I do not know how long this may have lasted and how frightful the performance had become, when suddenly the door of the house was opened, and a man, clad only in a shirt and partly b.u.t.toned trousers stepped from the threshold into the middle of the street and called up to the attic window--"Are you going to keep on all night again?" The tone of his voice was impatient, but not harsh or insulting. The violin became silent even before the speaker had finished. The man went back into the house, the attic window was closed, and soon perfect and uninterrupted silence reigned. I started for home, experiencing some difficulty in finding my way through the unknown lanes, and, as I walked along, I also improvised mentally, without, however, disturbing any one.
The morning hours have always been of peculiar value to me. It is as though I felt the need of occupying myself with something enn.o.bling, something worth while, in the first hours of the day, thus consecrating the remainder of it, as it were. It is, therefore, only with difficulty that I can make up my mind to leave my room early in the morning, and if ever I force myself to do so without sufficient cause, nothing remains to me for the rest of the day but the choice between idle distraction and morbid introspection. Thus it happened that I put off for several days my visit to the old man, which I had agreed to pay in the morning.
At last I could not master my impatience any longer, and went. I had no difficulty in finding Gardener"s Lane, nor the house. This time also I heard the tones of the violin, but owing to the closed window they were m.u.f.fled and scarcely recognizable. I entered the house. A gardener"s wife, half speechless with amazement, showed me the steps leading up to the attic. I stood before a low, badly fitting door, knocked, received no answer, finally raised the latch and entered. I found myself in a quite large, but otherwise extremely wretched chamber, the wall of which on all sides followed the outlines of the pointed roof. Close by the door was a dirty bed in loathsome disorder, surrounded by all signs of neglect; opposite me, close beside the narrow window, was a second bed, shabby but clean and most carefully made and covered. Before the window stood a small table with music-paper and writing material, on the windowsill a few flower-pots. The middle of the room from wall to wall was designated along the floor by a heavy chalk line, and it is almost impossible to imagine a more violent contrast between dirt and cleanliness than existed on the two sides of the line, the equator of this little world. The old man had placed his music-stand close to the boundary line and was standing before it practising, completely and carefully dressed. I have already said so much that is jarring about the discords of my favorite--and I almost fear he is mine alone--that I shall spare the reader a description of this infernal concert. As the practice consisted chiefly of pa.s.sage-work, there was no possibility of recognizing the pieces he was playing, but this might not have been an easy matter even under ordinary circ.u.mstances. After listening a while, I finally discovered the thread leading out of this labyrinth--the method in his madness, as it were. The old man enjoyed the music while he was playing. His conception, however, distinguished between only two kinds of effect, euphony and cacophony. Of these the former delighted, even enraptured him, while he avoided the latter, even when harmonically justified, as much as possible. Instead of accenting a composition in accordance with sense and rhythm, he exaggerated and prolonged the notes and intervals that were pleasing to his ear; he did not even hesitate to repeat them arbitrarily, when an expression of ecstasy frequently pa.s.sed over his face. Since he disposed of the dissonances as rapidly as possible and played the pa.s.sages that were too difficult for him in a tempo that was too slow compared with the rest of the piece, his conscientiousness not permitting him to omit even a single note, one may easily form an idea of the resulting confusion. After some time, even I couldn"t endure it any longer. In order to recall him to the world of reality, I purposely dropped my hat, after I had vainly tried several other means of attracting his attention. The old man started, his knees shook, and he was scarcely able to hold the violin he had lowered to the ground. I stepped up to him. "Oh, it is you, sir," he said, as if coming to himself; "I had not counted on the fulfilment of your kind promise."
He forced me to sit down, straightened things up, laid down his violin, looked around the room a few times in embarra.s.sment, then suddenly took up a plate from a table that was standing near the door and went out. I heard him speak with the gardener"s wife outside. Soon he came back again rather abashed, concealing the plate behind his back and returning it to its place stealthily. Evidently he had asked for some fruit to offer me, but had not been able to obtain it.
"You live quite comfortably here," I said, in order to put an end to his embarra.s.sment. "Untidiness is not permitted to dwell here. It will retreat through the door, even though at the present moment it hasn"t quite pa.s.sed the threshold."
"My abode reaches only to that line," said the old man, pointing to the chalk-line in the middle of the room. "Beyond it the two journeymen live."
"And do these respect your boundary?"
"They don"t, but I do," said he. "Only the door is common property."
"And are you not disturbed by your neighbors?"
"Hardly. They come home late at night, and even if they startle me a little when I"m in bed, the pleasure of going to sleep again is all the greater. But in the morning I awaken them, when I put my room in order.
Then they scold a little and go." I had been observing him in the mean time. His clothes were scrupulously clean, his figure was good enough for his years, only his legs were a little too short. His hands and feet were remarkably delicate. "You are looking at me," he said, "and thinking, too."
"I confess that I have some curiosity concerning your past," I replied.
"My past?" he repeated. "I have no past. Today is like yesterday, and tomorrow like today. But the day after tomorrow and beyond--who can know about that? But G.o.d will look after me; He knows best."
"Your present mode of life is probably monotonous enough," I continued, "but your past! How did it happen--"
"That I became a street-musician?" he asked, filling in the pause that I had voluntarily made. I now told him how he had attracted my attention the moment I caught sight of him; what an impression he had made upon me by the Latin words he had uttered. "Latin!" he echoed. "Latin! I did learn it once upon a time, or rather, I was to have learned it and might have done so. _Loqueris latine?"_--he turned to me; "but I couldn"t continue; it is too long ago. So that is what you call my past? How it all came about? Well then, all sorts of things have happened, nothing special, but all sorts of things. I should like to hear the story myself again. I wonder whether I haven"t forgotten it all. It is still early in the morning," he continued, putting his hand into his vest-pocket, in which, however, there was no watch. I drew out mine; it was barely nine o"clock. "We have time, and I almost feel like talking." Meanwhile he had grown visibly more at ease. His figure became more erect. Without further ceremony he took my hat out of my hand and laid it upon the bed.
Then he seated himself, crossed one leg over the other, and a.s.sumed the att.i.tude of one who is going to tell a story in comfort.
"No doubt," he began, "you have heard of Court Councilor X?" Here he mentioned the name of a statesman who, in the middle of the last century, had under the modest t.i.tle of a Chief of Department exerted an enormous influence, almost equal to that of a minister. I admitted that I knew of him. "He was my father," he continued.--His father! The father of the old musician, of the beggar. This influential, powerful man--his father! The old man did not seem to notice my astonishment, but with evident pleasure continued the thread of his narrative. "I was the second of three brothers. Both the others rose to high positions in the government service, but they are now dead. Only I am still alive," he said, pulling at his threadbare trousers and picking off some little feathers with downcast eyes. "My father was ambitious and a man of violent temper. My brothers satisfied him. I was considered a slow coach, and I _was_ slow. If I remember rightly," he continued, turning aside as though looking far away, with his head resting upon his left hand, "I might have been capable of learning various things, if only I had been given time and a systematic training. My brothers leaped from one subject to another with the agility of gazelles, but I could make absolutely no headway, and whenever only a single word escaped me, I was obliged to begin again from the very beginning. Thus I was constantly driven. New material was to occupy the place which had not yet been vacated by the old, and I began to grow obstinate. Thus they even drove me into hating music, which is now the delight and at the same time the support of my life. When I used to improvise on my violin at twilight in order to enjoy myself in my own way, they would take the instrument away from me, a.s.serting that this ruined my fingering. They would also complain of the torture inflicted upon their ears and made me wait for the lesson, when the torture began for me. In all my life I have never hated anything or any one so much as I hated the violin at that time.
"My father, who was extremely dissatisfied, scolded me frequently and threatened to make a mechanic of me. I didn"t dare say how happy that would have made me. I should have liked nothing better than to become a turner or a compositor. But my father was much too proud ever to have permitted such a thing. Finally a public examination at school, which they had persuaded him to attend in order to appease him, brought matters to a climax. A dishonest teacher arranged in advance what he was going to ask me, and so everything went swimmingly. But toward the end I had to recite some verses of Horace from memory and I missed a word. My teacher, who had been nodding his head in approval and smiling at my father, came to my a.s.sistance when I broke down, and whispered the word to me, but I was so engrossed trying to locate the word in my memory and to establish its connection with the context, that I failed to hear him.
He repeated it several times--all in vain. Finally my father lost his patience, _"cachinnum"_ (laughter)--that was the word--he roared at me in a voice of thunder. That was the end. Although I now knew the missing word, I had forgotten all the rest. All attempts to bring me back on the right track were in vain. I was obliged to rise in disgrace and when I went over as usual to kiss my father"s hand, he pushed me back, rose, bowed hastily to the audience, and went away. "That shabby beggar," he called me; I wasn"t one at the time, but I am now. Parents prophesy when they speak. At the same time my father was a good man, only hot tempered and ambitious.
"From that day on he never spoke to me again. His orders were conveyed to me by the servants. On the very next day I was informed that my studies were at an end. I was quite dismayed, for I realized what a blow it must have been to my father. All day long I did nothing but weep, and between my crying spells I recited the Latin verses, in which I was now letter-perfect, together with the preceding and following ones. I promised to make up in diligence what I lacked in talent, if I were only permitted to continue in school, but my father never revoked a decision.
"For some time I remained at home without an occupation. At last I was placed in an accountant"s office on probation; but arithmetic had never been my forte. An offer to enter the military service I refused with abhorrence. Even now I cannot see a uniform without an inward shudder.
That one should protect those near and dear, even at the risk"s of one"s life, is quite proper, and I can understand it; but bloodshed and mutilation as a vocation, as an occupation--never!" And with that he felt his arms with his hands, as if experiencing pain from wounds inflicted upon himself and others.
"Next I was employed in the chancery office as a copyist. There I was in my element. I had always practised penmanship with enthusiasm; and even now I know of no more agreeable pastime than joining stroke to stroke with good ink on good paper to form words or merely letters. But musical notes are beautiful above everything, only at that time I didn"t think of music.
"I was industrious, but too conscientious. An incorrect punctuation mark, an illegible or missing word in a first draft, even if it could be supplied from the context, would cause me many an unhappy hour. While trying to make up my mind whether to follow the original closely or to supply missing material, the time slipped by, and I gained a reputation for being negligent, although I worked harder than any one else. In this manner I spent several years, without receiving any salary. When my turn for promotion came, my father voted for another candidate at the meeting of the board, and the other members voted with him out of deference.
"About this time--well, well," he interrupted himself, "this is turning out to be a story after all. I shall continue the story. About this time two events occurred, the saddest and the happiest of my life, namely my leaving home and my return to the gentle art of music, to my violin, which has remained faithful to me to this day.
"In my father"s house, where I was ignored by the other members of the family, I occupied a rear room looking out upon our neighbor"s yard. At first I took my meals with the family, though no one spoke a word to me.
But when my brothers received appointments in other cities and my father was invited out to dinner almost daily--my mother had been dead for many years--it was found inconvenient to keep house for me. The servants were given money for their meals. So was I; only I didn"t receive mine in cash: it was paid monthly to the restaurant. Consequently I spent little time in my room, with the exception of the evening hours; for my father insisted that I should be at home within half an hour after the closing of the office, at the latest. Then I sat there in the darkness on account of my eyes, which were weak even at that time. I used to think of one thing and another, and was neither happy nor unhappy.
"When I sat thus I used to hear some one in the neighbor"s yard singing a song--really several songs, one of which, however, pleased me particularly. It was so simple, so touching, and the musical expression was so perfect, that it was not necessary to hear the words. Personally I believe that words spoil the music anyway." Now he opened his lips and uttered a few hoa.r.s.e, rough tones. "I have no voice," he said, and took up his violin. He played, and this time with proper expression, the melody of a pleasing, but by no means remarkable song, his fingers trembling on the strings and some tears finally rolling down his cheeks.
"That was the song," he said, laying down his violin. "I heard it with ever-growing pleasure. However vivid it was in my memory, I never succeeded in getting even two notes right with my voice, and I became almost impatient from listening. Then my eyes fell upon my violin which, like an old armor, had been hanging unused on the wall since my boyhood.
I took it down and found it in tune, the servant probably having used it during my absence. As I drew the bow over the strings it seemed to me, sir, as though G.o.d"s finger had touched me. The tone penetrated into my heart, and from my heart it found its way out again. The air about me was pregnant with intoxicating madness. The song in the courtyard below and the tones produced by my fingers had become sharers of my solitude.
I fell upon my knees and prayed aloud, and could not understand that I had ever held this exquisite, divine instrument in small esteem, that I had even hated it in my childhood, and I kissed the violin and pressed it to my heart and played on and on.
"The song in the yard--it was a woman who was singing--continued in the meantime uninterruptedly. But it was not so easy to play it after her, for I didn"t have a copy of the notes. I also noticed that I had pretty nearly forgotten whatever I had once acquired of the art of playing the violin; consequently I couldn"t play anything in particular, but could play only in a general way. With the exception of that song the musical compositions themselves have always been a matter of indifference to me, an att.i.tude in which I have persisted to this day. The musicians play Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Sebastian Bach, but not one plays G.o.d Himself. No one can play the eternal comfort and blessing of tone and sound, its magic correlation with the eager, straining ear; so that"--he continued in a lower voice and blushing with confusion--"so that the third tone forms a harmonic interval with the first, as does the fifth, and the leading tone rises like a fulfilled hope, while the dissonance is bowed down like conscious wickedness or arrogant pride.
"And then there are the mysteries of suspension and inversion, by means of which even the second is received into favor in the bosom of harmony.
A musician once explained all these things to me, but that was later.
And then there are still other marvels which I do not understand, as the fugue, counterpoint, the canon for two and three voices, and so on--an entire heavenly structure, one part joined to the other without mortar and all held together by G.o.d"s own hand. With a few exceptions, n.o.body wants to know anything about these things. They would rather disturb this breathing of souls by the addition of words to be spoken to the music, just as the children of G.o.d united with the daughters of the Earth. And by means of this combination of word and music they imagine they can affect and impress a calloused mind. Sir," he concluded at last, half exhausted, "speech is as necessary to man as food, but we should also preserve undefiled the nectar meted out by G.o.d."
I could scarcely believe it was the same man, so animated had he become.
He paused for a moment. "Where did I stop in my story?" he asked finally. "Oh yes, at the song and my attempt to imitate it. But I didn"t succeed. I stepped to the open window in order to hear better. The singer was just crossing the court. She had her back turned to me, yet she seemed familiar to me. She was carrying a basket with what looked like pieces of cake dough. She entered a little gate in the corner of the court, where there probably was an oven, for while she continued her song, I heard her rattling some wooden utensils, her voice sounding sometimes m.u.f.fled, sometimes clear, like the voice of one who bends down and sings into a hollow s.p.a.ce and then rises again and stands in an upright position. After a while she came back, and only now I discovered why she had seemed familiar to me before. I had actually known her for some time, for I had seen her in the chancery office.
"My acquaintance with her was made like this: The office hours began early and extended beyond noon. Several of the younger employees, who either actually had an appet.i.te or else wanted to kill a half hour, were in the habit of taking a light lunch about eleven o"clock. The tradespeople, who know how to turn everything to their advantage, saved the gourmands a walk and brought their wares into the office building, where they took up their position on the stairs and in the corridors. A baker sold rolls, a costermonger vended cherries. Certain cakes, however, which were baked by the daughter of a grocer in the vicinity and sold while still hot, were especially popular.
"Her customers stepped out into the corridor to her; and only rarely, when bidden, did she venture into the office itself, which she was asked to leave the moment the rather peevish director caught sight of her--a command that she obeyed only with reluctance and mumbling angry words.
"Among my colleagues the girl did not pa.s.s for a beauty. They considered her too small, and were not able to determine the color of her hair.
Some there were who denied that she had cat"s eyes, but all agreed that she was pock-marked. Of her buxom figure all spoke with enthusiasm, but they considered her rough, and one of them had a long story to tell about a box on the ear, the effects of which he claimed to have felt for a week afterwards.
"I was not one of her customers. In the first place I had no money; in the second, I have always been obliged to look upon eating and drinking as a necessity, sometimes too much so, so that it has never entered my head to take pleasure and delight in it. And so we took no notice of each other. Only once, in order to tease me, my colleagues made her believe that I wanted some of her cakes. She stepped up to my desk and held her basket out to me. "I don"t want anything, my dear young woman,"
I said. "Well, why do you send for me then?" she cried angrily. I excused myself, and as I saw at once that a practical joke had been played, I explained the situation as best I could. "Well then, at least give me a sheet of paper to put my cakes on," she said. I tried to make her understand that it was chancery paper and didn"t belong to me, but that I had some paper at home which was mine and that I would bring her some of it. "I have enough myself at home," she said mockingly, and broke into a little laugh as she went away.
"That had happened only a few days before and I was thinking of turning the acquaintance to immediate account for the fulfilment of my wish. The next morning, therefore, I b.u.t.toned a whole ream of paper--of which there was never a scarcity in our home--under my coat, and went to the office. In order not to betray myself, I kept my armor with great personal inconvenience upon my body until, toward noon, I knew from the going and coming of my colleagues and from the sound of the munching jaws that the cake-vender had arrived. I waited until I had reason to believe that the rush of business was over, then I went out, pulled out my paper, mustered up sufficient courage, and stepped up to the girl.
With her basket before her on the ground and her right foot resting on a low stool, on which she usually sat, she stood there humming a soft melody, beating time with her right foot. As I approached she measured me from head to foot, which only added to my confusion. "My dear young woman," I finally began, "the other day you asked me for paper and I had none that belonged to me. Now I have brought some from home, and"--with that I held out the paper. "I told you the other day," she replied, "that I have plenty of paper at home. However, I can make use of everything." Saying this, she accepted my present with a slight nod and put it into her basket. "Perhaps you"ll take some cake?" she asked, sorting her wares, "although the best have been sold." I declined, but told her that I had another wish. "And what may that be?" she asked, putting her arm through the handle of her basket, drawing herself up to her full height, and flashing her eyes angrily at me. I lost no time telling her that I was a lover of music, although only a recent convert, and that I had heard her singing such beautiful songs, especially one.
"You--heard me--singing?" she flared up. "Where?" I then told her that I lived near her, and that I had been listening to her while she was at work in the courtyard; that one of her songs had pleased me particularly, and that I had tried to play it after her on my violin.
"Can you be the man," she exclaimed, "who sc.r.a.pes so on the fiddle?" As I mentioned before, I was only a beginner at that time and not until later, by dint of much hard work, did I acquire the necessary dexterity;" the old man interrupted himself, while with the fingers of his left hand he made movements in the air, as though he were playing the violin. "I blushed violently," he continued the narrative, "and I could see by the expression of her face that she repented her harsh words. "My dear young woman," I said, "the sc.r.a.ping arises from the fact that I do not possess the music of the song, and for this reason I should like to ask you most respectfully for a copy of it." "For a copy?" she exclaimed. "The song is printed and is sold at every street-corner." "The song?" I replied. "You probably mean only the words!" "Why, yes; the words, the song." "But the melody to which it is sung--" "Are such things written down?" she asked. "Surely," was my reply, "that is the most important part." "And how did you learn it, my dear young woman?" "I heard some one singing it, and then I sang it after her." I was astonished at this natural gift. And I may add in pa.s.sing that uneducated people often possess the greatest natural talent. But, after all, this is not the proper thing, not real art. I was again plunged into despair. "But which song do you want?" she asked.
"I know so many." "All without the notes?" "Why, of course. Now which was it?" "It is so very beautiful," I explained. "Right at the beginning the melody rises, then it becomes fervent, and finally it ends very softly. You sing it more frequently than the others." "Oh, I suppose it"s this one," she said, setting down her basket, and placing her foot on the stool. Then, keeping time by nodding her head, she sang the song in a very low, yet clear voice, so beautifully and so charmingly that, before she had quite finished, I tried to grasp her hand, which was hanging at her side. "What do you mean!" she cried, drawing back her arm, for she probably thought I intended to take her hand immodestly. I wanted to kiss it, although she was only a poor girl.--Well, after all, I too am poor now!
"I ran my fingers through my hair in my eagerness to secure the song and when she observed my anxiety, she consoled me and said that the organist of St. Peter"s visited her father"s store frequently to buy nutmeg, that she would ask him to write out the music of the song, and that I might call for it in a few days. Thereupon she took up her basket and went, while I accompanied her as far as the staircase. As I was making a final bow on the top step, I was surprised by the director, who bade me go to my work and railed against the girl, in whom, he a.s.serted, there wasn"t a vestige of good. I was very angry at this and was about to retort that I begged to differ with him, when I realized that he had returned to his office. Therefore I calmed myself and also went back to my desk. But from that time on he was firmly convinced that I was a careless employee and a dissipated fellow.
"As a matter of fact, I was unable to do any decent work on that day or on the following days, for the song kept running through my head. I seemed to be in a trance. Several days pa.s.sed and I was in doubt whether to call for the music or not. The girl had said that the organist came to her father"s store to buy nutmeg; this he could use only for his beer. Now the weather had been cold for some time, and therefore it was probable that the good organist would rather drink wine and thus not be in need of nutmeg so soon. A too hasty inquiry might seem impolite and obtrusive, while, on the other hand, a delay might be interpreted as indifference. I didn"t dare address the girl in the corridor, since our first meeting had been noised broad among my colleagues, and they were thirsting for an opportunity to play a practical joke on me.
"In the meantime I had again taken up my violin eagerly and devoted myself to a thorough study of the fundamental principles. Occasionally I permitted myself to improvise, but always closed my window carefully in advance, knowing that my playing had found disfavor. But even when I did open the window, I never heard my song again. Either my neighbor did not sing at all, or else she sang softly and behind closed doors, so that I could not distinguish one note from another.
"At last, about three weeks having pa.s.sed, I could wait no longer. Two evenings in succession I had even stolen out upon the street, without a hat, so that the servants might think I was looking for something in the house, but whenever I came near the grocery store such a violent trembling seized me that I was obliged to turn back whether I wanted to or not. At last, however, as I said, I couldn"t wait any longer. I took courage, and one evening left my room, this time also without a hat, went downstairs and walked with a firm step through the street to the grocery store, in front of which I stopped for a moment, deliberating what was to be done next. The store was lighted and I heard voices within. After some hesitation I leaned forward and peered in from the side. I saw the girl sitting close before the counter by the light, picking over some peas or beans in a wooden bowl. Before her stood a coa.r.s.e, powerful man, who looked like a butcher; his jacket was thrown over his shoulders and he held a sort of club in his hand. The two were talking, evidently in good humor, for the girl laughed aloud several times, but without interrupting her work or even looking up. Whether it was my unnatural, strained position, or whatever else it may have been, I began to tremble again, when I suddenly felt myself seized by a rough hand from the back and dragged forward. In a twinkling I was in the store, and when I was released and looked about me, I saw that it was the proprietor himself, who, returning home, had caught me peering through his window and seized me as a suspicious character. "Confound it!" he cried, "now I understand what becomes of my prunes and the handfuls of peas and barley which are taken from my baskets in the dark.
d.a.m.n it all!" With that he made for me, as though he meant to strike me.
"I felt utterly crushed, but the thought that my honesty was being questioned soon brought me back to my senses. I therefore made a curt bow and told the uncivil man that my visit was not intended for his prunes or his barley, but for his daughter. At these words the butcher, who was standing in the middle of the store, set up a loud laugh and turned as if to go, having first whispered a few words to the girl, to which she laughingly replied with a resounding slap of her flat hand upon his back. The grocer accompanied him to the door. Meanwhile all my courage had again deserted me, and I stood facing the girl, who was indifferently picking her peas and beans as though the whole affair didn"t concern her in the least. "Sir," he said, "what business have you with my daughter?" I tried to explain the circ.u.mstance and the cause of my visit. "Song! I"ll sing you a song!" he exclaimed, moving his right arm up and down in rather threatening fashion. "There it is," said the girl, tilting her chair sideways and pointing with her hand to the counter without setting down the bowl. I rushed over and saw a sheet of music lying there. It was the song. But the old man got there first, and crumpled the beautiful paper in his hand. "What does this mean?" he said. "Who is this fellow?" "He is one of the gentlemen from the chancery," she replied, throwing a worm-eaten pea a little farther away than the rest. "A gentleman from the chancery," he cried, "in the dark, without a hat?" I accounted for the absence of a hat by explaining that I lived close by; at the same time I designated the house. "I know the house," he cried. "n.o.body lives there but the Court Councilor"--here he mentioned the name of my father--"and I know all the servants." "I am the son of the Councilor," I said in a low voice, as though I were telling a lie. I have seen many changes during my life, but none so sudden as that which came over the man at these words. His mouth, which he had opened to heap abuse upon me, remained open, his eyes still looked threatening, but about the lower part of his face a smile began to play which spread more and more. The girl remained indifferent and continued in her stooping posture. Without interrupting her work, she pushed her loose hair back behind her ears. "The son of the Court Councilor!" finally exclaimed the old man, from whose face the clouds had entirely disappeared. "Won"t you make yourself comfortable, sir?
Barbara, bring a chair!" The girl stirred reluctantly on hers. "Never mind, you sneak!" he said, taking a basket from a stool and wiping the dust from the latter with his handkerchief. "This is a great honor," he continued. "Has His Honor, the Councilor--I mean His Honor"s son, also taken up music? Perhaps you sing like my daughter, or rather quite differently, from notes and according to rule?" I told him that nature had not gifted me with a voice. "Oh, perhaps you play the piano, as fashionable people do?" I told him I played the violin. "I used to scratch on the fiddle myself when I was a boy," he said. At the word "scratch" I involuntarily looked at the girl and saw a mocking smile on her lips, which annoyed me greatly.
""You ought to take an interest in the girl, that is, in her music," he continued. "She has a good voice, and possesses other good qualities; but refinement--good heavens, where should she get it?" So saying, he repeatedly rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his right hand together. I was quite confused at being undeservedly credited with such a considerable knowledge of music, and was just on the point of explaining the true state of affairs, when some one pa.s.sing the store called in "Good evening, all!" I started, for it was the voice of one of our servants. The grocer had also recognized it. Putting out the tip of his tongue and raising his shoulders, he whispered: "It was one of the servants of His Honor, your father, but he couldn"t recognize you, because you were standing with your back to the door." This was so, to be sure, but nevertheless the feeling of doing something on the sly, something wrong, affected me painfully. I managed to mumble a few words of parting, and went out. I should even have left the song behind had not the old man run into the street after me and pressed it into my hand.
"I reached my room and awaited developments. And I didn"t have to wait long. The servant had recognized me after all. A few days later my father"s private secretary looked me up in my room and announced that I was to leave my home. All my remonstrances were in vain. A little room had been rented for me in a distant suburb and thus I was completely banished from my family. Nor did I see my singer again. She had been forbidden to vend her cakes in the chancery, and I couldn"t make up my mind to visit her father"s store, since I knew that this would displease mine. Once, when accidentally I met the old grocer on the street, he even turned away from me with an angry expression, and I was stunned.
And so I got out my violin and played and practised, being frequently alone half the day.
"But even worse things were in store for me. The fortunes of our house were declining. My youngest brother, a headstrong, impetuous fellow, was an officer in a regiment of dragoons. As the result of a reckless wager, he foolishly swam the Danube, mounted and in full armor, while heated from the exertion of a ride. This escapade, which occurred while he was far away in Hungary, cost him his life. My older brother, my father"s favorite, held an appointment as a member of provincial council. In constant opposition to the governor of the province, he even went so far as to promulgate untruthful statements in order to injure his opponent, being secretly incited thereto, as rumor had it, by our father. An investigation followed, and my brother took French leave of the country. Our father"s enemies, of whom there were many, utilized this circ.u.mstance to bring about his downfall. Attacked on all sides, and at the same time enraged at the waning of his influence, he delivered daily the most bitter speeches at the meetings of the council, and it was in the middle of a speech that he suffered a stroke of apoplexy. They brought him home, bereft of the power of speech. I myself heard nothing of all this. The next day in the chancery I noticed that the men were whispering secretly and pointing at me with their fingers.
But I was accustomed to such treatment and paid no further attention to it. On the following Friday--the sad event had occurred on a Wednesday--a black suit of clothes with crepe was suddenly brought to my room. I was naturally astonished, asked for the reason, and was informed of what had taken place. Ordinarily my body is strong and capable of resistance, but then I was completely overcome. I fell to the floor in a swoon. They carried me to bed, where I lay in a fever and was delirious throughout the day and the entire night. The next morning my strong const.i.tution had conquered, but my father was dead and buried.
"I had not been able to speak to him again, to ask his forgiveness for all the sorrow I had brought upon him, or to thank him for all the undeserved favors--yes, favors, for his intentions had been good; and some time I hope to meet him again where we are judged by our intentions and not by our acts.