marching troops in 
 every direction. 
 
 Long, melancholy alleys and avenues, with huge, moss- 
 grown stone figures and groups guarding the terraces or keep 
 ing fantastic watch over the stone tanks, on whose surfaces 
 floated the lazy water-lilies. Great moss-grown gods and 
 goddesses, and strange hybrid beasts, and fauns and satyrs, 
 and all so silent and forlorn, with the lush grass and heavy 
 fern growing rank and thick under the stately trees. To 
 right they stretched and to left; and straightaway westward 
 was one long", wide, vast, deserted avenue, at the end of which
 
 TBfi &IRST VIOLIN- 321 
 
 was an opening, and in the opening a huge stone myth or 
 figure of a runner, who, in the act of racing, receives an 
 arrow in his heart, and, with arms madly tossed in the air, 
 staggers. 
 
 Behind this terrihle figure the sun used to set, flaming, or 
 mild, or sullen, and the vast arms of it were outlined against 
 the gorgeous sky, or in the half-dark it glimmered like a ghost 
 and seemed to move. It had been, there so long that none 
 could remember the legend of it. It was a grim shape. 
 
 Scattered here and there were quaint wildernesses and 
 pieasaunces clipped yews and oddly trained shrubs and 
 flowers trying to make a diversion, but ever dominated by the 
 huge woods, the straight avenues, the mathematical melan 
 choly on an immense scale. 
 
 The Frau Grafin glanced at me once or twice as my head 
 turned this way and that, and my eyes could not take ir the 
 strange scene quickly enough; but she said nothing, nor did 
 her severe face relax into any smile. 
 
 We stopped under a huge porte-cochere in which more 
 servants wore standing about. 
 
 " Come with me," said the lady to me. " First I will take 
 you to my rooms, and then, when you have rested a little, you 
 can do what you like." 
 
 Pleased at the prospect, I followed her; through a hall 
 which without any joking was baronial; through a corridoi 
 into a room, through which she passed, observing to me: 
 
 " This is the rittersaal, one of the oldest rooms in the 
 house." 
 
 The rittersaal a real, hereditary Hall of Knights where 
 a sangerkrieg might have taken place where Tannhausei 
 and the others mi#ht have contended before Elizabeth. A 
 polished parquet a huge hearth on which burned a large 
 bright wood f re, whose flames sparkled upon suits of mail in 
 dozens crossed words and lances, over which hung tattered 
 banners and bannerets. Shields and lances, portraits with 
 each a pair of spurs beneath it the men were all knights, 
 of that line! dark and grave chiefly were these lords of the 
 line of Sturm. In the center of the hall a great trophy of 
 arms and armor, all of which had been used, and used to pur 
 pose; the only drapery, the banners over these lances and 
 portraits. The room delighted me while it made me feel 
 small very small. The countess turned at a door at the 
 other end and looked back upon me where I stood gasping
 
 822 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 in the doorway by which we had entered. She was one of 
 the house; this had nothing overpowering for her, if it did 
 give some of the pride to her mien. 
 
 I hurried after her, apologizing for my tardiness; she waved 
 the words back, and led me to a smaller room, which appeared 
 to be her private sitting room. Here she asked me to lay 
 aside my things, adding that she hoped I should spend the 
 day at the schloss. 
 
 " If you find it not too intolerably stupid," she added. " It 
 is a dull place." 
 
 I said that it seemed to me like something out of a fairy 
 tale, and that I longed to see more of it if I might. 
 
 " Assuredly you shall. There may be some few things 
 which you may like to see. I forget that everyone is not like 
 myself tired. Are you musical? " 
 
 " Very! " said I emphatically. 
 
 " Then you will be interested in the music rooms here. 
 How old are you?" 
 
 I told her. She bowed gravely. "You are young, and, 
 I suppose, happy?" she remarked. 
 
 "Yes, I am very happy perfectly," said I, smiling, be 
 cause I could not help it. 
 
 " When I saw you I was so struck with that look," said she. 
 "I thought I had never seen anyone look so radiantly, 
 transcendently happy. I so seldom see it and never feel it. 
 and I wished to see more of you. I am very glad you 
 are so happy very glad. Now I will not keep you talk 
 ing to me. I will send for Herr Nahrath, who shall be your 
 guide." 
 
 She rang the bell. I was silent, although I longed to say 
 that I could talk to her for a day without thinking of weari 
 ness, which indeed was true. She impressed and fasci 
 nated me. / 
 
 " Send Herr Nahrath here," she said, and presently there, 
 came into the room a young man in the garb of what is called 
 in Germany a Kandidat that is to say, an embryo pastor, or 
 parish priest. He bowed very deeply to the countess, and 
 did not speak or advance much beyond the door. 
 
 Having introduced us, she desired him to act as cicerone 
 to me until I was tired. He bowed, and I did not dispute 
 the mandate, although I would rather have remained with 
 her, and got to know something of the nature that lay behind 
 those gray passionless features, than turn to the society of that
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 323 
 
 smug-looking young gentleman who waited so respectfully, 
 like a machine whose mainspring was awe. 
 
 I accompanied him, nevertheless, and he showed me part 
 of the schloss, and endeavored, in the intervals of his tolerably 
 arduous task of cicerone, to make himself agreeable to me. It 
 was a wonderful place indeed this schloss. The deeper we 
 penetrated into it the more absorbed and interested did I be 
 come. Such piled-up, profusely scattered treasures of art it 
 had never before fallen to my lot to behold. The abundance 
 was prodigal; the judgment, cultivation, high perception of 
 truth, rarity, and beauty, seemed almost faultless. Gems of 
 pictures treasures of sculpture, bronze, china, carvings, glass, 
 coins, curiosities which it would have taken a lifetime prop 
 erly to learn. Here I saw for the first time a private library 
 on a large scale, collected by generation after generation of 
 highly cultured men and women a perfect thing of its kind, 
 and one which impressed me mightily; but it was not there 
 that I was destined to find the treasure which lay hidden for 
 me in this enchanted palace. We strayed over an acre or so 
 of passage and corridor till he paused before an arched door 
 across which was hung a curtain, and over which was in 
 scribed Musik-kammern (the music-rooms). 
 
 " If you wish to see the music, mein Frdulein, I must leave 
 you in the hands of Herr Brunken, who will tolerate no cice 
 rone but himself." 
 
 " Oh, 1 wish to see it, certainly," said I, on fire with 
 curiosity. 
 
 He knocked and was bidden Herein ! but not going in, told 
 someone inside that he recommended to his charge a young 
 lady staying with the countess, and who was desirous of seeing 
 the collection. 
 
 " Pray, mein Frdulein, come in! " said a voice. Herr Nadi- 
 rath left me, and I, lifting the curtain and pushing open the 
 ha If -closed door, found myself in an octagonal room, con 
 fronted by the quaintest figure I had ever seen. An old man 
 whose long gray hair, long white beard, and long black robe 
 made him look like a wizard or astrologer of some medieval 
 romance, was smiling at me and bidding me welcome to his 
 domain. He was the librarian and general custodian of the 
 musical treasures of Schloss Eothenfels, and his name was 
 Brunken. He loved his place and his treasures with a jealous 
 love, and would talk of favorite instruments as if they had 
 been dear children, and of great composers as if they were gods.
 
 324 THE FinST VIOLIN. 
 
 All around :he room were large shelves filled with music 
 and over each division stood a name such mighty names 
 as Scarlatti, Bach, Handel, .Beethoven, Schumann, Mozart, 
 ilaydn all the giants, and apparently all the pygmies, too, 
 were there. It was a complete library of music, and though 
 I have seen many since, 1 have never beheld any which in 
 the least approached this in richness or completeness. Rare 
 old manuscript scores; priceless editions of half-forgotten 
 music; the literature of the productions of half -forgotten com 
 posers; Eastern music, Western music; and music of all ages; 
 it was an idealized collection a musician's paradise, only less 
 so than that to which he now led me, from amid the piled-up 
 scores and the gleaming busts of those mighty men, who here, 
 at least, were honored with never-failing reverence. 
 
 He took me into a second room, or rather hall, of great size, 
 height, and dimensions, a museum of musical instruments. 
 It would take far too long to do it justice in description; 
 indeed, on that first brief investigation I could only form a 
 dim general idea of the richness of its treasures. What his 
 tories what centuries of story were there piled up! Musical 
 instruments of every imaginable form and shape, and in every 
 stage of development. Odd-looking prehistoric bone embryo 
 instruments from different parts of France. Strange old 
 things from Mneveh, and India, and Peru; instruments from 
 tombs and pyramids, and ancient ruined temples in tropic 
 groves things whose very nature and handling are a mystery 
 and a dispute tuned to strange scales which produce strange 
 melodies, and carry us back into other worlds. On them, per 
 haps, has the swarthy Ninevan, or slight Hindoo, or some 
 
 " Dusky youth with painted plumage gay " 
 
 performed as he apostrophized his mistress' eyebrow. On 
 that queer-looking thing which may be a fiddle or not which 
 may have had a bow or not a slightly clad slave made music 
 while his master the rajah played chess with his favorite wife. 
 They are all dead and gone now, and their jewels are worn 
 by others, and the memory of them has vanished from off 
 the earth; and these, their musical instruments, repose in 
 a quiet corner amid the rough hills and oak woods and under 
 the cloudy skies of the land of music Deutschland. 
 
 Down through the changing scale, through the whole range 
 of cymbal and spinet, "flute, harp, sackhnt, psaltery, dulci-
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 325 
 
 mer, and all kinds of music," stand literally before me, and 
 a strange revelation it is. Is it the same faculty which pro 
 duces that grand piano of Bechstein's, and that clarion organ 
 of Silbermann's, and that African drum dressed out with 
 skulls, that war-trumpet hung with tiger's teeth? After this 
 nothing is wonderful! Strange, unearthly looking Chinese 
 frames of sonorous stones or modulated bells; huge drums, 
 painted and carved, and set up on stands six feet from the 
 ground; quaint instruments from the palaces of Aztec Incas, 
 down to pianos by Broadwood, Collard & Collard, and 
 Bechstein. 
 
 There were trophies of Streichinstrumente and Blasein- 
 strumente. I was allowed to gaze upon two real Stradiv.arius 
 fiddles. I might see the development by evolution, and the 
 survival of the fittest in violin, 'cello, contrabass, alto, beside 
 countless others whose very names have perished with the 
 time that produced them, and the fingers which played them 
 ingenious guesses, clever misses the tragedy of harmony 
 as well as its " lo Paean! " 
 
 There were wind instruments, quaint old double flutes from 
 Italy; pipes, single, double, treble, from ages much further 
 back; harps Assyrian, Greek, and Eoman; instruments of 
 percussion, guitars, and zithers in every form and kind; a dul 
 cimer I took it up and thought of Coleridge's " damsel with 
 a dulcimer"; and a grand organ, as well as many incipient 
 organs, and the quaint little things of that nature from China, 
 Japan, and Siam. 
 
 I stood and gazed in wonder and amazement. 
 
 " Surely the present Graf has not collected all these instru 
 ments! " said I. 
 
 " Oh, no, mein Frdulein; they have been accumulating for 
 centuries. They tell strange tales of what the Sturms will 
 do for music." 
 
 With which he proceeded to tell me certain narratives oi 
 certain instruments in the collection, in which he evidently 
 firmly believed, including one relating to a quaint old violin 
 for which he said a certain Graf von Eothenfels called " Max 
 der Tolle," or the Mad Count Max, ^ad sold his soul. 
 
 As he finished this last he was called away, and, excusing 
 himself, left me. I was alone in this voiceless temple of so 
 many wonderful sounds. I looked round, and a feeling of 
 awe and weirdness crept over me. My eyes would not leave 
 that shabby old fiddle, concerning whose demoniac origin
 
 326 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 I had just heard such a cheerful little anecdote. Every one 
 of those countless instruments was capable of harmony and 
 discord had sometime been used; pressed, touched, scraped, 
 beaten, or blown into by hands or mouths long since crum 
 bled to dust. What tales had been told! what songs sung, 
 and in what languages; what laughs laughed, tears shed, vows 
 spoken, kisses exchanged, over some of those silent pieces of 
 wood, brass, ivory, and catgut! The feelings of all the his 
 tories that surrounded me had something eerie in it. 
 
 I stayed until I began to feel nervous, and was thinking 
 of going away when sounds from a third room drew my atten 
 tion. Someone in there began to play the violin, and to play 
 it with no ordinary delicacy of manipulation. There was 
 something exquisitely finished, refined, and delicate about the 
 performance; it lacked the bold splendor and originality of 
 Eugen's playing, but it was so lovely as to bring tears to my 
 eyes, and, moreover, the air was my favorite " Traumerei." 
 Something in those sounds, too, was familiar to me. With 
 a sudden beating of the heart, a sudden eagerness, I stepped 
 hastily forward, pushed back the dividing curtain, and en 
 tered the room whence proceeded those sounds. 
 
 In the middle of the room, which was bare and empty, but 
 which had large windows looking across the melancholy 
 plateau, and to the terrible figure of the runner at the end 
 of the avenue, stood a boy a child with a violin. He was 
 dressed richly, in velvet and silk; he was grown the slender 
 delicacy of his form was set off by the fine clothing that rich 
 men's children wear; his beautiful waving black hair was 
 somewhat more closely cut, but the melancholy yet richly 
 colored young face that turned toward me the deep and 
 yearning eyes, the large, solemn gaze, the premature gravity, 
 were all his it was Sigmund, Courvoisier's boy. 
 
 For a moment we both stood motionless hardly breath 
 ing; then he flung his violin down, sprung forward with a 
 low sound of intense joy, exclaiming. 
 
 "Das Frdulein; das Frdulein, from home! " and stood be 
 fore me, trembling from head to foot. 
 
 I snatched the child to my heart (he looked so much older 
 and sadder), and covered him with kisses. 
 
 He submitted nay, more, he put his arms about my neck 
 and laid his face upon my shoulder, and presently, as if he 
 had choked down some silent emotion, looked up at me with 
 large, imploring, sad eves, and asked :
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 327 
 
 " Have you seen my father? " 
 
 " Sigmund, I saw him the day before yesterday. " 
 
 " You saw him you spoke to him, perhaps? " 
 
 " Yes. I spoke long with him." 
 
 "What did he look like?" 
 
 " As he always does brave, and true, and noble." 
 
 " Nicht wahr? " said the boy, with flashing eyes. " I know 
 how he looks, just. I am waiting till I am grown up, that 
 [ may go to him again." 
 
 " Do you like me, Sigmund? " 
 
 " Yes; very much." 
 
 " Do you think you could love me? Would you trust me 
 to love those you love? " 
 
 " Do you mean him? " he asked point-blank, and looked at 
 me somewhat startled. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " I mean, to take care of him, and try to make him happy 
 till you come to him again, and then we will all be together." 
 
 He looked doubtful still. 
 
 "What I mean, Sigmund, is that your father and I are 
 going to be married; but we shall never be quite happy until 
 you are with us." 
 
 He stood still, taking it in, and I waited in much anxiety. 
 I was certain that if I had time and opportunity I could win 
 him; but I feared the result of this sudden announcement and 
 separation. He might only see that his father his supreme 
 idol could turn for comfort to another, while he would not 
 know how I loved him and longed to make his grave young 
 life happy for him. I put my arm around his shoulder, and, 
 kneeling down beside him, said: 
 
 " You must say you are glad, Sigmund, or you will make 
 me very unhappy. I want you to love me as well as him. 
 Look at me and tell me you will trust me till we are all to 
 gether, for I am sure we shall be together some day." 
 
 He still hesitated some little time, but at last said, with 
 the sedateness peculiar to him, as of one who overcame a 
 struggle and made a sacrifice: 
 
 " If he has decided it so it must be right, you know; but 
 but you won't let him forget me, will you? " 
 
 The child's nature overcame that which had been, as it 
 were, supplanted and grafted upon it. The lip quivered, the 
 dark eyes filled with tears. Poor little lonely child! desolate
 
 ,28 TEE FIRST V + OLIN 
 
 and sad in the midst of all the grandeur! My heart yearned 
 to him. 
 
 "Forget you, Sigmund? Your father never forgets, he 
 cannot! " 
 
 " I wish I was grown up," was all he said. 
 
 Then it occurred to me to wonder how he got there, and in 
 what relation he stood to these people. 
 
 " Do you live here, Sigmund? " 
 
 " Yes?' 
 
 " What relation are you to the Herr Graf? " 
 
 " Graf von Rothenfels is my uncle." 
 
 " And are they kind to you ? " I asked, in a hasty whisper, 
 for his intense gravity and sadness oppressed me. I trem 
 bled to think of having to tell his father in what state I had 
 found him. 
 
 " Oh, yes! " said he. " Yes, very." 
 
 " What do you do all day? " 
 
 " I learn lessons from Herr Nahrath, and I ride with Uncle 
 Bruno, and and oh! I do whatever I like. Uncle Bruno 
 says that sometime I shall go to Bonn, or Heidelberg, or Jena, 
 jr England, whichever I like." 
 
 " And have you no friends? " 
 
 " I like being with Brunken the best. He talks to me 
 aljout my father sometimes. He knew him when he was only 
 as old as I am." 
 
 " Did he? Oh, I did not know that." 
 
 " But they won't tell me why my father never comes here, 
 and why they never speak of him," he added wearily, looking 
 with melancholy eyes across the lines of wood, through the 
 wide window. 
 
 " Be sure it is for nothing wrong. He does nothing wrong. 
 He does nothing but what is good and right," said I. 
 
 " Oh, of course! But I can't tell the reason. I think and 
 think about it." He put his hand wearily to his head. 
 " They never speak of him. Once I said something about 
 him. It was at a great dinner they had. Aunt Hildegarde 
 turned quite pale, and Uncle Bruno called me to him and 
 said no one heard it but me, you know ' Never let me hear 
 that name again! ' and his eyes looked so fierce. I'm tired 
 of this place," he added mournfully. " I want to be at El- 
 berthal again at the Wehrhahn, with my father and Fried- 
 helm and Karl Linders. I think of them every hour. I 
 liked Karl and Friedhelm, and Gretchen, and Frau Schmidt."
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 329 
 
 " They do not live there now, dear, Friedhelm and your 
 father," said I gently. 
 
 " Not? Then where are they? " 
 
 " I do lot know/' I was forced to say. " They were fight 
 ing in the war. I think they live at Berlin now, but I am not 
 at all sure." 
 
 This uncertainty seemed to cause him much distress, and 
 he would have added more, but our conversation was brought 
 to an end by the entrance of Brunken, who looked rathei 
 surprised to see us in such close and earnest consultation. 
 
 " Will you show me the way back to the countess' room? " 
 said I to Sigmund. 
 
 He put his hand in mine, and led me through many of 
 those interminable halls and passages until we came to the 
 rittersaal again." 
 
 " Sigmund," said I, " are you not proud to belong to 
 these?" and I pointed to the dim portraits hanging around. 
 
 " Yes," said he doubtfully. " Uncle Bruno is always tell 
 ing me that I must do nothing to disgrace their name, because 
 I shall one day rule their lands; but," he added with more 
 animation, " do you not see all these likenesses? These are 
 all counts of Eothenfels, who have been heads of the family. 
 You see the last one is here Graf Bruno my uncle. But 
 in another room there are a great many more portraits, ladies 
 and children and young men, and a man is painting a like 
 ness of me, which is going to be hung up there; but my father 
 is not there. What does it mean? " 
 
 i was silent. I knew his portrait must have been removed 
 because he was considered to be living in dishonor a stain 
 to the house, who was perhaps the most chivalrous of the 
 whole race; but this I could not tell Sigmund. It was begin 
 ning already, the trial, the "test" of which he had spoken 
 to me, and it was harder in reality than in anticipation. 
 
 " I don't want to be stuck up there where he has no place," 
 Sigmund went on sullenly. " And I should like to cut the 
 hateful picture to pieces when it comes." 
 
 With this he ushered me into Grafm Hildegarde's boudoir 
 again. She was still there, and a tall, stately, stern-looking 
 man of some fifty years was with her. 
 
 His appearance gave me a strange shock. He was Eugen, 
 older and without any of his artist brightness; Eugen's grace 
 turned into pride and stony hauteur. He looked as if he 
 could be savage upon occasion; a nature born to power and
 
 330 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 nurtured in it. Kuggedly upright, but narrow. I learned 
 him by heart afterward, and found that every act of his was 
 the direct, unsoftened outcome of his nature. 
 
 This was Graf Bruno; this was the proud, intensely feeling 
 man who had never forgiven the stain which he supposed 
 his brother had brought upon their house; this was he who 
 had proposed such hard, bald, pitiless terms concerning the 
 parting of father and son who forbade the child to speak of 
 the loved one. 
 
 " Ha! " said he, " you have found Sigmund, mein Frdu- 
 lein? Where did you meet, then? " 
 
 His keen eyes swept me from head to foot. In that, at 
 least, Eugen resembled him; my lover's glance was as hawk 
 like as this, and as impenetrable. 
 
 "In the music-room/' said Sigmund; and the uncle's 
 glance left me and fell upon the boy. 
 
 I soon read that story. The child was at once the light 
 of his eyes and the bitterness of his life. As for Countess 
 Hildegarde, she gazed at her nephew with all a mother's soul 
 in her pathetic eyes, and was silent. 
 
 " Come here," said the Graf, seating himself and drawing 
 the boy to him. " What hast thou been doing? " 
 
 There was no fear in the child's demeanor he was too 
 thoroughly a child of their own race to know fear but there 
 was no love, no lighting up of the features, no glad meeting 
 of the eyes. 
 
 "I was with Nahrath till Aunt Hildegarde sent for him, 
 and then I went to practice." 
 
 "Practice what? Thy riding or fencing?" 
 
 " No; my violin." 
 
 " Bah! What an extraordinary thing it is that this lad 
 has no taste for anything but fiddling," observed the uncle, 
 half aside. 
 
 Grafin Hildegarde looked sharply and apprehensively up. 
 
 Sigmund shrunk a little away from his uncle, not timidly, 
 but with some distaste. Words were upon his lips; his eyes 
 flashed, his lip parted; then he checked himself, and was 
 silent. 
 
 "Nun denn!" said the count. "What hast thou? Out 
 with it! " 
 
 " Nothing that it would please you to hear, uncle; there 
 fore I will not say it," was the composed retort. 
 
 The grim-looking man laughed a grim little laugh, as if
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 331 
 
 satisfied with the audacity of the boy, and his grizzled mus 
 tache swept the soft cheek. 
 
 " 1 ride no further this morning; but this afternoon I shall 
 go to Mulhausen. Wilt thou come with me? " 
 
 " Yes, uncle." 
 
 Neither willing nor unwilling was the tone, and the answer 
 appeared to dissatisfy the other, who said: 
 
 " ' Yes, uncle ' what does that mean? Dost thou not 
 wish to go?" 
 
 " Oh, yes! I would as soon go as stay at home." 
 
 " But the distance, Bruno," here interposed the countess 
 in a low tone. " I am sure it is too far. He is not too 
 strong." 
 
 "Distance? Pooh! Hildegarde, I wonder at you; con 
 sidering what stock you come of, you should be superior to 
 such nonsense! Wert thou thinking of the distance, 
 Sigmund ? " 
 
 " Distance no," said he indifferently. 
 
 " Come with me," said the elder. " I want to show thee 
 something." 
 
 They went out of the room together. Yes, it was self- 
 evident; the man idolized the child. Strange mixture of 
 sternness and softness! The supposed sin of the father was 
 never to be pardoned; but natural affection was to have its 
 way, and be lavished upon the son; and the son could not 
 return it, because the influence of the banished scapegrace 
 was too strong he had won it all for himself, as scapegraces 
 have the habit of doing. 
 
 Again I was left alone with the countess, sitting upright 
 over her embroidery. A dull life this great lady led. She 
 rtared nothing for the world's gayeties, and she had neither 
 chick nor child to be ambitious for. Her husband was polite 
 enough to her; but she knew perfectly well, and accepted it 
 as a matter of course, that the death of her who had lived 
 with him and been his companion for twenty-five years would 
 have weighed less by half with him than any catastrophe to 
 that mournful, unenthusiastic child, who had not been two 
 years under their roof, and who displayed no delight in the 
 wealth of love lavished upon him. 
 
 She knew that she also adored the child, but that his affec 
 tion was hard to get. She dared not show her love openly, 
 or in the presence of her husband, who seemed to look upon 
 the boy as his exclusive property, and was as jealous as a tiger
 
 332 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 of the few faint testimonials of afrection manifested by his 
 darling. A dull journey to Berlin once a year, an occasional 
 visitor, the society of her director and that of her husband 
 . who showed how much at home with her he felt by going to 
 sleep whenever he was more than a quarter of an hour in her 
 presence a little interest of a lofty, distant kind in her 
 towns-people of the poorer sort, an occasional call upon or 
 from some distant neighbor of a rank approaching her own; 
 for the rest, embroidery in the newest patterns and most 
 elegant style, some few books, chiefly religious and polemical 
 works and what can be drearier than Eoinan Catholic 
 polemics, unless, indeed, Protestant ones eclipse them? a 
 large house, vast estates, servants who never raised their 
 voices beyond a certain tone; the envy of all the middle-class 
 women, the fear' and reverential courtesies of the poorer ones 
 a cheerful existence, and one which accounted for some of 
 the wrinkles which so plentifully decked her brow. 
 
 " That is our nephew," said she; " my husband's heir." 
 
 " I have often seen him before," said I; " but I should 
 have thought that his father would be your husband's next 
 heir." 
 
 Never shall I forget the look she darted upon me the 
 awful glance which swept over me scathingly, ere she said in 
 icy tones: 
 
 " What do you mean ? Have you seen or do you know 
 Graf Eugen?" 
 
 There was a pause, as if the name had not passed her lips 
 for so long that now she had difficulty in uttering it. 
 
 " I knew him as Eugen Courvoisier," said I; but the other 
 name was a revelation to me, and told me that he was also 
 " to the manner born." " I saw him two days ago, and I 
 conversed with him," I added. 
 
 I She was silent for a moment, and surveyed me with a hag 
 gard look. I met her glance fully, openly. 
 
 "Do you wish to know anything a-bout him? " I asked. 
 
 " Certainly not," said she, striving to speak frigidly; but 
 there was a piteous tremble in her low tones. " The man has 
 
 dis What am I saying? It is sufficient to say that he 
 
 is not on terms with his family." 
 
 " So he told me," said I, struggling on my own part to keep 
 back the burning words within me. 
 
 The countess looked at me looked again. I saw now that 
 this was one of the great sorrows of her sorrowful life. She
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 333 
 
 felt that to be consistent she ought to wave aside the subject 
 with calm contempt; but it made her heart bleed. I pitied 
 her; I felt an odd kind of affection for her already. The 
 promise I had given to Eugen lay hard and heavy upon me. 
 
 " What did he tell you? " she asked at last; and I paused 
 ere I answered, trying to think what I could make of this 
 opportunity. " Do you know the facts of the case? " she 
 added. 
 
 " No; he said he would write." 
 
 "Would write! " she echoed, suspending her work and fiv 
 'ing me with her eyes. " Would write to whom? " 
 
 " To me." 
 
 ^You correspond with him?" There was a tremulous 
 eagerness in her manner. 
 
 "I have never corresponded with him yet," said I, "but 
 I have known him long, and loved him almost from the first. 
 The other day I promised to marry him." 
 
 "You?" said she; "you are going to marry Eugen! Are 
 you " her eyes said " are you good enough for him? " 
 But she came to an abrupt conclusion. " Tell me," said she; 
 " where did you meet him, and how? " 
 
 I told her in what capacity I had become acquainted with 
 him, and she listened breathlessly. Every moment I felt the 
 prohibition to speak heavier, for I saw that the Countess von 
 Bothenfels would have been only too delighted to hail any 
 idea, any suggestion, which should allow her to indulge the 
 love that, though so strong, she rigidly repressed. I dare 
 say I told my story in a halting kind of way; it was difficult 
 for me, on the spur of the moment, to know clearly what 
 to say and what to leave unsaid. As I told the countess 
 about Eugen's and my voyage down the river, a sort of smile 
 tried to struggle out upon her lips; it was evidently as good 
 is a romance to her. I finished, saying: 
 
 " That is the truth, gnddige Frau. All I fear is that I am 
 not good enough for him shall not satisfy him." 
 
 " My child," said she, and paused. " My dear child " 
 she took both my hands, and her lips quivered " you do not 
 know how I feel for you. I can feel for you because I fear 
 that with you it will be as it was with me. Do you know 
 any of the circumstances under which Eugen von Rothenfels 
 left his friends? " 
 
 "I do not know them circumstantially. I know he was 
 accused of something, and and did not I mean "
 
 884 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " Could not deny it," she said. " I dare not take the 
 responsibility of leaving you in ignorance. I must tell you 
 all, and may Our Lady give me eloquence! " 
 
 " I should like to hear the story, madame, but I do not 
 think any eloquence will change my mind." 
 
 "He always had a manner calculated to deceive and 
 charm," said she; "always. Well, my husband is his half- 
 brother. I was their consin. They are the sons of different 
 .nothers, and my husband is many years older than Eugen 
 eighteen years older. He, my husband, was thirty years old 
 when he succeeded to the name and estates of his father 
 Eugen, you see, was just twelve years old, a schoolboy. We 
 were just married. It is a very long time ago ach, ja! a 
 very long time ago! We played the part of parents to that 
 boy. We were childless, and, as time went on, we lavished 
 upon him all the love which we should have bestowed upon 
 our own children, had we been happy enough to have any. I 
 do not think anyone was ever better loved than he. It so hap 
 pened that his own inheritance was not a large one; that made 
 no difference. My husband, with my fullest consent and 
 approbation, had every intention of providing for him; we 
 had enough and to spare; -money and land and house room for 
 half a dozen families, and our two selves alone to enjoy it 
 all. He always seemed fond of us. I suppose it was his 
 facile manner, which could take the appearance of an interest 
 and affection which he did not feel " 
 
 " No, Frau Grafin! No, indeed! " 
 
 " Wait till you have heard all, my poor child. Everyone 
 foved him. How proud I was of him! Sometimes I think 
 it is a chastisement, but had you been in my place you would 
 have been proud, too; so gallant, so handsome, such grace, 
 and such charm! He was* the joy of my life," she said in 
 i passionate undertone. " He went by the name of a worthy 
 descendant of all essential things: honor and loyalty and 
 bravery, and so on. They used to call him Prinz Eugen, der 
 edle Ritter, after the old song. He was wild and impatient 
 of control, but who is not? I hate your young men whose 
 veins n\n milk, not blood. He was one of a fiery, passionate 
 line. At the universities he was extravagant; we heard all 
 sorts of follies." 
 
 " Did you ever hear of anything base anything underhand 
 or dishonorable? '" 
 
 " Never oh, never! High play. He was very intimate
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 335 
 
 with a set of young Englishmen, and the play was dreadful, 
 it is true; he betted, too. That is a curse. Play and horses, 
 and general recklessness and extravagance, but no wine and 
 no women. I never heard that he had the least affinity for 
 either of these dissipations. There were debts I suppose 
 all young men in his position make debts," said the countess 
 placidly. " My husband made debts at college, and I am 
 sure my brothers did. Then he left college and lived at 
 home a while, and that was the happiest time of my life. 
 But it is over. 
 
 " Then he entered the army of course. His family inter 
 est procured him promotion. He was captain in a fine Uhlan 
 regiment. He was with his regiment at Berlin and Munich, 
 
 and . And always we heard the same tales play, and 
 
 wild, fast living. Music always had a hold upon him. 
 
 " In the midst of his extravagance he was sometimes so 
 simple. I remember we were dreadfully frightened at a 
 
 rumor that he had got entangled with Fraulein , a 
 
 singer of great beauty at the Hof oper at . I got my hus 
 band to let me write about it. I soon had an answer from 
 Eugen. How he laughed at me! He had paid a lot of debts 
 for the girl, which had been pressing heavily upon her since 
 her career began; now he said he trusted she would get along 
 swimmingly; he was going to her benefit that night. 
 
 " But when he was at , and when he was about six- 
 
 and-twenty, he really did get engaged to be married. He 
 wrote and told us about it. That was the first bitter blow. 
 She was an Italian girl of respectable but by no means noble 
 family he was always a dreadful radical in such matters. 
 She was a governess in the house of one of his friends in . 
 
 " We did everything we could think of to divert him from 
 it. It was useless. He married her, but he did not become 
 less extravagant. She did not help him to become steady, 
 I must say. She liked gayety and admiration, and he liked 
 her to be worshiped. He indulged her frightfully. He 
 played he would play so dreadfully. 
 
 " We had his wife over to see us, and he came with her. 
 We were agreeably surprised. She quite won our hearts. 
 She was very beautiful and very charming had rather a 
 pretty voice, though nothing much. We forgave all his mis 
 conduct, and my husband talked to him and implored him 
 to amend. He said he would. Mere promises! It was so 
 easy to him to make promises.
 
 336 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " That poor young wife! Instead of pitying him for hav 
 ing made a mesalliance, we know now that it was she who 
 was to be pitied for having fallen into the hands of such a 
 black-hearted, false man." 
 
 The lady paused. The recital evidently cost her some pain 
 and some emotion. She went on: 
 
 " She was expecting her confinement. They returned 
 
 to , where we also had a house, and we went with them. 
 
 Vittoria shortly afterward gave birth to a son. That was in 
 our house. My husband would have it so. That son was to 
 reconcile all and make everything straight. At that time 
 Eugen must have been in some anxiety; he had been betting 
 heavily on the English Derby. We did not know that, nor 
 why he had gone to England. At last it came out that he 
 was simply ruined. My husband was dreadfully cut up. I 
 was very unhappy so unhappy that I was ill and confined 
 to my room. 
 
 " My husband left town for a few days to come over to 
 Rothenfels on business. Eugen was scarcely ever in the 
 house. I thought it was our reproachful faces that he did 
 not wish to see. Then my husband came back. He was 
 more cheerful. He had been thinking things over, he said. 
 He kissed me, and told me to cheer up: he had a plan for 
 Eugen, which, he believed, would set all right again. 
 
 " In that very moment someone had asked to see him. It 
 was a clerk from the bank with a check which they had 
 cashed the day before. Had my husband signed it? I saw 
 him look at it for a moment. Then he sent the man away, 
 saying that he was then busy and would communicate with 
 him. Then he showed me the check. It was payable to the 
 bearer, and across the back was written * Vittoria von 
 Rothenfels.' 
 
 " You must bear in mind that Eugen was living in his own 
 house, in another quarter of the town. My husband sent the 
 check to him, with a brief inquiry as to whether he knew any 
 thing about it. Then he went out; he had an appointment, 
 and when he returned he found a letter from Eugen. It was 
 not long; it was burned into my heart, and I have never for 
 gotten a syllable of it. It was: 
 
 " ' I return the check. I am guilty. I relieve you of all 
 further responsibility about me. It is evident that I am not 
 fit for my position. I leave this place forever, taking the boy
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 337 
 
 witn me. Vittoria does not seem to care about having him. 
 Will you look after her? Do not let her starve in punish 
 ment for my sin. For me I leave you forever. 
 
 " ' EUGEN.' 
 
 " That was the letter. Ei! mein Gott! Oh, it is hideous, 
 child, to find that those in whom you believed so intensely 
 are bad rotten to the core. I had loved Eugen, lie had 
 made a sunshine in my not very cheerful life. His coming 
 was a joy to me, his going away a sorrow. It made every 
 thing so much blacker when the truth came out. Of course 
 the matter was hushed up. 
 
 " My husband took immediate steps about it. Soon after 
 ward we came here; Vittoria with us. Poor girl! Poor girl! 
 She did nothing but weep and wring her hands, moan and 
 lament and wonder why she had ever been born, and at last 
 she died of decline that is to say, they called it decline, but 
 it was really a broken heart. That is the story a black 
 chronicle, is it not? You know about Sigmund's coming 
 here. My husband remembered that he was heir to our 
 name, and we were in a measure responsible for him. Eugen 
 had taken the name of a distant family connection on his 
 mother's side she had French blood in her veins Courvoi- 
 sier. Now you know all, my child he is not good. Do not 
 trust him." 
 
 I was silent. My heart burned; my tongue longed to utter 
 ardent words, but I remembered his sad smile as he said, 
 " You shrink from that," and I braced myself to silence. 
 The thing seemed to me altogether so pitiable and yet and 
 yet, I had sworn. But how had he lived out these five ter 
 rible years? 
 
 By and by the luncheon bell rang. We all met once more. 
 I felt every hour more like one in a dream or in some impos 
 sible old romance. That piece of outward deathlike reserve, 
 the countess, with the fire within, which she was forever 
 spending her energy in attempts to quench; that conglomera 
 tion of ice, pride, roughness, and chivalry, the Herr Graf him 
 self; the thin, wooden-looking priest, the director of the 
 Grafin; that lovely picture of grace and bloom, with the dash 
 of melancholy, Sigmund; certainly it was the strangest com 
 pany in which I had ever been present. The countess sent 
 me home in the afternoon, reminding me that I was engaged 
 to dine there with the others to-morrow. I managed to get
 
 338 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 a word aside with Sigmund to kiss him and tell him I 
 should come to see him again. Then I left them; interested, 
 inthralled, fascinated with them and their life, and more in 
 love with Eugen than ever. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " WHERE IS MY FATHER? " 
 
 WE had been bidden to dine at the schloss Frau Mitten- 
 dorf, Stella, and I. In due time the doctor's new carriage 
 was called out, and seated in it we were driven to the great 
 castle. With a renewed joy and awe I looked at it by twi 
 light, with the dusk of sunset veiling its woods and turning 
 the whole mass to the color of a deep earth-stain. Eugen's 
 home: there he had been born; as the child of such a race 
 and in its traditions he had been nurtured by that sad lady 
 whom we were going to see. I at least knew that he had 
 acted, and was now acting, up to the very standard of his high 
 calling. The place had lost much of its awfulness for me; it 
 had become even friendly and lovely. 
 
 The dinner was necessarily a solemn one. I was looking 
 out for Sigmund, who, however, did not put in an appearance. 
 
 After dinner, when we were all assembled in a vast salon 
 which the numberless wax-lights did but partially and in the 
 center illuminate, I determined to make an effort at release 
 from this seclusion, and asked the countess (who had 
 motioned me to a seat beside her) where Sigmund was. 
 
 " He seemed a little languid and not inclined to come 
 downstairs," said she. " I expect he is in the music-rooms - 
 he generally finds his way there." 
 
 " Oh, I wish you would allow me to go and see him! " 
 
 " Certainly, my child," said she, ringing; and presently a 
 servant guided me to the door of the music-rooms, and in 
 answer to my knock I was bidden Herein ! 
 
 I entered. The room was in shadow; but a deep glowing 
 fire burned in a great cavernous, stone fireplace, and shone 
 upon huge brass andirons on either side of the hearth. In an 
 easy-chair sat Brunken, the old librarian, and his white hair 
 and beard were also warmed into rosiness by the fire-glow. 
 At his feet lay Sigmund, who had apparently been listening
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 339 
 
 to some story of his old friend. His hands were clasped 
 about the old man's knee, his face upturned, his hair pushed 
 back. 
 
 Both turned as I 'came in, and Sigmund sprung up, but ere 
 he had advanced two paces, paused and stood still, as if over 
 come with languor or weariness. 
 
 " Sigmund, I have come to see you," said I, coming to the 
 fire and greeting the old man, who welcomed me hospitably, 
 
 I tok Sigmund's hand; it was hot and dry. I kissed him; 
 lips and cheeks were burning and glowing crimson. I swept 
 the hair from his brow, that too was burning, and his temples 
 throbbed. His eyes met mine with a strange, misty look. 
 Saying nothing, I seated myself in a low chair near the fire, 
 and drew him to me. He nestled up to me, and I felt that if 
 Eugen could see us he would be almost satisfied. Sigmund 
 did not say anything. He merely settled his head upon my 
 breast, gave a deep sigh as if of relief, and closing his eyes, 
 said: 
 
 " Now, Brunken, go on! " 
 
 " As I was saying, mein Leibling, I hope to prove all for 
 mer theorists and writers upon the subject to have been 
 wrong ' : 
 
 " He's talking about a Magrepha," said Sigmund, still not 
 opening his eyes. 
 
 " A Magrepha what may that be ? " I inquired. 
 
 " Yes. Some people say it was a real full-blown organ," 
 axplained Sigmund in a thick, hesitating voice, "and some 
 say it was nothing better than a bagpipe oh, dear! how my 
 head does ache and there are people who say it was a kettle 
 drum nothing more nor less; and Brunken is going to show 
 that not one of them kiiew anything about it." 
 
 " I hope so, at least," said Brunken with a modest 
 placidity. 
 
 " Oh, indeed! " said 1, glancing a little timidly into the far 
 recesses of the deep, ghostly room, where the firelight kept 
 catching the sheen of metal, the yellow whiteness of ivory 
 keys or pipes, or the polished case of some stringed instru 
 ment. 
 
 Strange, grotesque shapes loomed out in the uncertain, 
 flickering light; but was it not a strange and haunted cham 
 ber? Ever it seemed to me as if breaths of air blew through 
 it, which came from all imaginable kinds of graves, and were 
 the breaths of those departed ones who had handled the
 
 340 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 strange collection, and who wished to finger, or blow into, 01 
 beat the dumb, unvibrating things once more. 
 
 Did I say unvibrating? I was wrong then. The strings 
 sometimes quivered to sounds that set them trembling; some 
 thing like a whispered tone I have heard from the deep, up 
 turned throats of great brazen trumpets something like a 
 distant moan floating around the gilded organ-pipes. In 
 after-days, when Friedhelm Helfen knew this room, he made 
 a wonderful fantasia about it, in which all the dumb instru 
 ments woke up, or tried to wake up to life again, for the 
 whole place impressed him, he told me, as nothing that he 
 had ever known before. 
 
 Brunken went on in a droning tone, giving theories of his 
 own as to the nature of the Magrepha, and I, with my arms 
 around Sigmund, half-listened to the sleepy monotone of the 
 good old visionary. But what spoke to me with a more 
 )otent voice was the soughing and wuthering of the sorrowful 
 irind without, which verily moaned around the old walls, 
 md sought out the old corners, and wailed, and plained, and 
 pbbed in a way that was enough to break one's heart. 
 
 By degrees a silence settled upon us. Brunken, having 
 satisfactorily annihilated his enemies, ceased to speak; the 
 fire burned lower; Sigmund's eyes were closed; his cheeks 
 were not less flushed than before, nor his brow less hot, and 
 a frown contracted it. I know not how long a time had 
 passed, but I had no wish to rise. 
 
 The door was opened, and someone came into the room. I 
 looked up. It was the Grafin. Brunken rose and stood to 
 one side, bowing. 
 
 I could not get up, but some movement of mine, perhaps, 
 disturbed the heavy and feverish slumber of the child. He 
 started wide-awake, with a look of wild terror, and gazed 
 down invo the darkness, crying out: 
 
 " Mein Vater, where art thou?" 
 
 A strange, startled, frightened look crossed the face of the 
 countess when she heard the words. She did not speak, and 
 I said some soothing words to Sigmund. 
 
 But there could be no doubt that he was very ill. It was 
 quite unlike his usual silent courage and reticence to wring 
 his small hands and with ever-increasing terror turn a deaf 
 ear to my soothings, sobbing out in tones of pain and in 
 sistence: 
 
 "Father! father! where art thou? I want thee! "
 
 THE FIRtiT \\3LIX. 341 
 
 Then he began to cry pitifully, and the only word that was 
 heard was " Father! " It was like some recurrent wail in a 
 piece of music, which warns one all through of a coming 
 tragedy. 
 
 " Oh, dear! What is to be done? Sigmund! Was ist 
 denn mil dir, mein Engel? " said the poor countess, greatly 
 distressed. 
 
 "He is ill," said I. "I think he has taken an illness. 
 Does thy head ache, Sigmund ? " 
 
 " Yes," said he, " it does. Where is my own father? My 
 head never ached when I was with my father." 
 
 "Mein Gott! mein Gott!" said the countess in a low tone. 
 " I thought he had forgotten his father." 
 
 " Forgotten! " echoed I. " Frau Grafin, he is one of your 
 selves. You do not seem to forget." 
 
 " Herrgott ! " she exclaimed, wringing her hands. " What 
 can be the matter with him? What must I say to Bruno? 
 Sigmund, darling, what hast thou, then? What ails 
 thee?" 
 
 " I want my father! " he repeated. Nor would he utter 
 any other word. The one idea, long dormant, had now taken 
 full possession of him; in fever, half delirious, out of the full 
 ness of his heart his mouth spake. 
 
 " Sigmund, Liebchen" said the countess, " control thyself. 
 Thy uncle must not hear thee say that word." 
 
 " I don't want my uncle. I want my father! " said Sig 
 mund, looking restlessly round. " Oh, where is he? I have 
 not seen him it is so long, and I want him. I love him; I 
 do love my father, and I want him." 
 
 It was pitiful, pathetic, somewhat tragic, too. The poor 
 countess had not the faintest idea what to do with the boy, 
 whose illness frightened her. I suggested that he should be 
 put to bed and the doctor sent for, as he had probably taken 
 some complaint which would declare itself in a few days, and 
 might be merely some childish disorder. 
 
 The countt -.s seized my suggestion eagerly. Sigmund was 
 taken away. 1 saw him no more that night. Presently we 
 left the schloss and drove home. 
 
 I found a letter waiting for me from Eugen. He was still 
 at Elberthal, and appeared to have been reproaching himself 
 for having accepted my " sacrifice," as he called it. He spoke 
 of Sigmund. There was more, too, in the letter, which made 
 me both glad and sad. I felt life spreading before me, ei>
 
 342 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 dowed with a gravity, a largeness of aim, and a dignity of pur 
 pose such as I had never dreamed of before. 
 
 It seemed that for me, too, there was work to do. I also 
 had a love for whose sake to endure. This made me feel 
 grave. Eugen's low spirits, and the increased bitterness with 
 which he spoke of things, made me sad; but something else 
 made me glad. Throughout his whole letter there breathed 
 a passion, a warmth restrained, but glowing through its 
 bond of reticent words an eagerness which he told me that 
 at last 
 
 " As I loved, loved am I." 
 
 Even after that sail down the river I had felt a half mis 
 trust, now all doubts were removed. He loved me. He had 
 learned it in all its truth and breadth since we last parted. 
 He talked of renunciation, but it was with an anguish so keen 
 as to make me wince for him who felt it. If he tried to 
 renounce me now, it would not be the cold laying aside of a 
 thing for which he did not care, it would be the wrenching 
 himself away from his heart's desire. I triumphed in the 
 knowledge, and this was what made me glad. 
 
 Almost before we had finished breakfast in the morning, 
 there came a thundering of wheels up to the door, and a 
 shriek of excitement from Fran Mittendorf, who Morgen- 
 Jiaube on her head, a shapeless old morning-gown clinging 
 hideously about her ample figure, rushed to the window, 
 looked out, and announced the carriage of the Frau Grafin. 
 " Aber! What can she want at this early hour? " she specu 
 lated, coming into the room again and staring at us both with 
 wide open eyes, round with agitation and importance. " But 
 I dare say she wishes to consult me upon some matter. I 
 wish I were dressed more becomingly. I have heard that is, 
 I know, for I am so intimate with her that she r^ver wears 
 neglige. I wonder if I should have time to 
 
 She stopped to hold out her hand for the note which a 
 servant was bringing in; but her face fell wluui thr missive 
 was presented to me. 
 
 "LIEBE MAI [it began]: Will you come and help me in 
 my trouble? Sigmund is very ill. Sometimes he is deliri 
 ous. He calls for you often. It breaks my heart to find tha*. 
 after all not a word is uttered of us, but only of Eugen
 
 HE FIRST VIOLIN. 343 
 
 tliis when you have read it), of you, and of 'Karl/ and 
 4 Friedheim,' and one or two other names which I do not 
 know. I fear this petition will sound troublesome to you, 
 who were certainly not made for trouble, but you are kind. 
 I saw it in your face. I grieve too much. Truly the flesh is 
 fearfully weak. I would live as if earth had no joys for me 
 as indeed it has none and yet that does not prevent my 
 suffering. May God help me! Trusting to you, 
 Your, 
 
 "HILDEGARDE V. KOTHENFELS." 
 
 I lost no time in complying with this summons. In a few 
 moments I was in the carriage; ere long I was at the schloss, 
 was met by Countess Hildegarde, looking like a ghost that 
 had been keeping a strict Lent, and was at last by Sigmund's 
 bedside. 
 
 He was tossing feverishly from side to side, murmuring and 
 muttering. But when he saw me he was still; a sweet, frank 
 smile flitted over his face a smile wonderfully like that 
 which his father had lately bent upon me. He gave a little 
 laugh, saying: 
 
 "Fraulein May! Willkommen! Have you brought my 
 father? And I should like to see Friedheim, too. You and 
 der Vater and Friedel used to sit near together at the concert, 
 don't you remember? I went once, and you sung. That 
 tall black man beat time, and my father never stopped look 
 ing at you and listening Friedel, too. I will ask them if 
 they remember." 
 
 He laughed again at the reminiscence, and took my hand, 
 and asked me if I remembered, so that it was with difficulty 
 that I steadied my voice and kept my eyes from running over 
 as I answered him. Griifin Hildegarde behind wrung her 
 hands and turned to the window. He did not advance am 
 reminiscence of what had happened since he came to the 
 schloss. 
 
 There was no doubt that our Sigmund was very ill. A 
 visitation of scarlet fever, of the worst kind, was raging in 
 Lahnburg and in the hamlet of Rothenfels, which lay about 
 the gates of the schloss. 
 
 Sigmund, some ten days before, had ridden with his uncle, 
 and waited on his pony for some time outside a row of cot 
 tages, while the count visited one of his -old servants, a man 
 who had become an octogenarian in the service of his family.
 
 344 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 and upon whom Graf Bruno periodically shed the light of his 
 countenance. 
 
 It was scarcely to be doubted that the boy had taken the 
 infection then and there, and the doctor did not conceal that 
 he had the complaint in its worst form, and that his recovery 
 admitted of the gravest doubts. 
 
 A short time convinced me that I must not again leave the 
 child till the illness was decided in one way or another. He 
 was mine now, and I felt myself in the place of Eugen, as I 
 stood beside his bed and told him the hard truth that his 
 father was not there, nor Friedhelm, nor Karl, for whom he 
 also asked, but only I. 
 
 The day passed on. A certain conviction was growing 
 every hour stronger with me. An incident at last decided it. 
 I had scarcely left Sigmund's side for eight or nine hours, but 
 I had seen nothing of the count, nor heard his voice, nor had 
 any mention been made of him, and remembering how he 
 adored the boy, I was surprised. 
 
 At last Grafin Hildegarde, after a brief absence, came into 
 the room, and with a white face and parted lips, said to me in 
 a half-whisper. 
 
 " Liebe Miss Wedderburn, will you do something for me? 
 Will you speak to my husband? " 
 
 " To your husband! " I ejaculated. 
 
 She bowed. 
 
 " He longs to see Sigmund, but dare not come. For me, 
 I have hardly dared to go near him since the little one began 
 to be ill. He believes that Sigmund will die, and that he will 
 be his murderer, having taken him out that day. I have 
 often spoken to him about making der Arme ride too far, and 
 now the sight of me reminds him of it; he cannot 
 endure to look at me. Heaven help me! Why was I ever 
 born?" 
 
 She turned away without tears tears were not in her line 
 and I went, much against my will, to find the Graf. 
 
 He was in his study. Was that the same man, I wondered, 
 vrhom I had seen the very day before, so strong, and full of 
 pride and life? He raised a haggard, white, and ghastly face 
 to me, which had aged and fallen in unspeakably. He made 
 in effort, and rose with politeness as I came in. 
 
 " M ein Fraulein, you are loading us with obligations. It 
 is quite unheard of." 
 
 But no thanks were implied in the tone only bitterness,
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 345 
 
 He was angry that I should be in the place he dared not 
 come to. 
 
 If I had not been raised by one supreme fear above all 
 smaller ones, I should have been afraid of this haggard, eager- 
 looking old man for he did look very old in his anguish. I 
 could see the rage of jealousy with which he regarded me, 
 and I am not naturally fond of encountering an old wolf who 
 has starved. 
 
 But I used my utmost effort to prevail upon him to visit 
 i.is nephew, and at last succeeded. I piloted him to Sig- 
 mund's room; led him to the boy's bedside. The sick child's 
 eyes were closed, but he presently opened them. The uncle 
 was stooping over him, his rugged face all working with emo 
 tion, and his voice broken as he murmured: 
 
 " Ach mein Liebling! art thou then so ill? " 
 
 With a kind of shuddering cry, the boy pushed him away 
 with both hands, crying: 
 
 "Go away! I want my father my father, my father, I 
 say! Where is he? Why do you not fetch him? You are a 
 bad man, and you hate him." 
 
 Then I was frightened. The count recoiled; his face 
 turned deathly white livid; his fist clinched. He glared 
 down upon the now unrecognizing young face and stuttered 
 forth something, paused, then said in a low, distinct voice, 
 which shook me from head to foot: 
 
 " So! Better he should die. The brood is worthy the 
 nest it sprung from. Where is our blood, that he whines 
 after that hound that hound ? " 
 
 With which, and with a fell look around, he departed, leav 
 ing Sigmund oblivious of all that had passed, utterly indif 
 ferent and unconscious, and me shivering with fear at the 
 outburst I had seen. 
 
 I But it seemed to me that my charge was worse. I left him 
 yfor a few moments, and seeking out the countess, spoke my 
 mind. 
 
 " Frau Grafin, Eugen must be sent for. I fear that Sig 
 mund is going to die, and I dare not let him die without send 
 ing for his father." 
 
 " I dare not! " said the countess. 
 
 She had met her husband, and was flung, unnerved, upon 
 a couch, her hand over her heart. 
 
 " But I dare, and I must do it! " said I, secretly wondering 
 at myself. " I shall telegraph for him."
 
 346 THE FlIttfT VIOLIN. 
 
 " If my husband knew! " she breathed. 
 
 " I cannot help it," said I. " Is the poor child to die 
 among people who profess to love him, with the one wish 
 imgratified which he has been repeating ever since he began 
 to be ill? I do not understand such love; I call it horrible 
 inhumanity." 
 
 " For Eugen to enter this house again! " she said in a 
 whisper. 
 
 " I would to God that there were any other head as noble 1 
 under its roof! " was my magniloquent and thoroughly ear 
 nest inspiration. " Well, gnadige Frau, will you arrange this 
 matter, or shall I ? " 
 
 " I dare not," she moaned, half distracted; " I dare not 
 but I will do nothing to prevent you. Use the whole house 
 hold; they are at your command." 
 
 I lost not an instant in writing out a telegram and dis 
 patching it by a man on horseback to Lahnburg. I sum 
 moned Eugen briefly: 
 
 " Sigmund is ill. I am here. Come to us." 
 
 I saw the man depart,- and then I went and told the 
 countess what I had done. She turned, if possible, a shade 
 paler, then said: 
 
 " I am not responsible for it." 
 
 Then I left the poor pale lady to still her beating heart and 
 kill her deadly apprehensions in the embroidery of the lily of 
 the field and the modest violet. 
 
 No change in the child's condition. A lethargy had fallen 
 upon him. That awful stupor, with the dark, flushed cheek 
 and heavy breath, was to me more ominous than the restless 
 ness of fever. 
 
 I sat down and calculated. My telegram might be in 
 FAigen's hand in the course of an hour. 
 
 When could he be here? Was it possible that he might 
 arrive this night? I obtained the German equivalent for 
 Bradshaw, and studied it till I thought I had made out that, 
 supposing Eugen to receive the telegram in the shortest pos 
 sible time, he might be here by half past eleven that night. 
 It was now five in the afternoon. Six hours and a half and 
 at the end of that time his non-arrival might tell me he could 
 not be bere before the morrow. 
 
 I sat till, and now that the deed was done, gave myself up,
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 347 
 
 with my usual enlightenment and discretion, to fears and 
 apprehensions. The terrible look and tone of Graf von 
 Eothenfels returned to my mind in full force. Clearly it 
 was just the most dangerous thing in the world for Eugen to 
 do to put in an appearance at the present time. But an 
 other glance at Sigmund somewhat reassured me. In 
 wondering whether girl had ever before been placed in such 
 a bizarre situation as mine, darkness overtook me. 
 Sigmund moved restlessly and moaned, stretching out little 
 hot hands, and saying " Father! " I caught those hands to 
 iny lips, and knew that I had done right. 
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 i 
 
 VINDICATED. 
 
 IT was a wild night. Driving clouds kept hiding and re 
 vealing the stormy-looking moon. I was out of doors. I 
 could not remain in the house; it had felt too small for me, 
 but now nature felt too large. I dimly saw the huge pile of 
 the schloss defined against the gray light; sometimes, when 
 the moon unveiled herself, it started out clear, and black, and 
 grim. I saw a light in a corner window that was Sigmund's 
 room; and another in a room below that was the Graf's 
 study, and there the terrible man sat. I heard the wind 
 moan among the trees, heard the great dogs baying from the 
 kennels; from an open window came rich, low, mellow sounds. 
 Old Brunken was in the music-room, playing to himself upon 
 the violoncello. That was a movement from the " Grand 
 Septuor " the second movement, which is, if one may use 
 such an expression, painfully beautiful. I bethought myself 
 of the woods which lay hidden from me, the vast avenues, the 
 lonely tanks, the grotesque statues, and that terrible figure 
 with its arms cast upward, at the end of the long walk, and 
 I shivered faintly. 
 
 I was some short distance down the principal avenue, and 
 dared not go any further. A sudden dread of the loneliness 
 and the night-voices came upon me; my heart beating thickly, 
 I turned to go back to the house. I would try to comfort 
 poor Countess Hildegarde in her watching and her fears. 
 
 But there is a step near me. Someone comes up the ave-
 
 348 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 nue, with foot that knows its windings, its turns and twists, 
 its ups and downs. 
 
 " Eugen! " I said tremulously. 
 
 A sudden pause a stop; then he said with a kind of laugh: 
 
 " Witchcraft Zauberei ! " and was going on. 
 
 But now I knew his whereabouts, and coming up to him, 
 touched his arm. 
 
 " This, however, is reality! " he exclaimed, infolding me 
 and kissing me as he hurried on. " May, how is he? " 
 
 " Just the same," said I, clinging to him. " Oh, thank 
 Heaven that you are come! " 
 
 " I drove to the gates, and sent the fellow away. But what 
 art thou doing alone at the Ghost's Corner on a stormy 
 night?" 
 
 We were still walking fast toward the schloss. My heart 
 was beating fast, half with fear of what was impending, half 
 with intensity of joy at hearing his voice again, and knowing 
 what that last letter had told me. 
 
 As we emerged upon the great terrace before the house 
 Eugen made one (the only one) momentary pause, pressed my 
 arm, and bit his lips. I knew the meaning of it all. Then 
 we passed quickly on. We met no one in the great stone 
 hall no one on the stairway or along the passages straight 
 he held his way, and I with him. 
 
 We entered the room. Eugen's eyes leaped swiftly to his 
 child's face. I saw him pass his hand over his mouth. I 
 withdrew my hand from his arm and stood aside, feeling a 
 tremulous thankfulness that he was here, and that that rest 
 less plaining would at last be hushed in satisfaction. 
 
 A delusion! The face over which my lover bent did not 
 brighten, nor the eyes recognize him. The child did riot 
 know the father for whom he had yearned out his little 
 heart he did not hear the half-frantic words spoken by that 
 father as he flung himself upon him, kissing him, beseeching 
 him, conjuring him with every foolish word of fondness that 
 ke could think of, to speak, answer, look up once again. 
 
 Then fear, terror overcame the man for the first time I 
 saw him look pale with apprehension. 
 
 " Not this cup not this! " muttered he. " Gott im Him- 
 mel! anything short of this I will give him up leave him 
 anything only let him live! " 
 
 He had flung himself, unnerved, trembling, upon a chair 
 by the bedside his face buried in his hands. I saw the
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 34* 
 
 sweat stand upon his brow I could do nothing to help 
 nothing but wish despairingly that some blessed miracle 
 would reverse the condition of the child and me lay me low 
 in death upon that bed place him safe and sound in his 
 father's arms. 
 
 Is it not hard, you father of many children, to lose one of 
 them? Do you not grudge Death his prize? But this man 
 had but the one; the love between them was such a love as 
 one meets perhaps once in a lifetime. The child's life had 
 been a mourning to him, the father's a burden, ever since 
 they had parted. 
 
 I felt it strange that I should be trying to comfort him, 
 and yet it was so; it was his brow that leaned on my shoulder; 
 it was he who was faint with anguish, so that he could scarce 
 see or speak his hand that was cold and nerveless. It was 1 
 who said: 
 
 " Do not despair, I hope still." 
 
 " If he is dying," said Eugen, " he shall die in my arms." 
 
 "With which, as if the idea were a dreary kind of comfort, 
 he started up, folded Sigmund in a shawl, and lifted him out 
 of bed, infolding him in his arms, and pillowing his head 
 upon his breast. 
 
 It was a terrible moment, yet, as I clung to his arm, and 
 with him looked into our darling's face, I felt that Von Fran- 
 cius' words, spoken long ago to my sister, contained a deep 
 truth. This joy, so like a sorrow would I have parted with 
 it? A thousand times, no! 
 
 Whether the motion and movement roused him, or whether 
 that were the crisis of some change, I knew not. Sigmund's 
 eyes opened. He bent them upon the face above him, and 
 after a pause of reflection said, in a voice whose utter satis 
 faction passed anything I had ever heard: " My own father! " 
 released a pair of little wasted arms from his covering, and 
 clasped them round Eugen's neck, putting his face close to 
 his, and kissing him as if no number of kisses could ever 
 satisfy him. 
 
 Upon this scene, as Eugen stood in the middle of the room, 
 his head bent down, a smile upon his face which no ultimate 
 griefs could for the moment quench, there entered the 
 countess. 
 
 Her greeting after six years of absence, separation, belief in 
 his dishonesty, was a strange one. She came quickly for 
 ward, laid her hand on his arm, and said:
 
 350 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 "Eugen, it is dreadfully infectious! Don't kiss the child 
 in that way, or you will take the fever and be laid up, too." 
 
 He looked up, and at his look a shock passed across her 
 face; with pallid cheeks and parted lips she gazed at him, 
 speechless. 
 
 His mind, too, seemed to bridge the gulf it was in a 
 strange tone that he answered: 
 
 " Ah, Hildegarde! What does it matter what becomes of 
 ne? Leave me this! " 
 
 " ISTo, not that, Eugen," said I, going up to him, and I sup 
 pose something in my eyes moved him, for he gave the child 
 into my arms in silence. 
 
 The countess had stood looking at him. She strove for 
 silence; sought tremulously after coldness, but in vain. 
 
 " Eugen ' She came nearer, and looked more closely 
 
 at him. " Herrgott! how you are altered! What a meeting! 
 I can it be six years ago and now oh! " Her voice broke 
 into a very wail. " We loved you why did you deceive us? " 
 
 My heart stood still. Would he stand this test? It was 
 the hardest he had had. Grafin Hildegarde had been was 
 dear to him. That he was dear to her, intensely dear, that 
 love for him was intwined about her very heart-strings, stood 
 confessed now. "Why did you deceive us?" It sounded 
 more like, " Tell us we may trust you; make us happy again! " 
 One word from him, and the poor sad lady would have ban 
 ished from her heart the long-staying, unwelcome guest 
 belief in his falseness and closed it away from her forever. 
 
 He was spared the dreadful necessity of answering her. A 
 timid summons from her maid at the door told her the count 
 wanted to speak to her, and she left us quickly. 
 
 Sigmund did not die; he recovered, and lives now. But 
 with that I am not at present concerned. 
 
 It was the afternoon following that never-to-be-forgotten 
 night. I had left Eugen watching beside Sigmund, who was 
 sleeping, his hand jealously holding two of his father's fingers. 
 
 I intended to call at Frau Mittendorf's door to say that I 
 could not yet return there, and when I came back, said 
 Eugen, he would have something to tell me; he was going to 
 speak with his brother to tell him that we should be 
 married, " and to speak about Sigmund," he added decisively. 
 " I will not risk such a thing as this again. If you had not 
 been here he might have died without my knowing it. I feel
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 351 
 
 myself absolved from all obligation to let him remain. My 
 child's happiness shall not be further sacrificed." 
 
 With this understanding I left him. I went toward the 
 countess' room, to speak to her, and tell her of Sigmund be 
 fore I went out. I heard voices ere I entered the room, and 
 when I entered it I stood still, and a sickly apprehension 
 clutched my very heart. There stood my evil genius the 
 baser Geist of my lover's fate Anna Sartorius. And the 
 count and countess were present, apparently waiting for her 
 to begin to speak. 
 
 " You are here," said the Grafin to me. " I was just about 
 to send for you. This lady says she knows you." 
 
 " She does," said I hesitatingly. 
 
 Anna looked at me. There was gravity in her face, and 
 the usual cynical smile in her eyes. 
 
 " You are surprised to see me," said she. " You will be 
 still more surprised to hear that I have journeyed all the way 
 from Elberthal to Lahnburg on your account, and for your 
 benefit." 
 
 I did not believe her, and composing myself as well as I 
 could sat down. After all, what could she do to harm me? 
 She could not rob me of Eugen's heart, and she had already 
 done her worst against him and his fair name. 
 
 Anna had a strong will; she exerted it. Graf Bruno was 
 looking in some surprise at the unexpected guest; the count 
 ess sat rigidly upright, with a puzzled look, as if at the sight 
 of Anna she recalled some far-past scene. Anna compelled 
 their attention; she turned to me, saying: 
 
 " Please remain here, Miss Wedderburn. What I have to 
 say concerns you as much as anyone here. You wonder who 
 I am, and what business I have to intrude myself upon you," 
 she added to the others. 
 
 " I confess " began the countess, and Anna went on: 
 
 " You, gnddige Frau, have spoken to me before, and I tc 
 you. I see you remember, or feel you ought to remember 
 me. I will recall the occasion of our meeting to your mind. 
 You once called at my father's house he was a music teachei 
 to ask about lessons for some friend or protegee of yours. 
 My father was engaged at the moment, and I invited you into 
 my sitting room and endeavored to begin a conversation with 
 you. You were very distant and very proud, scarcely deign 
 ing to answer me. When my father came into the room, I 
 left it. But I could not help laughing at your treatment of
 
 352 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 me. You little knew from your shut-up, cossue existence 
 among the lofty ones of the earth, what influence even such 
 insignificant persons as I might have upon your lot. At the 
 time I was the intimate friend of, and in close correspondence 
 with, a person who afterward became one of your family. 
 Her name was Vittoria Leopardi, and she married your 
 brother-in-law, Graf Eugen." 
 
 The plain-spoken, plain-looking woman had her way. She 
 had the same power as that which shone in the " glittering 
 ^ye " of the Ancient Mariner. Whether we liked or not we 
 gave her our attention. All were listening now, and we lis 
 tened to the end. 
 
 " Vittoria Leopardi was the Italian governess at General 
 
 von 's. At one time she had several music lessons from 
 
 my father. That was how I became acquainted with her. 
 She was very beautiful almost as beautiful as you, Miss 
 Wedderburn, and I, dull and plain myself, have a keen appre 
 ciation of beauty and of the gentleness which does not always 
 accompany it. When I first knew her she was lonely and 
 strange, and I tried to befriend her. I soon began to learn 
 what a singular mixture of sordid worldliness and vacant 
 weak-mindedness dwelt behind her fair face. She wrote to 
 me often, for she was one of the persons who must have some 
 one to whom to relate their ' triumphs ' and conquests, and 
 I suppose I was the only person she could get to listen to her. 
 
 " At that time the time you called at our house, gnddige 
 Frau her epistles were decidedly tedious. What sense s-he 
 had there was never too much of it was completely 
 eclipsed. At last came the announcement that her noble and 
 gallant Uhlan had proposed and been accepted naturally. 
 She told me what he was, and his possessions and prospects; 
 his chief merit in her eyes appeared to me that he would let 
 her do anything she liked, and release her from the drudgery 
 of teaching, for which she never had the least affinity. She 
 hated children. She never on any occasion hinted that she 
 loved him very much. 
 
 " In due time the marriage, as you know, came off. She 
 almost dropped me then, but never completely so; I suppose 
 she had that instinct which stupid people often have, as to 
 the sort of people who may be of use to them some time. T 
 received no invitations to her house. She used awkwardly 
 to apologize for the negligence sometimes, and say she was 
 so busy, and it would be no compliment to me to ask me to
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 353 
 
 meet all those stupid people of whom the house was always 
 full. 
 
 " That did not trouble me much, though I loved her none 
 the better for it. She had become more a study to me now 
 than anything I really cared for. Occasionally I used to go 
 and see her, in the morning, before she had left her room; 
 and once, and once only, I met her husband in the corridor. 
 He was hastening away to his duty, and scarcely saw me as 
 he hurried past. Of course I knew him by sight as well as 
 possible. Who did not? Occasionally she came to me to 
 recount her triumphs and make me jealous. She did not 
 wish to reign supreme in her husband's heart; she wished 
 
 idle men to pay her compliments. Everybody in knew 
 
 of the extravagance of that household, and the reckless, neck- 
 or-nothing habits of its master. People were indignant with 
 him that he did not reform. I say it would have been easier 
 for him to find his way alone up the Matterhorn in the dark 
 than to reform after his marriage. 
 
 " There had been hope for him before there was none 
 afterward. A pretty inducement to reform she offered him! 
 I knew that woman through and through, and I tell you that 
 there never lived a more selfish, feeble, vain, and miserable 
 thing. All was self self self. When she was mated to 
 a man who never did think of self whose one joy was to be 
 giving, whose generosity was no less a byword than his reck 
 lessness, who was delighted if she expressed a wish, and would 
 move heaven and earth to gratify it; the more eagerly thie 
 more unreasonable it was mes amis, I think it is easy to 
 <juess the end the end was ruin. I watched it coming on, 
 and I thought of you, Frau Grafin. Vittoria was expecting her 
 confinement in the course of a few months. I never heard 
 her express a hope as to the coming child, never a word of 
 joy, never a thought as to the wider cares which a short time 
 would bring to her. She did say often, with a sigh, that 
 women with young children were so tied; they could not do 
 this and they could not do that. She was in great excitement 
 when she was invited to come here; in great triumph when 
 she returned. 
 
 " Eugen, she said, was a fool not to conciliate his brother 
 and that doting old saint (her words, gnddige Frau, not mine) 
 more than he did. It was evident that they would do any 
 thing for him if he only flattered them, but he was so insanely 
 downright she called it stupid, she said. The idea of miss-
 
 354 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 ing such advantages when a few words of common politeness 
 would have secured them. I may add that what she called 
 ' common politeness' was just the same thing that I called 
 smooth hypocrisy. 
 
 " Very shortly after this her child was born. I did not see 
 her then. Her husband lost all his money on a race and 
 came to smash, as you English say. She wrote to me. She 
 was in absolute need of money, she said; Eugen had not been 
 able to give her any. He had said they must retrench. Ee- 
 trench! Was that what she married him for? There was 
 a set of turquoises that she must have, or another woman 
 would get them, and then she would die. And her milliner, 
 a most unreasonable woman, had sent word that she must 
 be paid. 
 
 " So she was grumbling in a letter which I received one 
 afternoon, and the next I was frightfully startled to see her 
 self. She came in and said smilingly that she was going to 
 ask a favor of me. Would I take her cab on to the bank 
 and get a check cashed for her? She did not want to go 
 there herself. And then she explained how her brother-in- 
 law had given her a check for a thousand thalers was it not 
 kind of him? It really did not enter my head at the moment 
 to think there was anything wrong about the check. She 
 had indorsed it, and I took it, received the money for it, and 
 brought it to her. She trembled so as she took it, and was 
 so remarkably quiet about it, that it suddenly flashed upon 
 my mind that there must be something not as it ought to be 
 about it. 
 
 " I asked her a question or two, and she said, deliberately 
 contradicting herself, that the Herr Graf had not given it to 
 her, but to her husband, and then she went away, and I was 
 sure I should hear more about it. I did. She wrote me in 
 the course of a few days, saying she wished she were dead, 
 since Eugen, by his wickedness, had destroyed every chance 
 of happiness; she might as well be a widow. She sent me 
 a package of letters my letters and asked me to keep them, 
 together with some other things, an old desk among the rest. 
 She had no means of destroying them all, and she did not 
 choose to carry them to Eothenfels, whither she was going 
 to be buried alive with those awful people. 
 
 " I accepted the charge. For five no, six years, the desk, 
 the papers, everything lay with some other possessions of 
 mine which I could not carry about with me on the wander-
 
 THE FIRST nOLIN. 355 
 
 ing life I led after my father's death stored in an old trunk 
 in the lumber-room of a cousin's house. I visited that house 
 last week. 
 
 " Certain circumstances which have occurred of late years 
 induced me to look over those papers. I hurned the old 
 bundle of letters from myself to her, and then I looked 
 through the desk. In a pigeon-hole I found these." 
 
 She handed some pieces of paper to Graf Bruno, who 
 looked at them. I, too, have seen them since. They bore 
 the imitations of different signatures; her husband's, Graf 
 Bruno's, that of Anna Sartorius, and others which I did not 
 know. 
 
 The same conviction as that which had struck Anna flashed 
 into the eyes of Graf von Rothenfels. 
 
 " I found these," repeated Anna, " and I knew in a second 
 who was the culprit. He, your brother, is no criminal. She 
 forged the signature of the Herr Graf " 
 
 "Who forged the signature of the Herr Graf?" asked a 
 voice which caused me to start up, which brought all our eyes 
 from Anna's face, upon which they had been fastened, and 
 showed us Eugen standing in the doorway, with compressed 
 lips and eyes that looked from one to the other of us 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Your wife," said Anna calmly. And before anyone could 
 speak she went on: "I have helped to circulate the lie about 
 you, Herr Graf " she spoke to Eugen " for I disliked you; 
 I disliked your family, and I disliked, or rather wished to 
 punish Miss "VVedderburn for her behavior to me. But I 
 firmly believed the story I circulated. The moment I knew 
 the truth I determined to set you right. Perhaps I was 
 pleased to be able to circumvent your plans. I considered 
 that if I told the truth to Friedhelm Helfen he would be as 
 silent as yourself, because you chose to be silent. The same 
 with May Wedderburn; therefore I decided to come to 
 headquarters at once. It is useless for you to try to appear 
 guilty any longer," she added mockingly. " You can tell 
 them all the rest, and I will wish you good-afternoon." 
 
 She was gone. From that day to this I have never seen 
 her nor heard of her again. Probably, with her power over 
 us her interest in us ceased. 
 
 Meanwhile I had released myself from, the spell which held 
 me, and gone to the countess. Something very like fear 
 held me from approaching Eu/* OTV
 
 366 T11K FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Count Bruno had gone to his brother and touched his 
 shoulder. Eugen looked up. Their eyes met. It just flashed 
 into my mind that after six years of separation the first words 
 were must be words of reconciliation: of forgiveness asked 
 on the one side, eagerly extended on the other. 
 
 " Eugen! " in a trembling voice, and then, with a positive 
 sob, " canst thou forgive? " 
 
 " My brother I have not resented. I could not. Honct 
 in thee, as honor in me ' 
 
 " But that thou wert doubted, hated, mistak " 
 
 But another had asserted herself. The countess had come 
 to herself again, and, going up to him, looked him full in the 
 face and kissed him. 
 
 " ISTow I can die happy! What folly, Eugen! and folly 
 like none but thine. I might have known * 
 
 A faint smile crossed his lips. For all the triumphant 
 vindication, he looked very pallid. 
 
 " I have often wondered, Hildegarde, how so proud a 
 woman, as you could so soon accept the worthlessness of 
 a pupil on whom she had spent such pains as you upon me. 
 I learned my best notions of honor and chivalry from you. 
 You might have credited me rather with trying to carry the 
 lesson out than with plucking it away and casting it from me 
 at the first opportunity." 
 
 " You have much to forgive," said she. 
 
 " Eugen, you came to see me on business," said his 
 brother. 
 
 Eugen turned to me. I turned hot and then cold. This 
 was a terrible ordeal indeed. He seemed metamorphosed 
 into an exceedingly grand personage as he came to me, took 
 my hand, and said, very proudly and very gravely: 
 
 " The first part of my business related to Sigmund. It will 
 not need to be discussed now. The rest was to tell you that 
 this young lady in spite of having heard all that could be 
 said against me was still not afraid to assert her intention 
 to honor me by becoming my wife and sharing my fate. Now 
 that she has learned the truth May, do you still care for 
 me enough to marry me ? " 
 
 " If so," interrupted his brother before I could speak, " let 
 me add my petition and that of my wife do you allow me, 
 Hildegarde? " 
 
 " Indeed, yes, yes! " 
 
 " That she will honor us aad make us hapjpy by entering
 
 THE IrJAdT VIOLIN. 357 
 
 our family, which can only gain by the acquisition of such 
 beauty and excellence." 
 
 The idea of being entreated by Graf Bruno to marry his 
 brother almost overpowered me. I looked at Eugen, and 
 stammered out something inaudible, confused, too, by the 
 look he gave me. 
 
 He was changed; he was more formidable now than before, 
 and he led me silently up to his brother without a word, upon 
 which Count Bruno crowned my confusion by uttering some 
 more very Grandisonian words and gravely saluting my 
 cheek. That was certainly a terrible moment, but from that 
 day to this I have loved better and better my haughty 
 brother-in-law. 
 
 Half in consideration for me, I believe, the countess began: 
 
 " But I want to know, Eugen, about this. I don't quite 
 understand yet how you managed to shift the blame upon 
 yourself." 
 
 " Perhaps he does not want to tell," said I hastily. 
 
 " Yes; since the truth is known, I may tell the rest," said 
 he. " It was a very simple matter. After all was lost, my 
 only ray of comfort was that I could pay my debts by selling 
 everything, and throwing up my commission. But when I 
 thought of my wife I felt a devil. I suppose that is the feel 
 ing which the devils do experience in place of love at least 
 Heine says so: 
 
 " ' Die Teufel nenncn es HOllenqual, 
 Die Menschen nennen es Liebe.' 
 
 *'I kept it from her as long as I could. It was a week 
 after Sigmund was born that at last one day I had to tell her 
 I actually looked to her for advice, help. It was tolerably 
 presumptuous in me, I must say, after what I had brought 
 her to. She brought me to reason. May Heaven preserve 
 men from needing such lessons! She reproached me ay, 
 she did reproach me. I thank my good genius, or whatever 
 it is that looks after us, that I could set my teeth and not 
 answer her a syllable." 
 
 "The minx!" said the countess aside to me. "I would 
 have shaken her! " 
 
 " ' What was she to do without a groschen? ' she concluded, 
 and I could only say that I had had thoughts of dropping my 
 military career and taking to music in good earnest. I had
 
 358 THE FIRS'l VIOLIN. 
 
 never been able to neglect it, even in my worst time, for it 
 was a passion with me. She said: 
 
 " ' A composer a beggar! ' That was hard. 
 
 " I asked her, ' Will you not help me? ' 
 
 " ' Never, to degrade yourself in that manner/ she as 
 sured me. 
 
 " Considering that I had deserved my punishment, I left 
 her. I sat up all night, I remember, thinking over what I 
 had brought her to, and wondering what I could do for her. 
 I wondered if you, Bruno, would help her and let me go away 
 and work out my punishment, for, believe me, I never 
 thought of shirking it. I had been most effectually brought 
 to reason, and your example, and yours, Hildegarde, had 
 taught me a different kind of moral fiber to that. 
 
 " I brought your note about the check to Vittoria and 
 asked her if she knew anything about it. She looked at me, 
 and in that instant I knew the truth. She did not once 
 attempt to deny it. I do not know what, in my horrible 
 despair and shame, I may have said or done. 
 
 " I was brought to my senses by seeing her cowering before 
 me, with her hands before her face, and begging me not to 
 kill her. I felt what a brute I must have been, but that kind 
 of brutality has been knocked out of me long ago. I raised 
 her, and asked her to forgive me, and bade her keep silence 
 and see no one, and I would see that she did not suffer for it. 
 
 " Everything seemed to stand clearly before me. If I 
 had kept straight, the poor ignorant thing would never have 
 been tempted to such a thing. I settled my whole course in 
 half an hour, and have never departed from it since. 
 
 " I wrote that letter to you, and went and read it to my 
 wife. I told her that I could never forgive myself for having 
 caused her such unhappiness, and that I was going to release 
 her from me. I only dropped a vague hint about the boy 
 at first; I was stooping over his crib to say good-by to him. 
 She said, ' What am I to do with him? ' I caught at the idea., 
 and she easily let me take him. I asked Hugo von Meilingen 
 to settle affairs for me, and left that night. Thanks to you, 
 Bruno, the story never got abroad. The rest you know." 
 
 "What did you tell Hugo von Meilingen?" 
 
 " Only that I had made a mess of everything and broken 
 my wife's heart, which he did not seem to believe. He was 
 stanch. He settled up everything. Some day I will thank 
 him for it. For two years I traveled about a good deal. Sig-
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 359 
 
 nmnd has been more a citizen of the world than he knows. 
 I had so much facility of execution " 
 
 " So much genius, you mean," I interposed. 
 
 " That I never had any difficulty in getting an engagement. 
 I saw a wonderful amount of life of a certain kind, and 
 learned most thoroughly to despise my own past, and to enter 
 tain a thorough contempt for those who are still leading such 
 lives. I have learned German history in my banishment. 
 I have lived Avith our true heroes the lower middle-classes." 
 
 " Well, well! You were always a radical, Eugen," said the 
 ount indulgently. 
 
 " At last, at Koln, I obtained the situation of first violinist 
 in the Elberthal Kapelle, and I went over there one wet 
 October afternoon and saw the director, Von Francius. He 
 was busy, and referred me to the man who was next below 
 me, Friedhelm Helfen." 
 
 Eugen paused, and choked down some little emotion ere he 
 added: 
 
 " You must know him. I trust to have his friendship till 
 death separates us. He is a nobleman of nature's most care 
 ful making a knight saws peur et sans reproche. When Sig- 
 mund came here it was he who saved me from doing some 
 thing desperate or driveling there is not much of a step 
 between the two. Fraulein Sartorius, who seems to have a 
 peculiar disposition, took it into her head to confront me with 
 a charge of my guilt in a public place. Friedhelm never 
 wavered, despite my shame and my inability to deny the 
 charge." 
 
 " Oh, dear, how beautiful! " said the countess, in tears. 
 '' We must have him over here and see a great deal of him." 
 
 " We must certainly know him, and that soon," said Count 
 Sruno. 
 
 At this juncture I, from mingled motives, stole from the 
 room and found my way to Sigmund's bedside, where also joy 
 awaited me. The stupor and the restlessness had alike van 
 ished; he was in a deep sleep. I knelt down by the bedside 
 and remained there long. 
 
 Nothing, then, was to be as I had planned it. There would 
 be no poverty, no shame to contend against no struggle to 
 make, except the struggle up to the standard so fearfully 
 .severe and unapproachable, set up by my own husband. Set 
 up and acted upon by him. How could I ever attain it or 
 Anything near it? Should I not be constantly .Wking him
 
 360 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 by coarse, gross notions as to the needlessness of this or that 
 fine point of conduct? by my ill-defined ideas as to a code of 
 honor my slovenly ways of looking at questions? 
 
 It was such a fearful height, this to which he had carried 
 his notions and behavior in the matter of chivalry and loyalty. 
 How was I ever to help him to carry it out, and, moreover, 
 to bring up this child before me, and perhaps children of my 
 own, in the same rules? 
 
 It was no doubt a much more brilliant destiny which 
 actually awaited me than any which I had anticipated the 
 wife of a nobleman, with the traditions of a long line of 
 noblemen and noblewomen to support, and a husband with 
 khe most impossible ideas upon the subject. 
 
 I felt afraid. I thought of that poor, vain, selfish first 
 wife, and I wondered if ever the time might come when I 
 might fall in his eyes as she had fallen, for scrupulous though 
 he was to cast no reproach upon her, I felt keenly that he 
 despised her, that had she lived after that dreadful discovery 
 he would never have loved her again. It was awful to think 
 of. True, I should never commit forgery; but I might, with 
 out knowing it, fail in some other way, and then woe to me! 
 
 Thus dismally cogitating I was roused by a touch on my 
 shoulder and a kiss on the top of my head. Eugen was lean 
 ing over me, laughing. 
 
 " You have been saying your prayers so long that I was 
 sure you must be asking too much." 
 
 I confided some of my doubts and fears to him, for with his 
 actual presence that dreadful height of morality seemed to 
 dwindle down. He was human, too quick, impulsive, a very 
 mortal. And he said: 
 
 " I would ask thee one thing, May. Thou dost not seem 
 to see what makes all the difference. I loved Vittoria; I 
 longed to make some sacrifice for her, would she but have le't 
 me. But she could not; poor girl! She did not love me/' 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well ! Mein Engel you do," said he, laughing. 
 
 " Oh, I see! " said I, feeling myself blushing violently. 
 Yes, it was true. Our union should be different from that 
 former one. After all it was pleasant to find that the high 
 tragedy which we had so wisely planned for ourselves had 
 made a faux pas and come ignominiously to ground.
 
 TEE FIRST VIOLIN. 361 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " And surely, when all this is past 
 They shall not want their rest at last." 
 
 ON the 23d of December I will not say how few or how 
 many years after those doings and that violent agitation 
 which my friend Grafin May has striven to make coherent in 
 the last chapter I, with my greatcoat on my arm, stood 
 waiting for the train which was to bear me ten miles away 
 from the sleepy old musical ducal Hauptstadt, in which I am 
 Herzoglicher Kapellmeister, to Eothenfels, where I was 
 bidden to spend Christmas. I had not long to wait. Having 
 ascertained that my bag was safe, in which reposed divers 
 humble proofs of my affection for the friends of the past, I 
 looked leisurely out as the train came in for a second-class 
 carriage, and very soon found what I wanted. I shook hands 
 with an acquaintance and leaned out of the window, talking 
 to him till the train started. Then for the first time I began 
 to look at my fellow-traveler; a lady, and most distinctly not 
 one of my own countrywomen, who, whatever else they may 
 excel in, emphatically do not know how to clothe themselves 
 for traveling. Her veil was down, but her face was turned 
 toward me, and I thought I knew something of the grand 
 sweep of the splendid shoulders and majestic bearing of the 
 stately form. She soon raised her veil, and, looking at me, 
 said, with a grave bow: 
 
 " Herr Helfen, how do you do? " 
 
 " Ah, pardon me, gnadige Frau; for the moment I did not 
 recognize you. I hope you are well." 
 
 " Quite well, thank you," said she with grave courtesy; but 
 I saw that her beautiful face was thin and worn, her pallor 
 greater than ever. 
 
 She had never been a person much given to mirthfulness: 
 but now she looked as if all smiles had passed forever from 
 her lips a certain secret sat upon them, and closed them in 
 an outline, sweet, but utterly impenetrable. 
 
 " You are going to Eothenfels, I presume? " she said. 
 
 "Yes. And you also?" 
 
 " I also somewhat against my will; but I did not want to 
 hurt my sister's feelings. It is the first time I have left home 
 since my husband's death." 
 
 JT bowed. Her face did not alter. Calm, sad, and staid
 
 362 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 whatever storms nad once shaken that proud heart, they were 
 lulled forever now. 
 
 Two years ago Adelaide von Francius had buried keen 
 grief and sharp anguish, together with vivid hope or great 
 joy, with her noble husband, whom we had mourned bitterly 
 then, whom we yet mourn in our hearts, and whom we shall 
 continue to mourn as long as we live. 
 
 May's passionate conviction that he and she should meet 
 again had been fulfilled. They had met, and each had found 
 the other unchanged; and Adelaide had begun to yield to the 
 conviction that her sister's love was love, pure and simple, 
 and not pity. Since his death she had continued to live in 
 the town in which their married life had been passed a life 
 which for her was just beginning to be happy that is to say, 
 she was just learning to allow herself to be happy, in the firm 
 assurance of his unalterable love and devotion, when the sum 
 mons came; a sharp attack, a short illness, all over eyes 
 closed, lips, too silent before her for evermore. 
 
 It has often been my fate to hear criticisms both on Von 
 Francius and his wife and upon their conduct. This I know, 
 that she never forgave herself the step she had taken in her 
 despair. Her pride never recovered from the burden laid 
 upon it that she had taken the initiative, had followed the 
 man who had said farewell to her. Bad her lot was to be, 
 sad, and joyless, whether in its gilded cage, or linked with 
 the man whom she loved, but to be with whom she had had 
 to pay so terrible a price. I have never heard her complain 
 of life and the world; yet she can find neither very sweet, for 
 she is an extremely proud woman, who has made two terrible 
 failures in her affairs. 
 
 Von Francius, before he died, had made a mark not to be 
 erased in the hearts of his musical compatriots. Had he 
 lived but that is vain! Still, one feels one cannot but 
 feel that, as his widow said to me, with matter-of-fact 
 composure: 
 
 " He was much more hardly to be spared than such a per 
 son as I, Herr Helfen. If I might have died and left him to 
 enrich and gladden the world, I should have felt that I had 
 not made such a mess of everything after all." 
 
 Yet she never referred to him as " my poor husband," or 
 by any of those softening terms by which some people ap 
 proach the name of a dead dear one; all the same we knew 
 quite well that with him life had died for her.
 
 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 363 
 
 Since his death she and I had been in frequent communica 
 tion; she was editing a new edition of his works, for which, 
 after his death, there had been an instant call. It had lately 
 been completed; and the music of our former friend shall, if 
 I mistake not, become, in the best and highest sense of the 
 word, popular music the people's music. I had been her 
 eager and, she was pleased to say, able assistant in the work. 
 
 We journeyed on together through the winter country, and 
 I glanced at her now and then at the still, pale face which 
 rose above her English-fashioned sealskin, and wondered how 
 it was that some faces, though never so young and beautiful, 
 have written upon them, in unmistakable characters, " The 
 End," as one saw upon her face. Still, we talked about all 
 kinds of matters musical, private, and public. I asked if 
 she went out at all. 
 
 " Only to concerts with the Vow s, who have been 
 
 friends of mine ever since I went to ," she replied; and 
 
 then the train rolled into the station of Lahnburg. 
 
 There was a group of faces I knew waiting to meet us. 
 
 " Ah! there is my sister Stella," said Adelaide in a low 
 voice. " How she is altered! And that is May's husband, 
 I suppose. I remember his face, now that I see it." 
 
 We had been caught sight of. Four people came crowding 
 round us. Eugen my eyes fell upon him first we grasped 
 hands silently. His wife, looking lovelier than ever in her 
 winter furs and feathers. A tall boy in a sealskin cap my 
 Sigmund who had been hanging on his father's arm, and 
 whose eyes welcomed me more volubly than his tongue, which 
 was never given to excessive wagging. 
 
 May and Frau von Francius went home in a carriage which 
 Sigmund, under the direction of an awful-looking Kutscher, 
 drove. 
 
 Stella, Eugen, and I walked to Bothenfels, and they quar 
 reled, as they always did, while I listened and gave an encour 
 aging word to each in turn. Stella Wedderburn was very 
 beautiful; and, after spending Christmas at Kothenfels, she 
 was going home to be married. Eugen, May, and Sigmund 
 were going, too, for the first time since May's marriage. 
 
 Graf Bruno that year had temporarily abdicated his throne, 
 and Eugen had been constituted host for the season. The 
 guests were his and his wife's; the arrangements were his, and 
 the entertainment fell to his share. 
 
 Grafin Hildegarde looked a little amazed at such of her
 
 364 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 
 
 guests, for instance, as Karl Linders. She had got over the 
 first shock of seeing me a regular visitor in the house, and 
 was pleased to draw me aside on this occasion and inform me 
 that really that young man, Herr Linders, was presentable 
 quite presentable and never forgot himself; he had handed 
 her into her carriage yesterday really quite creditably. No 
 doubt it was long friendship with Eugen which had given 
 him that ext*a polish. 
 
 " Indeed, Frau Grafin, he was always like that. It io 
 natural." 
 
 " He is very presentable, really very. But as a friend of 
 Eugen's," and she smiled condescendingly upon me, " he 
 would naturally be so." 
 
 In truth, Karl was Karl. " Time had not thinned his flow 
 ing locks; " he was as handsome, as impulsive, and as true as 
 ever; had added two babies to his responsibilities, who, with 
 his beloved Frau Gemahlin, had likewise been bidden to this 
 festivity but had declined to quit the stove and private 
 Christmas-tree of home life. He wore no more short jackets 
 now; his sister Gretchen was engaged to a young doctor, and 
 Karl's head was growing higher as it deserved for it had 
 no mean or shady deeds to bow it. 
 
 The company then consisted in toto of Graf and Grafin von 
 Eothenfels, who, I must record it, both looked full ten years 
 younger and better since their prodigal was returned to them, 
 of Stella Wedderburn, Frau von Francius, Karl Linders, and 
 Friedhelm Helfen. May, as I said, looked lovelier than ever. 
 It was easy to see that she was the darling of the elder brother 
 and his wife. She was a radiant, bright creature, yet her 
 deepest affections were given to sad people to her husband, 
 to her sister Adelaide, to Countess Hildegarde. 
 
 She and Eugen are well mated. It is true he is not a very 
 cheerful man his face is melancholy. In his eyes is a 
 shadow which never wholly disappears lines upon his broad 
 and tranquil brow which are indelible. He has honor and 
 titles and a name clean and high before men, but it was not 
 always so. That terrible bringing to reason that six years* 
 grinding lesson of suffering, self-suppression ay, self-efface 
 ment have left their marks, a " shadow plain to see," and 
 will never leave him. He is a different man from the outcast 
 who stepped forth into the night with a weird upon him, nor 
 ever looked back till it was dreed out in darkness to it utmost 
 term.
 
 THE FIRS! VIOLIN. 365 
 
 He has tasted of the sorrows the self-brought sorrows 
 which make merry men into sober ones; the sorrows which 
 test a man and prove his character to be of gold or of dross, 
 and therefore he is grave. Grave, too, is the son who is more 
 \torshiped by both him and his wife than any of their other 
 children. Sigmund von Rothenfels is what outsiders call " a 
 strange, incomprehensible child "; seldom smiles, and has no 
 child friends. His friends are his father and " Mother May " 
 Miitterchen, he calls her; and it is quaint sometimes to see 
 how on an equality the three meet and associate. His notions 
 of what is fit for a man to be and do he takes from his father; 
 his ideal woman I am sure he has one would, I believe, 
 turn out to be a subtle and impossible compound of May and 
 his Aunt Hildegarde. 
 
 We sometimes speculate as to what he will turn out. Per 
 haps the musical genius which his father will not bring before 
 the world in himself may one day astonish that world in Sig 
 mund. It is certain that his very life seems bound up in the 
 art, and in that house and that circle it must be a very Cali 
 ban, or something yet lower, which could resist the influence. 
 
 One day May, Eugen, Karl, and I repaired to the music- 
 room and played together the Fourth Symphonic and some 
 of Schumann's " Kinderscenen," but May began to cry before 
 it was over, and the rest of us had thoughts that did lie too 
 deep for tears thoughts of that far-back afternoon of Carni 
 val Monday, and how we " made a sunshine in a shady place " 
 of all that came before and after. 
 
 Between me and Eugen there has never come a cloud, nor 
 the faintest shadow of one. Built upon days passed together 
 in storm and sunshine, weal and woe, good report and evil 
 report, our union stands upon a firm foundation of that 
 nether rock of friendship, perfect trust, perfect faith, love 
 stronger than death, which makes a peace in our hearts, a 
 mighty influence in our lives which very truly "passeth 
 understanding."
 
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